Numbers on a scale.
Digits racked my brain
It all started in 7th grade. I was bigger than the rest. I decided to skip snack time. A small, minor activity that could be done in five minutes. Tick, tick, tick went the clock.
“Sandra, you didn’t eat your snack, aren’t you hungry?” chuckled my teacher.
“No, I wasn’t hungry. I had a big breakfast,” I said nervously.
She didn’t notice. Student chatter filled the room as I yearned to be filled with food. I peeked into my lunch box and saw the granola bar my mom packed. As much as I craved it, I couldn’t bring myself to take a mere bite. The thing is, my breakfast was not big. Carrots with spoons of hummus, and a few crackers were my go-to’s. “What did you eat this morning?” mom would ask. I used an excuse, “I didn’t have time.” My stomach wasn’t filled, but my goal was.
A bowl of cereal. When I decided to have a real breakfast, it would be this. When I think of a bowl of cereal, I see myself. I’m the bowl, and the cereal is my thoughts and feelings drowning in the milk. But some stay afloat, waiting to be eaten. They are eaten by those who do not care about the cereal, but only care about their own hunger and thirst. The only thing that kept me full was eating myself whole without realizing it. My selfish, greedy desires and the harsh, unattainable standards are why I consumed the cereal.
One day, in my rose-coloured room, I opened Youtube. A platform where creators joined together to make a sharing community. Sharing is caring, right?
“How to get skinny.”
“Best tips for weight loss.”
“I lost 10 pounds in 7 days!”
Phrases that spewed like water from a faucet. These fitness influencers weren’t licensed, nor did they go to school. “Naturally skinny blonde girl sells overpriced gummies,” should’ve been the caption. Being part of this impressionable audience brainwashed me.
In grade 9 I skipped almost all meals. Gum and iced coffee, was my comfort meal. My body was screaming.
“Give me something!” it was saying.
Something is better than nothing.
I heard my body telling me to stop. But I couldn’t. My mind was telling me otherwise. “Eating will do nothing good.”
“Look how far you’ve gotten”
When I didn’t eat, I was on cloud nine. My insecurities had temporarily disappeared. It was an addiction. A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.
Flat stomach, lean legs, small waist. Eyes followed my every move as I walked through the halls. I felt like I was a trophy, proudly put on display for everyone to admire.
My outside figure was perfectly carved. But the image that I fought so hard for would fade.
At the end of my 9th grade year, there was a school dance. I went dress shopping and picked out a cream coloured dress with a tool skirt and a tight top with gold details.
“I noticed you’ve gotten thinner. I thought you would never lose the baby fat,” Mom said while pinching my hollow cheek.
My friend Bai came over the night of the dance. We sat in my rose-coloured room and split packs of gum, we were close and had many things in common. Skinny. Popular. Struggling.
“So Sandra, what are you wearing to the dance?” Bai exclaimed with her high-pitched voice I hated.
“I’ve been dying to show you,” I said, trying to match her exciting pitch.
“Here it is.” I was eager for her response.
“I love it!” Her eyes lit up, and her mouth widened. “Try it on. It’s going to be perfect.”
Zip zip zip. The dress fit me. A triumph I embraced. A fight I won. But just because I won the battle didn’t mean I won the war.
Bai gave me a questionable look
“What?” I exclaimed with confusion
“It’s a little big,” she said.
My whole world started to crack. “It was big.” It never could have been too big. I was the one who looked perfect every day, but I wasn’t supposed to change. Isn’t this what they wanted? I should be proud. I am proud. So incredibly proud I started to cry. Tears falling like the rain. My room was still rose-coloured but felt eternally black.
After Bai left, I looked into the mirror for a long time. I hadn’t recognized the reflection Who was she? My thin bones felt brittle. They could fall apart by mere touch. Cheeks so hollow I could fit my whole body inside. What once was perfectly carved was now a poor stick figure begging to be stepped on.
I tried brushing through my hair and putting on makeup, desperately trying to fix my appearance. The large clumps of hair left behind in my comb and my pale skin made me feel there was no turning back. My body was still screaming. It was silent, but the loudest.
The day of the school dance was the worst . I walked in. Stares felt different. I wasn’t filled with power or praise. Instead, eyes were judging. Looking at every miniscule detail.
“Sandra?” Bai said. “Are you okay? You don’t look good.”
Next thing I know, I’m in my rose-coloured room. Lying in my bed wondering, “How did I get here?” My body was weak and shaking.
“I’m sorry,” my mom trembled.
“I should have known.”
Silence clouded the room.
“I know you have not been eating, and I’m here for you,” she said with tears. She handed me empty packs of gum and showed me the internet bill with my search history. My mom looked into my eyes like she was searching for the little girl I once was.
A small sigh left my lips. I felt saved. For the first time, I felt filled. Filled with sheer joy. That one person finally noticed my war. Someone willing to fight with me even if we lost.