Her Secret Battle

She sits angled away from me, her head down. She doesn't speak.

"I thought-" She cuts me off, waving me away with her hand. "I know." she whispers. "I know what you thought. It's what everyone thought. But I couldn't stop." I have no words. I was proud of her, so proud for overcoming this, for taking control of her own life again. But I was wrong. I let out a long sigh and lean back. "Why?"

"You know why. I want to be skinny." I lift my head, stare her straight in the eyes. "You are skinny. You're gorgeous. Why can't you see that?" Her eyes, an electric blue, stare back. She blinks quickly, fighting back tears, and shakes her head. "I wish I were you. If I were, I'd carry a mirror around everywhere. You're so pretty" She forces a sad smile.

This shocks me. I quickly shake my head, "No. I'm all messed up on the inside." I stare back at her. We're opposites, my dark curls juxtaposing her straight blonde, her light blue eyes boring into my deep brown, and my chubby face studying her slender one.

She lowers her head, and pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. She raises her eyebrows in question and opens her mouth, ask if to speak, but stops herself. I know what she was going to ask, and instinctively I wrap my arms around myself, pressing close against my chest, hidden. I shake my head no, answering her unasked question. I have won my own battle, for now.



Later, I am at home, and her words echo through my mind. Suddenly, I am grasping, reaching. For reasons I don't understand, I shove food in my mouth. Without thinking, I eat. Ice cream appears, and I shovel it into my mouth. I realize I'm crying. I stop. I feel fat, bloated.

I push my finger into my stomach, and watch as the soft fat forms a dimple under it. I think of her, how dainty, how small, and I cry as I realize that she always sees this. She always feels fat. Blinded by the media's definition of beauty, night after night, she'll look at herself, and never feel good enough. So she cannot stop. Bulimia has won her battle.

I cry freely, for her, for me, for everyone with their own secret battle that they must fight. Eventually, the tears slow, and I wipe my eyes. I stand up and clean myself off. We might never be good enough, but we must never give up the fight.