a lot of parents will do anything for their children except let them be themselves.

i want to puke.

these friends of my mother's, they think i don't eat. i eat. i just don't eat as much as they do. fat asses. so we went to this event of some sort-- i don't even know what to call it, a celebration kind of thing?-- and they're serving lunch.

"did you eat?" is all anyone can ask me, apparently. 


"she never eats these days," my mom sighs, as if that was the hidden part of the question.


"i eat." that's me, attempting to defend myself. staring at food and counting the calories. a girl sits nearby with a plate full of macaroni and cheese. i'm calculating the servings. how much she's eating is suddenly very important to me. i'm focused so hard on it that when someone pops up in front of me to ask me a question, i jump. "four hundred eighty." my eyes flash from the person back to the plate.


a girl i know. sucking her teeth, she's quick to catch on. "oh gosh. don't tell me you're still doing that." i read all sorts of messages into that. what she meant to say was, why don't you just quit, it obviously isn't making any difference. what she meant to say was, you'll never be as skinny as me. what she meant to say was, you're so fucking weird. 


a boy is next to her. i didn't notice him. "doing what?"


her eyes are always big. they remind me of the girl from a little princess, although i'd never admit that to her. they're really lovely, except for times like now, when she's rolling them in disgust. "counting calories." 


as if that isn't how weight watchers makes so much money. as if that isn't why they make calorie counting books. as if that were a bad thing. i just smile, airily, in a slight daze of sorts. i fought myself to stay happy. i wasn't about to have her ruin it. i decide i'll eat, just to prove to them that i do. to show them that i'm as normal as the next person. 


but now my plate is piled too high. or maybe it's as much as a normal person would eat. i'm unsure. the servings are all wrong. something's been done to the vegetables, my pieces of cauliflower. they're tinged yellow and i'm not particularly excited about eating them. the rice is brown and dry. there's some sort of vegetarian meat product separating the vegetables and the rice.  there are bits of red pepper sprinkled carefully throughout the entire dish. i hear them whispering about me. i'm not even that skinny yet and they're already giving me hell. i take the first bite.


god, how i regret it. it's never just one fucking bite. because if people were satisfied with seeing you have a bite, you wouldn't have to hide. my stomach hurts. eating hurts. psychosomatic? most likely. but it still hurts. i drank so much prune juice i feel nauseous. i miss my ex-lax. i want to cry, punch my inner thighs. they're still sore from the unicycling. i can feel my muscles aching where the seat pressed into them. i want to go outside and run. but it's raining lightly. but it's midnight. there are too many excuses for my mother to lock me indoors. i already know i won't be pleased with the scale tomorrow. i feel like not getting on it. but i already know that tomorrow morning, i'll get off the floor-- yes, i will sleep on the floor tonight because beds are for people who deserve comfort-- and i'll step on the scale and hate myself completely.

i'll hate myself and i'll write lengthy letters to myself in metaphor. and i'll cry if it rains because the world doesn't need to be punished because of my failure. and i'll cry if it's sunny because i don't deserve that kind of beauty.

this lady had a huge discussion today about suicide, and how it doesn't make sense for people to commit suicide over such small things. and i wanted to defend those poor people, but i couldn't. (it isn't small to them. to them, problems are massive and there's nothing they can do.) that would cause more unease than my irregular eating habits. she ended up telling a couple of teenagers (including me and her big eyed daughter) that we should be careful what we say and do because we don't know how it affects people.

a few hours later, as i'm on my way home, she calls out, "bye ugly." as i walk past her car.

i try to laugh it off. i try so hard. "what? who do you think you're talking to?" i giggle, pained, as i shuffle over to her car window.

"you, ugly." she repeats, something similar to a smile creeping across her face. but it couldn't be a smile. because smiles make people happy, and she ruined my day. so i went to the car. i went home. now here i am, fatter than ever, with no one to blame but myself. as if i needed to prove anything to anyone. complete failure on the first day. i don't even want to imagine how many calories were on that plate. they were way over five hundred. i don't know when, how or if i'm getting to sleep tonight. i just hope tomorrow is better.

this is not how i planned to start october.

honestly.