Am I Thin Enough Now?

Anxiously she fingers the necklace at her throat. Red beads bang against bone, and in her head she hears the thud. Her stomach doesn't rumble anymore, it stopped last week. Her eyes are milky white, not a tear lies there anymore. She moves slightly, trying to find the position which best appeases the shooting pains through her stomach. She imagines it folding in on itself, digesting the wall opposite for lack of something to do. Her mind races, although her body has been slowed. She wants to spend this time thinking, before she can't anymore. She thinks she ought to remember, just for a while, so somebody does. She thinks back over her short life.

When she was five she started school.
When she was six she learned about the other side to the world, behind the laughter.
When she was seven she ate to forget what she had learned.
When she was eight she started gaining weight.
When she was nine she was called names.
When she was ten she was hit.
When she was eleven she was ignored.
When she was twelve she started to see how fat she was.
When she was thirteen she started throwing up.
When she was fourteen she stopped eating and started self harming instead.

Now she is fifteen, not thin yet. The other girls in her class have flourished into women, but she remains childlike. She had thought looking like a child would return her innocence, but innocence is lost.

She is a bad person, she knows that. She lies, to her family, to her friends and to herself. She is not accepting, because she cannot accept herself. She is not thin enough. She hurts the body she was given, simply because it hurts less than everything else.

She awoke in a bad mood this morning, but soon cheered up when she remembered her plan for the day. It took her a little longer to get up, it takes a little longer each day for the dots of her world to rearrange themselves into the real picture. Or is it real? She cannot tell anymore. She can feel the hollows between her ribs and in her cheeks, but she sees fat. Everyone lies to her, even herself. She never used to lie, but she has changed. She used to be a person, with feelings and thoughts and ideas. Now she is empty, a shell of that girl. Tomorrow she will be just another statistic.

She spent a little longer in front of the mirror this morning. Sometimes if she turns quickly and just catches a glance of that girl standing there she sees the bones, the deathly white skin, and she is scared. But then she looks properly, and realizes she is not thin enough yet.

She thinks about her mother. How will it feel to find out that the child you thought you knew was someone else entirely? Will she blame herself? She hasn't left a note, she doesn't know what to say. She couldn't face writing a note, every time she tried she was overwhelmed with sobs. Does crying burn calories? She doesn't want to die. She used to be happy, she used to laugh. But then she gave into her body. What she thought was control was dependence. This is simply another thing she has to do, for her own good.

She is selfish. Oh she knows she does things for others, charity work, community service, volunteering, giving up her own well being for other's happiness. But really it is for her. Really she is counting how many calories she can burn while shopping for those less able. Really she is giving up everything just to avoid that feeling of guilt. Really she is focusing on other so she doesn't have to face her own life. Really she is just trying to achieve her own goals, trying to be thin. Really she is living through others because she wishes she had been given their life, and if she thinks that if she can just touch that life she can take a little bit.

She's in a class, History. The teacher is talking, and the class is just listening. This teacher is confident, handles situations well. She chose this class for a reason. This is also the only class where she sits in the middle of her two best friends. She can feel the warmth from their bodies on either side of her, she can hear their mocking laughter in her ears. They like each other better, and she is almost glad, for them. She wants this to be easy for them. Her mouth twitches into an unfamiliar position, the shadow of a smile crosses her pale face. It does not reach her eyes. Easy for them. It will be, they will enjoy the attention it brings them. This is her present to them.

Her fingers caress the pill bottle on her lap, hidden under the desk. She pretends to have a cough, so she has a reason to bring her hand to her mouth regularly. It's getting harder to move her hands now, but she has to keep going. She will die full, that is the worst thing. But she cannot risk not taking enough. How much fat will she put on from those tiny white saviours?

She feels dizzy, sick. The teacher's voice grows fainter as her eyelids droop. In her mind she is not in a history lesson. She is finally flying, rising high about the rest of them, light as air. Her skeletal hands are stretched wide in her mind, but in reality they have fallen onto her lap. Her grip on the pill bottle loosens as she flies higher and higher, her dreams tangible at last.

She falls as the pill bottle falls, smashing into the ground and spilling. Her heavy head follows, crashing onto the desk.

She moves her mouth but no sounds comes out. She keeps mouthing it in the eruption of noise around her. Her friends look scared, she cannot hear them. Her eyes close, it is easier to give in. Soon she stops feeling their worried hands on her body, but she hopes she is still mouthing. There is so much she has to say, now that she has so little time.

It had to be like this.
I never wanted to die.
I forgive you.
Tell my mother I loved her.
I'm sorry.
Don't forget me.

But all she can repeat are those five words.

Am I thin enough now?