I Wasn't Going to CryMature

Pretty soon, even though we still felt kind of miserable, Idina and I were in our room, packing the one suitcase Idina was allowed to take with her to the eating disorder treatment facility. 

As my sister and childhood best friend began packing her clothes away, I could barely fight the tears. By then, I'd determined that tears were a sign of weakness, but now I just couldn't help it. As Idina laid out all her clothes to put in the suitcase, I knelt beside her with tears in my eyes and whispered, "I wasn't going to cry."

"Stop," Idina said, and I could tell she was fighting tears, too. It shocked me, since lately the anorexia had made her too emotionless to really seem to care about anything.

I walked over to the mirror. "Do you want me to cut some of my hair for you?" At her nod, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off a sizable section from my left side. I gave it to Idina, and she put it in her wallet. To this day, I can still find the uneven section of my hair where I gave it to Idina.

The End

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