Alone

Rachel

*PRESENT:2016, RACHEL IS 15 (PRESENT) just to clear confusion up

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Tuesday, Feb. 21st (Present)

"Again, dad, why are we doing this? If anything...I'm TOO fat." I ask my dad

"Fat? Look at you, frail and bony. I can see your collarbone! I don't know what bullshit you are thinking, but you are TOO SKINNY. Knock off whatever you're doing...is this for attention? We're spending all this money to scan your HEART because you're dangerously underweight!!" my dad responded

I cringe while trying not to lose my shit completely...my dad was never that much of a nice guy. Honestly, it may be my fault since I never told him the REAL reason I had this problem. He doesn't know I am anorexic, but I never talked to him about it, well, never talked to him truthfully about it.

"Honey, I think that was a bit...well. Maybe it isn't for attention, and it was a bit insensit-" my mom was interrupted

"Shut up, Mary. You're always going against what I have to say when it comes to our Rachel," my dad shouted.

My parents are always fighting. Usually over me. Sometimes I feel like it's my fault but at the same time I feel it is my dad's fault for being such a douchebag. He is so hurtful sometimes, like when he wouldn't let me go to Anna's party a while ago, because it was going to be past my curfew of fucking eight thirty. And that's my weekend curfew. My family doesn't get me...I've attempted suicide four times in my life, and two of those attempts were because of my dad. Sometimes I dream of running away.

"Well, Rachel. We're here, where even the doctor will tell you how delusional you are. You are not fat, goddamn it!" my dad says angrily. I sigh and get out of the car, slamming the door out of hatred, for my dad but even more so myself. My mom, dad, and I walk into the clinic, and I sit down in the waiting area while my parents check in with the receptionists.

Trying to take my mind off of my dysfunctional family, I flip out a magazine, cross my legs and start reading.

"Rachel Kingston?" the nurse requests across the room. I must have lost track of time...usually these appointment people don't come until 20 minutes after they were supposed to. My parents and I walk over to the nurse.

"So, I'm Jenn, and I assume you're Rachel?" the nurse asked. I nod my head yes.

"That's me." I confirm

"Great, so first I'll just need you to remove your shoes and step on the scale for me" Jenn instructs. Slipping my shoes off, I step onto the scale. Please tell me I lost weight. Please. Being anorexic and being weighed on an almost ALWAYS accurate scale can cause anxiety. People tell me I'm so skinny and they'd die to look like me, but I beg to differ. My mom says I don't see my body the way everyone else does.

My mom doesn't know much about my problems, but sometimes I slip. I've attempted suicide, cut myself countless times, and have consistently struggled with my body image...but I do not trust my mom to tell her. It's not that I have a problem with my mom, but I know she will just tell my dad if I say anything. 

"Eighty-five pounds. Wow, you are one tiny girl." Jenn tells me. I semi-cringe while trying not to scream at her. If one more fucking person tells me I'm skinny...boy I'd kill to look like anyone except myself.

Jenn tells me I'm going to need an EKG. What the hell is that? I ask my mom what an EKG is, and she informed me it was a scan of my heart...that they were concerned about my weight and wanted to see if my heart was still healthy. Oh, please...my heart is FINE. God's sakes, why do people care so much?