Unseen Scars

Dream Come True: Story

Many of us have had a dream of becoming like our celebrity favorites. Whether it to be as built as them or to be in their shoes. Some of us decide to make that a reality, right? So we may adopt their diet or their workout routine to achieve that goal.

115 pounds the scale reads. You're fat, you're gross, look at those girls out there. They're so much skinnier than you. You need to be like them. You need to be better. What's wrong with you? You eat and eat way more calories than you need to. You're being such a pig. 

I sigh and step off the scale and look in the mirror. Maybe they are all right. The people in the magazines are so perfect and beautiful. I want to look like them, be like them. I want to be skinny and eat anything I want to and not gain a single pound. I've already stopped eating carbs. So what's the big deal?

"Amanda, it's time to go to school. Are you ready to go?" my mother yells up the stairs. I hurriedly get dressed again and race down the stairs. 

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go," I say. My mom gives me a once over before looking at me with worried eyes. She knows of my struggle with my obsessive weigh control. We don't talk about it though. The last time we 'talked' about it, it didn't go so well.

"Amanda, dear, we need to talk," mom said gently knocking on my door.

"Sure. What's up, mom?" I say opening the door.

"I've noticed that you haven't been eating much lately. Is everything okay, sweetie?"

"Every thing is fine, mom. All I'm trying to do is lose weight. I'm being safe about it. I promise."

"You said that last time and then you ended up in the hospital."

"I said every thing is fine," I say slamming my bedroom door.

It was warm and beautiful outside today. I just may go jogging in my sweats and hoodie after school so I can sweat off some of these bothersome pounds. The first few hours of school dragged by until lunch came along. I get in the line to get my food whilst conversing with my friends.

"OMG! So I was in math, right? Right. So as I'm doing my class work, the teacher came up behind me and, like, I don't know. He was so close to me and God did he smell amazing," Denise said with a dreamy look.

"Denise, you should not be crushing so hard on the math teacher. That is so messed up," Jenny says rolling her eyes. Denise made a face at Jenny and continued on her daydreaming about the blonde haired hunky math teacher. 

I grab my food and make my way to our table. Once there, I portion out how much food I'm going to eat. Lunch today consisted of bean burritos, our choice of fruit and vegetable, beans, and our choice of drink. I scowl at my tray of the 1,000+ calorie trap. I decide to slowly munch away on my apple and salad with no dressing or any additives, drinking my water frequently. 

The way I eat at school is consistent with the way I eat at home as well. However, the way I eat at home is slightly different. I eat every thing my mother makes for me but, I go to the bathroom and throw it all up later. I hate the way I look. I'm not skinny enough to fit into my clothes the way I want to. So I've done everything in my power to achieve the final result.

A few weeks have gone by with this same 'diet' that I'm doing. I weighed myself again this morning with a satisfying result. I'm finally down to 90 pounds. I looked into the mirror and saw a beautiful body. My collar bones are prominent, I have a hourglass figure, a flat stomach, and a thigh gap. My ribs show a little bit, but that's fine because now I can look stunning in anything I choose to wear. I go and sit down on my bed so I can write a few poems for my English class. After a few minutes go by, I decide that I want something to eat. As I get up from my bed, I suddenly feel lightheaded. I fell backwards onto the edge of my bed and slid down onto the floor. My upper back hit the metal framing holding my mattress, causing my vertebrae to fracture. 

When I finally come to, I'm in a hospital bed wearing a neck brace. I try to look around only to have my mom tell me to not do that. My mom comes over and stands next to my bed. Grabbing my hand she tells me that if I had hit the bed any harder, then there is a strong chance that I may have broken my back to the point of being paralyzed from the break down. She proceeds to pull down my blanket and feel around the sides of my torso and gasps when she feels my ribs, now very visible through my skin.

"I thought you said everything was fine," she says, tears streaming down her face.

"I have it under control mom," I say weakly. That's when the nurse came in to change out my bag of fluids.

"That's the third bag of fluids they pumped into you," my mom says, glancing up. I look at the wall blankly with a sudden realization. I was skinny and healthy before all of this mess. I was beautiful and loved. In my vain attempt to be skinny, I became sick and unsightly. I needed help and now I knew it.

"Mom, I have an important question," I say. My mother nods at me.

"I need help. I need to get better, not only physically, but mentally. I'm not well," I looked at her as best I could with the neck brace on. She smiles as more tears flow from her brown eyes. Smiling and gripping my boney hand, she nods.

"Okay, baby. We'll get you some help so you can get better. I love you."

"I love you too, mom."