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Dear Diary, Make Me Thin

Dear Diary,

Today I looked in the mirror, and almost fainted. I’d never noticed it before, but I have these large love handles sticking out under the sides of my sundress. When I examined it closer, they weren’t even small, they were huge rolls of slimy, icky fat. I don’t think I’ve ever cried harder in my life. I got mascara all over my brand new dress, and that made me sob even harder. I looked through my mascara, my eye shadow, my concealer, my blush, my eyeliner and that one sparkly thing I got at Walmart because it looked like it would go well with my hair, but nothing was good for fat reduction. So I got on the scale. 127 pounds. I’m 5’ 7”. Is that too big?
Ricky didn’t call today. He promised. Am I too fat for him as well?

Dear Diary,

I feel so sick. So massively, excruciatingly sick. I haven’t eaten a thing yet, and my weight went up to 129 this morning, but now it’s down to 126. That single pound has done nothing, and today I discovered that my arm fat was peeking out from underneath my Cross-Country uniform. Everyone must have laughed at me.

Dear Diary,

I couldn’t help it, but four days without eating much of anything was too much. I passed out today in practice, and when I woke up, Rose had me eat a Cheez-It package and three mini bagels. I am so bloated, I don’t even want to weigh myself today. I hope my new mascara from Maybelline will cover up these dark circles that are lining my eyes all of a sudden. Even Ricky commented on them.

Dear Diary,

I lied to you last night. I did weigh myself. 124 pounds. I can’t see any difference at all, but I could still taste that last bagel as it went down my throat. It felt so disgusting. If anyone ever reads this, they might think I’m insane, but I’m just trying to be more healthy. Is that a bad thing?

Dear Diary,

I am a gluttonous, fat, overweight beast that no one likes. I gave in today. I had three chocolate cakes, two cookies, a double slice of pizza, drank three sodas and bought five of the mini bagels. That was all in the last half hour. I don’t know what to do.

-later-

Hi, me again. I knocked over my new bottle of shampoo into the toilet to cover up the stench, but I feel much better. I looked it up online, and I made myself throw up. All those calories are gone, and I now only weigh 120 pounds. It seems my plan is working, but my love handles are larger than ever. I found out today that my stomach protrudes, my thighs are thunderous and my chin is a double. I counted, and I only ate 240 calories today. Cross Country was really tiring. I’m going to sleep now. Note to self: buy some more of that new concealer to cover up these yellow things on my face.

Dear Diary,

It’s been almost three months since I started this diet, and I have to say that it has been working. I went to Aeropostale today to buy that new sweater that everyone has been sporting, and I went from a medium to an extra small. Three guys checked me out as I was walking down the mall, and I felt so good.

But then I looked in my reflection in front of Victoria’s Secret and I almost passed out. I can still see my rolls of fat dripping out of my jacket and my thunder thighs mooned over my jeans. I ran to the bathroom and puked up my orange slice I had for breakfast.

I now weigh 109 pounds.

Dear Diary,

I am so embarrassed. Fat an embarrassed. Ricky called me an “anorexic b****” today. I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored him. Then he passed out cupcakes for the entire class. I could almost see the calories on it. I wanted to die. Everyone was watching me, so I took a bite of that fattening frosting. I threw up on the spot. It wasn’t even voluntary. I’m so scared. The guidance counselor is waiting to see me. I weighed myself this morning. I was 100 pounds.

Dear Diary,

She says I have anorexia and bulimia. She says I’m beautiful the way I am, and no amount of make-up or being who I am becoming will change that. Then she showed me a picture of a girl. The girl was a twig. Her ribs protruded, her legs were sticks and her eyes were sunken. She wasn’t skinny, she was sick.

“That’s you, yesterday, in the hall,” she whispered to me.

Dear Diary,

I ran away from the office. I couldn’t stand it any more. Every glass in the hallway that whizzed passed me showed my fat thighs, my running mascara and my arms jiggling. I tried to cover it up with more makeup, but it only made me look worse. What can I do when everything is going the wrong way?

Dear Diary,

I fell to 95 pounds today. I haven’t eaten in about three days, and I feel so sick. But I know why. My body isn’t happy with being this fat. I can’t see anything out of my eyelids. I bet it’s this new mascara. It said it would increase my lashes by 40 percent, but-



Dear Diary,

I read the last entry I put into you. I never finished it, because I blacked out. The world went spinning and the next second I knew a concerned looking EMT was wheeling me into the back of an ambulance. I’m not sure what to do now, but my mom brought my diary. She handed it to me today, crying. I bet she read it, and knows what’s wrong with me.

This tube in my arm is feeding me without food going in my hungry mouth. I wonder how many calories it has?

Dear Diary,

I cried today when mom told me she wouldn’t bring my makeup kit from home for when Ricky visits. I don’t know what is wrong with me. They don’t have a scale in this place.

Dear Diary,

I can hardly write from crying so much. Ricky brought those pictures the counselor showed me, except then he had new ones, ones of a prettier girl with full hair and a smiling face.

“That was you,” he said. I could tell he was trying not to cry. I think I finally get it now.

I found a scale. I weigh 92 pounds from the lack of food. I don’t feel good, though. I feel like a freak.

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how much I weigh. I haven’t for a few weeks now. It’s not so bad. Those mini bagels? They are good for you. Ricky apologized, and promised he would be with me every step of recovery. I can’t believe this happened, but I’m so glad it’s over. I can put on as much mascara and makeup as I want, but nothing will change the fact that underneath all those chemicals, I’m still me.



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