FicWad

People look at you. Smile. Wave. They'd never guess. You eat dinner with family, breakfast with friends. You laugh, make jokes, gossip, listen to others do the same. No one knows how annoyed you are by every word they say, ever smile they flash. You're fed up. You're tired of being alone, but in those moments when you truly are, you wouldn't have it any other way, because in those moments, it's you and the mirror. You scrutinize; fat there, fat there, and there, and there, and there. You cry, 3 tears. Maybe four. But then, you smile. You smile, because you know exactly what to do to make it go away. Quietly, you go into the kitchen, careful to keep your plan a secret from your decency. A whole gallon of ice cream and an oven-pizza later, you're ready. You're satisfied. Quietly again, you make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door, turning the lock. You lift up your shirt, staring at the reflection of you, running a hand over the fullness of your stomach. Once again, that disgusting smile plays across your lips. 3 tears, maybe four. You shift your ridiculous weight over to the toilet and as you stare into the porcelain bowl, lowering your face towards the water inside, you think. You think about the girl that only talks to you because you're the only one there. Had anyone else been there, you would have been ignored. You think about how you're always the last resort. You think about the boy that called you for awhile, but then met your sister. They're probably on the phone in that exact moment. You put your pointer and middle fingers in your mouth, reaching towards your throat, and you shake your hanging head. It'll change. You'll be important . Just keep it up. Keep not keeping it inside. 20 minutes later, you wipe your lips, wash your hands. You run that same hand over your stomach in the mirror, only this time, it's empty. You're at your best that way. That way, you'll matter.



It started just like everything starts. A simple desire turning into an extraordinary obsession. I'd just wanted to thin out a little, you know? Fell healthy, not like I was carrying around extra weight, only there to wear me out.


I saw, in the first couple of months, some results, but nothing like I was working for. Nothing...substantial. I doubt, looking back, that anyone thought I was as fat as I did, but there was no telling me that.


Magazines displayed the beautiful, movies; the magnificent, while I was less than ordinary. I watched as ninety-pound, bone-bearing supermodels owned the runway, and I though, "I'm such a lazy, fat ass."


I dare you to judge me. I dare you to tell me I'm a sorry excuse for a human being or tell me that I'm destroying myself...that I'm killing myself. I dare you to question my motives or call me a cheater. I dare you to ask why I get a natural high off of the feeling of a growling stomach. I dare you to list reasons and statistics and facts or anything else you think you can say to change my mind about my decisions. I'll probably just stare at you, pale-faced and weary-eyed.


I'll probably just tell you to save your breath, because I want my life back more than you could ever know.