The "You're Not Fat" Campaign

After group we all shuffle in our hospital socks to our rooms. I sink onto my small bed and bury my face in my hands. There is an announcement that "Dinner is now served in the group room. Dinner in the group room."

My stomach curdles.

I don't want dinner no no no.

A girl with long reddish-brown hair and a black hoodie knocks on the door of my room and I look up and she lifts a hand at me.

Her wrist is covered with scars and cuts and a tattoo.

"If you don't eat they'll keep you here longer," she says. I shrug. She rolls her eyes and shuffles away.

Tasha the nurse comes in and says "Aren't you going to dinner?" I shake my head.

"I can't," I say hoarsely. "I can't eat in front of them." I can feel my panic levels rising, skyrocketing, and I take deep shaky breaths to try and calm myself down.

"I'll bring you something," Tasha says. She leaves and I grimace.

If you eat anything I swear to God I will end you.

I won't eat anything. Hospital food is revolting anyway. Why would I eat anything?

You're revolting.

I know.

Tasha returns with a tray. It smells disgusting and my stomach turns over.

"I'll go now," Tasha tells me after she sets down the tray. "Just leave the tray here when you're done."

She leaves my room and closes the door behind her. I stand and walk over to the tray and look at what she brought me.

Gluey macaroni and cheese. Green jello. A roll. Buttery steamed carrots.

I laugh out loud and take the tray into the bathroom, where I flush everything down the toilet.