Skinny.
Twiggy
I'm a mess. A monster. I'm out of control. It seems fitting, considering the whole reason this started at all was my devastation. Controlling mother. Her fist is the tightest grip I've ever known. She crushes me under her demands, her expectations. Talks everyone into her bidding, plays a con man. Her manipulation is intense. The harder you try to slip away, the closer in she reels you. Father isn't that bad. He works four-thirty til seven, sometimes later. Most times til ten. He comes home pissed, immediately bitches. Dinner isn't what he wanted, the weather is bad, he hates his job. I would too, if I was slaving away for the government.
I don't question why he's so judgmental. I've always just avoided him completely. He's not my real father, anyway. My old man is gone, and has been for as long as i can remember. Not that it changes anything about me, about my desire for perfection. I wish i could say one good thing about myself. I wish I could explain how much I love and hate this monster I've become. A thinner waist in exchange for excruciating pains. No one would ever understand, though. No one even seconds guess my steep dip in pant size, or how I push my food around my plate. My fork plows through the creamy potatoes like snow in a blizzard. Just four scrapes and I can make it look like I've eaten almost everything.
The dogs help, too. The two evil barking machines who are far more spoiled than I am. I have to work for everything I own, even the things I've bought for myself. Through out my awkward Japanese printed magazines about bands nobody but me seems to care about, my ridiculously pathetic manga collection of second hand library books, my collection of scratched DVDs. When you really think about the quality of my things, I really do have near nothing. Nothing but this terrible obsession. Addiction. Most girls my age worry about pimples, not getting a high enough score, who Joshua Craig is dating. I stay at home most nights, me and my mother and my monster. All in the same room. Mother binges on popcorn and potato crisps, I binge on numbers. If I lose one pound every day for four weeks, I'll drop three sizes by the end of the month. If I eat a yogurt for breakfast, I can eat an apple for lunch and then skip dinner, for sure. Comparing my biggest worries with those of the girls in my class, well, it's really disappointing.
I know this is wrong. i know I shouldn't be worrying about this. But how do you say no to something you want so terribly? Something that you think about all the time, dream about, pray for? It's more than my addiction. It is me.
I don't question why he's so judgmental. I've always just avoided him completely. He's not my real father, anyway. My old man is gone, and has been for as long as i can remember. Not that it changes anything about me, about my desire for perfection. I wish i could say one good thing about myself. I wish I could explain how much I love and hate this monster I've become. A thinner waist in exchange for excruciating pains. No one would ever understand, though. No one even seconds guess my steep dip in pant size, or how I push my food around my plate. My fork plows through the creamy potatoes like snow in a blizzard. Just four scrapes and I can make it look like I've eaten almost everything.
The dogs help, too. The two evil barking machines who are far more spoiled than I am. I have to work for everything I own, even the things I've bought for myself. Through out my awkward Japanese printed magazines about bands nobody but me seems to care about, my ridiculously pathetic manga collection of second hand library books, my collection of scratched DVDs. When you really think about the quality of my things, I really do have near nothing. Nothing but this terrible obsession. Addiction. Most girls my age worry about pimples, not getting a high enough score, who Joshua Craig is dating. I stay at home most nights, me and my mother and my monster. All in the same room. Mother binges on popcorn and potato crisps, I binge on numbers. If I lose one pound every day for four weeks, I'll drop three sizes by the end of the month. If I eat a yogurt for breakfast, I can eat an apple for lunch and then skip dinner, for sure. Comparing my biggest worries with those of the girls in my class, well, it's really disappointing.
I know this is wrong. i know I shouldn't be worrying about this. But how do you say no to something you want so terribly? Something that you think about all the time, dream about, pray for? It's more than my addiction. It is me.