the weigh in

It's quiet. Everyone is busy with their own little parts in this scripted world. I feel a little bit safer, a little bit less paranoid about them hearing the voices in my head that are constantly screaming at me. In a movement that is by far the most agile of the day, I whip into my bathroom and close the door behind me in one motion. There I stay for a few seconds, with my back to the door, barricading myself in, I cherish the wild beating of my heart and the adrenalin that is already seeping into my veins.

Not daring to look at the door again, I reach behind myself and click the lock, twisting it all the way, to be sure, to be sure, to be sure again. A few more seconds pass. Now I can hear my heart in my ears and the screaming in my head is beginning to throb. Before I can lose courage I strip off. I rip of my clothes as if they somehow burn my skin. Standing naked before my scale, I can feel myself trembling inside. Very quickly I step on and the digital face begins to toy with my resolve.

The first number is always small, 80lbs or something near that but sadly it does not stop there and as certain as the sun will rise, it begins to spiral upwards. 90lbs, 112lbs, 118lbs, 122lbs. And that is where it stops. It flashes at me, taunting me. 122lbs. I step off and on again. 122lbs. And off and on again. 122lbs. I must do this three times, to make sure that the number I'm seeing is correct. And when I'm sure, that's when the sickness sets in.

My legs feel like jelly. The running that I've started is hammering home how unfit I am. They ache and I can't bend them without pain, but I don't deserve a life without pain so this is fine. The room sways as if somebody has picked it up and is carrying it around. I hold onto my bathroom sink. I'd vomit into it if I had anything to vomit up. I've been fasting since 9am and now it is 9pm. I think I'll skip dinner.

There is so much disgust in my body that I'm sure it is radiating from me in the form of heat. I dare not look my parents in the eye as I mumble that I've already eaten and I'm not hungry. I can't face food right now. Not after gaining 1lb. Maybe it's because I've weighed myself at night instead of in the morning. But that is no excuse.

I think I'll fast tomorrow as well. I'll fast and come home late and face my scale again. Yes, that's what I'll do, I decide as I stare at the 122lbs again. That will teach me for being such a fat pig. And now I look in the mirror to see what 122lbs looks like. I can cradle my tummy, there is so much fat there that I look like I'm pregnant, yup, side on, I look like I'm an expectant mother. My thighs are touching, disgusting, I feel like vomiting on them. When I run I can feel them slide past each other with each step. Though I'm so tired and sore I feel like falling over, that squish and slide of my thighs forces me onwards. My arms, the wings that hand from my arms are putrid. Absolutely putrid. There is nothing I like.

And I try to superimpose the image of a thin person over my gruesome body. I know it is hiding under the fat. I know I can get it out. I know I must. It is the real me. I am hiding under the fat. And now is the time to sit quietly in my room and reprimand myself for letting myself become such a repulsive blob. As I do each night, I sit here and force myself to feel all the fat on my body. I think of all the people who I want to impress. The fat isn't impressing anyone. Fat is keeping me back from my real potential. Fat needs to go away so that Bones can show her beauty.