yesterday zack saw me looking exhausted and weak in math class. he asked what was wrong and i said "headache." he asked why and i said "i don't know." but i knew. and he could tell i was lying.
at band practice i swayed and blamed it on weed. as my vision turned black and back he saw my eyes widen.
battling the munchies at 10pm, i finally got the phone call. he just kept talking and talking, trying to reason with me, trying to convince me i need food, that it doesn't make me weak to eat, that i'm perfectly fine the way i am. lies. he had good intentions, but he was naive. i can't have food because i'm too fat and undeserving. if i eat, it means i'm a failure. he couldn't understand that logic that has become so commonplace in my mind.
it only led him to tears as he said seven words still echoing and echoing:
"you're scaring the hell out of me."
i made my best friend cry. i'm hurting him and i know it. even when i hide it i'm hurting him. he sees right through me.
but he doesn't understand how badly i need this.
homecoming is saturday. senior pictures next week. my mom is on a diet again, and losing. and i can't let her have the satisfaction of losing more than me. he doesn't understand this. he sees only black and white, healthy or hurting myself. i see a spectrum, though i don't know exactly where i'd be. i'm not yet at an unhealthy weight, which is where most of the risk comes from when you live like this. but all the other behaviors are there: the starving, the overexercising, the incessant need to continuously push my limits without rest.
what he doesn't understand is that this is my life since i was 14. this is all i know. this is all i understand. this is all i trust. and every time i wake up to step on the scale and see the number lower than the day before, it is only my proof that it's working. that i'm right. that i'm winning.