Status: revising and reposting. new chapters out every few days.
Dying to be Thin
Eight.
I run,
And run,
And run,
And run.
Until my feet become unstable,
On the moving conveyor belt of my treadmill.
Switch to weights:
100 lunges,
10 pounds in each hand.
Wall sits,
2 minutes,
5 times,
10 pounds.
Switch to core:
200 crunches,
30 push-ups,
Switch to cardio:
300 jumping jacks.
The work-out cycle continues,
Until my vision blackens,
And my body drops to the ground.
I drag myself upstairs and to the couch,
Curl up under a blanket,
Struggling to keep my eyes open and my breaths even.
Mom calls.
Fanfuckingtastic.
“I wanted to go over our plans.
Kaleb said you just finished working out,
So I figured now would be the best time to catch you.”
She tells me.
I glare at my little brother.
What the hell possessed him,
To think I would want to talk to anybody after a work-out.
Leave it to him to piss me off,
Stupid bastard.
Mom is speaking again,
I shush Ana,
Trying to pay attention.
“I haven’t spoken to you in a few days.”
She’s obviously peeved,
I am not the daughter she wanted,
The daughter that would call daily,
The daughter that would have friends,
Have boyfriends even,
The daughter that would be pretty,
And popular,
And skinny.
The daughter that would be a perfect reflection of her perfect parenting skills.
I am none of these things.
I am a piece of shit.
“I know.”
I breathe, my heart faltering in my chest.
For a moment,
I think it might fail,
The stuttering sounds so weak.
Just as I begin to get my hopes up,
A steady rhythm returns.
I sigh.
“I’ve just been so tired.”
I can’t lie in this state of mind.
I can’t come up with a real reason,
A good enough reason,
As to why I’ve been ignoring her calls,
My body is already working too hard to just stay conscious.
“At least working out makes you feel good!”
She cheers,
Always happy,
And supportive,
Of my weight loss methods.
I hear:
“At lease you’re finally losing all that fat!”
I picture her Barbie smile,
Her bleached and fried hair,
Her orange skin,
Her bony little body.
“It doesn’t feel good.”
I say sternly,
Angrily,
Wanting her to understand,
Wanting her to tell me I don’t need,
To run all day,
Because,
She loves me just the way I am.
Because,
To her,
I am good enough.
She doesn’t say anything.
Why would she?
Ana quips.
Who would love you just the way you are?
Of course you need to run all day,
Fucking thunder thighs over here.
And of course she doesn’t understand.
When will you realize I’m the only one who understands you,
The only one who loves you.
I wait,
5 awkward seconds of silence,
Crackling across the telephone wires,
But she doesn’t say shit,
Just changes the subject.
Mom talks.
I try to listen,
But my brain is already fading,
And I’m failing to provide,
The amount of conversation she needs.
“Well,
You just sound exhausted.
I’ll just call back later,
When you’re actually willing to talk to your own mother.”
Mom sneers,
Even more upset than usual,
At my embarrassing failure as a daughter.
My patience snaps.
I can’t deal with her shit right now,
Selfish bitch.
Fuck it.
“SHUT-UP!
JUST SHUT-UP!
You don’t get it, Mom!
I’m always tired,
Every fucking day!
There is never a moment,
Where I feel like I have enough energy,
So just SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
I screech at her,
Adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Ana smacks her lips in anticipation,
She loves a good family feud.
I can feel my mom glare through the phone,
It burns straight through to my soul,
And I stiffen involuntarily.
She is shifting into Momzilla,
The Mother of all Cunts and Bitches,
The epitome of hate and abuse cleverly disguised as compliments,
That sting even though you feel like they should caress.
This Mom,
This monster hiding behind,
Layers,
And layers,
Of fake kindness,
And passive aggressive bullshit,
Is reason why I’m like this.
“Well I don’t feel very much like talking to you right now.
Stop being a bitch,
And check that tone, missy.
If I feel like it,
I’ll talk to you tonight.”
“Fine!
I don’t want to talk to you either!
Just try calling me later,
See if I even fucking answer!”
I scream,
Throwing my phone across the room.
Adrenaline gone,
I sink back into the couch,
The small amount of energy I had,
Completely deserting me.
Ana pets me affectionately,
She’s a terrible person, Addy.
I’m all you need anyway.
Dad just looks at me,
His face blank,
Yet at the same time,
Disappointed and disapproving,
Before turning his gaze back to the football game.
Kaleb kicks me,
I hiss,
Feeling the bruise blossom already.
He shrugs,
Turning his attention to the television as well.
Of course,
Perfect-Little-Mama’s-Boy,
Mr. I-Can-Do-No-Wrong,
Doesn’t want me talking to his mother that way.
The tears spring up suddenly,
Ana’s affection evaporates,
As they begin to work their way,
Down my hollow cheek bones.
She retreats from my weakness,
Disgusted.
I find a secret stash of energy,
And use every ounce,
To hurl myself off of the couch,
And into my room.
Then I collapse on my bed,
Sweat soaked clothes and all,
Escaping into unconsciousness.
And run,
And run,
And run.
Until my feet become unstable,
On the moving conveyor belt of my treadmill.
Switch to weights:
100 lunges,
10 pounds in each hand.
Wall sits,
2 minutes,
5 times,
10 pounds.
Switch to core:
200 crunches,
30 push-ups,
Switch to cardio:
300 jumping jacks.
The work-out cycle continues,
Until my vision blackens,
And my body drops to the ground.
I drag myself upstairs and to the couch,
Curl up under a blanket,
Struggling to keep my eyes open and my breaths even.
Mom calls.
Fanfuckingtastic.
“I wanted to go over our plans.
Kaleb said you just finished working out,
So I figured now would be the best time to catch you.”
She tells me.
I glare at my little brother.
What the hell possessed him,
To think I would want to talk to anybody after a work-out.
Leave it to him to piss me off,
Stupid bastard.
Mom is speaking again,
I shush Ana,
Trying to pay attention.
“I haven’t spoken to you in a few days.”
She’s obviously peeved,
I am not the daughter she wanted,
The daughter that would call daily,
The daughter that would have friends,
Have boyfriends even,
The daughter that would be pretty,
And popular,
And skinny.
The daughter that would be a perfect reflection of her perfect parenting skills.
I am none of these things.
I am a piece of shit.
“I know.”
I breathe, my heart faltering in my chest.
For a moment,
I think it might fail,
The stuttering sounds so weak.
Just as I begin to get my hopes up,
A steady rhythm returns.
I sigh.
“I’ve just been so tired.”
I can’t lie in this state of mind.
I can’t come up with a real reason,
A good enough reason,
As to why I’ve been ignoring her calls,
My body is already working too hard to just stay conscious.
“At least working out makes you feel good!”
She cheers,
Always happy,
And supportive,
Of my weight loss methods.
I hear:
“At lease you’re finally losing all that fat!”
I picture her Barbie smile,
Her bleached and fried hair,
Her orange skin,
Her bony little body.
“It doesn’t feel good.”
I say sternly,
Angrily,
Wanting her to understand,
Wanting her to tell me I don’t need,
To run all day,
Because,
She loves me just the way I am.
Because,
To her,
I am good enough.
She doesn’t say anything.
Why would she?
Ana quips.
Who would love you just the way you are?
Of course you need to run all day,
Fucking thunder thighs over here.
And of course she doesn’t understand.
When will you realize I’m the only one who understands you,
The only one who loves you.
I wait,
5 awkward seconds of silence,
Crackling across the telephone wires,
But she doesn’t say shit,
Just changes the subject.
Mom talks.
I try to listen,
But my brain is already fading,
And I’m failing to provide,
The amount of conversation she needs.
“Well,
You just sound exhausted.
I’ll just call back later,
When you’re actually willing to talk to your own mother.”
Mom sneers,
Even more upset than usual,
At my embarrassing failure as a daughter.
My patience snaps.
I can’t deal with her shit right now,
Selfish bitch.
Fuck it.
“SHUT-UP!
JUST SHUT-UP!
You don’t get it, Mom!
I’m always tired,
Every fucking day!
There is never a moment,
Where I feel like I have enough energy,
So just SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
I screech at her,
Adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Ana smacks her lips in anticipation,
She loves a good family feud.
I can feel my mom glare through the phone,
It burns straight through to my soul,
And I stiffen involuntarily.
She is shifting into Momzilla,
The Mother of all Cunts and Bitches,
The epitome of hate and abuse cleverly disguised as compliments,
That sting even though you feel like they should caress.
This Mom,
This monster hiding behind,
Layers,
And layers,
Of fake kindness,
And passive aggressive bullshit,
Is reason why I’m like this.
“Well I don’t feel very much like talking to you right now.
Stop being a bitch,
And check that tone, missy.
If I feel like it,
I’ll talk to you tonight.”
“Fine!
I don’t want to talk to you either!
Just try calling me later,
See if I even fucking answer!”
I scream,
Throwing my phone across the room.
Adrenaline gone,
I sink back into the couch,
The small amount of energy I had,
Completely deserting me.
Ana pets me affectionately,
She’s a terrible person, Addy.
I’m all you need anyway.
Dad just looks at me,
His face blank,
Yet at the same time,
Disappointed and disapproving,
Before turning his gaze back to the football game.
Kaleb kicks me,
I hiss,
Feeling the bruise blossom already.
He shrugs,
Turning his attention to the television as well.
Of course,
Perfect-Little-Mama’s-Boy,
Mr. I-Can-Do-No-Wrong,
Doesn’t want me talking to his mother that way.
The tears spring up suddenly,
Ana’s affection evaporates,
As they begin to work their way,
Down my hollow cheek bones.
She retreats from my weakness,
Disgusted.
I find a secret stash of energy,
And use every ounce,
To hurl myself off of the couch,
And into my room.
Then I collapse on my bed,
Sweat soaked clothes and all,
Escaping into unconsciousness.
♠ ♠ ♠
click.