I'll Have You Know I'm Scared to Death

I step onto the scale, which was never really used. Until recently of course because my parents have been lying to me about this whole time about me being skinny and just all around healthy. I bet when my mom told me I was thin, she was just saying it to make me feel better. She’s to caring about my feelings. I mean, I like that she loves me enough to do that, but I deserved the truth. Even if the truth hurt, but I deserved it the hurt. It was my fault I was this fat and disgusting. If I hadn’t eaten my feeling in the past, I wouldn’t be this way.

I nervously look at the red numbers on the digital scale. There is fear evident on my face. I had to have lost weight. I carefully read the three digit number twice to make sure I'm right. I couldn’t be wrong. I could read it ten pounds heavier or lower by mistake and that could screw up everything. I nod when I positive I have the right number.

One hundred and twenty pounds.

I sigh a bit of relief. Sure, I still needed to lose another twenty pounds, but that's five pounds less then two days ago. It wasn't much, but after a while the number would accumulate and I'd be thin. And Alex would like me again, and then my life would be complete. I am nothing without him. Sure, I had Rian, Jack, Caleb and Martin, but they couldn’t fill Alex’s shoes. I mean, all of them could almost fill the gap, but no one could fill their own gap.

It also left me with a BMI of 19.4. I was hoping to get it down to somewhere in the low teens. That would make me thin, not a disgusting, fat pig.

I slide a shirt on my unsightly stomach, followed by a pair of skinnie jeans. They used to be my favorite part of my wardrobe… but now are my least. They just emphasized how thick and pudgy my legs were. I frown at my appearance. I looked horrible. Ugh.

I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, my mom and dad smile at me. Peter’s sitting in his seat, speedily texting his girlfriend. I smile at the thought. They were perfect for each other and individually, so unlike myself.

I site at my seat, the only seat with a plate. Of course, because I wasn’t fat enough. I glare at the food on my plate, and the bowl of fruit next to it. There was no way in hell I was going to eat all, let alone most of this.

My mom watches me, still convinced I had an eating disorder. It’s only an eating disorder if you’re skinny. I did not have one, I was definitely overweight. I mean look at me. I was repulsive.

I play around with the food, taking in a mouthful once or twice. I try to make it look like I’m eating more then I am. My mom seems to notice though. She was way too observant.

“Is something wrong dear?” she asks.

Fuck. Now everyone’s eyes were on me. I shake my head and shovel the food into my mouth. What a wonderful way to start the day. Eating a breakfast then throwing up. And to top that all off my eyes would be red… again. But at least there would be no one to care and it wouldn’t be drugs this time.

“Zack?”

I nod, continuing to shovel food into my mouth, “Yeah, mom?”

“Don’t forget we have your doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

I swallow, the food sticking itself to my throat as it slides down. It's almost like the food becomes glued to the sides of my throat. The food in my stomach seems to become an iron weight. I feel the iron weight moving around my stomach, pushing around. I-I couldn't go. They have to take my weight. I couldn't have this happen. I’d die of embarrassment having other people, besides myself knowing my weight. My mom would probably be disappointed in me and tell my whole family.

My head is spinning. The food in my stomach lurks upwards. The room is shaking. I can't see the ground but I feel my feet carrying me towards the bathroom.

The food climbs up my throat and I'm sick. My head is in the toilet bowl as the bile exit my mouth. It was almost like the food knew I was going to deposit it into the toilet. I heave more of the food and acid mixture into the toilet bowl.

This all happens a lot slower then it actually happened. Seconds after my knees had hit the floor, my mom comes running in, followed by my dad and Peter.

My mom's behind me, rubbing on my back as I heave into the toilet. Whispering and telling me it's all going to be okay.

I groan as I finish and lean against the bowl. The room was still spinning as well as the audio coming out of my parent’s mouths. I can't understand a word of it. It's just a mess of words floating in front of me, overlaying each other and becoming unreadable.

I take a deep breath leaning back. Deep breath. Exhale.

I look at my mom, she's worried. I can see it.

"Zack, can you hear me?"

I nod, regretting it when my head swims around, nauseating me. Again.

"Why don't you go up stairs and go to sleep? You can't go to school sick. I'll bring you some medicine, water and saltines."

"Okay," my voice is hoarse, struggling to be heard.

I walk dizzily out of the room, being caught by Peter as I nearly bang my head into the doorframe.

There was something wrong. I'd never been this dizzy after purging. Well, maybe it was because it wasn't forced this time, it was my body's own reaction.

Reaching my bedroom, I shut the door and pull off my pants, leaving my boxers on. I lie down and close my eyes. I was going to have to deal with my mother trying to force disgusting, fatty, calorie ridden food into me the whole day.

This was going to be a nightmare of a day. I twist and turn on my bed, the pain in my stomach quickly dispersing over the period of time.

I close my eyes and pretend I'm sleeping as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I had a pretty good idea it was my mom, but it could very well be my brother going to his room. The knob on the door is soon opened, my thoughts correct. My mother puts a glass, two pills and a package of sodium-filled crackers next to me.

"Zee, you awake?" she asks.

Don't move, don't move. Walk away mom, that's right, walk away.

When I don't respond, she sighs and brushes back my hair with her hand, checking my temperature in the process.

I let out an inaudible sigh if relief, she was going to leave me alone to at least noon, then she'd come back and check my temperature and get me to 'eat' some food.

I groan at the thought. Hoping she'd leave me along the rest of the day.

My mom walks to the door and starts talking, “I’m worried about him, Nick. He’s getting skinnier. And now this… I really think there’s something wrong. I think it’s because Alex gone. I mean, from his life. Something happened between the two. I’m almost positive.”

Yeah, Mom, Alex hates me now. Did I forget to tell you? And isn’t it obvious? He hasn’t been here for almost a two weeks and almost lived here before then. And she’s noticed I’m losing weight. At least someone is noticing. Nobody at school notices. Taylor just keeps telling me I’m getting bigger… That can’t be possible, but it probably is… that’s must be why Alex won’t talk to me. That… or it could be because I came out of the closet… or one of the other reasons Taylor named.

“It could be hun, but he could just be sick. You know him, he reacts a lot and usually in a negative way. He probably worried himself sick.” My dad replies, “Just let him sleep for now.”

My mom leaves me alone for the rest of the day. Her face is worried every time I refuse to eat. I can’t though. I needed to lose weight, not eat and gain weight. I had to keep telling her, if I ate I was afraid I’d throw up again. And if she made me, I would… If my body didn’t do it for me, I’d do it myself.

My mom throws me nervous glances throughout the car ride to the doctor’s office.

“Yeah, Mom?”

She turns her stare away from me and focuses on the road. She ignores what I just said, and pretend I didn’t speak a word.

“Seriously, Mom, what the hell is wrong. You keep staring at me like you want to say something to me, but you don’t. It’s starting to freak me out.”

My mom sighs, and looks at me through the rearview mirror, “I’m not sure what the doctor is going to say about you. I mean you don’t feel how hot it is. Its 80° and you’re wearing those tight pants and a sweatshirt. There has to be something wrong with your body to do that.”

I grumble something, and slide my hoodie off. “Happy?” I ask, maybe a little too harsh.

“Zee, I’m just concerned about you.” My mother says softly. “I’m not trying to make you upset. Just calm down, you know how you get when you go to the doctors.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, stupid white coat syndrome.” I mutter, looking down at my wrists. All the cuts had healed and all I had been left with were semi-transparent scars. Most you couldn’t even see, unless you went looking for them… like I had. Then there were one or two that were very visible, but at the moment you couldn’t see any of them, thanks to this cover up stuff. I looked like a normal teenage boy… well almost. If I wasn’t so fat, then I’d be normal.

My mom pulls into the drive way and I let out a loud and obnoxious sigh. I lean back in the seat as my mom steps out of the car and heads into the building. I grab my iPod putting it on shuffle.

My ears are soon filled by a feminine voice, that is none other then Amy Lee from Evanescence. I quickly recognize the tune as Going Under. I close my eyes and pretend I’m not here. I was anywhere but here. I could be anywhere... or with anyone, but that nice daydream is soon interrupted by a knock on the window.

My mom. I sigh getting out of the car and walk up the stairs and opening the door. The waiting room smells of disinfectant and bleach. I cough and gag at the stagnant air. I earn a glare from the secretary. My mom signs me in and I take a seat, far away from everybody. There were only one other family there… of about ten kids and they occupied about as much space as I did.

My mom soon obtains an empty seat next me. My mom opens her purse and pulls out a copy of ‘Women’s World,’ a magazine my mom is always reading. The cover of it is always advertising some new diet, that ‘REALLY WORKS.’

I frown at the girl on the front cover. She was skinny, and probably never as big as I was. She was probably just saying she lost all the weight. Her before and after weren’t the same person, or the photos were heavily altered. She was just perfect, so unlike me.

“Zack Merrick.” The secretary calls, looking up for the computer, then returns her gaze to the screen, typing away.

I get up uneasily and nervously walk into one of the doctors rooms. My mom follows slowly behind. I sit on this padded table thing that the doctors make you sit on. I bite my lip and practice on taking deep breaths.

The doctor walks in and introduces himself as Dr. Miller. He does the basic procedure. He checks my breathing, my hearing and my reflexes. I flinch a bit as he sticks his hand up my shirt to check my breathing. He touches my stomach in the process. Deep breath, release, nervous glance, repeat.

The doctor nods, writing, god only knows, on my file. I lean up against the wall, something I always seem to do. The doctor then attempts to take my blood pressure. I flinch as he puts the wrap around my upper arm. He pumps air into it and the little needle in the thing moves around. There seriously needed to be names for these things.

The doctor nods and writes some numbers on his sheet. He then has me cross the room and look into this machine. I sigh and roll my eyes. It was the same every time.

“Now, tell-”

I cut him off, “if the red dot is in the box or not.” I look into the box and hear him flip the switch, putting the dot in the box “And as always the dot is in the box.” My words are harsh and uncaring.

My mom nudges my elbow, throwing me a glare, which means ‘behave yourself. You’re embarrassing me.’

I roll my eyes and look back into the machine, reading the letters off as they decrease in size. The doctor nods as I finish the last row. That’s when I start to get nervous. This only left three things, my height, weight and a bunch of random ass questions. But most importantly... my weight.

Dr. Miller points towards the measuring stand. I close my eyes as he measures me, reading out my height, “Five foot, and six inches. That makes you an inch taller then last year.”

I nod and shift nervously as he tells me to take my shoes off and step on the scale. I untie my shoes, slowly and take them off unhurriedly. My mom shoots me a glare and I pretend I don’t see it. I take slow, measured steps towards the scale. Wishing I didn’t have to do this, wish I didn’t have to embarrass myself.

I step on the scale and the doctor plays around with the lever, until it finally is even. He nods, writing my weight on the paper. “One-eighteen.” He bites his lip, and then continues, “That’s ten pounds less then last year. That puts you in the 31st percentile.”

I nod, it was disgusting but true. That was two more pounds then yesterday, though. That was good. I was making progress. In a month or two, I’d be skinny. Alex would like me again. I wouldn’t have Taylor constantly telling me I was fat. I’d be Zack again, not some fat ass that no one liked, not someone with only ‘pity-friends.’

I close my eyes as I hear my mom whisper something about me not eating and how I wear long sleeves when it’s really warm out, before she is asked to leave the room. She closes the door behind her, the doctor waits until he hears the door ‘click,’ to begin talking.

“So, Zack… Are you sexually active?”

My checks heat up as I shake my head, “No.”

“Have you taken any un-prescribed medication?”

“No.”

“Have you done any drugs?”

A lie couldn’t hurt… right? “Nope.”

“Do you smoke?”

“Nope,” I lie, again.

“So Zack… Do you know what an eating disorder is?”

“Yeah…” I nod; of course my mom saying I don’t eat would bring this up.

“Okay,” He replies, “can you tell me some of the eating disorders you know of?”

“Bulimia and Anorexia?” I suggest and it sounds more like a question. Seriously could he not see that I didn’t have one?

“Yes, now can you explain to me what anorexia is?” the doctor asks.

“Yeah, people with it are twigs and don’t eat. Can we move on?”

Dr. Miller nods, stilling writing some words on a piece of paper. Did he suspect me of having an eating disorder, too? Couldn’t he see how fucking big I was? “So… your mother tells me you wear long sleeved clothes in the summer and barely wear shorts when it’s hot out. And that you sometimes wear a jacket on top of that. Is this true?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I don’t see the point in it.” I respond, for some reason I was feeling light-headed and it couldn’t be because of not having any food. I had eaten breakfast, ten grapes. That would be sufficient for the day. I take a deep breath finding I was feeling light headed.

“Well, Zack, it could be the start of something. Don’t you feel warm when you wear that kind of clothing in this weather?” He motions towards my pants and hoodie around my enormous waist.

“N-no, not really, it feels r-rather normal. But I h-highly doubt there is something wr-wrong with me...” I choke out. I couldn’t breath; I take in deep breath after deep breath, but nothing. It starts to get hot and I start wishing that I wasn’t wearing skinnie jeans.

Then, then everything goes black and I’m not sure what happens after that. It worries me a bit… what just happened to me?