Status: revising and reposting. new chapters out every few days.
Dying to be Thin
Six.
People used to care.
Everyone used to care.
My weight,
Seemed like the top priority on their minds.
Back when I actually ate,
People were always concerned.
“Did you have breakfast this morning?”
“You’re so skinny!
You eat right?”
“Are you hungry?
You've got no meat on your bones!”
They’d say,
Their eyes wide and anxious,
As they examined my protruding collar bone,
And bony legs.
I didn’t have to lie then,
Because I was actually thin,
My hormone imbalance,
My rotting,
Failing,
Dead liver,
Had stripped all the fat from my bones.
At 9 years old,
I was barely 4 feet tall,
And barely 64 pounds.
They installed a tube,
From my arm to my heart,
That pumped in nutrients 24/7.
I drank whole milk,
And gorged myself on pizza and cookies.
Then,
Everything changed.
They started pumping steroids into my veins instead.
My face puffed up,
Chipmunk cheeks replacing sunken ones,
My stomach slowly expanded,
Until I looked pregnant,
Instead of starved.
The girls at school started laughing,
Whispers carried knives across classrooms and hallways.
My mom dished out harsher criticism.
One day,
I came home,
To find that every camisole,
Every pair of short shorts,
Every single article of clothing,
That could possibly cling to my body,
Had magically disappeared,
Into the trash bin in the garage.
I was 12 years old.
By the time I hit 13,
I was off the steroids.
At first,
I had lost all the extra weight.
My face returned to normal,
My stomach became flat again.
But,
Just four months shy of my 14th birthday,
I woke up to find my panties stained red,
I was thrilled.
I was the last girl in 8th grade to become a woman.
I was finally going to grow boobs,
And learn how to use a tampon,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
Find a boy to love.
Not even two months later,
I noticed the changes.
My stomach became soft,
A little fat pouch rested right above the line of my jeans.
My thighs started to extend outwards,
And jiggled with every step I took.
My hips,
My slim,
Wonderful,
Hips,
Grew,
And grew,
And grew.
My friends joked,
Called them ‘baby birthing’ hips.
I hated it.
I jumped from a size 00,
To a size 5.
My mom began the verbal abuse.
I came downstairs in a skirt,
Whore.
I came downstairs in a tank top,
Slut.
I came downstairs in skinny jeans,
Fat ass.
And I couldn’t do it anymore.
Something had to give.
And it was me.
I gave into Ana.
And now,
At the age of 15,
Nobody cares anymore.
Not the way they did when I was 9.
No one tells me how skinny I look anymore,
And no one is concerned about my diet.
Ana is happy about this.
It’s much easier to hide,
When no one is looking for you.
But I just want to cry.
Because if no one cares enough,
To question,
Why I no longer need tampons,
Why my hair is falling out,
Why my skin is covered in fuzz,
How it even went this far,
Will they care when everything has wasted away?
Everyone used to care.
My weight,
Seemed like the top priority on their minds.
Back when I actually ate,
People were always concerned.
“Did you have breakfast this morning?”
“You’re so skinny!
You eat right?”
“Are you hungry?
You've got no meat on your bones!”
They’d say,
Their eyes wide and anxious,
As they examined my protruding collar bone,
And bony legs.
I didn’t have to lie then,
Because I was actually thin,
My hormone imbalance,
My rotting,
Failing,
Dead liver,
Had stripped all the fat from my bones.
At 9 years old,
I was barely 4 feet tall,
And barely 64 pounds.
They installed a tube,
From my arm to my heart,
That pumped in nutrients 24/7.
I drank whole milk,
And gorged myself on pizza and cookies.
Then,
Everything changed.
They started pumping steroids into my veins instead.
My face puffed up,
Chipmunk cheeks replacing sunken ones,
My stomach slowly expanded,
Until I looked pregnant,
Instead of starved.
The girls at school started laughing,
Whispers carried knives across classrooms and hallways.
My mom dished out harsher criticism.
One day,
I came home,
To find that every camisole,
Every pair of short shorts,
Every single article of clothing,
That could possibly cling to my body,
Had magically disappeared,
Into the trash bin in the garage.
I was 12 years old.
By the time I hit 13,
I was off the steroids.
At first,
I had lost all the extra weight.
My face returned to normal,
My stomach became flat again.
But,
Just four months shy of my 14th birthday,
I woke up to find my panties stained red,
I was thrilled.
I was the last girl in 8th grade to become a woman.
I was finally going to grow boobs,
And learn how to use a tampon,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
Find a boy to love.
Not even two months later,
I noticed the changes.
My stomach became soft,
A little fat pouch rested right above the line of my jeans.
My thighs started to extend outwards,
And jiggled with every step I took.
My hips,
My slim,
Wonderful,
Hips,
Grew,
And grew,
And grew.
My friends joked,
Called them ‘baby birthing’ hips.
I hated it.
I jumped from a size 00,
To a size 5.
My mom began the verbal abuse.
I came downstairs in a skirt,
Whore.
I came downstairs in a tank top,
Slut.
I came downstairs in skinny jeans,
Fat ass.
And I couldn’t do it anymore.
Something had to give.
And it was me.
I gave into Ana.
And now,
At the age of 15,
Nobody cares anymore.
Not the way they did when I was 9.
No one tells me how skinny I look anymore,
And no one is concerned about my diet.
Ana is happy about this.
It’s much easier to hide,
When no one is looking for you.
But I just want to cry.
Because if no one cares enough,
To question,
Why I no longer need tampons,
Why my hair is falling out,
Why my skin is covered in fuzz,
How it even went this far,
Will they care when everything has wasted away?