Status: The end. Thank you all so much for reading.
Wrists
sneak .
I woke up at 3 in the morning. I crept into my parent’s bathroom and weighed myself.
5’10”. 107 pounds.
I wanted to die.
I wanted to fucking die.
But just before I experienced a mental breakdown, my mother stepped into the master bathroom, blinking from the dim light. Her hair was a mess, nightgown wrapped lazily around her body. She was staring at me, confused. I froze. “Graham? What’re you doing?”
She eyed my sleepwear on the ground. She studied my bare body. Her tired face turned into one of shock and fear. In a blink of an eye, I scrambled to pick up the clothes and put them on. She caught me. She fucking caught me at my worse. She saw me exposed, not ready, not stable. I felt so sick I could throw up.
“Sorry,” I muttered once I was completely dressed. “I was just.” I didn’t even finish my sentence before I slipped past her and into my own bedroom. Even as I laid down on my bed and tried to fall asleep, my heartbeat was going crazy in my chest.
It only took a couple of minutes before my mother opened my bedroom door and stepped carefully inside, maneuvering through the mountains of books scattered across the floor. I still stayed stone still as she sat on the edge of my bed. “Graham.” She whispered.
I stayed quiet.
“Graham.” She repeated.
I continued to stay quiet.
“What’re you doing, Graham.” She sounded desperate. Annoyed. Disturbed. Guilt came over me, shoving out any other emotion. I was bothering her with my own troubles. I was making her worry about somebody else other than herself. I was making everything too obvious. “How much weight do you intend to lose?”
Enough to make you notice me
I was quiet.
“5 pounds? 10 more pounds?” She asked. “You don’t need to lose any more weight, Graham. This is getting insane now.”
I was quiet.
“Stop this stupid diet, alright? You’ve lost enough weight for a life time.”
I was quiet.
My mother sat there for a while longer before she stood up. And with one last pause, she left my room.
And left me an even bigger mess than ever before.
5’10”. 107 pounds.
I wanted to die.
I wanted to fucking die.
But just before I experienced a mental breakdown, my mother stepped into the master bathroom, blinking from the dim light. Her hair was a mess, nightgown wrapped lazily around her body. She was staring at me, confused. I froze. “Graham? What’re you doing?”
She eyed my sleepwear on the ground. She studied my bare body. Her tired face turned into one of shock and fear. In a blink of an eye, I scrambled to pick up the clothes and put them on. She caught me. She fucking caught me at my worse. She saw me exposed, not ready, not stable. I felt so sick I could throw up.
“Sorry,” I muttered once I was completely dressed. “I was just.” I didn’t even finish my sentence before I slipped past her and into my own bedroom. Even as I laid down on my bed and tried to fall asleep, my heartbeat was going crazy in my chest.
It only took a couple of minutes before my mother opened my bedroom door and stepped carefully inside, maneuvering through the mountains of books scattered across the floor. I still stayed stone still as she sat on the edge of my bed. “Graham.” She whispered.
I stayed quiet.
“Graham.” She repeated.
I continued to stay quiet.
“What’re you doing, Graham.” She sounded desperate. Annoyed. Disturbed. Guilt came over me, shoving out any other emotion. I was bothering her with my own troubles. I was making her worry about somebody else other than herself. I was making everything too obvious. “How much weight do you intend to lose?”
Enough to make you notice me
I was quiet.
“5 pounds? 10 more pounds?” She asked. “You don’t need to lose any more weight, Graham. This is getting insane now.”
I was quiet.
“Stop this stupid diet, alright? You’ve lost enough weight for a life time.”
I was quiet.
My mother sat there for a while longer before she stood up. And with one last pause, she left my room.
And left me an even bigger mess than ever before.