I remember when it all started. I couldn’t bring myself to look in the mirror, let alone endure another day at school. Each day I would plaster my face with makeup. It was like a shield - something I could hide behind.
Something to hide my face from the people I dealt with every day at school. I was so much fatter than everyone else, I hated that and because of this, I couldn’t be accepted.
You have no idea how much I loathed all the girls in my year. They would proudly stalk around the school, parading their slender legs like a flock of peacocks with their feathers. All eyes were on them making me feel like a microscopic outcast that no one would notice. I could have killed to have a little attention – no matter what the consequences were.
After weighing out all my options I realised that not eating might get some eyes on me. I didn’t know that things could get so out of hand. I just wish I had enough common sense to think about it before jumping to conclusions - Was I really that desperate? I think you can guess.
Now here I am – 15 years old – on my bedroom floor again – in pieces. I’m broken and I’m hurting myself because of what I have just done in the bathroom. I allow the blades to rip through my skin – piercing it.
Punishing me for having no self-control. I feel so out of sync and my throat is burning like hell. I watch as a warm deep red liquid oozes down my wrist and stains my laminate bedroom floor – it pleases me.
I wish I could just fade away into the wall I am lent against. It’s okay though - No one would notice. My Mum’s always at work. When she actually is home she just sees right through me because her mind is always distracted with work and finance. Don’t ask about my Dad though…because he’s just gone.
For some reason my Mum’s very against telling me what happened when he left. Anyway, as for school, I’m always burying myself in the library at lunch and break times. It saves me having to watch enviously as the - stick thin Barbie...