I'll Make You Feel Beautiful Once Again

My mother placed a soft kiss to my cheek before disappearing into her bedroom. “Goodnight, sweet angel,” she whispered to me.

I watched her shuffle to her room, holding the robe around her tightly as she closed the door behind her. As soon as it locked, I tiptoed up to the wood, pressing my ear to the door carefully. It didn’t take long for me to hear the stifled sobs from no one other than my mom. They rang in my ears and I couldn’t help my own tears as the spilled down my cheeks. I backed away from the door, scrambling to get to my room so I didn’t have to hear my own my mother cry herself to sleep.

Dad has been gone for about a month now, and with each passing day, things just got worse. Mom had bags under her eyes, and she always looked so tired, as if she hasn’t slept in days. I’ve had to take care of my brothers and sister a lot lately, since the only thing that Mom really does is lock herself in her room. Occasionally, she wouldn’t come down to make breakfast in the morning before my siblings went to summer camp. I would creep up the stairs and find her laying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a blank stare. Her eyes caved into the sockets so deep, she looked like a skeleton. Her skin was a ghostly pale, her hair was losing it’s color, and she was quickly slipping away.

I missed the days when she would surprise us with pancakes. We would all scramble down the stairs in a rush, practically pushing and shoving each other to see who would reach the kitchen first. She would greet us warmly, her cheeks rosy and her black hair falling down her back in beautiful, effortless waves. I would wrap my arms around her from behind, pressing my cheek on her back as she flipped pancakes. “I love you, Kellin,” she would whisper to me, so that only I could hear.

I missed those days.

These days, the only thing I did was stare at myself in the mirror. I would strip myself completely, my eyes trailing down my small, frail body. I would poke my protruding ribs, I would even flick them sometimes to hear them reply with a hollow sound. My fingers would flutter down to my thighs, where the skin clung to the bone like skinny jeans would cling to me. I was practically a walking skeleton. Even my mother couldn’t compete with me. My hip bone jutted out along my waist, and my shoulder blades would be the same way when I turned around. My spine was visible under my flesh, running down my back like I was some sort of alien.

I haven’t eaten anything over 150 calories since Dad left. And some days it was so bad that even I didn’t want to get up in the morning. I would lay in my bed all day with the lights off and the shades drawn, practically withering away as I starved myself to death. It has gotten worse and I tried to push that thought away.

I would ignore the rumbling in my stomach. I would ignore my body’s screams as I pushed myself to run that extra mile that I didn’t need. I would ignore the dizziness I would get whenever I smelled the seductive aromas of food.

However, I wouldn’t ignore the voices in my head as they called out to me.

You don’t need food to live. You’re too fat anyway. That’s why you’re father left you, right? Because how could he love an obese ugly bitch like you? Your own mother is probably lying to you when she tells you she loves you. No one could love you. You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re nothing.

And I believed that voice in my head every time.

I am nothing.