thinMature

I trudged into the dingy home of my mother. We had moved out of our home when I was seven, when Daddy dearest decided I was old enough to take care of myself and walked out on me and a pregnant Mom. She aborted it, saying she couldn't stand another Richards in the house, she took back her maiden name; Winthrope and christened me with it as well. She obliterated him from her life, the only thing left that reminded her of him was well; me.

The apartment was in a shady neighborhood, it reeked of musk, ciggarette smoke and longing. The carpet was dull stained and faded, the couch looked more a prop from a horror movie than furniture we had one bedroom, and a storage space. I loved my mother, and I didn't blame her. She did the best she could with what she had, she had tried to create a family but an endless parade of one night stands was all she could manage. She tried to quit the pills too many times, too many for me, too many for my father. She held the best jobs she could; Wall-Mart cashier, waitress even a secratary once. I had gotten in to dancing school with my own babysitting money, sweat and pleading. I recevied a discount; granting I cleaned the studio twice a week, but cleaning a room with only windows wasn't difficult and besides it gave me time to practice. Which I would be needing if I got the part.

if    

there was always the if.

I tossed my coat on the couch arm and my boot's on the mat, then routinely walked to fridge, opening it I nearly puked. There was nothing discusting in there, only the thought of my dreams being wasted away by

calories, blubber, fat, climbing in your skin crawling eating holes in your brain bursting your stomach to tissue and dust. Wasting away in your bloodstream.

the severity of my reaction caught me off gaurd, I mean I had problems with my body but didn't every girl? It was only in that moment I had realized that my perfection was only trying to hide the one thing I couldn't fix.

I was fat

fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat discusting whale. I should be dead. I should be shot.

I slammed the fridge with a noise lould enough to get the Remerezes and there ubteenth child to shut up for a minute or two above me. I went into the bathroom and slammed around for my mothers sleeping pills. I took two.

The End

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