Sick of It

One morning, I woke up to find myself feeling exhausted. Just lifeless, I guess. Absolutely lifeless. I got up anyway. I had more important things to do than lie in bed all day. I had to tell Lucy the answers to last nights history homework. I had to baffle class hottie Josh Bryans with my new orange blazer and tight fitted jeans. I really needed to take the test in math that was worth like half of my grade at that time. I had to make sure that Kim won her election for student body president. I needed to do so many things that my head was spinning.
You see, that was only part of the reason I was so tired. Last night I stayed up until three in the morning doing homework, picking out my clothes, studying for my math quiz, and making posters that said: “KIM FOR PREZ, SHE‘S THE MAN, IF SHE CAN‘T DO IT NO ONE CAN!!!”. I definitely was not one of the most popular people at school, but that didn’t matter much. Everything was great anyway. I was a perfectionist. Everything I did had to be perfect. My room was never a mess. If I saw something on the ground and didn’t pick it up, it bothered me. I had straight A’s at school and my clothes were perfectly coordinated. My makeup spread on my rosy cheeks smoothly. My lip gloss looked amazing on my pouty lips. My dark brown hair was never frizzy. In fact, the only reason I wasn’t popular or a preppy cheerleader is because being one would mean leaving Lucy and Kim behind.
That was definitely not an option. They had been my absolutely best friends since kindergarten. We were absolutely inseparable since then. Lucy, Kim and Jess. Everyone knew that we were friends. We were hard to miss. We always wore the same clothes in first and second grade. We had the same haircut from third to sixth grade. However after that we decided that we looked to much alike. I grew my hair long-all the way past my shoulders. Kim left hers shoulder length and Lucy cut hers to her cheekbones. Now we were in eighth grade. We were different looking, but still totally inseparable.
So I continued being their friend, and I loved every minute of it. Up until that morning. I felt so sick and looked pretty bad too. You see I was trying to lose weight. I had been throwing up most of my food. I thought it was the perfect way to lose weight. I mean I still got to eat, but I didn’t gain weight. I thought it was great alright. Up until I threw up every time I bent over. I did some research and found out that what I was doing was called bulimia. This was the other reason I was tired Throwing up your food.
I felt horrible mentally and physically that morning. I didn’t pay enough attention to it at the time. I got dressed in my orange blazer and jeans. I noticed the jeans felt looser than the day I bought them at a thrift store. That day was about a week ago. The jeans got lost in my dresser and I didn’t find them until later yesterday, when I cleaned it out again. In the past couple of weeks I felt tired most of the time, but never this much. I was tired last week, when I stopped cleaning my room every day. It was quite a mess. My mom asked what was wrong and I lied. You see, I LIED to my mom. I said I was just busy at school.
When I walked into the kitchen that morning, my mom was gone. Thank God, I thought. She wouldn’t have allowed for me go to school looking like this. She would have made me go to a doctor and my problem may have been discovered. I didn’t even want to loose weight anymore. It just happened. But I was ashamed. I didn’t want anyone to find out. I was so wrong about what people would think.
I walked across the street to Kim’s house. Lucy was already there. “Oh my goodness, you look sick! Are you OK Jess?” said Lucy.
“Sure I am. Why?” I lied.
“ No, you’re not OK,” exclaimed Kim, ”Look at how much weight you lost. I didn’t notice much when you were wearing all of that baggy clothes, but look at you, you’re so pale!”
“I feel great, let’s just go I don’t want to be late for school.” I lied again. I wanted to leave so Kim’s mom didn’t see me. I felt weird.
“OK, if you say so,” Lucy said warily, ”But I seriously hope you’re all right.”

* * *
That day at school I fainted. In front of everyone. On the stairs. I fell and broke my arm. The doctor noticed how skinny I was. He asked me if I had any problems with my weight. I said that I didn’t but he didn’t believe me. He made me go to a speciallist. Now, six months later, I am back to normal. I was very lucky though, not everyone’s story has such a happy ending. I feel and look great again. But the shadow of bulimia will always be with me, even though it is behind me.


Note from author: This story is NOT autobiographical. It is a work of realistic fiction.