My Confession/fusion

Hi. My name is {insert name}. I am {insert age} years old and {anorexic/bulimic/other}. I have this problem because, as a child, I was {physically/mentally/emotionally/verbally/sexually/noneoftheabove} abused. My favorite hobbies are {barfing/soccer/tryingnottostareatthatsnickersbaronyourdesk}.

What? Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? Well, here you go:

Hi. My name is Kendall. I am 17 years old and anorexic. I have this problem because, as a child, I was physically/mentally/emotionally/verbally/maybesexually abused. My favorite hobbies are reading, writing, and tryingtoactnormal.

There, happy now? I have successfully fit my 'problem' into five fill-in-the-blank-so-we-know-how-many-meds-you're-going-to-need sentances.

Or not.

Because maybe fill-in-the-blank doesn't always work. Maybe there's more to the story. Because maybe I'm not fully anorexic. Maybe I'm only anorexic-ish. Because maybe abuse isn't the only issue here. Maybe everything else is.

But I try not to think about that. Because everyone knows that brainlessrobotzombie Kendall = Good Kendall.

Good Kendall wakes up on time and goes to school and turns in her homework and aces that trig test and hangs out with her friends and goes home and does her chores and homeworkhomeworkhomework and laughs with her cheerful/cute/bookworm sister and talks to her hardworking/selfless/funny dad and

eats.

But Good Kendall gets tired. That's when the lights flicker on and the whispers come back. Crawling up my fat thigh, fat ***, fat stomach to tell me that I am unwanted, unloved,

unlovable.

And that's when Bad Kendall appears. Bad Kendall wakes up late and misses Spanish and accidentallyonpurpose forgets her undone homework and fails her chem test and blows off friends and goes home and readsreadsreads to

escape

and yells at bratty/annoying/rude sister to shutthehellup and fights with selfish/taunting/helovesmysistermorethanme dad about neglected chores and crawls into closet to sleep the tears away and oops

I forgot to eat.

The burning gives distraction. Distraction from my past where memories creep into my head when I'm not watching. Distraction from my present, where noisenoisenoise creeps into my ears constantly. Distraction from my future, where college applications creep into my line of sight, demanding money that I don't have.

Everything is everywhere and I just want a moment of

quiet.

Quietquietquiet. A quiet house, a quiet mind, a quiet stomach. Quiet = empty. So for my housemindstomach to be quiet, it needs to be empty. That means no sister screaming, no memories whispering, no food gurgling, just

quiet.

But now, it's too quiet. I'm drowning in quiet. Quiet makes room for whispers. I need noise!noise!noise! Something to drown out the screaming silence. My head is never happy. And neither am I. Because I am a

lostalonefatscaredstupidwintergirl

and I have no idea what's going on.

aloneincalifornia aloneincalifornia
18-21, F
Mar 2, 2010