Let me read it.  No.

Let me read it.  No.

No, because it's about her.  

About the way she eats and the way she doesn't.

 

The soda passes her lips and burns as it travels down her throat.  And she feels guilty.  She feels sick. 160 empty calories.  45 sugars, just sitting there in her stomach.

 

Let me read it.  No.

Let me read it.  No.

No, because you're even worse than she is.

It's about her.  

And it's about you.  

It's about the way you eat and the way you don't and the way you think about what not eating will do to your body.  

What you hope it will do to your body.  

You hid it so well.  

I didn't even notice.  

How did I not notice?

 

160 calories.  45 sugars.  Just sitting there in her stomach.  She can feel it there like a swarm of ants that want desperately to climb back up her thraot and out of her mouth.  160 calories.  45 sugars.  An empty can has never looked so hideous.

 

But I can fix it.  

I have to fix it.  

Here's a band aid for you and a band aid for her.

And no, you can't read it because I know what you'll use it for.  

It will become your friend, a justification.  

So, no, you can't read it, because I am not going to be part of the problem.  

I'm here to say all the right things and none of the wrong things.

I only wrote it for me.  

It's mine.  

I only wanted to see if maybe I could understand the disgust you feel toward food, toward fat, toward yourselves.  

But I don't.  

I don't understand.

 

The soda passes their lips and burns as it travels down their throats.  160 calories.  45 sugars.  Too many.  Too many.  They have never felt more hideous.

 

I don't understand you.

But I can fix you.

I can. 

Here's a band aid.

A band aid for your bones because that's all you've become.

No one will listen.

And the clocks tick as the pounds disappear and I am here to say all the right things.

But no one will listen.

I'm sorry.

I am so, so, so, sorry that I can't be what you need anymore.

Because I am tired and I am angry and the swarm of ants that want to climb up my throat and out of my mouth can no longer be contained.

Late at night, when you are at your weakest and you need me most, I am at my weakest and all the ants come tumbling out.

Just eat like a normal person.

You look unhealthy.

snap out of it.

You're not the only one this is hurting...

And then I've said all the wrong things and there's no going back.

Except, maybe, I don't care.  

Maybe I've snapped a little, because you're not the only one this is hurting.

You have an eating disorder.

And you have an eating disorder.

But you've given me two.

I wanted to be able to handle two.

I could handle two.

I could do it because I love you, and I love you.

But I am tired and I am angry and I am confused.

I don't know how much to invest in people who won't invest in themselves.

Caring.

I am sick of caring.

I am sick of caring and I hate you.

It's not fair and it's selfish and I hate you.

All I have is a band aid and that's not what I need to fix you.

Fix you.

Fix you.

Not that you would let me.  

Because I'm the one to blame.

But I'm the one who gets to be angry.

Me.

Not you.

This is your fault.

You think you have to be skinny.

Pretty.

Perfect.

But you already are, and no one is going to love you anymore than they already do, and you will not love yourself, and you will not have any more control.  

This only means you've already lost it.

Hey.  Hey.

How are you?  Good.

But I'm not because I'm wondering what you've eaten today.

And you?  I ask, ignoring my real question.

When will it end?

I'm fine.

And I don't argue because I already know how this conversation goes.

I'm fine.  You're not.

I'm fine.  But you bleed through my band aid and there are no right things to say and no, you can't read it because it's about you and the way you eat and the way you don't and how much I wish you could see that you are already just a skeleton that talks and I am so confused and I am so angry and I am so tired.  How could you do this?  You're killing yourselves.

We're fine. You're killing me.