April 18, 2011
By KK Kennedy BRONZE, Bondurant, Iowa
KK Kennedy BRONZE, Bondurant, Iowa
3 articles 1 photo 0 comments

“I can’t finish my dinner,” I said. “I have eaten enough.

“Okay sweetie. You may be excused,” my mom said politely with a cautious smile.

And with that, I stand. Light headed, I over hear my sister Meredith say “your joking."

I look to her and then to my mother and realize that her heart is breaking. All I want to do is make myself thinner. I cannot handle my mom’s emotions as I try to be like all the other girls. Hoping to be an ordinary girl in this ordinary world.

Flushing the toilet and turning off the sink, I soon undress. Down to my underwear and bra, I see the body that I hate. All I see is fat and all I think about is being 95 pounds. Looking into the mirror I suck in my stomach.

“Gross,” I said.

96 pounds reads the scale and unhappiness soon begins to generate in my body. Grabbing my t-shirt and jeans, I walk to my bedroom and lock the door behind me.

“A pound. How could you of all people gain a single pound,” my head attacks. “Get the bag and get rid of that pound.”

Whipping open my closet door, I reach to the top shelf and pull out a black garbage bag. Up and out come my body fluids. I do not stop until my body falls weak against the cold wall of my closet. I wipe my mouth and gather the edges of the garbage bag. Once the bag is tied close, I open my bottom dresser drawer, shove the bag into place, and climb into bed.

Up and out of bed by 9 am, I race to be the first to the bathroom.

“God dammit Meredith. I need to use the bathroom,” I yell as I pound on the door.

“Why,” she yells back. “So you can throw up and then weigh yourself again.”

“No! Just forget it.”

My sister is a fourteen year old brunette with the perfect body figure. She doesn’t even do anything to keep it…doesn’t have to work for it…just has it; while I do everything that I can to keep the weight from coming back. We are two very different people and I. AM. THE. ONE WHO. IS. JEALOUS. OF. HER.

“Girls, hurry up,” my mom yells. “We are going to be late for Landon’s ugly cake contest at the fair.”

I hate the Nebraska State Fair. It is filled with nothing but overweight people stuffing their face. I wish I didn’t have to go but I promised Landon I would.

Pulling into the lot, I sink further and further into my seat. At this point, I hope that the seat would change and form quick sand and just pull me under.

“I hope I win Mom,” squeals the nine year old. “If I do, can we get ice cream? And if I don’t can we get a banana smoothie?”

“We will see honey,” my mom replies.

All I can think about is getting out of there as soon as possible. I wasn’t able to get rid of my waste this morning and the scent of deep fried Twinkies and turkey legs are making my stomach cringe. The only thing I can think about is leaving.

“Mom are we done? I am ready to leave,” I beg.

“Isabel, no. they haven’t even announced the contest winners.”

I have been so distracted that I had no realization that the cake contest is still going.

“Can we right after?”

“No. We are staying and that is it.”

So with that, I storm off, walking around till I am able to leave. The sight of filling another garbage bag and stepping onto the scale is my fixation. We end our evening at a lemonade stand and slowly make our way to our Lexus; and head home.

Pushing my way out of the car, I am the first in the house and the first destination of mine is my closet. Reaching for a new bag, I knock clothes all over the place but I honestly don’t care. Grabbing a chopstick, I shove it down my esophagus.

As I focus on my vomiting, nothing seems to matter even when I notice Meredith.

“Wow. You can still throw up and look ridiculous hunching over a bag but for some reason Mom thinks I am the one with problem,” she exclaims.

“Wh—what do you want,” I stutter.

“What do I want? I want my mom to come see this.”

“No, please,” I plead.

As I plead with her, I begin to reach for the edges of the bag. With hands made of clumsiness, I try to tie it shut. But instead, the bag topples to my cream colored carpet, spilling out it’s contents.

“Oh God…oh God. Meredith help me please.”

“Ugh, no. That’s your throw up. You pick it up.”

As she walks towards my door, she turns and says “Oh by the way, I initially came in here to tell you that Drew just called and said he was on his way.”

“Are you serious,” I said frantically.

“Yes. Why would I lie about that,” she said slamming my door.

My high school sweetheart. The luscious brown locks of my boyfriend Drew, is truthfully my favorite thing on him. A body that is six foot, two inches tall, and built with a muscular cut, I always wither at the sight of him. He does not know that I still weigh myself and that I still have a collection of garbage bags in my bottom drawer but if I do not get the dog food looking mess up, my secrets will unfold.

Taking my hands into a bowl shape, I begin to scoop up the vomit. With hands full of a runny chaos, I lose balance and fall into the pile. Covered in the horrible stench, I realize that I cannot get this all up by using my hands. Running to Meredith’s room, I grab the black circle rug. It barely covers the puke. I cannot let anyone move it or else the truth is uncovered. The doorbell rings and I spray perfume to cover the last of the unpleasant smell.

“Hey baby,” Drew says as he knocks on my open door.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“I just stopped by to surprise you. I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“I know. It seemed so long Drew. How was the trip,” I say moving towards the rug.

“It was good. Mom and Jensen were hardly around so I spent it mainly with the younger kids.”

“Oh well at least you got to leave before we have to return to school.”

“Isabel, Drew. Dinner is ready,” my mom yells down the hall.

Moving off of the rug, I realize that the bottom of my sock is wet. My right foot is leaving footprints along my carpet and Drew realizes it.

“Why is your sock brown and wet,” he asks.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I will just change my socks.”

As I walk in my closet and pull open my sock drawer, I pray that I have no more tracings along my body.

“Izzy. What is this?”

Running out to see what he is talking about, I stop dead in my tracks as I see the black rug in his hand.

“I can’t believe you,” he said. “You are still doing this.”

“No. I am not. Believe me.”

“I can’t believe you. You still it do and here’s the evidence to prove it. You promised me you would stop. I see how much this relationship means to you.”

“Baby it means everything. I need you the most right now. I promise you I will stop.”

“You promised me before and we both see you couldn’t keep that promise,” he said as he storms out of my bedroom.

I watch him pull out of my driveway in his fire red truck. My heart hurts and I feel a sense of vomit churning in my stomach. Running to the bathroom, I barely make it in the toilet. Crunching my body in, I throw up. Not knowing what to do, I sit against the bathtub and pour my eyes out.

The author's comments:
This was inspired by watching multiple dancers change their body sizes in order to be the perfect one. It was really disturbing so I wrote about it and it turned into something good I feel.

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Apr. 21 2011 at 6:34 pm
LunarFireworks SILVER, Temple, Texas
6 articles 7 photos 15 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Hardest part of the end is starting again,"- Linkin Park

Wow, this was really good. Keep on writing and I'm glad I read this!!


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!