Waffles

In the morning, I sit at the table.

I stare at my plate.

I'm dizzy and unstable.

But I'll be perfect at this rate.

On my plate. Are Waffles.

My all time favorite.

But if I eat, I'll be fat and awful.

I can't eat, not even a bit.

"What's wrong honey?" My mother is worried.

"I'm just not hungry." I push the plate away.

" But you always eat waffles," she argues, her tone hurried.

Maybe I'll eat them. NO! I ate yesterday.

I looked in the mirror this morning.

Yuck. I am so fat.

The rain is pouring.

I need a bigger thigh gap.

I need to see two more ribs.

And some more of my collarbone.

The boys will soon be calling dibs.

When I am home alone.

How crazy to you I must sound.

I used to love me.

But I need to drop a couple more pounds.

Just under 117.

Just to make mom happy, I eat an apple.

Sneaking to the toilet I throw it up.

At lunch I tell my friends that breakfast made me full.

I wear baggy sweatshirts to cover myself up.

100 pounds. I need to lose more weight.

Stay focused! Pay attention!

Be thinner than my 14 yr old brother, Nate!

I need to achieve ultimate perfection.

A month later, I'm 89 pounds.

Stepping in the scale I think I need to lose just 2 more.

My looks at me and frowns. Marat focused. Your still a fat whore!

I'm in the hospital,

Waiting for the doctor while he makes his rounds.

I had had a fall.

They've fed me and I have gained six pounds.

95 pounds. 16 years.

I've brought myself to tears.

Did I think that by being this skinny I would be perfect?

That I would have all the boys respect?

I can't even walk now. I was perfect the way I was.

I was sick.

I am dying.

He saved me. That person.

Sam.

I love him.

He, Sam, my boyfriend of one month walks in my hospital room all prideful.

He holds out a plate of breakfast.

Waffles.