I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your sympathy. (Or any other synonym relating to feeling sorry.)
I’m almost 13. (Surprise!) A teenager, yes.
I’ve cried myself to sleep too many times to sit and count
But does anyone know? No one except for that one person. Me.
I went to school, laughed and played and heard it all once again
‘Fatty, throw the ball.’ I laughed (painfully) as I watched them enjoy the joke.
I was good at the game. They needed me.
I supported the team. Placed a score on the board even.
‘The ground didn’t crack while you ran. Great work, fats.’ There it was, again.
I laughed, again. I didn’t want to be the wet blanket.
I pretended I had forgotten the pain and was home bound.
I shut the door to my territory and turned around.
The cleanest sheet with the greenest twines and pink flowers artfully printed on the spread.
I genuinely smiled at the color. It was happy.
But it was not what I had slept in last night.
The spread was too wrinkle free for a bed I had tossed in all night.
The pillows were too clean for the ones I had clutched as I tried to muffle the agony.
I knew, tonight, as soon as the lights went off, that first fat tear would trickle down.
And then I’d cry. I’d scream into my pillow. I’d scribble the pain into my diary in the dark.
I’d roll to my side, in a fetus position, clutching my stomach.
I hadn’t eaten enough. I was hungry. Three mouths of my dinner wasn’t enough.
I’d refused to eat more when my mom told me to. Can you say no to a teenager, though?
But, isn’t this how you grow thin? You starve yourself.
It’ll be worth it, someday.
That someday….. never came. But that someday……. happened.
My stomach hurt. I cried in front of my parents as they helplessly watched me scream in pain.
I was sick. Not thin. Sick.
My fear trapped in their eyes and the tears that accompanied mine
When the pain just got worse and I thought I was melting
‘Our father in heaven…….. Hail mary………. Holy mary………’
It was a whisper but I was paying too much attention to have missed it.
My mother praying, lying down beside me, keeping in mind
I had asked her not to touch me or make conversation for sometime.
My dad still awake at 1 in the night, doing nothing but watching me
I surfaced, felt the pain, ran, threw up, cried, and came back.
The routine went on for 7 hours until…..
It stopped. My eyes rolled up and I fell asleep.
The pain was gone, the prayer was silent and the light switched off.
I smiled as I shifted a little in my sleep and heard my parents finally settle in for the night.
Little did I know, it was only the first of the many torturous nights
I was going to put them through.
Why didn’t I flip the pillow over and let them know before?
Why didn’t I flip the pillow over?
Until our time meets again,
A (The fat cat is totally me, FYI.)
Don’t let anyone tell you your worth. I promise you, God took his time with you. Cheers.