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Story of a Stranger
When things start to hit you hard all at once, you begin drifting further and further from your self. You become a stranger.
Sick
The pain in my hip turned out not to be a hernia. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with it. I was on prescribed vicodin for now. I went through many appointments, but still no results. However, with each visit to the doctors, I was pleased to find out I had lost ten pounds between visits. From the beginning of January until the beginning of May, I had lost a total of 50 pounds. Putting me at a decent 150. I still felt fat though. My unhealthy diet continued.

People started noticing me more. At dances, boys actually asked me to dance. My friends now wanted to hang out with me more than ever. Especially since I would be moving soon. In the course of two years, I had gone from unpopular, unattractive, stupid, and fat, to popular, loved, beautiful, smart, and skinny. I was the perfect model.

My mother was jealous. To show it, she spent most of her time belittling me. In her eyes, I was still worthless. I was still unattractive and gross. I was a despicable human being.

Her words dug deep. With a razor, I dug just as deep. My arms and legs were covered in horrible scars. Surprisingly, the effects of anorexia and bulimia had not shown beyond altering my shape.

Working and studying hard kept me up to unearthly hours of the morning, so I was constantly tired. I had a low tolerance for vicodin, so two pills alone were enough to get me high. I turned to vicodin often as a means to escape the degrading words pounding through my head. The few hours I had under their influence were more of a blessing than anything.

The vicodin made me act crazy around my friends. Even though it was a sleeping medication as well as a pain medication, I never seemed to be tired from it. I was more outgoing and hyper after taking it than I was without it. My friends encouraged me to take vicodin just before seeing them every time so hanging out with me would be entertaining. Of course it was my nature to please everyone, so I did. I needed it for my hip anyway.

I thought this is what happiness was. Spending time with people who loved you, forgetting about everything that caused you worry or pain, and burying what did cause you pain under scars all over your body. As long as people believed I was happy, it was true.





 
 
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