Conciousness

I loved writing this bit.

 

I stood in front of the mirror again, and held my stomach in, making myself look thinner. It didn’t do very much. Oh well. I’m fine for now. I sighed, knowing that I would probably never fit into Bunny’s dresses. Crimson was starting to get to me. She chewed my ear off every couple days about her weight fluctuating. She’d done really well for a recovering almost-bulimic, but it wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted to be thin. She wanted to be prettier. Somehow, she was convinced that being thin was the only way for her to be attractive. It was getting on my nerves somewhat, but mostly it made me conscious of what I put into my own mouth.

That day, I’d written down everything I ate and, with help from Crimson, how many calories it was. The numbers were outrageously huge! I’d been eating over three thousand calories almost every day for my entire High School life! Christmas break wasn’t helping, either. Our plastic tree was strung with popcorn, which made the living room smell buttery. I knew that one of my presents would be a box of my favorite fat-filled chocolates, as it was every year.

The sky went black, but the moon made the backyard look spectacular. I strode out to where Mom’s flower garden would be in the spring and sat on the edge of the crooked brick divider. It had been close to six weeks since I killed, and I was struggling. I’d gone years without killing people, but ever since Middle School, I’d at least found smaller creatures to eliminate. It’s not that I felt enjoyment in these acts; it’s that I felt empowerment. I felt big, and they felt small. I felt like God, and they were my beings, whom I could destroy at any moment. Yet, after six weeks of refusing any death-oriented activity, I was struggling. I’m doing this for Crimson, I remembered, so I can empathize with her properly. My parents and brother were asleep, and the window I’d climbed out of sat motionless and glassy. Quitting cold turkey was hard. Smokers probably didn’t have cravings this bad.

While Crimson had done her binge-and-purge routine only four times, I’d stayed clean. I did, however, formulate ideas, plans, and preparations. These were the first steps to a killing, and I realized that my thoughts were just like Crimson’s binging.

Tonight, I pushed the thoughts, once again, from my heavy mind and rested my head on my knees. We didn’t do Christmas presents in our group, but I’d almost wanted to start this year. Shopping for presents would have made keeping my mind clear easier. I raised my head and stared at the pattern on my well-worn pajama pants. A tear dripped onto them.

I felt my chest shrink, like a star does before it explodes; like I usually do before I scream. I pushed my sweatshirt-covered fist into my mouth and sobbed. It’s so hard to be a good person. There’s no one to help me like I’m helping Crimson! I’m all alone, with a really bad addiction. This is not a normal problem, and I am not a normal person.

I awoke, on Christmas morning, in my bed, curled in a tight ball on the bed, with my window closed and the sheets pulled haphazardly over me. I had no memory of coming back in, so my brother must have carried me inside. Jeremy could be a real sweetheart when he wanted to, but mostly, we stayed out of each other’s way. Our fights as kids had been terrible, and we both had scars to prove it. He knocked on my door again, and I realized that’s what had woken me up in the first place. “Hey Blair” he peeked inside, “You want some hot cocoa?”

“Please?” I pulled myself up. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” He said back, cautiously.

I jumped out of bed and shuddered as the warm blankets fell off of me. “Did you bring me in last night?”

“Yeah, you were asleep out there when I went out to smoke. I figured I might as well carry you in.”

I smiled “Thanks” and hugged him.

He hugged me back tightly. “No problem little sis.”

Reviews

[Brie]

I've had that feeling of cravings before.
Nicely done!
-Brie