What if I told you how fat I think I am? What if I told you the little bit of flesh that's stretching over my insides is still too much? What if I told you how disgusting and ugly I felt? What would you say? Would you even be able to say anything? About how bad I feel, how fat I feel, how I don't eat anymore. Would it change anything? How would it make you feel? The day after I got that insult from that bully..I couldn't force myself to eat anything. I starved myself. I couldn't eat. My body was so deep in thought, it wouldn't accept anything.
"Who would ever want to waste their time around a disgusting thing like you?" I couldn't take it anymore. I hit the wall. I made myself throw up, and I didn't eat afterward. I starved myself, and threw up what little food was contained within my body. Eventually it was only liquid. I fainted, on the bathroom floor, my own vile vomit still on my mouth. I didn't have any strength. I couldn't move from the spot, petrified and physically drained by my own actions.
I went to school, as if nothing had ever happened. As if I was the same person. No one suspected anything. I would talk during lunch time and then we'd be so immersed in conversation that no one would notice that I hadn't taken one bit from my sandwich, that my juice box was untouched, that I hadn't actaully eaten anything in the last 24 hours, but had instead been getting rid of anything that might have laying dorment in my stomach. I smiled through the unbearable clenching in my stomach, withheld the cramps in gym, and somehow, no one said a thing. I was only playing the role of Benny, that happy-go-lucky guy in school. I wasn't myself, I was starving, hurting, depressed Benny.
If I even tried to eat anything, I know it wouldn't work. I know I would positively gag on whatever food I tried to eat. A simple sandwhich was an intruder in my body. I could only drink, and nibble on some foods, even if they didn't stay down. I had to somehow throw off my family. They would notice if I never ate anything ever. I could pretend though. I could pretend to fix myself a sandwhich, a drink, and an apple. I wouldn't eat it, though, I would nibble at the sandwhich, and sip from the juice box, and try to eat a bite of the apple, but I only saw it again later. I don't think I could ever be saved, I don't think I can go back to eating. And frankly, I'm freaking starving. It's not so simple as just eating, it's the cause, not the act. It's the weight, not the food per say. I've probably been reduced to 94 pounds. My baggy polos and jeans hide that, though. I could only imagine the look on everyone's face if htey saw what I really look like under my clothes. I'm even scared of the fact that you can see my ribs and other bones poking out. I'm still not happy with ny body, but that's what everything says, you need to be skinny, and tall, and have beautiful hair, and name brand clothes. Society is not so versatile, more like one person trying to make everyone else do exactly what they're doing, and imposing their personal views and preferences onto everyone else. I'm just another victim in society, I guess. I don't think I'll ever be saved. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat anything ever again, in the shortened life I'll be living. No one will ever notice, or care enough.