Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
First Bomb Shell
I am beyond pleased with myself. I haven't had anything to eat in almost thirty eight hours. Seriously.
I've had liquid. A cup of soup. I had to because I was feeling a little bit hungry. Well, not hungry more sick. Why is it you feel sick when you haven't eaten anything?
To be honest, the thought of eating anything is a bit sickening. I've heard that if you eat barely nothing for a while, your stomach shrinks! Isn't that great? So even if in a few days I do eat something, it won't take much to fill me up.
I'm so excited that I decide to weigh myself.
*
How many calories can there can in one bloody cup of soup? It was less than a hundred - I checked! How can I have only lost half a pound?? What is the point in putting myself through this hell if absolutely nothing is going to come of it?
I'm so angry that ... well I don't actually do anything.
I just sit in the kitchen and wait for my Mum to come home from work. I could cry at my patheticness. It's Friday afternoon and I'm sitting here waiting for my Mum to come home. Last Friday, I was at a pub and then the greatest party of my life! Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
It was exactly one week ago that I met Marcus. And everything around seemed to get a little more concentrated and a little less confusing. Well, Marcus didn't make things less confusing. It was sort of a coincidence that both of these things happened on the same day.
Marcus made everything smaller, like it's all about him. Half of me can only think about Marcus.What he's doing; what he's thinking; where is he; who he's with.
I'm still not sure if I believe that girl leaving the house last night was his cousin. She seems familiar. But I can't have met her before. Why would I have met anyone from Marcus's family? I will on our wedding day of course. They'll be really nice to me as well, I'd imagine. Because I got Marcus to settle down, be a big hit with his band and be really nice in general.
All down to me.
That might take a few years but it will definitely happen.
The other thing - the thing that's almost more important than Marcus - was that I took control of my life. Everything I do, I get told to do it. Homework my teachers tell me to do. My Mum is always giving me things to do and then guilt trips me when I don't. She says I'm lazy and uses that special tone of voice of hers. You know, the one that always makes me do what I'm told.
But on Friday, I got a glimpse of what other people are like.
I'm not saying that I'm going to keep snorting cocaine with Marcus. Even if it is easier to hang out with him if he thinks I'm doing drugs as well. I just mean, they were all in control. And they make themselves look the way they do; lean, skinny, elfin, petite. They can't all be naturally thin.
That's what I'm going to be. I don't care if I'm just another statistic. I don't care if people think this is just another reaction to the media. I don't give a toss if everyone thinks that the size zero culture is to blame. Maybe they come into it. But I just know that everytime I go shopping with Izzie and Bridget, I hide in the cubicle examining my body. I never buy anything.
The cubicles are like a torture chamber. A cruel collections of girls who are all effortlessly skinnier than me. They take their bodies for granted. Their shapes, their high cheekbones, their slender legs, tiny tummies, angular chins, slim arms.
Even if I do find anything, I always feel like an object of pity. Bridget knows in the back of her head that I'm insecure about my weight and so she overcompensates. It's even worse when Izzie does it. Her insincerity is crushing. Believe me.
My Mum finally step through the front door, laiden with shopping bags and her case files. She wants to talk to me. It's probably about William Birch. Except I don't want to know about William Birch. I don't want to know about what's she doing.
Only of course I do. I don't want to know, I HAVE to know.
I wish that my parents would either be together or divorced. It's so much easier then. Bridget's parents are still together. Izzie's Mum, Sharon, left a few years ago. They're so lucky. Especially Izzie as her Mum wasn't always very nice. I liked Izzie's Dad, Dominic, much, much more than Izzie's Mum! She was very refined and affected whereas he was always much more easy going.
Well, at least he was before Sharon left. Then he became the 'strict' parent. Izzie still gets away with murder. Even more so now Dominic is going out with Serena.
I put the kettle on. It's an effort. I feel so tired. The sleepless night is finally catching up with me. My Mum is looking at me in concern. Maybe she thinks I didn't sleep because I was wondering where she was.
Ah well, here comes the moment of truth.
Then my Mum drops the first bomb shell. We're having a take away tonight. I think of the thousands of calories just oozing out of chinese foil; greasy pizzas lying like dead milk in boxes; dips; starters; ribs; prawn crackers; glorious fish with crunchy chips.
I make my excuse and go upstairs briefly. And it's then, in that glorious, glorious moment, as my fingers tap the back of my throat, slide down past the places I have no words for, that I'm finally a tiny bit sick.
As the mushroom soup splashes down onto the toilet water, I start to shudder. Good, cold shudders with great gasps of air as my lungs try and snatch it back inside me. And I can't help smiling. Because I've finally arrived at some kind of port for my own control.
I've had liquid. A cup of soup. I had to because I was feeling a little bit hungry. Well, not hungry more sick. Why is it you feel sick when you haven't eaten anything?
To be honest, the thought of eating anything is a bit sickening. I've heard that if you eat barely nothing for a while, your stomach shrinks! Isn't that great? So even if in a few days I do eat something, it won't take much to fill me up.
I'm so excited that I decide to weigh myself.
*
How many calories can there can in one bloody cup of soup? It was less than a hundred - I checked! How can I have only lost half a pound?? What is the point in putting myself through this hell if absolutely nothing is going to come of it?
I'm so angry that ... well I don't actually do anything.
I just sit in the kitchen and wait for my Mum to come home from work. I could cry at my patheticness. It's Friday afternoon and I'm sitting here waiting for my Mum to come home. Last Friday, I was at a pub and then the greatest party of my life! Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
It was exactly one week ago that I met Marcus. And everything around seemed to get a little more concentrated and a little less confusing. Well, Marcus didn't make things less confusing. It was sort of a coincidence that both of these things happened on the same day.
Marcus made everything smaller, like it's all about him. Half of me can only think about Marcus.What he's doing; what he's thinking; where is he; who he's with.
I'm still not sure if I believe that girl leaving the house last night was his cousin. She seems familiar. But I can't have met her before. Why would I have met anyone from Marcus's family? I will on our wedding day of course. They'll be really nice to me as well, I'd imagine. Because I got Marcus to settle down, be a big hit with his band and be really nice in general.
All down to me.
That might take a few years but it will definitely happen.
The other thing - the thing that's almost more important than Marcus - was that I took control of my life. Everything I do, I get told to do it. Homework my teachers tell me to do. My Mum is always giving me things to do and then guilt trips me when I don't. She says I'm lazy and uses that special tone of voice of hers. You know, the one that always makes me do what I'm told.
But on Friday, I got a glimpse of what other people are like.
I'm not saying that I'm going to keep snorting cocaine with Marcus. Even if it is easier to hang out with him if he thinks I'm doing drugs as well. I just mean, they were all in control. And they make themselves look the way they do; lean, skinny, elfin, petite. They can't all be naturally thin.
That's what I'm going to be. I don't care if I'm just another statistic. I don't care if people think this is just another reaction to the media. I don't give a toss if everyone thinks that the size zero culture is to blame. Maybe they come into it. But I just know that everytime I go shopping with Izzie and Bridget, I hide in the cubicle examining my body. I never buy anything.
The cubicles are like a torture chamber. A cruel collections of girls who are all effortlessly skinnier than me. They take their bodies for granted. Their shapes, their high cheekbones, their slender legs, tiny tummies, angular chins, slim arms.
Even if I do find anything, I always feel like an object of pity. Bridget knows in the back of her head that I'm insecure about my weight and so she overcompensates. It's even worse when Izzie does it. Her insincerity is crushing. Believe me.
My Mum finally step through the front door, laiden with shopping bags and her case files. She wants to talk to me. It's probably about William Birch. Except I don't want to know about William Birch. I don't want to know about what's she doing.
Only of course I do. I don't want to know, I HAVE to know.
I wish that my parents would either be together or divorced. It's so much easier then. Bridget's parents are still together. Izzie's Mum, Sharon, left a few years ago. They're so lucky. Especially Izzie as her Mum wasn't always very nice. I liked Izzie's Dad, Dominic, much, much more than Izzie's Mum! She was very refined and affected whereas he was always much more easy going.
Well, at least he was before Sharon left. Then he became the 'strict' parent. Izzie still gets away with murder. Even more so now Dominic is going out with Serena.
I put the kettle on. It's an effort. I feel so tired. The sleepless night is finally catching up with me. My Mum is looking at me in concern. Maybe she thinks I didn't sleep because I was wondering where she was.
Ah well, here comes the moment of truth.
Then my Mum drops the first bomb shell. We're having a take away tonight. I think of the thousands of calories just oozing out of chinese foil; greasy pizzas lying like dead milk in boxes; dips; starters; ribs; prawn crackers; glorious fish with crunchy chips.
I make my excuse and go upstairs briefly. And it's then, in that glorious, glorious moment, as my fingers tap the back of my throat, slide down past the places I have no words for, that I'm finally a tiny bit sick.
As the mushroom soup splashes down onto the toilet water, I start to shudder. Good, cold shudders with great gasps of air as my lungs try and snatch it back inside me. And I can't help smiling. Because I've finally arrived at some kind of port for my own control.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks for reading!