It was a party...

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It was a party, a party like any other, joy and people filled it. It was a surprise party, I sat with my mother chatting with some women, wives of my father's friends, with whom he joked. My mother and I joked, laughed, talked, we got along very well that night at that party. The birthday boy arrived, we took the picture, there was an excellent understanding between me and my mother, we both hate photos and we are both very shy. It was a party, a party with the buffet, the usual things like
pizza, chips, ham, salami and more; she, my mother, hates the buffets being shy and I gave to her courage, too timid. It was a party and being such there were people laughing, everything was colored with the most beautiful colors: happiness, joy, carelessness. The time came to choose food, all, like bees on a flower, immersed on that table hungry; I quietly selected the least caloric food, meticulous and careful in choosing the right things according to my sick brain; I was excited by the idea of ​​dying of hunger, of losing weight at first sight, of making an impression on the observer. It was a party, as such it was a beautiful evening. While I swallowed the right choice I had made I heard in my ears the voice of my mother, tremendously worried "you are fasting" "you are not eating anything"; I swallowed food that it was like bitter, almost like poison, I state that for me eating is not a kind of pleasure, with the addition of maternal reproaches it is much worse.
We argued that night, and a lot. It was a party, and as such it was no longer cheerful and carefree, it was no longer colored, it was painted black and gray, dressed in sadness ... it was a party and was ruined by a monster: anorexia.


Sorry for my English, I'm not English, I speak Italian , I tried to do it; I hope you will understand the meaning of this.

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