Disclaimer: For clarity, the character describing herself is Narcissa
Black. She, and Hogwarts, both belong to the incredibly J.K. Rowling.
The scale reads 79.
Sometimes when I wake up I like to lie under the covers. I like to feel them pressing down on my body. They feel heavy like sandbags, but my arms, my legs, my chest, feel strong. My body is lean and my muscles are sculpted. My stomach gnaws at my backbone and it makes me feel good to wake up on empty. Skin is stretched tightly across my bones; my fingers are delicate creatures crawling up my shirt and across my chest. I count the ribs silently in my head as I exhale. When I inhale my hands slide and then settle over my navel. By this time, my dorm mates are murmuring outside of the curtains and I know it is time to get dressed.
Everything I own is an extra-small, the smallest size stores usually offer, and a size only select people get to be. Coincidentally, no one ever asks to borrow my clothes because they cannot fit into them. I do not buy anything larger than an extra-small because, despite what people may say, I do not need 'room to grow'. I always lock the bathroom door behind me when I get dressed because I do not like people to watch me; they do not see what I see in myself, my body, my masterpiece. They don't understand. Peeling off my nightshirt, sometimes I gasp aloud at my own exquisite beauty. I am an array of colors; my pale flesh is sometimes a gray or molted green, sometimes it is brown, sometimes it is a deep, majestic and royal purple. I like the way my bones jut out. My image turns sideways so I see the outline of my ribs and my protruding hipbones. My breasts are small and neatly rounded in the profile. From behind, my shoulder blades are like the delicate wings of a butterfly; they appear fragile and easily broken. I do not have to look closely to see the individual vertebrae in my spine. My image turns back around. Her cheekbones, my cheekbones, are high like muggle bicycle handles. Our cheeks are hollow. Simultaneously, we both pull our robes over our fair heads without breaking identical, icy blue gazes. It is time for breakfast, but before I leave I brush my teeth, pulling back my lips so nothing touches them, to discourage myself from eating.
Meals are always the same: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have found that by sitting with the same people I can charm them with my presence, my intelligence, my wit, and furthermore, distract them from finding out the amount of food I actually consume. For the sake of appearance I must serve myself something, though it is a terribly skimpy portion of anything I do not have an acquired taste for. I take an excruciatingly long time arranging a napkin in my lap. To stall for time, I hold my goblet of water and keep up conversation. The logic is simple; if I am talking I am not eating. Lucius Malfoy insists on sitting across from me during my meals of air and, though it may seem strange, I am grateful to him for it. If it were anyone else, I am fairly sure I could not so easily achieve two seemingly contradicting things; capture his attention without drawing his attention. When Lucius's interest subsides I pick up my silverware and begin to cut my food into bite-size pieces. After I have done that, I go back and cut each one of those in half. If I have timed it right and have a bit of luck on my side, there isn't time to eat a single morsel of it. On other occasions, I very slowly lift my fork and slide the food off with my teeth. I chew each bite exactly one hundred times before swallowing.
The last thing I do every night before I go to bed is weigh in. Tonight the scale reads 79.
78 is the perfect weight.
Authors Note:
I would just like to say that eating disorders are very real problems for many young girls and people in general. This piece of fiction was not intended, in any way, to ridicule these people. The images I describe here should not be interpreted as desirable, and furthermore, I encourage anyone who thinks they may have an eating disorder to seek professional help and support from friends and/or family. Many links for help can be found on the Internet. I would also like to say that I was inspired to write this after hearing a line from the movie, "Girl, Interrupted". Janet, an anorexic, exclaimed, "78 is the perfect weight", and hence this piece of work.
The scale reads 79.
Sometimes when I wake up I like to lie under the covers. I like to feel them pressing down on my body. They feel heavy like sandbags, but my arms, my legs, my chest, feel strong. My body is lean and my muscles are sculpted. My stomach gnaws at my backbone and it makes me feel good to wake up on empty. Skin is stretched tightly across my bones; my fingers are delicate creatures crawling up my shirt and across my chest. I count the ribs silently in my head as I exhale. When I inhale my hands slide and then settle over my navel. By this time, my dorm mates are murmuring outside of the curtains and I know it is time to get dressed.
Everything I own is an extra-small, the smallest size stores usually offer, and a size only select people get to be. Coincidentally, no one ever asks to borrow my clothes because they cannot fit into them. I do not buy anything larger than an extra-small because, despite what people may say, I do not need 'room to grow'. I always lock the bathroom door behind me when I get dressed because I do not like people to watch me; they do not see what I see in myself, my body, my masterpiece. They don't understand. Peeling off my nightshirt, sometimes I gasp aloud at my own exquisite beauty. I am an array of colors; my pale flesh is sometimes a gray or molted green, sometimes it is brown, sometimes it is a deep, majestic and royal purple. I like the way my bones jut out. My image turns sideways so I see the outline of my ribs and my protruding hipbones. My breasts are small and neatly rounded in the profile. From behind, my shoulder blades are like the delicate wings of a butterfly; they appear fragile and easily broken. I do not have to look closely to see the individual vertebrae in my spine. My image turns back around. Her cheekbones, my cheekbones, are high like muggle bicycle handles. Our cheeks are hollow. Simultaneously, we both pull our robes over our fair heads without breaking identical, icy blue gazes. It is time for breakfast, but before I leave I brush my teeth, pulling back my lips so nothing touches them, to discourage myself from eating.
Meals are always the same: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have found that by sitting with the same people I can charm them with my presence, my intelligence, my wit, and furthermore, distract them from finding out the amount of food I actually consume. For the sake of appearance I must serve myself something, though it is a terribly skimpy portion of anything I do not have an acquired taste for. I take an excruciatingly long time arranging a napkin in my lap. To stall for time, I hold my goblet of water and keep up conversation. The logic is simple; if I am talking I am not eating. Lucius Malfoy insists on sitting across from me during my meals of air and, though it may seem strange, I am grateful to him for it. If it were anyone else, I am fairly sure I could not so easily achieve two seemingly contradicting things; capture his attention without drawing his attention. When Lucius's interest subsides I pick up my silverware and begin to cut my food into bite-size pieces. After I have done that, I go back and cut each one of those in half. If I have timed it right and have a bit of luck on my side, there isn't time to eat a single morsel of it. On other occasions, I very slowly lift my fork and slide the food off with my teeth. I chew each bite exactly one hundred times before swallowing.
The last thing I do every night before I go to bed is weigh in. Tonight the scale reads 79.
78 is the perfect weight.
Authors Note:
I would just like to say that eating disorders are very real problems for many young girls and people in general. This piece of fiction was not intended, in any way, to ridicule these people. The images I describe here should not be interpreted as desirable, and furthermore, I encourage anyone who thinks they may have an eating disorder to seek professional help and support from friends and/or family. Many links for help can be found on the Internet. I would also like to say that I was inspired to write this after hearing a line from the movie, "Girl, Interrupted". Janet, an anorexic, exclaimed, "78 is the perfect weight", and hence this piece of work.