Lose Your Pride

I think it started when I was fourteen. Maybe when I was fifteen. The strive for perfection.

I was at my friend, Hannah’s, house. It was me, Hannah, Victoria, and this guy named Gavin. Hannah had lost 12 pounds that summer and she was flaunting it, walking around in a bikini. Victoria never cared what other people thought; she was in a bikini too. I was the only one uncomfortable.

I was uncomfortable because I was the fattest girl at the party.
I was uncomfortable because Gavin (the love of my life) was staring at Hannah.
I was uncomfortable because Hannah knew I loved Gavin, but she was staring back.

When they got in the pool and started splashing and laughing with each other, I broke. I ran up to Hannah’s bathroom and puked up everything. The two pieces of cake I had eaten, the barbecue chips, the two sodas. Everything. I stuck my fingers down my throat until nothing else would come up. And then I sat in Hannah’s bathroom and cried.

Because I liked the feeling of puking.

I knew it wasn’t right. I knew that I could die from purging up everything I ate, but I didn’t want to couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop binging and purging. I would go in the kitchen and eat everything I could get my hands on and puke it up.

Nobody noticed.
….But Hannah.

She noticed that I was skinnier than her, that Gavin paid more attention to me than her, that I could outrun her and eat less than her and get every boy’s attention with the snap of my fingers. So we made it a competition. We never said it out loud, but we both knew it was going on.

In the end, she broke. She caved in and let her obsession destroy her.
I stayed strong, stayed empty, stayed beautiful.
And alive.