Operation Skinny ✔️

CHAPTER 1: VICIOUS CYCLE

Trigger Warning: This story deals with eating disorders and mental health issues. This book will only be 12 chapters long! Be sure to vote and comment!

No.

The word was scribbled on my left wrist in bright red ink. It would mean nothing to others, but to me, the word stood for: No more food.

I had grown an absurd amount over the past few months; and staring at models and beautiful actresses made me wish I could be like them, skinny like them. It made me wish I was thin with a flat belly and a giant thigh gap.

Only, I'd tried to achieve this goal and failed hundreds of times.

"Yes! I want it." I had told dozens of telemarketers. Dumb, I know, but I was desperate. I wanted to be as thin as those k-drama girls who always got the guy.

I tried the appetite suppressants, spent weeks drinking coffee, tried any pills from brands that weren't FDA-approved. The fad diets, the keto-whatever, the exercising too much. But exercising only made me hungrier— and I had a problem with self control. It was a vicious cycle that I couldn't break.

Each morning for months, my alarm went off at 7. And I'd force myself out of bed to go jog once around the block, equating the equivalence of 0.75 miles. But, each morning, I could barely run half of that.

I hated myself— no, let me rephrase because I don't hate myself— I hated the way that I looked and how giant I seemed when standing beside anyone shorter than me. Even my father had successfully lost weight, he was thinner than me now and I used to be the thinnest person in my family. And I'm uncertain of when my weight changes began happening.

I weighed close to 200 pounds now, which is about 90 kilograms and I was only five-foot-two. I was insecure and self-conscious at all times and genuinely concerned that I'd never find a guy that wanted to be with me.

All my skinny friends, even the ones with no personality, had no trouble finding boyfriends. When I was thin, I also had no trouble flirting or finding guys to talk to.

I wanted to be loved, to finally get a boyfriend, to be able to walk around confidently in short skirts without worrying about the cellulite or the uncomfortable chafing. I didn't want to look or feel like a whale or that my face was too round from any angle. I wanted a jawline, thin arms, a flat stomach, and my legs to shrink. I hated my reflection— especially now that it was nearing my period and the red blotches of zits began appearing on my face again.

I'd continually heard about pretty privilege, but nobody tells you that it only applies if you're pretty and thin. I was a ball of self-pity and in order to overcome that, I was planning on finding any sort of self-control. I was planning on fixing myself and this issue of my weight— and I was done trying to do it in a healthy manner. Slow and steady wins the race, but going slow for so long and getting no results was like an shot to the heart.

Studies showed that insulting someone who was larger-than-average, with the motivation that they'll change their eating habits, actually led them to eating more. It's true, and unfortunately, there was no shortage of insults at my house. My parents constantly ragged on me every time I ate anything, which only led me to eating more. Another vicious cycle.

I only hoped that it would eventually work— my logic was that if I ate nothing, then my body would need to burn the fat in order to survive. I would need to ignore my hunger and drink a lot of water. That was my plan and it was the main reason why the word 'No' was scrawled on my wrist.

Someone tapped on my shoulder as my eyes flung open, dry drool on the side of my mouth as the teacher barked on, as though he were automatic. I glanced over at the green chalk-board while Mr. Peterson scribbled with the barely-visible lime-green chalk that molded with the board like it was a second skin. Pointless really, that he'd write on it with the same color it was.