When she was just a girl, she expected the world.
But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep
And dreamed of paradise
Paradise – Coldplay
I stood in front of a mirror in just my bra and underwear. My panties were purple and simple, just a thin cotton store brand pair. They sagged on me. Realistically, I could see they were too big on me, although they were the smallest pair I could find at the store. There was an inch of space where my hip bones poked my underwear too far. All I could see was the fat that remained, however.
I poked my belly, feeling its disgusting fat. I wrapped my hand around my thigh, my fingers almost overlapping.
Fat, my brain told me. Fat, fat, fat. You useless cow.
I continued to stand in the mirror. Staring. Fixated. Who am I? I thought desperately. My eyes were ringed with bags from lack of sleep. My eyes were a dull brown. My skin was sallow. My cheek bones jutted out more than they should. I wanted to cry, but I had used all my tears up. I sighed and continued to pick out the different things I hated about myself.
The excess fat on my stomach and thighs. The freckles that decorated my cheeks. My too-thin lips, my too-long nose, my too-small eyes. My fingers were an odd shaped. I was too shorts. I was 16 and only 5'2". I was practically a child's size. Perfect girls were at least 5'6". My hair was long and brown, but dull. I lost a lot of hair, so it was much thinner than it used to be. It didn't hold the shine that it used to. I was disappointed. No amount of conditioner would save my hair. I just kept it in a loose bun, not having many other options.
Feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself, I lay on my back to do crunches.
One, two….Keep it up, fat lard. No one loves fat. Don't you want to be beautiful? I listened to the ever-present voice in my head. Nine, ten…Keep going. Sweat. Sweat. Get rid of that ugly, nasty fat. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. I stopped to catch my breath. It took so much effort to do this. I was so weak. So, so weak. My head spun from the physical exertion. My back ached from the hard ground. I could feel every bone digging into the wood of my childhood bedroom. Surely my entire back would be bruised.
I stood up slowly, cautiously, so I would not pass out. I took deep, steadying breaths, my hands shaking as I roamed over to my closet. I opened it gently, and stared at the clothes hanging, in pristine order, exactly spaced one inch apart from one another. Beneath the hanging clothes was my dresser, and I opened my pants drawer, and pulled out a pair of leggings. I slipped them on, and these, too, were baggy on my legs. I retrieved a hanger holding a long knitted gray sweater and slid it on over my frame. It swallowed me. I carefully put the hanger back in its rightful place.
I examined myself in the mirror, as I tied my hair back into its usual bun. No amount would ever hide these dark rings, or these freckles. No amount of bronzer could change my pale skin. I sighed in contempt and frustration, and walked away from the mirror.
I made my way down the stairs of my father's house. My father, Charlie Swan, was police chief of Forks, Washington. It was a small, dreary town, with perpetual rainfall. Although I had just moved out of my mother's from Phoenix, Arizona to live here only a week ago, I was already in love with this new town, this new state. It was calm, and I really needed calm in my life right now.
"Hey, Bells," My father looked up at me from his newspaper. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a bagel with cream cheese on it sitting in front of him. My mouth watered and my stomach growled instantly at the sight, and I was overcome with shame. You do not need that, I reprimanded myself.
"You hungry?" Charlie set down his newspaper and eyed me wearily. My mother had been sure to inform him of my illness before I left, and insisted he help me with it.
"No," I answered automatically, a reflex.
"Bell," his voice held a warning tone, and his mustache twitched. He was clearly frustrated. "You know part of the agreement was that you have to try."
I knew, but I didn't want to try. I really didn't. The thought of trying sickened me. I couldn't fill my body with such volatile things…
"I know, Dad." I murmured. Charlie continued to stare.
"You haven't been eating much at all, Bella. What do you weigh now?" I sighed internally. I could lie to Charlie about my weight, but he would see right through me.
"Eighty-four." I answered honestly. Inside, I was conflicted. I had lost four pounds this week, since I had gotten to Charlie's. I was so proud, so happy, so deliriously ecstatic. But I was also ashamed. I had promised my zany mother Renee, and my overprotective and loving father, Charlie that I would put on weight. It worried them to see me like this. But I was still fat. They didn't want a fat daughter, did they?
Charlie sighed and I knew immediately he was disappointed. "Bells, please eat something before you go to school." Desperation laced his voice and my heart sank. I couldn't deny him, but my mind immediately tried to formulate plans around this. I had only so many options – I could just flat out refuse, but he told me if I did any more of that he would put me in a rehabilitation center. I could also just pretend to eat, but Charlie was more clever than to not catch on to that.
Another option was that I could eat it now, and purge it from my system as soon as I got to school. Or you could actually try to recover, a small voice in my head said, but I quickly banished that thought. There was nothing to recover from, because I was still fat.
"Okay," I agreed softly. I ate a piece of whole wheat toast with exactly 2 table spoons of peanut butter – 190 calories total. This number floated around in my head, taunting me. This was practically a day's worth of food.
I sat down and took bites as small as possible. 190 calories. 190 calories. The number, such a large number, haunted me. I could feel every morsel, every crumb, fill me. Fattening me. I could literally feel my body grow larger, as if the atoms that made up this piece of bread were alive and humming, spreading throughout my body. The food taunted me with promises of making me grow larger. Fatty. Fat ass. Disgusting pig. Worthless. Pathetic. Weak. Do you have no self-control?
Finally, slowly, achingly, I finished the piece of bread. My father looked appeased and I fought back tears. Shame welled in me and I could barely control the whirl of emotions I felt. Hatred for myself, for my inability to say no gnawed at me. You deserve to be punished.
"Thank you, Bella." My father smiled at me, solemn.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Can we just go now?"
My father drove me to my new school in his police cruiser. As if being the new girl wouldn't draw enough attention to myself. I had to be the new girl who was also the police chief's previously estranged daughter.
"Have a good day, Bells." Charlie smiled at me jovially as I got out of the cruiser, slinging my backpack on.
"You too, Dad." I told him.
I kept my head down as I hurried to the main office. After a brief interaction with the principal of the miniscule school, where she gave me my schedule and a map of the building, and other various paperwork, I quietly made my way to the bathroom.
I was worried I wouldn't find it before the first bell rung, but was met with relief when I did and, better yet, it was empty. I chose the first stall and kneeled down, knowing bruises would form on my knees from the contact with the tile ground.
The porcelain was cold as I put one hand on it, leaning over. Another of my hand came to my mouth. Robotically, mechanically, I shoved two fingers down my throat, not thinking. I had been doing this for years, since I was 12. Some days were harder than others to purge because I had essentially destroyed my gag reflex, but luckily, the universe was being kind to me and it was an easy day to purge. I could even do it quietly, barely making a noise.
The contents of my stomach landed in the toilet bowl in a matter of minutes, and although my head was spinning I also felt much better now that I was empty again.
I flushed the vile down, and quietly stood up.
The stall around me spun and spun, but this feeling was not new. Fighting it, I made my way to the sink. I ran the water and got mouth wash from my backpack. Staring into the mirror, I noticed I was much paler than I had been before my binge.
Rinsing my mouth, I tried to ignore the dizziness. I collected my things slowly, trying to make my movements steady; unsuccessfully, of course. My hands, as well as my legs and arms, were shaking. I heard voices, high-pitched and girly, coming, and I wanted to get out of there quickly. I reached down to pick up my bag, but I knew instantly I had moved too fast.
I could see everything start to go back and knew I was going to hit the floor, and hard.
"Oh!" I heard that high voice say in shock, and I knew she was seeing me about to fall.
I tried to catch myself, but everything had gone black and I was no longer aware of my surroundings.