The Shortcut That Is Annorexia

In 8th grade, I was 13, I was 5’5″, and I was 125lbs. I was teased for eating too much and being overweight, when in reality I knew I wasn’t. I knew at the beginning anyway. I’d been bullied my entire life, and I could shake this off easily.

For a while.

My eyes were convinced first. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a fat girl. An ugly girl. When I looked down at my stomach, I always sucked it in for about an hour afterwords.

My mind followed suit. I thought I was fat. I looked at every meal I ate and started trying to leave some every time I ate instead of finishing it all. I tried to excersize a bit more, but I’m not athletic AT ALL and it was hard. It was a painfully difficult change, and nothing came of it.

Until high school.

I turned 14, 130lbs. I’d grown an inch and grown better boobs, so I gained weight. The boys I hung out with were older than me, and weighed as much as I did. Everyone told me “You’re not fat!” They gave me logical answers to every arguement I had, but logic wouldn’t work. I saw what I saw. I thought I was fat.

My best friend was annorexic and puking – not by her own choice, simply because her body couldn’t handle food. She HATED it when I complained about my weight, because her weight brought her closer to dying every day, and I had the nerve to complain?

I tried to like myself, for her sake. But it wouldn’t work. So I said I would only eat when she did, both as a motive to encourage her to eat and to help me lose weight. She only knew the first reason. She still didn’t like this.

I considered becoming annorexic. Quicker and easier than excersize and slowly picking away at my appetite. After at least a month of contemplation, I took the shortcut that is annorexia. I remember I cut the word “UGLY” into my stomach, so every time I opened the fridge door I’d think of that and shut it. It worked a little.

I still ate too much to be annorexic. No-one considered me annorexic. I ate about one meal a day and a snack or two, sometimes less.

I remember one day I ate nothing but a kit kat and a reeses cup and I thought I’d eaten too much.

But no matter. It was working. I was 120lbs in no time.

At first I was always hungry. But it faded as my stomach got used to the littler amount of food.

I don’t remember what happened in the next few months, they were the first few months I was introduced to weed.

(For anyone against smoking, it fixed my best friend. She doesn’t puke anymore and she gained 10lbs. It saved us both from suicide with its antidepressant nature. It helps us, we need it, so please understand.)

I was scared smoking pot would make me gain weight, because it makes you hungrier. It did at first. But….

Next couple months, long story short, I lost more and more weight. It’s all kind of a blur to me now. But now I’m 14 and 1/2, 5’6″, and 113.8lbs.

114 is underweight. (It’s so funny that my “UGLY” cuts that I used to help myself lose weight are fading the same time i reach underweight…)

I wanna celebrate, and yet…

I can’t tell anyone how much weight I’ve lost or they’ll worry.

Get mad at me.

Everyone says I look skinnier now but they don’t know the reality of it.

So I’ll tell you that I’m finally under, and… I’m guilty as fuck about it. And just a little scared.

But I finally like myself, so….