Perfectly Thin, page 12
Suddenly, I recall once when I had food poisoning, I dropped, like, three pounds in two days because I was vomiting and had diarrhea. Maybe I can take something that makes me go to the toilet. Sticking my fingers down my throat is something I entertained for all of four-point-two seconds at Emma’s birthday, but there’s no way I can bring myself to do something so drastic. Anyway, I think I read something somewhere once that by sticking your fingers down your throat repetitively, it damages the throat. And I don’t want to do something as extreme as that.
I’ll search the medicine cabinet when I get home, and see if Mom has any tablets that can help me go to the bathroom. Oh yeah, then, I’ll eat a bit at dinner, but take two, maybe three tablets to make me go to the toilet. I remember how Carson ran out of the cafeteria, like his ass was on fire, so hopefully two tablets will clear me out.
“Hey,” Presley says as she sits diagonally from me.
“Hey,” I reply.
It’s frosty between us. I can see her shoulders are high, and her jaw is clenched tight, both signs of tension. The fact that she’s sitting so far away means she’s keeping her distance. She’s still upset with me from yesterday.
“Where’s Em?” Presley asks.
I shrug my shoulders slowly. “I’m sorry I was an ass yesterday.”
Presley nods her head, but her face remains stoic. “It’s okay.” But she’s not relaxing around me, meaning she’s hurt.
“Presley, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Presley rubs her lips together, before giving me a small smile. “Just don’t be an asshole again, alright?”
“I promise, I won’t.”
She moves to sit opposite me, and she takes her lunch out of her bag. “Good.” She sees I have nothing in front of me, and slides over half her lunch.
“It’s all good. I was running late this morning, and forgot to pack my lunch.”
“I noticed you didn’t have anything, which is why I’m giving you half of mine.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.” I slide it back, not wanting to eat anything. “I’m really not hungry.”
“Here, have my soda. At least that’s something.” She slides over her soda, and automatically all I can think about is the huge number of calories it must have. Thankfully, I see it’s a zero-calorie soda, so I take it, open it and sip on it.
“Thank you,” I say as I lift it to have another sip.
“Hey, what are we doing for your birthday?” Emma asks as she sits beside Presley.
Crap, I didn’t even think about my birthday. It’s in only a few weeks. “I don’t know. I really haven’t thought about it.”
“Maybe a party?” Emma asks.
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “No thanks. Maybe we can just do something at home.” I shrug, not really fussed about my eighteenth. I’m surprised Mom hasn’t already started planning something. She loves birthdays. “Oh no.” I bring my thumb up to my mouth, and start chewing on the nail.
“What is it?” Emma asks, worried.
My stomach responds to my worry, churning and roiling. My chest tightens, while my skin crawls with the thought of my family throwing me a surprise eighteenth birthday party. Please, no.
“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Presley asks. “Are you okay?”
My shoulders slump forward, as fear grips every part of my body. “Please tell me Mom’s not organizing a surprise party for me?” I search both Emma’s and Presley’s face.
Their eyes widen, and Presley takes a deep breath in through her nose.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
“Please...no?” I plead.
“Okay. No?” Emma’s high pitched shrill is enough for me to know, this is exactly what my Mom’s doing.
“Shit!” I let my head fall to the table with a thud. I don’t want a party, and I certainly don’t want to be the center of attention. Ugh. Who has she invited? I’ll be the fattest and ugliest person there, and I’ll feel like shit at my own damn party. I don’t have enough time to lose weight to look good. I need to drop at least ten pounds to resemble something somewhat decent. Ten pounds will make me one-sixty-one. Ten pounds in just over three weeks. It can’t be done. It just cannot be done.
Focus, use laxatives, and it can be done. You may even lose more than ten pounds.
“Yes!” I call too loudly.
“What?”
“Has Mom enlisted the help of you both for my surprise party?” Suddenly, I’m now super excited. I might actually look great for my birthday. I just have to stay on track and be super disciplined.
Emma and Presley give each other a knowing, ‘oh crap she definitely knows’ stare. I see Emma visibly swallow, trying her hardest not to let on to me.
“Look, it’s pretty obvious you two are in on it. I promise I’ll act surprised, and I promise not to say anything to my parents.”
“Fine,” Presley admits in a flat, we’ve-been-caught tone. “Yes, we’ve been solicited in what your mom calls, ‘Operation Hush-Hush.’” She shakes her head. I let out a laugh, now really excited because this could absolutely work in my favor.
“What do you guys have to do?”
“On the Saturday, we have to take you out and spend the day doing birthday stuff with you. Your mom wants you to think they’ve forgotten about your birthday. They’re hoping they can use your Papou’s health as a reason why they forgot,” Presley says. Then she adds, “But obviously, that’s not true.”
“So what are the instructions exactly?”
“We have to take you out, go to the movies, lunch, shopping. Whatever you want to do. But you have to be out of the house from ten in the morning, and we can’t bring you back until about five. Your mom will message me,” Emma says.
“Awesome!”
Emma and Presley look at each other again. “You seem happy about this. In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been a party person. So, why?” Emma asks.
“Just means I’ll be looking super good by then. I want to lose about six pounds.” If I tell them I’m going for ten pounds, they’re going to think that’s excessive, so I’ll keep that number to myself.
“Six pounds? In like three weeks?” Presley asks.
“Yeah, so like, you know, two pounds a week. That’s doable, right?”
“Yeah, sure. With heaps of dedication, you can do it.”
There’s a furious, eager fire in my belly, because I’m super excited. I’m so going to lose ten pounds. I’ll watch everything I eat, I’ll count every single calorie, and I’ll take two laxatives every afternoon when I get home from school. Combined with increasing my exercising, I know I’m going to be able to lose at least ten pounds.
Yeah, okay, maybe today isn’t as shit as I thought it was.
I’m super excited this morning, because I’ve been really driven to shed more weight. I had to sneak a packet of laxatives out of the medicine cabinet, but I’m hoping the results will show on the scales.
The first few days of taking laxatives nearly killed me. The stomach cramps, the sweats, and the excessive thirst almost convinced me to not take any more laxatives. But I’ve found a happy medium. I take one laxative as soon as I get home from school, then one just before dinner. It also means I’ve had to forfeit my apple, cucumber and two lettuce leaves, for half a cup of food at dinner. Although I do put extra on my plate, and push it around so Mom thinks I’ve eaten more than I have.
Sacrifice...I have to sacrifice certain things if I want to have a nice body. And food has to be one of the things that needs to be spared. I mean, I’m still eating, just nowhere near as much as I used to. It’s now more balanced, and healthy as opposed to eating everything and anything I used to once pile on my plate. It’s called discipline.
I leap out of bed, super excited to see what the number on the scales say.
Last time, the scales screwed up and told me I’d only lost one pound, leaving me at one hundred and seventy-one pounds. That made me feel like shit. But I also realized I had incredibly high expectations while I was still eating way too much in a day. I mean, two apples, three cucumbers and two cups of lettuce a day is over the top while I’m trying to lose weight.
I take a quick shower, and thank God my period has finished. The fact periods retain water weight is a cruel joke when all I’ve been doing is busting my ass to lose these horrid pounds.
I dry my long, curly brown hair, and stick it up in a messy bun. Then I slide those pesky scales out from under the sink. If they tell me I haven’t lost any weight since I last weighed in nearly two weeks ago, I’m gonna lose my shit.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I say aloud, almost expecting to be disappointed with the results.
My eyes are closed so tight, my face is starting to hurt. I don’t want to look. But I know I have to.
Come on laxatives, diet soda, and half a cup of food every night. Give me a good number. Please, please, please, let it be at least three pounds.
My heart feels like it wants to beat out of my chest. I’m excited, and nervous, and scared, and happy all rolled into one terrified emotion.
“Come on,” I plead one last time, hoping the result is fantastic.
Slowly, I open my eyes, but I don’t yet have the courage to look down at the number.
“Please,” I whisper, desperately needing this number to be good. “Please.” I let out a deep sigh, then take in a large breath. I lower my chin, and see the number staring up at me.
One hundred and sixty-four pounds.
My mouth falls open. Wait, what? I look around the bathroom in case there’s been a mistake and someone’s punking me. “No, that can’t be right.”
I step off the scale, let it reset, then step back on.
One hundred and sixty-four pounds.
“What?” I step off the scales, then back on, again.
Same number.
Stepping back off the scale, I bring my fingers up to touch my lips, finding my mouth still open. “Huh?” I double take the number, which has now disappeared from the readout.
A huge burst of laughter escapes, and I’m still standing, completely gobsmacked by the huge loss. Seven massive pounds gone forever. Good riddance, those seven pounds gave me so much heartache.
This weight loss makes me excited now. I’m so much closer to my goal weight of one hundred and twenty pounds. I only have forty-four pounds left to get rid of.
If I can lose seven pounds in twelve days, maybe, just maybe, I can lose fourteen pounds in fourteen days.
I mean, that’s achievable. Hard, but certainly achievable. That means, I could possibly weigh only one hundred and fifty pounds by the time it’s my birthday.
There’s a fire in my belly, dedicated to achieving the results I want.
“Yes, Jane, you can do this,” I say as I look at my fat self in the mirror.
My gaze goes straight to my thighs and hips. I feel repulsed by how gigantic they still are. My nose twitches as I scowl at my revolting body. Shaking my head, it’s hard to believe I’ve allowed myself to get so...obese. The determination I had a mere few seconds ago has dwindled to horror as I look at this grotesque body.
“You can’t go through life looking so detestable. No one will ever love you; no one will ever want you.” I press my hand to my stomach, and watch the waves of flab jiggle. Cringing, I back away from the mirror. Why does it have to be so harsh?
It doesn’t matter what the mirror shows me, because I’m hell-bent on losing fourteen pounds in fourteen days.
I just need a new game plan.
Eat less, and exercise more. It’s the only way I’m ever going to look good. Then maybe, I’ll finally be happy with myself.
“You not eating?” Papou asks as we sit for dinner.
“Yeah, I’m eating, but I’m not very hungry. And I want to lose some weight.”
“Why you need to lose weight?” Papou asks. “You look fine. You eat.”
“Eat,” Yiayia echoes Papou’s words.
I look down at the food on my plate, and this is way more than I normally dish up. However, I know Mom’s been watching me, so I have to make a mental note on exactly how much I’m eating. Just to ensure I don’t eat more than half a cup.
I take a forkful, and chew it fifty times before I swallow. Between every forkful, I drink half a glass of water. “What are you doing?” Mom asks as she observes my dining techniques after I refill my water twice.
“Nothing, why?” I place my fork down, knowing I can avoid eating while she shoots some questions.
“You have to eat,” she says sternly.
“Why what’s happening?” Dad asks, obviously thinking everything’s okay with me.
“I am eating.”
“No, she isn’t. She’s on this stupid crash diet and she’s starving herself. Haven’t you noticed she barely eats her dinner?” Mom asks Dad.
“What? Why, Jane? Is everything okay, do we need to get you to a doctor, or something?” Dad asks.
“Doctor?” Yiayia nearly yells. “Are you sick?”
The family table is becoming chaotic, and loud. “Why you no eat?” Papou asks.
“I have been eating, but I also haven’t been eating as much as I used to. I want to lose a small amount of weight, that’s all. Just a few pounds.”
“You a little fat, so maybe you can trim down a bit,” Yiayia says as she makes hand gestures going from wider to thinner.
“Don’t say that to my daughter,” Dad says. “Jane, I know you’ve lost some weight, because you look great. I’m so proud of you for all the walking you do, and how disciplined you’ve been with your food, but don’t take it too far, okay? We don’t want you to end up sick, or...” His face distorts, as he cringes and shivers. “You know, anorexic or bulimic.”
“I can assure you, Dad.” Then I turn to Mom, and say, “Mom.” Then I look at Yiayia and Papou. “Yiayia, Papou, I’m not going to become anorexic, or bulimic. First, I like food way too much, and second, I like food way too much.” I add a smile so they know I won’t become like those girls. The ones who don’t need to count calories because all they take in is water. “But I do want to lose a little more weight. Only about another twenty pounds.” The last part is a lie, I want to lose at least forty pounds, but I know what my Greek grandparents, and my parents are like. They’ll tell me that’s too much and then they’ll hound me to eat.
“Twenty pounds is too much, you need to eat,” Yiayia says.
Typical Yiayia. In one breath, she says I’m too fat, and the next breath is, but you need to eat. It’s a lose-lose conversation with her. “Yiayia, I need support, not lecturing. Please,” I plead. “I want to lose about another twenty pounds, and it would mean a lot to me, if you all supported me.”
“I think that’s too much, Jane,” Dad says. “Twenty pounds is too much for you to lose.”
“But I’m not exactly very tall, Dad. If I lose another twenty pounds, then I’ll be happy with myself, but for now, I really need to get this weight off. For me.”
Dad scrubs his hand through his hair, then looks over to Mom.
Mom shakes her head, and with pursed lips says, “You need to eat your dinner, Jane.”
I don’t know what to do.
I need to divert their attention from me, and so my parents stop nagging at me about food. I don’t want to eat. But if I tell them that, then they’re going to lose their shit with me.
“I’m not really hungry,” I say to Mom. “I’ve lost my appetite,” I say with harshness as if it’s all their fault. Standing, I take my plate over to the trash, empty the contents then rinse the plate before adding it to the dishwasher.
As I’m walking out, I catch a look on Mom’s face. Her shoulders are slumped forward, and her eyes are glistening with tears. I’ve hurt her feelings because I didn’t eat dinner.
Shit.
“Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was really nice.”
“How would you know, you threw most of it out,” she says as her voice cracks with pain.
I lower my gaze and leave the dining room, opting to isolate myself in my room. I don’t want to be like this, hurting my family’s feelings, but I need to lose these last forty-four pounds. The quicker I do it, the quicker I can go back to being normal. I hate myself right now.
“Hey, where were you this morning?” Emma asks as she sits at our usual lunch table.
“I slept in. Mom had to drive me to school. I’ve been so tired lately.” I let out another huge yawn, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“You look really shit, actually.” She places her bag on the table, opens it and takes out her lunch. “I know you’re trying to lose weight and stuff, but are you eating enough meat? Could be your iron levels.”
“Yeah, I am,” I lie. Last night we had pasta with a red, meatless sauce. I counted fifteen strands of spaghetti and didn’t eat any more than that. Pasta is so high in empty calories, it’s almost as bad as eating candy or crisps.
“Well, you look like shit.”
“I’m probably just coming down with something.”
“How about water? Are you drinking enough water? You could be dehydrated.”
“Who’s dehydrated?” Presley asks. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. You don’t look well,” she asks when she looks at me.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m coming down with something. I’m really tired and I haven’t been sleeping properly. Probably just a cold,” I say as I lower my head, and rest it on the table.
“You should go home,” Emma says.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” I give her a thumbs up, but even doing that is difficult. Closing my eyes, I let the familiar sounds of everyone talking turn into white noise in my head. I feel myself falling further and further into sleep. Startling, I lift my head and look around. “Did I snore?” I ask.
