I walked into the kitchen for the first time in two weeks when my mother called for breakfast. She momentarily registered my presence with a small knowing smile. Well, little to her knowledge, I could go on a diet and be successful. She made me more determined than ever to do it.
"Pop-tart?" she offered casually, holding out a silver package. I took it and mumbled a thanks that really didn't hold any meaning. She stared at me as I tore it open and took out a pastry. Chocolate.
I almost burst into tears looking at it. Why was she doing this to me? She was the one who had driven me to get on the diet with all her comments about me. I just wanted her to be happy. Why couldn't she be happy? She caught my eye and tension began to build in the room like air filling a balloon. Luckily for me, my dad walked in at that moment, pushing a pin into the soft rubbery flesh, releasing our tension. He eyed the food I was holding.
"Come on, honey. I have to go to work now," he told my mom. She smiled that fake smile of hers and followed him through the doors out to the car. Before she closed the door, she turned to me.
"Want a ride to school, Sophia?" she offered sweetly.
"No thanks. It's such a lovely day out, I think I'll walk," I told her. Before she turned around, I made sure she saw me take a huge bite of the pop-tart.
"Okay then," she said and closed the door. I waited until I heard the passenger side door close to spit out the bite. I threw the entire package away right after it, and tried not to burst into tears. She had wanted me on this diet so badly, why was she doing this? Well, I'd convince her I was off it one way or another.
I started the walk to school with fifteen minutes more than I'd need. I could go for a quick run through the adjoining park.
Usually I hated running, but since I hated all other forms of excercise too, except swimming, I tried to do it more when I started the diet.
While on my run, I came up with the perfect plan. It was more than perfect. Mom would think I was off my diet, I would continue to lose weight, I could stop worrying Dad, and I could actually eat again.
I was going to become bulimic.
I thought about my plan all day at school. It actually excited me. Normally, I knew, this kind of thing would be very dangerous. But I could do it. I would carry my toothbrush on me at all times so I could brush my teeth and they wouldn't decay. I had amazing willpower, so I was sure I wouldn't get addicted.
I spent most of my day planning out my new 'disease'. More like a miracle for me! The hardest part was keeping it from my friends, whom I knew wouldn't approve.
When I got home, I sat down on my bed and opened up an empty notebook I'd gotten to take notes in. I decided to start a journal instead. I started writing all about my plans for the diet and even went and weighed myself. I registered that information, then got up to go eat dinner.
I thought about announcing to my parents and brother that I was off my diet, but figured actions would speak louder than words. I filled my plate up with food and ignored the strange looks my family was sending me. Finally, I looked up and purposely caught my dad's eye.
"What? I'm starved!" I complained briefly before shovelling another bite in my mouth. My parents averted their eyes, but my brother didn't.
"Dude, I thought you were like, you know, on a diet?" he asked.
"Yeah. So?" I answered.
"Dad, are all girls this weird?" he asked.
"Yup. Sure are, son." Daddy told him. I smiled and started in on seconds. I finished that just as quickly as I had my first. My mom hadn't even finished her first plate when I asked to be excused. I rushed for my room immediately, thankful yet again that I had my own adjoining bathroom. It made this all the easier.
To tell the truth, I was terrified to actually retch that first time. I tried just willing it to come back up, but that didn't work, so I just grabbed my toothbrush and stuck the end of it into my mouth. That did the trick.
When I was done getting sick, I brushed my teeth, mouthwashed, and flossed. I wasn't going to sacrifice my teeth for my weight. Then I returned to my room and recorded my first time in the journal I'd just started. I went to bed feeling almost full for the first time in weeks.
Two months passed, and everyone noticed how good I looked. They told me I was skinny, and they were right. I had dropped from 135 to 110 in that time, and nobody had caught on. I didn't always binge and then purge, sometimes I just wouldn't eat. I always wrote about the day in my journal. I made sure I wasn't getting addicted by testing myself every now and then. And my teeth were as white and pretty as ever.
One problem though: I wasn't satified yet. I loved what the scale said, but not so much with the mirror. I still had little deposits of fat sitting on my stomach. Maybe the diet would take care of those too. It would, I reasoned. That's how, even though I reached the weight I swore I would stop on, I decided to stick with the diet, at least for one more week.
But as you can imagine, there were complications with that. I...couldn't stop. I wasn't addicted or anything, I just couldn't stop. I tried to start eating normally again, to prove to myself I could, and no sooner did my stomach feel full than it got that familiar gurgling feeling and I to run for a toilet or trash can. Okay, I thought to myself. Diet over. It was starting to scare me. So I would quit, like I'd told myself from the beginning. Stop.
Besides, I told myself, people at school were probably starting to catch on. I had lost a lot of weight.
I sat down on my bed, weak from hunger yet scared to eat. I finally decided it would be safe if I didn't get full. I grabbed some fruit from the kitchen and took it back to my room.
The fruit tasted so good, but I tried not to eat it quickly. I managed to eat the entire banana and two grapes. I was...fine. I was fine.
Until a moment later.
I fell off my bed and crawled to the bathroom, I was so weak. I made it just in time. I retched until I thought my stomach muscles would tear, and then all