Don’t call me fat. Don’t call me ugly. Don’t tell me I’m “big.” I know I am. It doesn’t help that I have to listen to the thin, fragile high school girls call themselves fat or heavy just because they actually ate breakfast.  I let their ignorance fade and listen to the voice that gets louder and louder in my head telling me not to eat so I can lose the pounds.

I will go home and look in the mirror and feel completely and utterly disgusted by the clear sight of a waist line. “I want the gap. I will be pretty with the gap.” The yearning for the gap never ends. The feeling of having the fat on your legs not touch is like wanting that Easy-Bake Oven when I was a little kid. -It all seems so nice but yearning to be skinny changed my life. It made me regret eating that cheeseburger from McDonalds, drinking that soda at lunch, having seconds at dinner. Regrets go through my head while I get on my knees in front of the toilet.

“Let the shower run so they don’t hear you.” There’s the voice. I wait a while and then it’s gone. I get mad because I let it get the best of me again. I tell myself that I’m done and won’t let it happen anymore. I say that every time, but now I have tears in my eyes and a knot lodged in my throat.

Oh, no. The voice peeks, and comes back when I’m alone. “You don’t need their help. What will they do? Put you on medication and have you swallow pills to make you gain weight. You’ll lose sight of those beautiful ribs. “

It’s so hateful towards me, I can feel it. It begs me to go to the restroom during school after lunch. No one comes in when they hear me. No one really wants to. I hear footsteps and as soon as they hear the gagging they run out the door because, of course, no one wants to deal with a damaged girl.

I’m alone and leaning against the edge of the toilet. I hear the voice. It’s screaming at me this time. I’m shoving my fingers down my throat as if my life was at risk. I couldn’t stop, the voice wouldn’t let me. I took my fingers out of my mouth and yelled “Stop!” It felt so quiet all of a sudden. I looked down into the toilet and realized what I’ve done. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be done.

I ate that night. I got into bed and wouldn’t get up for anything. I wouldn’t risk going into the bathroom. I cried and fussed. I got mad and aggressive. I got on the floor. I got up and stared at myself in the mirror. “You’re done,” I told myself.

It’s been about a year and my knees haven’t touched the bathroom floor for anything. I’m not done. I struggle. Every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I struggle through it all. Yet here I am, standing with some meat on my bones and no tears in my eyes.

Read another how social media affected another staffer’s body image here: https://www.raiderecho.com/opinion/2013/12/02/senior-explains-unexpected-way-social-media-affects-self-image/