Addicted

I got inspired after I read an article in Seventeen about weight loss. The story is based on the article of Whitney, only morphed a little to fit my story.

         Sleek, thin legs. Skinny, twig-like arms. Tight, never flabby, abdominal muscles. I see them every day. Every night. I see them on other girls all the time, and all the time on me as well.

        Until I escape the fine mist surrounding me, and wake up from my elated dream. 

        When I do glance at myself in the mirror, the first thing I do is cringe. I cringe at my appearance; my huge thighs, my flabby arms, and my protruding stomach. The image is just too different from the one I dream about, and see everyday. I begin to cry, sobbing at my figure. 

        They say I’m skinny. They say I’m beautiful the way I am. But they don’t see what I see. My thighs touch each other when I stand, and I hate it. If I stick my butt out just the tiniest amount, there’s a large space between them, and it makes me feel so jubilant. I feel beautiful again.

        But then I turn to the side, and realize what my feat has done. My butt, is now larger than ever. I try to shrink it down, tighten the muscles there, but now my thighs are touching, and after a few minutes, it begins to cramp up. 

        I hate myself so much.

        My eyes then move to my stomach. It’s all a big pile of mush, the skin there folding into rolls even when I’m not slouching or sitting down. I’m keeping my back as straight as I can, and my belly still hangs low. 

        A single tear flows down my face as I remember a time, just three years ago, when I was beautiful. My legs were toned and tanned, and I ran track. My abdominal muscles were barely prominent, but they were there. My arms had muscles, and I could wear strapless pieces of clothing without worry. 

        But all that changed once I entered high school. 

        They all told me it would be stressful, and they all said that I would change dramatically. I just didn’t expect to change like this. The stress was too much for me. To fit in, to find good people to become friends with. To desperately not be labeled an outcast, while still keeping up with my studies and sports. 

        I failed.

        My desperate nature only drove my friends away from me. I began to eat, uncontrollably. It would be okay, I still ran track. But then I even quit that, my life’s dream and work, to make time for myself. To make time for what? To make time to drown my worries in sweets and junk food - foods I haven’t eaten since third grade. 

        I waddle to the scale in the bathroom. Tentatively, I step on it, one foot at a time. The little red arrow spins and twitches violently as it lands on my weight.

        One-hundred sixty. Just a week ago I was One-hundred sixty five.

        I feel so happy; even though its one pound, it’s still something. Leaping off the scale, the red arrow shudders violently back to zero. The feeling of being less, taking up less space, is so addictive. I want to be more of that, more skinny. More beautiful. It’s like a drug to me, it keeps me going. I sing, and stare out the window, grinning widely. 

        Big mistake.

        I see a girl, dress in bright red skinny jeans and a strapless top. Her hair is flowing behind her as she walks in those gorgeous, three-inch heels. She looks like a goddess, walking down the street. She’s just too beautiful. 

        Tears begin to stream down my face again. One-sixty is nothing to be proud of. One-twenty would be something to kill for. Maybe at one-forty, I would feel better. 

        Letting a small sob escape my mouth, I resolutely decide to skip five more meals this week. 

 

Reviews

[The Wave]

the emotion in this scream through each and every word.

its written very well and i think the mistake we make is caring about what others think. if we were to only care of our own happiness and goals, we wouldnt care what size we actually were. we would be happy being whatever because weight wouldnt matter. if we didnt care, we'd be less likely to become anorexic or overweight. we'd be content. content with what life gave us. content with it because we'd see that life's short and the time we spend in the mirror is wasteful.

anyway, this is inspiring, and stears a readers emotions to one.
good job.

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wow!
i agree with the wave.
a lot of emotion is here.
its really good.
the way its written.
so you can really understand what the speaker is thinking and feeling.
i really liked it, good read :)
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