Winter had never been my favorite season. And no, it wasn’t because of the piercing cold or the blistering wins. Winter introduced a visitor; a visitor who could hide beneath my layers of clothing and whom I certainly didn’t welcome with open arms. It visited temporarily, but the harm it took along with it was a pain that stuck through me throughout the year until yet another winter. It was nothing but a vicious cycle.
It made home in the pit of my stomach, used my feelings as pillows, and my thoughts as a blanket. I drew blades to my skin, hot cigarettes overtop, in desperate hopes of ridding myself of this monster but it only seemed to encourage it; the monster thrived on my pain. With ever cut, with every burn, it only got worse.
The monster grew, along with my self hate.
It swarmed my body, and my head. My limbs ached, along with my head. I woke in pain and I closed my eyes at night just the same, if I could even close them at all. The monster kept me awake and it kept me alive – only to make me dream of the opposite. I yearned for the sweet hum of death, for the pain and the misery to end. I wanted to be alone; I wanted the monster gone.
The months in the winter dragged on. Had it been a month? A year? I couldn’t count, nor could I focus.
Wrists, thighs, stomach. Crimson blood seemed to stain everything, yet no one seemed to notice. I was drowning in my own blood and everyone stood and watched me choke and sputter as I tried to keep my head above water. It didn’t take long for me to allow myself to sink.
The mirror, who had once been a helpful and welcoming site, had long since been tossed to the floor and smashed – along with my dreams and hope.
‘You’ll never be pretty.’ ‘You’re so fat. Jeez, look at those thighs.’ The monster would whisper and point out every flaw within me, but I wasn’t sure what hurt more – the fact that the monster took notice of them, or the fact that I believed them.
Breakfast, lunch, supper, snack. Every word associated with food became nothing but a long forgotten myth as I watched the fat on my body fade away. My bones seemed to grow as they made themselves visible through my skin, but my eyes could only focus on the fat still left. My stomach roared in hunger and the monster smiled in encouragement as I would toss yet another dinner into the garbage.
It had been three months until my mother finally took notice of the change. I was down to 103 pounds (a huge accomplishment considering the 120 I had been). Her eyes had narrowed in on my wrists and she grabbed my arm. The pink scars smiled up at her, but she didn’t smile back.
“You need to get a job. You need to get out of the house more. I don’t want my daughter turning into a screw-up. And you’re already halfway there.” And she walked away.
The monster had tugged on my heart and laughed. Not only did it whisper cruel things to me, but my mother had too.
‘Such a screw-up. And don’t you forget it.’ The monsters voice caressed me as I brought yet another blade down to my skin. She had seen those scars, but hadn’t suspected my legs. My secret continued.
It didn’t take long before everything became too much for me to handle; the torture of being locked up with this monster inside me, the secrets, the hurt, the confusion. There was only one option left.
I had been in the bathroom when the thought struck me. The monster, of course, encouraged it.
My hands shook with anticipation as I fumbled to open the tiny little bottle of acetaminophen. The cap popped off and seconds later the bottle met my greedy mouth as I gulped down the pills without any water to help at all.
Peace.
It’s what I was hoping for, but disappointment and pain struck my body as my head swam in its numb state. I puked for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Addison!”
Mom?
Mom…
Mom!
Feet. Legs. Arms. Face. It was all blurry and I couldn’t tell the difference between people and my surroundings. The sound of sirens blared in the distance, but all I could focus on was the dull feeling in the back of my chest.
That was supposed to disappear…
…wasn’t that the point of this?
I was being put into a vehicle. Ambulance? The unfamiliar voices and sirens said so.
I give up.
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
Weeks had passed. Or was it months. I had been released from the hospital after endless treatments for my mental health and I had finally been marked “not suicidal”. Oh, joy. The stuff they didn’t know.
The monster was still here. He’d have me whipped back into shape soon.
I hadn’t seen a mirror in so long. I haven’t looked in one. I wasn’t sure when I returned about my feelings towards it, but the monster soon set that straight.
First glance. ‘Oh.’
Double take. ‘God. You’ve put on so much weight. Fatty.’
Third. ‘What are you doing? Why’d you want to look at something so ugly?’
I didn’t reach four.
Numb.
Nothing had changed. Nothing would. I would remain this way and I knew it. Nothing would change, nothing would. Nothing.
Numb.
The feeling that remained with me. The feeling that offered me the only comfort; I knew it was always there, it was ordinary to me. It would never change and it would never leave. It was the one thing that’d stay.
Numb.
The one word that described me.
“Addison, dinner time.” Mother called. Oh, fun.
I had to force myself through it, bite by bite, but it was soon over. Each second I had to sit at the table after as mom and dad finished was painful. My body leant towards the bathroom slightly, I could feel it. All I wanted to do was run there as fast as my fat legs could take me and empty my stomach into toilet – to say ‘bye’ to the calories.
It felt like hours until I was finally let up. It took every ounce of my self-control to walk to the bathroom, not sprint.
“I just have to pee.”
Finger down my throat.
Gag.
Vomit.
Flush.
Relief.
