Diary Entry 74 （Nine Months Ago）
Nine Months Ago
Dear Twila,
Dad ordered doughnuts for everyone at work two days ago. It was a special treat to celebrate a big job we’d all completed. I love doughnuts (who doesn’t), so I was pretty excited to have one. I went to grab one from the breakroom, and Bradley was in there with Cassidy and John.
“Are you sure you need that?”
I know Bradley didn’t mean anything by it. At least, that’s what I told myself until I couldn’t convince myself of it anymore. I asked him what he meant, and he said he just meant it wasn’t healthy.
But he had one.
Cassidy and John had one.
I know what he meant. I know why Cassidy and John snorted like a pig every time I walked by after that.
Why say something so awful? People have this weird notion that words hold no power, but then why do we read?
If words don’t have the ability to hurt people, why do we cling to them like lifelines when reading about love, adventures, and magic?
Words are the deadliest weapon a person can wield, because one word from a friend or stranger could make someone believe everything they say.
“God, she looks like a fucking cow.”
“Look how ugly she is. No make-up is going to fix that.”
“Why does she even bother opening her mouth if she’s just going to say stupid shit?”
“She’s so weird. A real freak.”
Words are the deadliest weapon a person can wield, because one word from a friend or stranger could unknowingly be enough to tip someone off the ledge.
I fell off that ledge.
So I stopped eating. For two days, I haven’t had anything to eat.
At least, that was the case until a moment ago. I’ve been feeling terrible and lethargic, so I gave in and had some crackers. I cried while I ate them. I hate myself for eating when I know what food does to me. Makes me bigger. Makes me ugly. Makes me a fucking pig.
Why couldn’t I be stronger?
Why do I have to be so weak?
Why do I have to look like this?
I hate this body, almost as much as I hate myself.