I curl up and make a noise. "My stomach hurts."
"Maybe that's because you haven't eaten in like ten hours," she says casually.
But I have eaten. I ate and ate.
I skip breakfast and we walk the mile to the park, meet her friend. I'm quite and when I talk I sound bored. He laughs.
Another friend shows up and I curl. I feel like they're staring at me, the fat bubbling under my skin.
One of them takes my sketchbook, grabs a drawing.
"YOU drew this?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah," I say.
"Woah. It looks like a print-out," he says, running a finger over the ink.
"Uh...Thanks," I reply, laughing.
It's three in the afternoon when we walk back and stop for drinks.
I get a large diet coke (5), and two candy bars for my parents. I don't get one, they're not for me. The Friend buys sour candies and fills a 44oz plastic cup full of every kind of soda they have. She wasn't looking when I filled mine.
It's pointless writing any of this down. Nothing changes. It would be exciting to write if it was what people thought, drama! fainting! deaaath!, but for me it's not. My weight doesn't change no matter would little I eat. Or, at least, my reflection doesn't change.
Once again I battle with my parents while shopping.
Mom tells me to get rice cakes, and we bicker when I get plain ones. She yells when all I want to get are vegetables and a small watermelon, she yells when I try to get a microwave vegan meal ("No. You just get those and split them into these 50 calorie meals so it looks like you're eating when you're not. No." she's so smug. i drift ahead and tears move into the corners of my eyes. i tried so hard for so long, and she doesn't care about that.). To make HER feel better, I buy ice cream and a candy bar.
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