"The thoughts and fears that social media instills in your brain. Something so intangible yet it puts a vast amount of pressure on my soul. The pressure to be skinny, to have luscious hair and fine skin. The pressure to act a certain way, to live an extravagant life. The pressure to be the perfect girl. The pressure to be anything but me and I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be her.
I stood in front of my mirror, a long one, so I could see it all. My body slowly faded from black to gold as I imagined what it'd be like to be her. I closed my eyes. For a minute, I stood there with nothing but a two-piece bikini on, beautiful as ever. I was fitting in with every other girl. I was golden tan, my stomach flat and my hip bones visible. My hand ran through my hair, the rays of sunlight radiated behind me. As my hand drifted down to pinch my fat, I returned to reality.
I was not her. Unfortunately, I was Mia. Miserable, hideous, fat, imperfect, Mia.
I began obsessing over the numbers on the scale, checking to see if they declined every day. It went down for a while, decreased by three, but then, everything changed. It went up a lot, by five to be exact. Feeling so defeated, I held in the voices that knocked on the back of my lips, waiting to come out. Tears escaped my eyes and I escaped the suffering.
Rebelling against human needs, I stopped eating. My mom began to wonder why and urged me to eat with her. However, I insisted that I was full and that I ate before she came home. Somedays, this trick didn't work. So, I had to eat with her and my toothbrush became my friend.
I got on the floor and pressed my knees against the white tile. My head hung delicately over the bowl. The back of my throat did not feel good against my fingers, but my toothbrush did. I rid of the waste that caused so much hate in my soul. A second later, I went to sleep and did the same thing the next morning. Starve, lie, purge. It was a daily routine to keep the peace, to stop the war in my mind.
An addiction to the empty feeling in my stomach arose, the burning sensation that brought me joy. The direction of the arch that lined my stomach began changing, dipping into beauty. Bones began showing, like I imagined long ago. The numbers always changing, never forgetting the ones I first saw."
I looked up to see the supportive but yet psychotic eyes that forced me to speak. I gently waved the paper in my hand and lifted it up in sarcasm.
"So, that's my story."
I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the middle of the circle.
"There."
"Mia!" the mouth below the eyes spoke.
"What? I wrote about my feelings, I said it out loud, and you got what you wanted."
"Mia, I'm trying to help you. We are trying to help you."
"Well, I don't need your help. I'm not ill. Let me leave!"
I stood out of my chair and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I went back into my holding cell of two weeks. I laid helplessly on my bed and let out a sigh. I stared at the blank empty ceiling, wondering what was going on outside of these walls. Did Brandon win his soccer game? Did Hailey find out Lucas was cheating on her? Does everyone know I'm here? Do they think I'm crazy too?
She walked into the room and sat nigh on the edge of my bed.
"Hey, sweetie. Would you be able to come back out and join us?"
I shook my head and turned away from her.
"Okay. Well, group two starts in about thirty minutes. Maybe you could come back then?"
"Maybe."
She gently rubbed my back and stood up from the bed.
"It helps to talk about it. And if you don't want to talk about it, write. You're a really good writer Mia."
I turned around to check if she was gone, but all I saw was a black notebook and a pencil on the drawer beside me. I picked up the notebook and threw it at the door in front of me and let out a high-pitched screech.
"I HATE IT HERE! I HATE IT! I hate it here… I hate it."
My screams of anger turned into melancholy tears as I began curling into a ball and breathing heavily through my mouth. My chest and the sound of my sobbing shivered simultaneously. A shadow of darkness crept towards me and hovered over this miserable body I was given. My body trembled and so did the wrath in my soul.
"I just… wanna… go home! AGHHHHH!"
I flung my head into my pillow and let out a muffled shriek. I soon got tired of crying and fell asleep.
I woke up three hours later and to the sounds of children in the halls and the woman calling my name. We all gathered at the mini café and said grace. It may have been dinner time, but I wasn't about to eat. No one here was going to make me eat.
  "Why aren't you eating?" the girl across of me said.
  "I'm not hungry."
I felt someone above my shoulders, gazing at my food.
"Hey, Mia. Eat up. You too, Angie." The woman spoke again.
I grabbed my fork and tossed around the salad on my plate to create an illusion that I was eating.
"So, I'm guessing you either think you're too good for this food or you don't eat."
"I eat," I said profoundly.
"Oh… So, you're in denial."
"I eat," I said again with more force.
"Girl! You're in here because you're bulimic! I can smell your vomit from a mile away! You're not fooling anyone sister! Now, shut up and eat your damn food!"
A nurse began approaching us, "Angie, calm down."
"NO! And I'm guessing they told you you'd be in here for two weeks, but you aren't gonna make it out alive if you keep living in denial! You've been here for a week and you still look the same!"
"…SHUT UP!" My words echoed through the room and then there was silence.
I stood up from the table and looked her straight in the eyes, "I'm not the one that needs to be here! Everyone here is insane! You of all people need help. You are a crazy, psychotic, angry, little girl! WHY WON'T YOU PEOPLE JUST LET ME LEAVE!"
Her eyebrows scrunched together as she narrowed her eyes. The nurse put her hands on her shoulders as if she was going to stand too.
"Get your hands off me! I'm cool. I'm cool!"
She surrendered her hands in the air and carried on with her eating.
I picked up my plate and threw it in the trash can as I walked towards the door.
"I want to go back into my room," I told the man guarding the only visible exit.
"As you wish." He gestured for the woman to come over. I rolled my eyes.
"Ms. Ana will escort you back."
We walked back in silence until we reached my door. She took out her keys and opened my door.
"Listen, you and I, we don't get along. So, let's not talk to each other until you guys decide to let me go in a week. That will be all. Goodnight."
She entered the room with me, "Mia… Let's have a chat."
She sat on my temporary bed and patted her hand against the cold white sheet.
"Now, why don't you like me?" she said in a sincere voice.
For a brief moment, the room stood still. I stared at her with a blank face hoping she would leave, but she didn't look like she was going anywhere. I let out a big sigh.
"You're so pushy and you always want me to say something. I don't like talking about my feelings. And you talk to me like I have cancer or something, like I'm weak and dying. You treat me different than the other patients. I just don't get it."
"Can I tell you something, something no one else here knows? I… Well, I used to be like you. I went through everything you're going through, every day for seven years. And no one really knew or cared. I figured my mom knew, but just like you, she was in denial. Then one day, bam! I collapsed. I was dehydrated and starving. I was nothing but skin and bones, ultimately weak. You think you got it bad here? I was admitted to the hospital. Spent about five days there before I was admitted into the same children's ward you are in today. I spent about three weeks here, but that wasn't the first time I came across these walls. I still remember the feeling, like it was yesterday, shallow and cold, just like me. A year after I was released, my mom noticed I was falling back into the bad habits. So, she admitted me again. This time, I spent two months here. I don't want you to spend two months here… ever. It can get lonely here and it is important for you to maintain a normal teenage life. But, it's hard if you don't have the right mindset. I just want to help you Mia; I know what it was like. That's why I became a psychiatrist, to help those like us, to prevent you from struggling more than you already have. So please, can you at least try and work with me? You're not going to get better just by being here. I need more effort from you. Okay? And maybe I can work on getting some chocolate ice cream for you?" she said with a delicate smirk.
"Mint."
"Mint it is. But you have to do your part. Okay?"
"Deal."
"Deal."