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My lunchtime consists of either not eating or stuffing my face till the words "fat ***" crawl out of my friends mouth. The words sting me like a bee or a metaphor that's been overused like...being stung by a bee. Let's think about this for a minute though, think about whether or not I should feel guilty for my pleasures. I started starving myself sophomore year, the words breakfast lunch and dinner made me want to puke out the hatred I have for a body whose done nothing to me. At one point I tried to love myself, tried to show that food isn't the enemy it's just the voices in my head that tell me it is. "You should lose weight." "You're out of shape" "Fat ***", these count for each stretch mark I have on my body that crept up slowly and silently on me like a murderer to his victim. One was from my dad, two was from my friends, three was from my mom cause she said I was so handsome, four cause I don't deserve to eat, five cause I want to be pretty. Six because guys like me don't get to be pretty.
   It doesn't end easily or quickly. I've gone from overweight to underweight to a healthy weight to a weight where I pull back the flabs of skin so I can count my ribs one by one again. I've even gotten to the point where if somebody tells me I look good all I can think is that they're lying. I see a difference between fat and fat, the words itself form the gelatinous image you imagine when thinking of them, sounding sour as it comes off my tongue. You don't have to be a girl to have an eating disorder, a ****** up concept that society hasn't quite grasped yet.
When you were old enough to walk, you were either given a Barbie doll or a Tea Set. Because you were a little girl, and apparently, since you are a girl who has just been given life herself, you should be in charge of a life. From the time we were able to run, you were given tutus and ballet shoes. Because a girl should be graceful and quiet, poised and elegant. "Look at this pretty doll, Suzie!" and "Why are you always getting into such messes!" are things that should never coexist in a little girl's life.

What happened to being who you want to be? I want to mosh to Green Day, not learn how to play Clair de Lune on a piano. What happened to those days when you could run around and not care who saw you?

Because now your life revolves around: "Does this shirt match these jeans?" and "I wonder if he'll look at me if I wear more make-up?" I long for a life where I was never raised to believe that being a little girl meant looking beautiful for someone else. I want to live a life where I can look stunning in a band tee and skinnys, and not give a **** what anyone thinks.

Because what happened? You grew up and met the world. And the world ate you and spit you back out.
* I really don't like this one, but think what you will*
Hello. Most of you don’t even know who I am, but you see me every day. I am the girl that you ask to help with your homework, the “ Who knows the answer to number 11?” girl. But even the ones that know my name don’t really know me. Not even my closest friends. They don’t know the anxiety, the pressure, the constant fear of what might happen if I don’t pass in this test? How is my sister doing? Are they treating her right? If I fail this, will my future change? What about boys? Actually, no. Not going there. Because I am the smart girl who gives them the answers because I don’t feel like challenging the social ladder. Because I am a simple girl with a perfect life, right? Wrong. We all have problems, and I am willing to bet that some of you know where I am coming from. And maybe some of you have had it harder than me.

And that is why I put it all in. I smile, but it’s not in my eyes. I laugh, but does anyone hear how hollow my voice is? I get good grades, and when I don’t, it’s a big deal. I got a lower grade in my French class, and the class laughed. I scored an 88. Think about that. I am always pushed to do the right thing, do good in school, make a life for yourself. I HAD to get all above 95’s in Middle School. I HAD to make honor roll. My mother was counting on me as the perfect twin.

But what about me? How am I doing? Fine, fine, fine. That’s all that is ever said. All anyone hears. And if we are going to be honest with ourselves, all anyone cares about. Because no one wants to deal with that icky, nasty thing we label “The Truth”. That’s right folks. Because not everyone who looks okay is. Because not everyone who laughs isn’t crying on the inside. And not everyone one who smiles isn’t lying.

Now when you look down the halls of this school, how do you see people? Popular, football player, cheerleader, gamer geek, fat, gay, lesbian, emo, cutter, punk, teacher’s pet, and even the occasional ew freshmen. But no one know’s that their thoughts, they aren’t just in their minds. All thoughts find a way out. And these thoughts of yours that called us geek, nerd, teacher’s pet. We know them. We hear them. And they become our thoughts.

No one wants to hear this. There’s this voice in my head telling me I might pass out.... now! What if I mess this up? Will my teacher judge me? What about my friends? Are they going to like me, or leave me? My sister, her friends, how are they going to take this? Oh God, what if? But what happens when... Will they.... And someone will understand this feeling inside. The feeling of absolute dread. The feeling that you are going to die.

Welcome to the world of anxiety. The world of never ending worries, the realm of reliving nightmares that you haven’t had yet. The place where your worst fears become a reality. Anxiety is where you worry about things that haven’t happened yet, where people talk behind your back without ever saying a word. This is my world. What is yours?
My dad. The words that sear a hole through my heart. The words that I focus on when I need to be angry. It’s funny how those two little words can change your day, change your week, change your life. When I was a little girl, there was nothing I loved more than hearing my dad’s boots stomp through the door. I never would have guessed that those same boots would be yelling, storming, bashing through our house, tearing it apart like a row boat in a tsunami.
You taught me how to swim, but never how to stay afloat in the sea of your lies. You were my sun, but the sun, it WILL burn you. Don’t look at it too long because you WILL go blind. Your words and lies the harmful rays, slowing killing me with kindness and light.
You showered me with gifts to hide the truth. One new book for a hidden pack of cigarettes, a trip out to eat for your 12-pack of liquor. But I was too young. Too naive to realize that my world that you built was slowing falling apart, crumbling down around me, and I was in your path of destruction.
Years later I would come to realize the reason for your lies. You never wanted me. I was the disappointment with a big red FAILURE painted on my forehead. You wanted a boy. Never a girl, and twin girls at that. This was the reason you pushed me to do baseball, have all boy friends. I was the girl you never wanted, so you tried to change me. And I let you. That was the biggest mistake of my life.
I will never get back the life I had before, one free of panic attacks, social anxiety, nightmares (on the good nights), and self esteem lower that the waist bands of some boys’ pants. You wanted to change me, and oh, did you! You ******* me up for life. So I hope you are proud of yourself. You transformed a little girl who worshipped the ground you walked on into a depressed and emotionally compromised teen. You took my dreams and you ran them over with that truck that you cared so much more about than me.
There should be no reason for me to fear whenever someone talks to me, touches me, or goes in for a hug. I should not fear high-fives or fist-bumps. And yet, here I am, scared to death of what that person is going to do to hurt me. I would like to thank you for taking that trust away from me.
So before you start to make a false past about someone again, think about what you did to me. I was your daughter, you my father. Now you are just a distant memory of a lost childhood and a nightmare of my life. You are not my father. You are the man who gave me life, and then took it away just as fast.

— The End —