The "You're Not Fat" Campaign

I am lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It is already 3:00 in the afternoon and I have barely moved since I woke up. My mom wants me to get up and do something. I told her that I didn't feel good, but she still won't stop bugging me. If she comes up to my room one more time to try and get me to "engage", I might scream.

Mom's footsteps on the stairs to my attic bedroom make me cringe.

"Laura, are you hungry?" she asks. I turn onto my side, my back to her.

"No, Mom," I say crossly.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

There is silence for a minute, then Mom walks over to my bed and sits down on the edge of it.

"Laura, are you okay?" she asks. Tears prick at my eyes and a lump appears in my throat, but I swallow it back.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just tired. And I have a headache and a stomachache," I fudge. Mom smooths my blankets across my legs and I can barely keep myself from cringing.

"Do you want Ibuprofen?" she offers. I shrug, silently pleading with her not to touch me again. Lately, the only people who I've been okay with touching me have been Rick and Cassie. Mom sighs.

"Okay, well, if you want to come down, I can make you some soup and tea and then maybe you'll feel better," she tells me. "You would feel a lot better if you got out of bed, too, Laura. Engage." Then she stands. I keep my back to her, and snuggle deeper into my covers.

I will not engage. Not with that woman. Not with my skinny sister, either.