I collapsed on the tile floor crying. I haven’t eaten anything in a week, how the hell did I gain two pounds? My weight was flashing on the scale as if it were mocking me – 115 lbs, 115 lbs, 115 lbs.
I climbed to my feet and looked in the mirror. My bra gapping at the cups and my underwear hung loosely around my hips, my ribs made a pattern that of a xylophone down my sides and my collar bones protruded out like little shelves. I was a skeleton draped in skin looking in a funhouse mirror. I saw fat instead of flesh, rolls instead of ribs. My stomach growled, bringing the sick pleasure of having an empty stomach.
Pretty girls don’t eat.
I threw on my sweatshirt and shorts, making me look like a child who stole her dad’s clothes, and stumbled over to the bed, crawling under the blankets and burying my face into my sleeping cat. No longer being able to tell the difference between the growl of my stomach and her purr, I drifted off to sleep.