You’re the only ones that know what’s going on. Why won’t you help me?

Someone save me

before it’s too late

Her Fault

There were people sitting in chairs, aligned in a circle. We were cheering, but the reason why had slipped my mind. This part happened in a daze. I saw this how others would see slow motion. The images are blurred and the edges stick in place while you try to move your vision to another image - causing lines or streaks to be seen wherever you go of what you were looking at last. Almost as if they were arms trying to keep you from looking. They’re black, sticky and hard to remove like the burnt parts of a barbecue. 

She was trying hard before to look okay. Forcing a smile yet holding her stomach when she thought someone wasn’t looking. But I was always looking. Since I, of course was the only one that knew what was wrong with her.

But whatever she was feeling in her stomach I was feeling too, except mine had a different name - guilt. 

People were still applauding as I made my way to her chair.

Her back was towards me and I called out her name - but she couldn’t hear me. The sound of the hands smashing together seemed to be getting louder and was almost zoning my voice out. I had to physically grasp her chin with my hand and turned her head to face me.

“Are you okay?” I couldn’t help it. I was nervous.

All you could do was nod. But I’ve seen that look way too many times. I knew exactly what you were feeling.

“No you’re not.”

I don’t remember what happened here.

It’s sort of black.

Almost as if I was the one that let the blackness consume me.

This I remember clearly.

I can still hear my scream.

The next scene was me running with you in my arms. You were frail, unconscious and so so skinny. I didn’t remember you being so skinny and I was terrified. You were skin and bones - and I did that to you. I made you think you were fat. Made you think you were gaining weight and that the only way for us to win was if you were at your best - and by best, I meant lose weight, despite how skinny you are. You let me get to your head.

You were so light in my arms that I had to look at you to make sure you were still there.

I was crying. I couldn’t stop crying. I was crying to the point I was screaming and I couldn’t stop screaming.

There were people looking at me wondering why I was crying so hard and there was a time where my subconscious mind thought about that too - why was I crying so hard?

Because I did this. I made you believe you had to starve yourself in order to be pretty. In order to be happy. I let you believe that you were ugly and fat and.. nothing. And it’s because I forced you to starve yourself and throw your food up that you passed out. You were so hungry you couldn’t see straight. But you wouldn’t let yourself eat. If you did, you knew you’d hate yourself, right? You’d squeeze at her stomach with the urge to just pull it out as if it was possible. You could feel the food sitting in your stomach and all you want to do is get it back out. You passed out because of this. Because of me. I’m doing this to you. 

Although everything was shown to me in tunnel-vision, this, for some reason I remember clearly.

The tiles were blue and for some reason there was a mattress strewn with graffiti. Although it was a bathroom, there was not a sink or a cubicle in sight. Instead it was just a large tiled room that had a level and was split in two. I placed you on the floor as gently as I could and the image of twig-like legs is popping in my head as I’m remembering  this. Maybe I looked at yours then. I don’t remember feeling envious towards her legs. Instead disgusted and a feeling of wanting to hurl. 

There were girls from my school in the other room. There was no doors so they could see perfectly what was happening. Now that I think of it, that group of girls have the body that I aspire for. 

They were disgusted they were laughing and happy but once we came in the room they stopped. Almost like when you’re having a good day until something/one comes in your head or walks in the room and it just triggers something in you and reminds you of something so horrible that you fall silent for the rest of the day. And you’re almost mad at yourself for letting you have that small laugh when you could’ve been thinking about that that bad thing all along. So along with sadness is that guilt for not being sad beforehand.

“Gross!” “Ewwww!”

That was only a few things that they said when they saw you. I couldn’t handle it. I got the mattress strewed with graffiti and placed it in the doorway between the two rooms as if that would be able to shut the noise out. 

And that was it.

That’s all I can remember.

I don’t know what happens in the end.

I don’t know what happens to you.

I don’t know what happens to me.

And I don’t want to know.

Because the graffiti was blood.

The tiles remind me of the rooms in an asylum.

The verbs turned present.

And the subject of the story changed from she to you.

And I’m so scared.

03/12/12