Nobody Gets It.Nobody understands my eyes. No, I don't think I'm fat. Not yet. I don't want to get anywhere close. I'm pushing 110 lbs, and I feel ugly for it. I want to walk on the scale, and see that darling number. That pretty 86 lbs, which I proudly received in 7th grade at 5'1". I used to get all of those "You're so skinny!" remarks. Now, I get checked out, for I've grown an ***.
I don't want curves. I don't want these subtle love handles. If I keep eating, I'll get fatter and fatter. My weight is already at a constant increase. I don't want to be fat. I want that pretty number. That darling 86.
I don't want to eat. Damn it, I want that pretty number. That's all I want. Mom makes me eat. Eating makes me feel gross and greedy. When I eat, I binge. Only, I never puke it up. God, I'm terrified of puking. Bulimia is out of the question. Just don't eat, Sara. Don't you want that precious 86?
Nobody understand my eyes. If I'm not 86, I'm not happy. I punish myself for eating. I never feel good enough. I just want that 86; the only possible thing that's still in my control.