Possible
Warnings: Weirdness, behavior suggestive of material that might be offensive... or something.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slice-of-life, angst
Word Count: 1400~
Summary: One thought leads to one decision.
A/N: This is somewhat biographical of my feelings at the time of writing. Feeling better now. Also, because I'm a dork even when I'm depressed, there's a Doctor Who reference. Tell me if you see it.
It starts, as with many things - conquests, marriages, suicides - with the thought of 'I could'.
She's 17 or almost; a few more days though nothing will change. She's nothing too spectacular. She has a few languages under her belt because she can't do sports but needs something to attract colleges. She isn't even sure she wants to go to college.
She likes dance. Has for many years, its presence something like 'BAD WOLF' written across the strands of time. It appears and she doesn't really recognize that it's been there all the time until it's all she can think about. She thinks perhaps she'd like to dance.
She's short, about average height for an Asian country, but small for a family of giants. She likes to think of it as an endearing quality. She doesn't have much of those. Qualities she likes, that is.
Her hair is a cross between curly and straight, though too unruly to be wavy. She's lost weight since she was a kid. About 20 pounds in 2 years. There's still more she wants to lose, however, because her eyes are on the Asian countries. Her pupils rivet onto them and their small waists and sleek hair and perfection. She doesn't see much outside it.
And that's why she starts to think. Starts to think the thought that led to captures of countries, led to wedding rings and bells, led to the thud of body against concrete: I could.
Her school is a website, her classroom her bedroom. She's alone most of the time. It's afforded her time to know herself, more time to fight in the war against her eight. She's got a good grasp on who she is so she really thinks she could. She's got a bit of an ego - odd when considering her self-esteem isn't the highest - and she thinks she's clever. She could.
Things get in the way at first. Suddenly, her parents appear to care that she's graduating and running off into the world in a year. They think it requires a bit of the bonding and forethought they've never applied in her life. She can shrug them off, though, because she's clever and got a mouth that can strike at the exact spots that will make them retreat. Or push her away.
The next pitfall is unexpected. She can't. It's always looked so easy in films: a quick jab at the throat with a toothbrush and bracing oneself for torrents. Gagging comes, along with discomfort, but no torrents.
And then her ego turns against her. It tells her that she doesn't need to, that look! She's skinnier than that one and that one, if not a good deal of the population. It distracts her away from Asia because she's not in Asia. She's in America and obesity is as common as false hair where she's from.
The summer - her last one of high school - passes without the weight loss she's designated for it. By the time the blinders come off, no, she hasn't gained weight; she exercises too much for that. But she's not that 20 pounds less she wants. She needs.
She hesitates nonetheless. Her ego is still telling her that she's at least not bigger than others. That the Asian people she longs to be with, dark skin and half-fluency or no, would understand. They'll welcome her because she's special. She's so funny and not as fat as others and not as tan as others and unique.
She sees glimmers of that occasionally, when her self-esteem isn't waging war with her ego and decides to lay docile. It's only a flash in the full-length mirror she hates so much. Her legs - which she walks with apart, because Asian women have a gap between their legs and maybe she can too if she adjusts herself - will look just a slight bit slighter. Her shoulders will look just a mite amount bonier, her clavicle jabbing her jaw when she rests on it. She'll feel a boost, but it only stays until she looks again, seeing the creature in the mirror looking like the distortion of a fun house mirror.
She struggles that winter. Her blood pressure is low, her energy levels sinking to the bottom of her feet with it and the temperatures. She sees bone-thin girls and can't stand herself. She sees girls who look like they could open a bakery with all the rolls they sport and preens. She sees herself and wonders why she's alive.
And just as there are flickers of resolution in her love-hate war with herself, there's sparks of conflicting emotion rising in her opinion on Asia. She loves them. They're just so funny and skinny and pale and unique. Perfection she won't ever meet. She hates them. They shine in front of her, never consciously terrorizing her because they're too pretty and sweet for that. They don't do the same measurements and judgments she conducts against others. She wants them. They smile to each other, greeting with the respectful terms she's pored her soul into learning. She needs them. They tell her where she can improve -- even as the unspoken impossibility of it all sits heavily upon her.
Spring comes around without much closure. She's thrown into work. She fell behind and can't mess up like this. Her parents are still trying to play the good parent act and stay on her case. She lies and says she's doing well, erasing messages from her teachers before they hear them.
It's less than two months until graduation when anything changes. She feels nauseous around food, though she's the coupon cutter in the family and has no choice but to be around it. Her diet dwindles to meal supplements and yogurt, though she's never eaten nearly enough calories. Her father doesn't seem to care if she looks pained in the store. He's never been able to fully drag truth from her, his psychology degrees sitting uselessly when it comes to his own blood.
She's also the chef in the family. It means she's around that sickening food always. Her brother's inept at anything besides eating and antagonizing. Her dad's a lazy person masquerading as a man just tired from work and old age. Her mom's a workaholic and lazy; the latter only applying when it comes to her family.
The first time she finally achieves it, it's because it's gotten too much. They went grocery shopping and then immediately after made lunch. She does it discreetly, putting away food while barely refraining and then doing it when she goes to put food in the basement fridge.
She remembers crying when she got sick as a kid. She doesn't remember sobbing this much. Her stomach and throat feel raw, achy, empty -- everything her heart's been feeling eons now. It doesn't make her happy but it feels more balanced now. Like all of her is degrading and whispering away in the wind.
She's always been good at telling her weight. It's one bonus of exercising for years. She can somewhat tell she's lost some. But her ego seems to have entirely conceded to her self-esteem because the thoughts are that it's not enough. She was the average weight of an American her height at the start of it. She wanted to be at the very edge of average for Asian countries by losing 20. But what about all those beauties that were 20 pounds less than that? What about all the gorgeousness that could be found under that barrier? Her weight - herself - wasn't enough.
She had a pity party most times she did it. Ego and self-esteem had teamed up into a most curious entity that told her how unfair her life was, but still told her things more unfair. It lamented for the filial love she'd missed; told her of course there couldn't be such a thing when she was as hideous as she was. It mocked her for her obsession with Asians; cried with her over the fact she could never be.
School ended with much of everything the same. Her parents were mourning that they hadn't more time with her. Her grades had picked up enough that she could look them in the eyes to lie. She was just that much closer to fluency. Her hair was gnarled and her skin paler a few pigments.
She was frail and broken and desolate and no one noticed.
She left for college. Her mind was on the dreaded 'Freshman 15' she had heard about. She wondered if she should increase her activities in expectation of it.
The voices, healing(burning), soothing(corroding), always present(the only thing that was), replied.
"I could."
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slice-of-life, angst
Word Count: 1400~
Summary: One thought leads to one decision.
A/N: This is somewhat biographical of my feelings at the time of writing. Feeling better now. Also, because I'm a dork even when I'm depressed, there's a Doctor Who reference. Tell me if you see it.
It starts, as with many things - conquests, marriages, suicides - with the thought of 'I could'.
She's 17 or almost; a few more days though nothing will change. She's nothing too spectacular. She has a few languages under her belt because she can't do sports but needs something to attract colleges. She isn't even sure she wants to go to college.
She likes dance. Has for many years, its presence something like 'BAD WOLF' written across the strands of time. It appears and she doesn't really recognize that it's been there all the time until it's all she can think about. She thinks perhaps she'd like to dance.
She's short, about average height for an Asian country, but small for a family of giants. She likes to think of it as an endearing quality. She doesn't have much of those. Qualities she likes, that is.
Her hair is a cross between curly and straight, though too unruly to be wavy. She's lost weight since she was a kid. About 20 pounds in 2 years. There's still more she wants to lose, however, because her eyes are on the Asian countries. Her pupils rivet onto them and their small waists and sleek hair and perfection. She doesn't see much outside it.
And that's why she starts to think. Starts to think the thought that led to captures of countries, led to wedding rings and bells, led to the thud of body against concrete: I could.
Her school is a website, her classroom her bedroom. She's alone most of the time. It's afforded her time to know herself, more time to fight in the war against her eight. She's got a good grasp on who she is so she really thinks she could. She's got a bit of an ego - odd when considering her self-esteem isn't the highest - and she thinks she's clever. She could.
Things get in the way at first. Suddenly, her parents appear to care that she's graduating and running off into the world in a year. They think it requires a bit of the bonding and forethought they've never applied in her life. She can shrug them off, though, because she's clever and got a mouth that can strike at the exact spots that will make them retreat. Or push her away.
The next pitfall is unexpected. She can't. It's always looked so easy in films: a quick jab at the throat with a toothbrush and bracing oneself for torrents. Gagging comes, along with discomfort, but no torrents.
And then her ego turns against her. It tells her that she doesn't need to, that look! She's skinnier than that one and that one, if not a good deal of the population. It distracts her away from Asia because she's not in Asia. She's in America and obesity is as common as false hair where she's from.
The summer - her last one of high school - passes without the weight loss she's designated for it. By the time the blinders come off, no, she hasn't gained weight; she exercises too much for that. But she's not that 20 pounds less she wants. She needs.
She hesitates nonetheless. Her ego is still telling her that she's at least not bigger than others. That the Asian people she longs to be with, dark skin and half-fluency or no, would understand. They'll welcome her because she's special. She's so funny and not as fat as others and not as tan as others and unique.
She sees glimmers of that occasionally, when her self-esteem isn't waging war with her ego and decides to lay docile. It's only a flash in the full-length mirror she hates so much. Her legs - which she walks with apart, because Asian women have a gap between their legs and maybe she can too if she adjusts herself - will look just a slight bit slighter. Her shoulders will look just a mite amount bonier, her clavicle jabbing her jaw when she rests on it. She'll feel a boost, but it only stays until she looks again, seeing the creature in the mirror looking like the distortion of a fun house mirror.
She struggles that winter. Her blood pressure is low, her energy levels sinking to the bottom of her feet with it and the temperatures. She sees bone-thin girls and can't stand herself. She sees girls who look like they could open a bakery with all the rolls they sport and preens. She sees herself and wonders why she's alive.
And just as there are flickers of resolution in her love-hate war with herself, there's sparks of conflicting emotion rising in her opinion on Asia. She loves them. They're just so funny and skinny and pale and unique. Perfection she won't ever meet. She hates them. They shine in front of her, never consciously terrorizing her because they're too pretty and sweet for that. They don't do the same measurements and judgments she conducts against others. She wants them. They smile to each other, greeting with the respectful terms she's pored her soul into learning. She needs them. They tell her where she can improve -- even as the unspoken impossibility of it all sits heavily upon her.
Spring comes around without much closure. She's thrown into work. She fell behind and can't mess up like this. Her parents are still trying to play the good parent act and stay on her case. She lies and says she's doing well, erasing messages from her teachers before they hear them.
It's less than two months until graduation when anything changes. She feels nauseous around food, though she's the coupon cutter in the family and has no choice but to be around it. Her diet dwindles to meal supplements and yogurt, though she's never eaten nearly enough calories. Her father doesn't seem to care if she looks pained in the store. He's never been able to fully drag truth from her, his psychology degrees sitting uselessly when it comes to his own blood.
She's also the chef in the family. It means she's around that sickening food always. Her brother's inept at anything besides eating and antagonizing. Her dad's a lazy person masquerading as a man just tired from work and old age. Her mom's a workaholic and lazy; the latter only applying when it comes to her family.
The first time she finally achieves it, it's because it's gotten too much. They went grocery shopping and then immediately after made lunch. She does it discreetly, putting away food while barely refraining and then doing it when she goes to put food in the basement fridge.
She remembers crying when she got sick as a kid. She doesn't remember sobbing this much. Her stomach and throat feel raw, achy, empty -- everything her heart's been feeling eons now. It doesn't make her happy but it feels more balanced now. Like all of her is degrading and whispering away in the wind.
She's always been good at telling her weight. It's one bonus of exercising for years. She can somewhat tell she's lost some. But her ego seems to have entirely conceded to her self-esteem because the thoughts are that it's not enough. She was the average weight of an American her height at the start of it. She wanted to be at the very edge of average for Asian countries by losing 20. But what about all those beauties that were 20 pounds less than that? What about all the gorgeousness that could be found under that barrier? Her weight - herself - wasn't enough.
She had a pity party most times she did it. Ego and self-esteem had teamed up into a most curious entity that told her how unfair her life was, but still told her things more unfair. It lamented for the filial love she'd missed; told her of course there couldn't be such a thing when she was as hideous as she was. It mocked her for her obsession with Asians; cried with her over the fact she could never be.
School ended with much of everything the same. Her parents were mourning that they hadn't more time with her. Her grades had picked up enough that she could look them in the eyes to lie. She was just that much closer to fluency. Her hair was gnarled and her skin paler a few pigments.
She was frail and broken and desolate and no one noticed.
She left for college. Her mind was on the dreaded 'Freshman 15' she had heard about. She wondered if she should increase her activities in expectation of it.
The voices, healing(burning), soothing(corroding), always present(the only thing that was), replied.
"I could."