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She swore it would never get this bad.
Upon first glance, she was one of those girls who you assumed was all put together:
Wavy hair, smiling eyes, makeup done, maybe even wearing a nice dress.
But that’s upon first glance.
And things aren't always what they seem.
For she was also one of those girls who made sure that her weight was as low as her self-esteem.
She became someone, something, she never believed she could.
She smiled for the family portrait, and then locked herself in the bathroom, and ran the bathtub water to hide the noise.
She found control in the numbers, the calories, the pounds: the lower the better.
But still, she was one of those girls who you saw in the halls and thought was fine.
She got “better” for a little while. The number on the scale got higher than her self-esteem.
She’d like to tell you things have changed. But that would be lying. And she doesn’t lie anymore.
Now she’s seeking control in the conflict that fills her soul. No one tells her she’s fat. She isn’t. No, she’s not even close. She just feels that way. She fears that the peering eyes see her how she sees herself. So she starts counting again. Comfort in the numbers. There’s always comfort in the numbers.
Websites she swore to never visit again somehow find themselves illuminated on her laptop screen,
their light piercing through the darkness at midnight.
“Don’t let your thighs touch,” and “Pretty girls don’t eat,” the pictures whisper.
She’s one of those girls whose parents think the world of her. Whose siblings admire her. She’s also one of those girls who, when asked, “What’s wrong?”, just smiles.
She lost some friends because of this. But I didn’t leave. She told me everything. I got her help. She hated me. But she's alive.
For that’s the thing about people: We’re all fighting a battle inside.
Some people fight back. Others let it win.
And others need someone to lean on
until the battles lost
and won.
