I stare as Kylie eats the pizza.
285 calories, straight into her stomach. Filling her perfect body with fat, greasy fat, that’s just going to make her thighs grow bigger, her stomach pop out...
But that isn’t true. Kylie eats whatever she wants and still stays so thin. It’s not fair.
Why can’t I have fast metabolism like her? I eat a single crumb of bread and gain at least ten pounds, it’s so not fair.
I look down at my own plate, some French fries and an apple.
“Hey, Stacy, can I have your French fries? There aren’t any left.”
Kylie grins sheepishly at me, but I just smile and push my tray over to her.
From somewhere to my left, Amy snorts.
“I swear, Kylie, all you do is eat, and yet you still stay so thin. You know that I have such a strict diet schedule? No greasy foods, no junk food. I eat fruits only. I work out too. Well, I guess it’s necessary, with sports season coming up.”
Everyone agrees, and I mentally disagree with her.
Why stop eating only specific foods when you can stop eating completely? I starved myself for a week, and lost five pounds. Bet they lose that much in a month.
“Stacy, why haven’t you eaten your apple? It’s just sitting there.”
I smile at Kylie, as she looks at me with such concern. Fake concern, of course.
She’s perfect, she’s beautiful and she’s THIN. And I’m not. The only reason she even looks at me is because we’re on the same cheerleading team. It’s obvious that she hates me. She’s head cheerleader and I’ve barely managed to stay on the squad.
It’s okay, because I understand. I hate me too. Maybe once I’m thin, we can actually be friends.
“I’m not really hungry,” I say as I pretend to check my phone.
“Well, you should eat. How will you go the rest of the day without eating? Go on, take a bite.”
She just wants to make me fatter, I can see it in her eyes. So she can be perfect, so she can be better than me.
I look down at the apple, the red fruit shining in the cafeteria lights.
One bite, Stacy. My mind tells me.  Just one small bite.
I shake my head.
I have to be thin. I can’t eat. I’m already so fat.
When I move my arms, the fat jiggles. My thighs only have a small gap. My stomach isn’t flat at all.
I smile at Kylie, the fake smile I have perfected.
“No, it’s fine, I’ll eat something in study hall. Lunch is almost over, anyway.”
Thankfully, the bell rings and all of us pack up our things and start to head out.
I’ve almost made it out when my stomach starts to hurt.
It’s like a fire, starting from the core and spreading out. My body goes numb, and I lean against the wall for support. I shut my eyes the pain is too much, I can feel my knees buckling up under the pain. Pressing my hand against the side of my stomach doesn’t help either. It’s getting harder to breathe.
I notice Kylie walking over to me, her red hair seems a bit blurry.
I can do this. Only a few more periods, and then I can go home. I am strong, I may be fat, but not for long. I’m going to be thin, just watch me.
I smile at her as she approaches.
“Hey, are you okay?
No I’m just pretending, please don’t interrupt the act.
I stand, the pain still there, but I push it away to the back of my mind.
“I’m okay.”

I groan when I see dad’s car in the driveway. Dad’s home, which means he’s gonna make dinner, and I’m gonna have to eat it.
I take a deep breath and park my car, mentally preparing myself.
Dad can’t know about my... eating disorder. I don’t like to call it that.
When you think of eating disorder, you think of thin, skinny people. Not whales. I don’t have an eating disorder, I’m too fat.
But it’s okay, because I’m gonna lose weight soon. I won’t be thin enough to have an eating disorder, but I’ll be thin enough to be pretty.
Just like Kylie.
I wish I could tell dad about all those meals I skipped, all those workout sessions, how every time I wanted to stop I ran harder instead. He would be so proud of his strong daughter.
But I can’t, not until I lose a bit of weight at least. I need to be perfect.
I dump my bag on the edge of the stairs, it’s probably gonna stay there till the morning. It’s not like I actually complete my homework or anything. 
Just as I thought, Dad’s in the kitchen, grinning at me as something boils in the kitchen.
Spaghetti.
Mom used to make it back when she was alive.
My mouth waters, but I ignore it. My stomach groans, but I ignore it.
I try to go to my room so I won’t be torturing myself any further, but dad stops me.
“Hey, how was your day, kiddo?”
I smile at him.
“It was the same. You know what school’s like.” And to keep him from suspecting something’s wrong, I add the trademark teenage girl eye roll after it.
It works, Dad bursts out laughing and takes out two plates. My mouth dries up, I can’t eat. Not when I’ve gotten so far.
“Uh, Dad, it’s okay, I won’t be needing any.”
He stops, and turns to frown at me.
“Stacy, honey, you love spaghetti! You ate it all the time, remember, when you were younger?”
He’s hurt, I can tell by the look on his face, but it’s too late, he doesn’t understand. If I eat, I get fat.
I smile at him sadly, gesturing towards my bag.
“Uh, I ate a lot in school already. Plus I have a lot of work to do.”
I am ready to hide in my room till night, and I think dad will let this go, but I’m wrong.
“Okay, sweetie, you go up ad study, I’ll bring your food up after a while.”
No no no no no no no no.  I can feel the argument slipping to his favor. I start panicking and blurt out a bunch of lies.
“No need, dad, I’m really not hungry.”
“Stacy, please. Is everything alright? Have a bit, try to make your old man calm down.”
He’s won, and I know it. Taking a deep breath, I sit down at the table, ignoring his look of triumph and I put a little bit of spaghetti on my plate.
Dad raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t say anything.  I slowly eat it, feeling the noodle strand flow down my throat, I feel the oiliness, the sauce. I don’t register the taste, I imagine it flowing to my stomach, to my thighs, to my arms, making me blow up, making me fat.
I almost throw up at the thought but I manage to swallow. After the longest fifteen minutes of my life, I declare that I’m full and go upstairs to ‘study’.
Dad doesn’t say anything and I hear the TV start a few minutes later.
I try to forget what I just did and instead I turn on the laptop.
Hundreds of comments fill the page, most of them telling me to die in a hole, that I’m fat that I don’t deserve to live. I know it’s wrong but I can’t stop- it’s like my guilty pleasure. I read all of them and then shut the laptop down.
Tears spring to my eyes but I control them. I am strong.
I remove all my clothes, ready for a shower, when I notice the mirror.
I look at my naked body, my thighs look huge, my stomach bloated. My skin is a pale, sickly yellow, my eyes seem so dull. I look away, unable to see such a grotesque figure for any longer.
Turning on the hot water, I gently step under it, remembering all the things people said.
Fat.
Worthless.
Freak.
She should just go die.
Fat.
Fat.
Fat.
The tears come out, and soon I’m crying, my mascara dripping down- I forgot to remove it—but I take no notice. I tilt my head towards the shower head and let the water run over myself. I’m trying not to scream, not to burst into sobs again. 
I am washing my hair when I notice something.  I take my hands away from my head and look at the strands of blonde hair on them.
I look down, tens, hundreds, so much of my hair is on the ground.
I let out a cry like an injured animal, running my hands through my hair and gently tugging it only to get more of it stuck to my palms.
This cannot be happening. I’m going bald. At seventeen? It must be a medical condition.
Maybe.
Just Maybe.

I press the 9 on the treadmill, looking at the number of calories I’ve burnt so far.
543.
That’s not enough.  If I burn 500 calories, I only lose one kg a week. I need to lose at least 700.
The red numbers keep on going higher and higher till I’m at 600.
Only one hundred more calories to burn. 
You can do this, Stacy. You’re a brave girl. You’re strong. You can do this.
I run faster, imagining the perfect body in my head. A thigh gap, high cheekbones, a flat stomach. Stick thin arms and a long, slender neck.
The only sound I can hear is the thudding of my feet, like a rhythm, thud thud thud.
The numbers on the screen blur before my eyes and the room starts to spin. I manage to push the stop button and I lean against the treadmill for a while.
The pain’s back, but this time it’s in my head, making me feel like a billion movies, a billion songs, a billion noises are all going on at the same time...
I gasp and step off the treadmill, all I want to do is go back to my room and lie on the bed.
The pains too much I can barely walk, not to the mention the fact everything is out of focus, and the room is spinning around. I groan, and give up, slumping against the wall.
I fall to the ground, hitting my thigh on something hard but I don’t even care. The pain in my head is just growing and I let out a cry and cradle my poor head, sobbing my heart out.
I have no idea how long I sit there, but when the pain finally lessens I manage to drag myself to my bathroom. Being careful not to look in the mirror, I open the bathroom cabinet and take a few aspirin out of the bottle, swallowing them without water.
The time is 11:54, which means I had been on the floor for at least half an hour. I change into my pajamas, it’s late and I’m very sleepy.
Plus tomorrow’s a school day, and its cheerleading practice as well. I need my energy. I have to stay on the squad.
I pull off my sweatpants and am about to pull on my shorts when I see something.
A huge bruise, the size of my big fat fist, is on my left thigh.
Huh.
I don’t even remember getting it, or falling down.
I shrug and climb into bed, ready for school tomorrow.

My dad going down the stairs wakes me up. He’s always worn large, heavy boots, and when he goes downstairs you can hear the ‘thuds’ from anywhere in the house.
I stumble out of bed and go to the bathroom to get fresh. After brushing my teeth, I go to my closet to pick out my clothes.
I wear leggings, black ones so I’ll give the illusion of being thin. And to top it off,a baggy sweatshirt to hide all the fat in my stomach.
I purse my lips and look at all the clothes in my wardrobe, all the cute tops and dresses I never wear. They would be too small for me it’s obvious.
I close the wardrobe and pick up my school bag. Time for school. 

School is the same, daydreaming in the classes, making excuses for lunch and finally being able to go to cheerleading practice. My stomach still hurts though, and Kylie clearly hasn’t forgotten what happened yesterday. She comes up to me in the locker rooms before practice.
“Are you okay, Stacy?” She’s pulling her beautiful hair into a ponytail, her top riding up to reveal her abs.
I smile and nod, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She’s nervously biting her lip, playing with a bracelet on her wrist.
“Well, yesterday after lunch you were-“
“I’m fine, it was just cramps.”  A complete lie. I haven’t had my period since last month, but she doesn’t need to know that. 
Kylie looks relieved and lets out a laugh.
“I thought something was wrong with you! Anyways, let’s go before coach gets mad at us for being late.”
I nod and we walk off together.  At least my bruise looks better, and is hidden by my cheerleading uniform. The last thing I need is Kylie or someone else interrogating me.
Cheerleading practice is the same, jumping and rolling around. Coach is in a good mood so we just practice a few routines, do a few exercises and then practice is over.
My stomach hasn’t even been paining, and Amy even compliments me on my thin legs. Part of me doesn’t believe her, but part of me practically glows with pride.
In all, it’s been a good day. It becomes an even better day when I see Blake, the quarterback in the school’s football team approaching me.
“Hey, Stacy.”
I smile at him. I’ve never talked to him before, but I think he’s in my Maths class. He’s a kinda cute, with straight dark blonde hair and brown eyes. He seems confident and smart. He’s smiling at me, and I feel something erupt in my stomach.
“Hey, Blake.”
He looks surprised. “You know me?”
I laugh, nodding.  “You play really well.”
He grins as if I’ve given him a nobel prize, and then he scratches the back of his neck and I realize he’s nervous.
He looks so cute I can’t help but let out a genuine smile.
“Um, there’s a huge game next week. Us versus some school from another state. Will you be going?”
I open my mouth to answer but he cuts me off.
“No wait, of course you’re going, you’re a cheerleader. Um, would you mind wearing my number to the game?”
He’s waiting for a response, his brown eyes wider than usual and even I can tell he’s nervous.
“Why not?”
He exhales and grins at me, the cocky boy from earlier coming back.
“Great. I’ll see you around.”
He walks back to his team and I just stand there, my arm raised in a half wave before blushing and heading towards my car.

I pour myself a glass of water. It’s been a few amazing weeks. I’ve been hanging out with Blake a lot, and the cheerleading practices are harder, but I’m getting closer with all the other girls. And I’ve lost a lot of weight, too!  I weigh 89 pounds, which is still a lot for someone as tall as me. I’m just 5”3, maybe 5”4. What if I could lose even more weight? I could be 50 pounds, maybe even 40. And then I could be perfect.
I drink the water as I think about my weight. When I finish it, my stomach grumbles so I go to refill my glass. Water is great, it’s pure, healthy, and has zero calories.
After finishing another glass of water, my stomach seems to be full enough. I spot a packet of chocolate pretzels in the corner and before I can stop myself, my hand goes out to take the packet.
So many calories are sitting in my hands. So much fat, so much sugar. 
But I want it. I’ve been strong for so long, I deserve this much, right? Just one pretzel.
I slowly open the packet, it takes a few tries since my hands are so shaky.
I pick up one but then drop it. Not when I’ve come so far. I’m almost perfect, I’ve been so strong, I’ve come so far.
Dropping the packet, I confidently walk up the stairs to my room.  I pause in front of the mirror and pull my t-shirt up, exposing my stomach.
There’s still a bit of fat. I need to do better, I need to be thinner. I finally look at my face, the sickly yellow colour, my blue eyes are dull. So dull they’re almost a grey. My hair is thin, why can’t my body be like that?
Suddenly I feel a pain in my chest.
I wait for it to pass, just like the others, but nothing happens. It stays.
I fall to the floor, pressing one hand over it, taking deep breathes.
I can’t even do that. Breathing hurts. A tear falls out, and my chest starts to sting even more.
What’s going on? Am I dying? I don’t want to die! I’m too young, just seventeen. I want to grow up, to get my driver’s license, to graduate. I want to make my father proud, I want to get a job, I want to marry and some kids. I want to spend my evenings playing with them, I want to, I want to live.
I’m too young for this.
But no matter how the tears come, and no matter how hard I pray, I know this is the end.
The burning my chest just magnifies and I curl up into a ball and sob.
After a while I start to feel myself slipping out of conscious, and that makes me happy. The pain is lessening.
I’m sorry Kylie, Amy, Brittany and everyone else. I’m sorry, Blake. I’m sorry, dad. I love you all so much.
But I was strong. All I was doing was pretending to be perfect.
To be thin.

Just like Stacy, almost 24 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder in the U.S alone.  An estimated 3.7 percent of women suffer from anorexia nervosa in their lifetime.  50% of people with eating disorders meet the criteria for depression. Only 1 in 10 men and women with eating disorders receive treatment and 20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems. So let’s stop body shaming, lets help people accept themselves for who they are.
Let’s put an end to all these untold stories.