Weightless.
Messages.
He doesn't remember getting into bed and can't imagine his mother being able to carry him from the kitchen. He's still in his clothes. Brown sauce on his shirt is the proof of last night's failure. Failure. Ana repeats the word and it becomes his mantra for the morning.
The 80 degree weather doesn’t stop him from putting on a long-sleeved shirt and a pullover. Wherever he goes he's freezing cold. As if all your fat can't keep you warm enough. He stares at his reflection in the mirror. Eight visible ribs. Collar bones and hip bones jutting out, his skin barely hanging on. Toothpick legs. Toothpick arms. Bone china.
He doesn't see any of it. All he sees is a slob. A pig. A huge waste of space that weighs too much though he eats too little. He turns in the mirror, sucks in his stomach. Lays his hands on the concave of his stomach then releases.
Soon. Mia promises.
But he doesn't know how much more he can take. Soon doesn't seem soon enough.
xxx
School may as well be hell on earth. The teachers treat him as if he isn’t there. His "friends" haven't spoken to him in weeks. Maybe he's invisible. Or a ghost. He can’t be a ghost though because everything hurts too much and he figures once he’s dead it won't hurt anymore.
He doesn’t mind spending lunch alone, in the media center. A stick of gum fulfills his appetite. He uses the computer in the back corner so no one can see the screen. Galleries of boys made of nothing but skin and bone. Pinching at the fat on his stomach he reads words of encouragement on his blog.
"You're perfect already" "Don't kill yourself like this" "Just eat already"
The messages make him smile but they aren’t enough. They don’t give him the same strength Ana and Mia give him. He doesn't want to be built up. He wants to be broken down. Into nothing. Weigh nothing.
The 80 degree weather doesn’t stop him from putting on a long-sleeved shirt and a pullover. Wherever he goes he's freezing cold. As if all your fat can't keep you warm enough. He stares at his reflection in the mirror. Eight visible ribs. Collar bones and hip bones jutting out, his skin barely hanging on. Toothpick legs. Toothpick arms. Bone china.
He doesn't see any of it. All he sees is a slob. A pig. A huge waste of space that weighs too much though he eats too little. He turns in the mirror, sucks in his stomach. Lays his hands on the concave of his stomach then releases.
Soon. Mia promises.
But he doesn't know how much more he can take. Soon doesn't seem soon enough.
xxx
School may as well be hell on earth. The teachers treat him as if he isn’t there. His "friends" haven't spoken to him in weeks. Maybe he's invisible. Or a ghost. He can’t be a ghost though because everything hurts too much and he figures once he’s dead it won't hurt anymore.
He doesn’t mind spending lunch alone, in the media center. A stick of gum fulfills his appetite. He uses the computer in the back corner so no one can see the screen. Galleries of boys made of nothing but skin and bone. Pinching at the fat on his stomach he reads words of encouragement on his blog.
"You're perfect already" "Don't kill yourself like this" "Just eat already"
The messages make him smile but they aren’t enough. They don’t give him the same strength Ana and Mia give him. He doesn't want to be built up. He wants to be broken down. Into nothing. Weigh nothing.
♠ ♠ ♠
Ive decided to italicize Mia and bold Ana. I appreciate the support from everyone.