Perfect

[HighwayUnicorn]

Story Title Perfect

Type of Story One Shot

Main Characters Matilda Hunter

BTTB Rating T/A

Genre Drama, Angst

Does the Story Include Spoilers? None

Any Warnings? Strong References to Eating Disorders, Self Harm & Suicidal Thoughts

Summary A one shot portraying Matilda’s emotions through her difficult time.

Author's Note This story contains strong references to eating disorders, self harm & suicidal thoughts & therefore, may be triggering. If you may be affected, I advise you to reconsider reading this as I will not be held responsible for implications this may cause.

Perfect

“Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood” (P!nk, Perfect)

Sensory organs are always taken for granted in this world today. Nobody ever realises or recognises their importance and how much they contribute in your life, just how powerful these senses can be. That is, until, you either lose them and can never gain them back, restricting you from achieving as you wanted in life or at the other end of the spectrum, they become so powerful, they take over your life and take over you as a person, as though possessing you.

As I sit in The Diner, alone as I always am, because now, I prefer my own company, I use all five of my sensory organs, although not necessarily out of my own choice, more out of force by my two best friends, confidants.

I can smell the aroma flowing through from the kitchen to the restaurant area, where the customers are seated and ordering their meals. The smells waft in my direction, as though heading towards me for a reason. There’s no specific menu currently being cooked, just various foods thrown together in the kitchen, people ordering hot breakfasts, cold sandwiches, food fried, baked, grilled.

The sizzling of fried foods could be heard by my intense senses, the sounds reaching my ears and droning repetitively through my eardrum as various emotions roared, ripped through my body. My eyes drifted from ahead of me, as I tried to peer into the kitchen area, although impossible from where I was sitting. My eyes searched frantically as my heart pounded, observing those eating, my heart rate increasing dramatically. The sounds of people chattering wasn’t enough to drown out the sounds of the crunching on solid foods, the clattering of cutlery when it contacted with people’s teeth as they scraped the food into their mouths and munched down onto it, swallowing it.

Although I visualised everything whilst my other senses worked, something not a lot of other people appreciate, the fact that your sense work together, almost like a team, my eyes averted to the kitchen once again, where Irene was exiting, holding a glass container filled with ice cream in one hand, and a plate of one slice of chocolate cake in the other hand.

She nodded as she placed it onto the table delicately, acknowledging me quickly before heading back to working in the kitchen, today being a busy day. It made me feel more comfortable, rather than her taking a seat opposite me as she sometimes would when The Diner was practically empty. But I knew the times, the days when The Diner would be at its’ busiest, nobody prepared to take time out of working to sit with me whilst I ate.

But to be honest, I preferred my own company. I don’t like other’s being around me, especially at meal times. The comments that I have shied away from, pretended not to hear as I stroll past groups of girls on my way to lessons, the type of comments that aren’t meant for me to hear, yet, I can’t help but allow my ears to focus on the words emitting from other’s mouths.

I draw my thoughts away from having no company and instead, focus on the food sat in front of me, the ice cream scoops beginning to melt and drip down the sides of the glass jar. The strawberry sauce, sticky, running further into the jar, flavoured the vanilla ice cream that sat at the bottom of the jar. I pick up the metal, silver spoon which is lodged between the scoops of ice cream, pulling it out of its current position, before taking a mouthful of ice cream, allowing it to melt in my mouth before swallowing it. I repeat the process, my stomach churning at the coldness of the product, travelling down my throat and into my stomach, stored away peacefully, only for me to know it will soon be disturbed. The coolness of the ice cream soothed my red, inflamed throat and it was almost a heavenly feeling.

Mia was satisfied. She was gorging on the foods she enjoyed. She told me that I needed to eat something, at least, because I was hungry. I had barely eaten a thing all week and to finally relieve some cravings of hunger, it was as though I had died and gone to heaven.

Ana wasn’t satisfied. She disagreed with the gorging of foods Mia liked. She told me that I didn’t need to eat, because I couldn’t possibly be hungry. I had barely eaten a thing all week and to finally relieve some cravings of hunger, it was as though I should die and go to hell.

But Mia was stronger this time and she took over, making a pact with Ana. It was almost as though they could compromise and work together once in a while, every so often, one not taking over the other.

Mia knew what Ana wanted and I had to do it, me, Mattie, Matilda Hunter, alone. And I could do it, I wasn’t incapable of it. If I didn’t do it, the guilt would forever be consuming me and Ana and Mia would hate me, just like everyone else in this world. I couldn’t afford to lose my two best friends, the only ones that could understand me.

So I will obey.

I finally scoffed the remaining of the ice cream, scraping the spoon around the sides of the glass jar, reaching for the tiniest pieces I could, making sure I had eaten it all. Then I reached across the table ravenously, for the chocolate cake. It was smothered in thick white cream, poured onto the cake so beautifully that it was difficult to resist temptation. Picking up the fork that was next to the plate, I began tucking in, ignoring the laughs and chattering of others around me, the clanging of pots and pans being washed up in the kitchen. Instead, I focused on my food, my hunger, my addiction.

I had taken no less than five minutes, before I had finally eaten every last crumb of chocolate cake on the small, pristine plate in front of me. As I expected, however, it didn’t take long for Mia to turn on me. She had been so friendly, telling me eat what I wanted, when I wanted, because of my hunger.

It was almost like Mia had a double personality, schizophrenic, if it was possible. Maybe it was Ana? I never could tell which one it was that wanted me to punish myself after eating. They both confused me so much, with their different personalities and different beliefs to foods.

Without a second thought, I, as promised, left the table in The Diner and headed straight towards the ladies bathroom. It was a single toilet cubicle, not used very often by customers. I was the most common visitor. Quickly scouring the room, I observed everyone else and where they were focussing on, before heading inside the old fashioned cubicle, bolting the door firmly shut, sliding the latch across to lock it.

I sat beside the toilet bowl, pulling up its lid, before snatching at the hair band that was wrapped around my wrist. I tied my hair loosely into a plain bun, hair from my fringe still hanging loose over my face.

I could hear the voices again. They were there.

Words of encouragement.

Words of anger.

Words of humiliation.

You’re worthless, Matilda Hunter, worthless.

You deserve to die, but that would be too easy.

Everyone’s right, staring at you on the beach.

Fat.

Ugly.

Worthless.

Useless.

I couldn’t differentiate Ana. I could differentiate Mia. Who said what? Not that it mattered because more than anything, those were words of truth.

Undeserving.

Unappreciated.

Thick.

Stupid.

It hurt; it always hurts to hear your best friends talk about you. Especially behind your back. But this wasn’t behind my back, this was in my head ... well, specifically speaking, it wasn’t something I was imagining, but if everyone could see them, then what would be the point on hiding it? If everyone could see them, they would be saying this to my face, no doubt about it.

But everyone deserves the truth, don’t they? Everyone? Imagine going shopping with your best friend, put yourself in that scenario. Let’s just say they try on a dress for say, $60 & it doesn’t suit them. They may not look ugly in it but if it doesn’t suit them, is there any point in paying out that amount of money for something that would look better on their worst enemy?

So put yourself in my position. I’m fat, I know it but to have two best friends say it to me makes me want to go that one step further to do something about it.

That’s what friends are for, right?

Sometimes, when I sit here, or in fact, next to any toilet bowl, I try and think of reasons not to do this to myself. It hurts and I don’t like doing it.

But Ana and Mia are brilliant at remembering. For some people, it might be known as manipulating, but once again, I like to think of it as the truth. They both tell me what I have done wrong, something I failed at.

Again, there voices confuse me. Who’s saying what? Ana? Mia? I’m not going mad, they just both have very similar things to say and when they’re turning against me like this, I don’t know what’s happening. Like those moments when someone has told you to do something and soon, you forget who told you and you do the wrong thing for the wrong person?

You got an A- on that report card last week.

You put on 2lbs.

You’re still ugly.

You failed the math assignment yesterday.

I remember.

I failed them. I failed Ana. I failed Mia. I failed myself. I failed my family.

There will always be something that bugs me though, annoys, gets under my skin.

“When I do something right, everybody forgets. When I do something wrong, everybody remembers.”

I peer inside the empty toilet bowl, staring at the water, knowing what I need to do. But instead, I pull myself together. I’ve experienced this before when I’ve not been ready, not in the right frame of mind. It’s scary. I’m scared. But I trust Ana and Mia.

I take a deep breath as I gather myself into a kneeling position, leaning over the toilet bowl. I rested one hand on the clean, wooden toilet seat and use the first three fingers of my other hand to help me in this process. Forcing them down my throat, I can feel my tonsils, tickling, before I begin to lurch. My stomach feels strange, almost like it’s about to drop out of me.

My body needs to work properly to do this, to achieve what I need to, to actually be something, somebody, the person I aspire to be.

I bring my other hand to my stomach and press the fat in firmly, beginning to wretch as I do so. It’s working. Tears begin to stream down my face, a usual reaction. I’m not crying, it’s just hard work when this is forced. But I manage it and I see chunks of food through my blurry vision falling into the toilet bowl before me.

I repeat the process, my cheeks going redder, my body getting hotter, my tears streaming faster down my face, before I come to an abrupt stop. My body no longer has the ingredients to purge. It’s empty, just like my emotions, my heart at the moment.

Empty is good.

Thin is good.

If you’re empty on the inside, it works wonders on the outside.

It pays when you step onto the scales, look in the mirror.

But they’ll always be fat when you look in the mirror.

Always parts of the body you can still pinch at, feel, see, want rid of.

But I knew I had to do this. I had to work hard to get where I wanted to be. I had to work hard to be perfect, beautiful, to impress my family and friends and be good enough for them, to make them proud of me.

Perfection doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time and effort.

I observed the foods in the toilet bowl, the pieces in small chunks and of a dark colour. There was never much fun is recognising what it was, each part that I brought up, but I knew what I saw and I saw everything that went into me. It had now come out.

Punishment.

I knew that voice only too well. Mia. She enjoyed that I could gorge on foods she liked, because she knew I was capable of purging. The binge and purge cycle. It was something that happened on a regular basis, perhaps, twice, maybe even three times a week.

The rest of the time, I would be in the gym, exercising, or doing sit ups at home. I made time for study of course. That was important. There would be no point in being thin if I didn’t do any work at school. There would no point in living. Sometimes though, I do wonder why. Maybe there isn’t a point of living. During the week, I push my food around the plate when I’m made to eat. I pick at it, hide it up my sleeve, in my pockets when nobody is looking.

I had become a master of deception where food was concerned. I never liked liars, I never agreed with liars. But I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth.

“I ate before I came.”

Common, but often, true. Most of the time, I have eaten before hand, at The Diner, and as you may have guessed, purged, but it’s still the truth. I have still eaten. I don’t lie about the purging though, I just keep it from them. There’s a difference between lies and deceit.

“I don’t feel well.”

Again, it’s not a lie. A lot of the time, I don’t feel well. I feel ... a lot of things.

Drained.

Confused.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Fat.

Ugly.

Imperfect.

Unbeautiful.

HSC’s are stressful. It’s an easy thing to say that I’m not feeling well. Especially with the panic attacks and chest pains. But everyone thinks it’s down to stress. It is a stressful and difficult time. Stress can cause headaches too, another excuse, yet again, not a lie. I experience headaches a lot now.

“I’m not hungry.”

It’s not a lie, just, exaggerating the truth a little. I don’t feel hungry around other people. I want to stay in control. I need to stay in control. When I eat with other people, Ana makes her appearance and she does her best. If I don’t obey her and appreciate her, she hates me.

She does all these things for me and when I don’t listen to her and obey her, she’s wasting her time. But I don’t ever want her to feel like that because she’s not wasting her time. She’s there for me. Her and Mia are there for me when nobody else is or will be.

Stress.

Panic.

Headaches.

Chest pains.

Shortness of breath.

Dizziness.

Sickness.

Yet, the most common emotion?

Fear.

I grab at the toilet roll, pulling off a couple of sheets, wiping it across my mouth. I throw it into the toilet bowl, joining the contents of my stomach in there before I reach forward and flush the chain.

I stand up, wooziness taking over my body as I feel dizzy. I gather my surroundings, leaning against the toilet door, before I pull out a strip of gum from my pocket. I throw it into my mouth and chew it for a few moments, before throwing it away and into the bin.

Like I said, I had become a master of deception. I don’t want to get seen by anybody as soon as I walk out of the toilet, but if I do, how suspicious do you think it would look if I come out chewing a piece of gum?

So I unlock the door, opening it cautiously, yet not attracting any unwanted attention from the customers. I soon scurry past everyone, hurrying through The Diner, waving quickly back at Irene who has caught my eye, smiling softly at me as I exit.

I stroll along the beach in the blazing sun, the gorgeous hot weather as I cover my disgusting, fat body with a pair of jeans and a long cardigan. I’m hot, really hot but it should be made illegal for people like me to show off their bare flesh, their fat. I can’t help but notice the ‘body beautiful’ girls sunbathing and surfing in their bikini’s, each of them with a ‘beach board’ body, their stomachs flat, ribs poking out. If I were to wear a bikini, I would be more like ‘beached whale’ rather than beach board, my stomach fat and my ribs nowhere to be seen.

I felt ugly.

The first time I felt unbeautiful? The day I chose not to eat.

I stood out. I knew what they were thinking, saying about me behind my back.

Boys, girls, mum’s, dad’s, teenagers, everyone. They all thought the same.

She’s fat.

She’s ugly.

A voice out of nowhere appears. Ana and Mia are speaking in unison.

You’re fat.

You’re ugly.

I had punished myself already for binging. I will punish myself for the next few days.

Restrict.

Exercise.

Purge.

Restrict.

Exercise.

Purge.

It’s a never ending cycle and I will obey. I will do it. This will never be a case of ‘can.’ It will always be ‘will.’

Failure isn’t an option.

“Weight, looks and body, it’s a reflection of perfection.”

Fat = Unbeautiful.

Unbeautiful = Imperfect.

Thin = Beautiful.

Beautiful = Perfect.

On arrival home, there is no hesitation as to where I go or what I do. Surprisingly, it’s not the fridge or the exercise mat or DVD’s. In fact, it’s the bathroom. The dripping of the tap irritates me, perhaps obsessive compulsive disorder. But that means everything has to be perfect. I’m not perfect. I turn it off. I close the window and pull down the blinds. I’ll be safe soon.

Pulling out the scales from underneath the bathroom sink, I strip of my clothes, unable to even look at my body as my hands can’t bring themself to run down my stomach. Instead, I step onto the scales. Now I just want to run and hide.

The guilt and shame hits me. The empty crisp packets, chocolate packets, pizza boxes, they are all hidden underneath the bed, all binged on in the night and then purged quickly. I can’t find the balance between Ana and Mia but I can hear Ana and I feel sick. I’ve disappointed her. I know I have.

Before I know it, I hear a contented sigh within my head.

Mia apologises to Ana. Mia encouraged me to eat the food at The Diner today. Matilda had no choice. But Ana encourages me to look at the scales.

100lbs.

Before long, I hear Ana telling me that I need to go just a little more further and I’ll be there. I would have done it. At least by losing just one more pound, I’ll be into double figures.

“0. Nothing. It’s like air. I’d be like air. Invisible. Floating around unnoticed, taken for granted.”

That’s definitely me already. Just not 0. I’m Matilda Hunter and I’m not noticed. I am invisible. I am invisible to everyone. My family. My friends. Only Ana and Mia know I exist.

I search into the bathroom cabinet, opening it quickly to avoid gazing at my reflection.

The mirror and I, we have a love hate relationship.

Reasons to love looking into the mirror? I can find out all the imperfect parts of my body and know how to achieve perfection.

Reasons to hate looking into the mirror? I see that all my body is imperfect and I no longer know how to achieve perfection.

I pull out the first razor I see. Taking the cap off of it, I take a seat on the edge of the bath. I stare at it intently, before I let it fall to my wrist, my shaky hand supporting it as I drag it down my arm, drawing blood, letting it seep through the cardigan, having gotten dressed again since weighing myself. The blade cut into my skin, blood running down my arm as I whimpered slightly in pain but it was worth it.

“Putting on a front, you might like that, but will you like me when I’m real.” (You Think I Don’t Care, Jack McManus)

This will make me perfect. I need to be disciplined, punished. I’m a horrible person and don’t deserve a life on this planet. I have to do this to myself. Ana and Mia encourage it; they think it will do me good. I trust them. I believe them.

I watch as the blood drips down, grabbing for the towel, I begin to wipe it away gently. I repeat the process, cutting myself more, slicing the blade sharply into my arms.

Pain.

Free.

Relief.

Once again, I wipe away the stains of blood as tears pool in my eyes.

Thin.

Control.

Discipline.

They all lead to good things.

Love.

Beautiful.

Perfection.

I contemplate the thought of slicing deeper into my arm, closing in on the veins that carry my blood.

It’s too easy.

Ana and Mia don’t think I deserve a quick way out of this. It’s not suffering. Death is quick and the people who pick up the pieces are the ones left behind. Not me. They shouldn’t carry the burden. It should be me and nobody else. I don’t deserve a place on this planet but death is easy and quick and isn’t painful. I won’t suffer. I won’t experience the pain I deserve. And I’ll never be perfect through death. I’ll be a memory, somebody who couldn’t be perfect, who was a terrible person in life and who couldn’t achieve anything.

Maybe I aspire too much? But what’s wrong with that?

Success, I can’t be a failure. A failure has nothing. A failure is nothing.

I rest the towel on my arms once again and dry up the blood that continues to seep from my arm. I don’t wish for it to stop. I wish for life to stop. But like Ana and Mia would say, it’s too easy. I deserve pain and suffering.

I hurry out of the bathroom, throwing the towel into the washing machine before anyone notice. Nobody does notice. Nobody notices me. Nobody notices Matilda Hunter. I head back upstairs, to my bedroom. Even that is no longer a safe haven. But it will be tonight as I climb into my bed. Hunger kicks in again, my stomach rumbling, but this time, it’s Ana who has the strength over Mia and Ana will win tonight as I close my eyes tightly shut and hope that in my dreams, everything will be perfect.

I conceal myself day after day, with nobody knowing what goes on behind closed doors. I go through hell everyday and nobody seems to care. Nobody would notice anyway. But as long as Ana and Mia love me for who I am, then that’s all that matters. They are the most important people in my life. I toss and turn, attempting to fall asleep, but they both continue talking to me.

It’s not until long into the night that I fall asleep peacefully and for a very long time, I do sleep peacefully, no interruptions. Instead, I am in heaven.

Thin.

Beautiful.

Gorgeous.

Inspired.

Achiever.

Perfect.

The ironic thing of all?

“I used to think there was more to life, to my life, as though I had something to live for. That was until my concept of beautiful took over.”

And the saddest thing of all?

“I have the ability to get better, to be free from this.

I just don’t want it enough.”

Comments