I don’t usually do dark intentionally because I like my endings happily ever after. Especially not anything remotely real-world-ish. So trigger warning eating disorders.
I’m a bit later than my previous Inspiration Monday post, but my inspiration was apparently on holiday until it felt the urge to make me unnecessarily sad. Check out the other responders in the comments here, or submit your own!
Susan hit her goal weight 20 lbs ago. She felt no satisfaction in her achievements, as she stared into the mirror at her plump face and various jiggles and saw how far she had to go. She reduced her intake by 200 calories.
She reached her goal size three sizes up from the cinched belt and size zero jeans she wore now, but there was a size 00 dress in her closet. She’d look beautiful when she could fit into that. Another 200 down, she stretched what was left compulsively through the long days with iceberg lettuce and splurged with carrot sticks – they were so high in sugar, but without them she suffered from cramps and dizzy spells.
Susan’s stomach grew the less she ate, so she fought harder, exercised more and ate less. Jiggly thighs, a fat ass and a stomach whose rolls just wouldn’t flatten no matter how many crunches she did, how little lettuce she crunched. Her hair was her best feature when she was fatter, but she was too tired to worry much about how dull it was lately, how thin. She sucked in her gut in public, wearing bulky clothing to hide her enormous body.
A feverish energy burned and gave her a new lease on life as she refocused on her goals. The fewer calories she ate, the less hungry she felt. Win-win.
Her mother cried because she didn’t share Susan’s commitment to health. She would never meet the kinds of goals Susan had surpassed. Her jealousy drove her to have her daughter committed, only 3 inches in thigh circumference away from real happiness. Susan hated her.
In the hospital she was sly,and the others helped, tired but gleeful in their gaming of the system. Months passed and she wasn’t allowed to monitor her goals. It was devastating.
No mirrors allowed, but she found one. She stripped and stared, aghast, at the feast of famine highlighted by the hand mirror she moved down her body. Dull skin stretched tight and unnatural across knobby bones. Famine stared out of a stranger’s dull eyes, a prisoner in a self-inflicted internment camp. Susan struggled to refocus on her goals but when she brushed her hair it came out in handfuls. She had loved her hair.
The others looked down on her for giving in. She hadn’t expected failure to be so difficult to accomplish, as the scale crawled slowly up from her check-in weight, and every extra calorie was a war. Nausea and panic won less often over time.
She hugged the nurses she’d previously cursed and returned home.
Susan struggled in the arduous pursuit of new goals. The achievement of 200 grams of chicken breast with salad at lunch was cause for cheering at group. They had mini cupcakes to celebrate her birthday a month later and she only threw out the icing. So many calories, and her size zero jeans were tight.
Her mother brought her in to an emergency session when she found her purging later that day. Her mother cut all the sizing tags out of her clothing before she got home.
She failed and failed again, but her hair grew soft and shiny, famine left her eyes and stopped nipping at her waist. On a sunny afternoon, she was three french fries into her goal of guilt-free poutine, and Susan had a good feeling about her chances.