Battles Within

A story about a girl suffering from an eating disorder.

VERONICA’S VIEW

            “I’m not going!” I yelled down to the level below. “Anything you do; I don’t care! I. Am. Not. Going!” With that, I slammed the door and punched its lock in with such fervor. Then, the tears began to pour out of my sockets.

            It’s never fair. I’ve learned that from an early age. Life, well my life at least, will never be fair. People are always turning against me and trying to start some bull s**t. Simply, as the years progress, I learn to ignore typical a******s and go on with my everyday life as I please. Yet people of society still try and piss me off. Perhaps it’s their job.

            “I don’t care what you say Veronica! You are going even if I have to drag your butt out of that room myself!”

            “Go ahead and try Karissa! The doors locked,” I stuck out my tongue like some immature brat thinking I’d defeated her plan intelligently.

            “I am your mother Veronica; you never call me by my first name, got it?” She’d added in a pause waiting for my response. I was keeping my mouth shut at this point.

            “Second, I will break down the door if need be. You are going to that clinic by the end of today if it kills me.”    

            If it kills me. Those words repeated in my head. I wouldn’t mind if she’d drop dead. All she ever did was make my life hell.

            What’s the point of going to that clinic anyways? I don’t have a problem. I’ve never had a problem. I’m not going to develop a problem. There is absolutely no point for me to admit myself into that in patient clinic. She just hates me. That’s the truth. She hates me and is trying to find an easy way to get rid of me. My mother just wants me to be unhappy. That’s how she lives through her sick, cruel, twisted life. Living off my misery; I hate her.

            Her footsteps were approaching; climbing the stairs in a timely pace. My immediate action was to get my million ton dresser in front of the door.

            I sprang to my feet to go dump out all the clothes first, to reduce the weight for me.

            A knock at the door completely caught me off guard and scared the living bajeezers out of me. This was so unlike Karissa. She was never that kind, especially when she was as angry as she was now with me. And that light, careful tapping sound my door was echoing through my room really had me worried.

            I tiptoed to my window and began unlocking the latch and pulling it open as quietly as I could possibly manage. If she somehow got through my door, the only thing keeping me safe from her crazy self, I would jump. Yes, dumb idea, but I’m sure I could land on my feet and not be in that much pain.

            “Please, baby, open the door.”

            Karissa must be bat s**t insane if she actually thinks I would do as I’m told.  

            “Please,” she tapped the door again, lighter this time. And the pauses between the taps were lengthened. “Please,” Karissa repeated, well, she rather exulted through a sigh.

            Within seconds, I heard her weight clasped to the ground and sniffling was prominent through the piece of wood that stood between her and me.

            Oh my god; she was crying.  

            We stayed like that for eleven minutes. I watched the clock in my room slowly tick by, waiting patiently for her to break the awkward silence between us.

            She did.

            “I just want my daughter back.”

            That was all she had spoken. It was hardly audible too. I knew she didn’t want me to hear it, but by now, my ear was pressed to that door.

            What did she mean by that though? I’m here. I’ve been here, I never left. What was she referring to? Yes, maybe I’ve gotten bitchier, but only because she purposely likes to piss me off. She knows what makes me tick, and yet, she still does what she does.

            “Mother…..I never left.” I said that statement heartlessly. My voice held no emotion.

            Go look in a mirror was her only response to me before I heard her get up and leave.

            I don’t think she ever stopped crying.

            What she told me was pretty lame though. I’ve looked at myself in a mirror many times. Hours at a time actually, and I still hate it. I could still see those ugly rolls of fat sliding down my stomach like a slow rapid of mud approaching a town. My thighs also, were enormous. No matter how much time I invested in working out and burning these calories, nothing seemed to be working.

            My arms; enough said, I think I’m going to puke.

            “Whatever floats her boat; I’ll take a glimpse of myself in the mirror.”

            Through the full length mirror I had saved so long for by collecting all the lunch money she’d given me for the past 2 years of school, paid off. Amazingly, it was a reflecting piece of glass that stood from floor to ceiling. I didn’t need to hunch over or squish myself to be able to see an entire me staring back. I could stand tall now to really see what work needed to be done.

            “Yup,” I grabbed at my thigh and got my tape measure out of my drawer. “A little more work and I should be down to a circumference of nine inches by the end of next week.” I grinned at the thought of my fantasy perfect body. I really wished I’d look the way I did in my thoughts.

            “Stomach time.” I groaned. I did not want to measure my stomach. I knew once I saw the reading, I’d be disappointed with myself yet again.

            “ Twelve inches.” That was sick. If only there was some way I could get my insides removed. Maybe that’ll lessen the measurements.

            “Enough,” I told myself. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that soup three nights ago. The can swore it was only ninety calories a cup. I had half a cup and I’m pretty sure it made me gain.

            Time to step on the scale; time for more disappointment with my fat, grotesque self.  I’d been fasting since I had that soup. That makes it, seventy one hours since I’ve last eaten a meal. I better have lost another pound.

            With dragging feet, I entered my bathroom and switched on the light. There, in the dead center of my bathroom, stood my enemy. I hated the scale. I never knew if it were lying to me. Sure seemed it. I was supposedly losing all this weight, why didn’t I ever see it!

            I slid the clothes off my body and put them to the side. An electric current ran up and down my spine making me shiver. It was so cold. I hate when it’s this cold.

            I turned to the mirror above the sink to examine myself. My skin tone looked paler, my ribs were still sticking out like the branches on a tree, my hip bones looked as beautiful and ever, and the piece of flesh which held my stomach was caved in.

            I ran my slender fingers over my ribs. Breakable was the word that registered in my head. My reflection looked too fragile and skeletal, maybe even monstrous. Where was the beauty my thoughts portrayed in my head? Where was this so called, perfection?

            I did not want to look like her. Anything, I would do anything, to prevent myself from looking like her.

            I stepped on the scale and shut my eyes.

            Dropping my head with the realization of how much pain it caused me to stand straight; I saw the little red arrow on eighty-six. “Almost there,” I heaved. I was almost to my ultimate goal weight of seventy-nine. That’s when I’d emerge from my mattress as gorgeous as a new butterfly breaking through its cocoon.

            Slowly, I stepped off and took a rapid glance at the toilet. Wrong thing to have done, it made my head whirl and the room temporarily spin, my vision growing black for a few seconds.

            If you purge, you might lose another pound.

            Her voice was calm and soothing. She knew was she was talking about. After all, without all her guidance, I would have never made it this far. Our motto: Mind over matter and you won’t get fatter. I loved her. She was my only true friend. She didn’t have a name though. I guess some people refer to her as ‘Ana’ or ‘Mia’. But I didn’t call her anything. She was just the woman who held all perfection in her beauty, offering me a piece if I’d listen to her careful instructions. Now, all I had to do was purge. How easy that is for ultimate beauty.

           

            My throat hurt, but it was worth it. Another pound and a half was dropped. I’d lost a good amount of blood, but accidentally scratched the back of my throat with my nails in a hasty attempt to get it all up fast. Except, I was in trouble…

            During the time I spent hurling out my insides, I was oblivious to the person standing at the entrance.

            There, I stood before his eyes completely exposed, naked…ugly.

            He kept himself upright, holding onto the doorframe intensively. His eyes were wet and puffy. How long had he been standing there?

            He stepped forward and his mouth fell open. Clearly his expression was screaming, “What have you done!”

            I felt his arms around me. My cold, shivering, ugly, skeletal body was given surges of warm heat through his gentle grasp around me. You could tell by the way he held me, he was afraid one wrong move, and he might have broken me.

            “Sorry Zach. I’m so sorry Zach.” And he held me until everything went black.

 

ZACH’S VIEW

            I watched her. Her angelic face rested on my chest. Veronica’s beauty was immensely magnificent. If only she had seen that beauty, if only I could have shielded her from the demons within herself.

            Probably the worst idea was to climb through her open window. I had heard her mom’s yelling. Something was wrong, and my curiosity drove me to such stupidity. But seeing her, bent over the toilet, her long boney fingers inside her mouth to the knuckle; I couldn’t help but watch. She looked well trained and skilled in that area. Everything came natural to her. Soon, she continued to vomit without the help of any object tickling the back of her throat.

            I stood there and stared blankly at her delicate body convulsing as the warm, burning substance climbed through her esophagus. Halfway through, and she began to whimper. The pain was causing her to cry. Never had I seen her so vulnerable.

            I don’t remember when, but I began to cry in silence. Tears rolled down my cheek steadily as I took her in. Seeing everything she had become. Counting the ribs, imagining myself tracing my fingers over the bumps on her back that was her spine, and grabbing her around the hips and picking her up, knowing how light she’d be.

            With every splurge of vomit out of her mouth, I could only think of the pain she were in. How hard it looked for her to even breathe. She was dying before my very eyes and all I could do was watch. It was like I already knew I lost her months back.

            When she turned around and realized my company, she’d stood there frozen. Her face was sunken in. A drop of blood was sliding down her chin through the side of her mouth. Her eyes looked dead. Those eyes that at one time, I looked into and saw that amazing life this girl was heading towards. She was going to marry me. We were going to get married. But now, those once green eyes looked black. The color seemed to have drained from them.

            And she stood there, covering what was left of her tiny breasts; shaking when a light breeze from outside crept its way into the room. A breeze that felt so good compared to the sweltering ninety degrees outside. Yet, it still made her tiny frame shake.

            Hugging her body, hugging whatever was left from my Veronica made me realized she was already dead. So I took her into her room and laid her naked body beside mine, placing her head on my chest. If only someone had given her the help she’d needed so many months back.

If only she were still here to enjoy life and realize that she never deserved the pain she had placed upon herself.  If only she realized how much I still love her, and how much I'm going to now miss her. My sweet Veronica, dead from losing her battle with EDNOS.

 

 

Reviews

[Zachary_James]

U r so TALENTED
great job

[Jacqueline Lopez]

Patricia, my friend, this read is amazing. The story kept me hooked from the beginning and your story telling is really strong. I love this story, because you deal with a topic that affects many people today, eating disorders. I think this story should be read by many. You have a lot of talent. You give depth to your stories and you're excellent with words. LOVE IT!!!