Skin and Bones

I never wanted to be skinny.

I didn’t look in the mirror and see myself as fat, and I didn’t search through magazines yearning to have bodies like the celebrities. I was never the most confident girl, but I wasn’t particularly shy either. I was just me… Sky. Just Sky.

But that all changed.

I was nine when my older sister killed herself. It came completely out of the blue; one second she was reading me stories before I went to bed and the next I found her hanging from our fan by a rope. She didn’t send any signs; at least, I don’t think she did. I thought she was perfect, and most of all, I thought she was happy.

Happiness is deluding. I’ve learnt that people can put on masks that cover who they are, and how they feel inside. She could have been breaking, she could have been miserable and I wouldn’t have noticed. Her mask was too damn perfect.

All of her was perfect.

I think that was the problem. When she died she took a piece of me with her, and although I was young I knew from that moment that I’d never be the same. It was the first time I’d ever experienced something truly heart breaking, and it was the first time I’d ever had a real excuse to cry. And then the tears wouldn’t stop coming and my mask began to slip off, until I was left feeling miserable and broken for the whole world to see.

And the thing was; she left them all notes. She had it planned; she told them all how much she loved them and that she was sorry for what she did. She told them that she couldn’t take it anymore, that it was all becoming too much and that she hated everything that she was.

But she didn’t leave me one.

I never got my goodbye. I never got an apology and I never got an excuse. When she died she took everything with her, every piece of life that I thought I knew. I loved her with all of my heart, and all I could keep thinking was that maybe she didn’t love me like I loved her. And god was I angry. I was angry at myself and I was angry at her. I was angry at her for stealing away my family, and above that I was angry because I was the one who found her, I was the one who loved her with everything in me and I didn’t get a sorry. What she did hurt parts of me I didn’t know was possible, but I got nothing. Not a damn thing.

Didn’t she love me? She always said she did, that much I knew.

Was everything a lie?

Life was a lie. That was all I knew; that was the conclusion I came up with as I grew older. People could look you into the eyes and tell you anything; that you were beautiful, that you were perfect, but it was never true. Never.

Before she died, everything about her was perfect. I used to look up to her with everything in me, and I used to dream of being exactly like her when I was older. She could sing, she was gorgeous and she could make the grumpiest person laugh with a single sentence. She was everything; she was perfection itself.

Then suddenly, she was gone. And all of that perfection was gone; everything I had looked up to was now hanging from a rope in the living room.

The world changed for me that day. It was as though all of the colour had been sucked out of life, leaving me standing in miserable greys and blues. When I looked around, I didn’t see happiness. I saw masks on every person, every person that I’d ever thought to be perfect.

And when I took my mask off, all I could see was my flaws. Underneath my mask, I was hideous. I was everything I hated; I was everything that my sister Anna wasn’t. And above that, I was miserable. My heart felt empty, my body felt heavy and my mind was plagued by false fables of perfection.

My world had been altered; my whole life had been altered.

And it didn’t help that every time they looked at me, I knew that they were expecting her. They saw blue eyes and blonde hair and a whisper of something would flicker within them… a hope, a longing. I could see it in their eyes… the disappointment they felt when they saw me. It was as if they were expecting me to turn into her and become everything she was. But I could never be her. I could never be perfect like that.

And I hated myself for that. I hated that I couldn’t be her. I hated that I was a disappointment, that I was a failure. I wasn’t Anna; perfect little Anna. I couldn’t sing and I couldn’t act and I couldn’t make people laugh. All I could do was cry and scream and take up space, and die a little more inside as each day passed. All I was was Sky. Just Sky. Nothing special about me.

They didn’t love me like they loved her. I was useless, and I was completely and utterly alone.

It was around that time that Ed entered my life.

Ed wasn’t a person and he wasn’t an alter ego. Ed was just as much a part of me as my long blonde hair, my fingers or the freckles on my arms. Ed was the voice in my head; my own voice that came to me in my time of need.

He told me he could give me perfection. I jumped at the chance. After all, who wouldn’t?

It started off as a small voice that sat in the back of my head.

You’re ugly, Sky. If you lost some weight they would all love you.

And me, being the weak person I was, grasped onto the idea with everything I had. People were going to love me; I was going to be beautiful. I wouldn’t be a disappointment anymore.

But the thoughts got louder, and they took control of my body.

You’re hideous, Sky. Look at all of that fat. Look at the way the skin hangs off your arms, and you can hardly see your ribs! Disgusting.

And suddenly, when I looked in the mirror, I would see everything that Ed could see. I could see the fat hanging off my body; hell, I could feel it there. I could feel its slimy presence clinging to my bones, stopping me from reaching the perfection I so desperately sought after. My hatred for myself grew to incredible heights; a simple glance in the mirror and I would be sent into the depths of depression.

And even though it terrified me, even though the thoughts terrified me I was so desperate for that damn perfection that I gripped onto it. It became my drug; Ed became my friend. My only friend. He was the only one that understood my need to change, he was the only one that understood the way I was. No one else mattered; they didn’t care for me anyway.

Ed did. Ed said he did.

It was like a drug; the weight loss. I would step on the scales at least once a day, and every time the number dropped I would feel a sense of achievement that nothing else could give me. And the praise I got from Ed was thrilling; it was the thing that kept me going.

Just a little more, Sky. You’re nearly there. You’re nearly beautiful.

But with every step that I got closer to my ‘goal’, I was thrown further away. It was never enough. The weight loss, the malnutrition and the changes were never enough. Eating a piece of toast a day was too much: it made me disgusting. Having to stop for a break when going for a run wasn’t acceptable: it made me weak. I was supposed to be perfect, so why was I getting further away?

I was becoming more and more alone. The pain was shattering; it was like no one understood me anymore. I had no one to turn to, and even though my family offered their help I was too scared to accept it. Ed wouldn’t let me – he wouldn’t let anyone in. It was just me and him, but for me, that wasn’t enough. I was terrified.

Falling into Ed’s arms seemed all too easy when he was the only one there to catch me and the only one there to hold me close. And so I allowed him to wrap his arms around me, to caress me, to whisper in my ear, my mind, my soul. I allowed him to consume me because being alone was terrifying, and without my sister I belonged there forevermore.