Chapter One: Ms. Jones, you look like a trash bag

“Ms. Jones, you look like a trash bag today. Did you shower?” James asks me. As a high school English teacher, you would think I would be used to insults like that, but I am not. I got up early, showered, and put on dresses and heels. How does that make me look like a trash bag?!

“Thank you for your opinion, James. Now let’s get back to the lesson. Please turn in your  book to Act one scene one, please.” I call out to my class and then teach the lesson like I always do.

After the bell rang for the sschool for school, I raced to the bathroom to throw up my lunch.

“Nicky? You in there?” One of my best friends, who is always a high school English teacher, Paige, asks me. I can also tell it’s her by the sound of her high heels. Her students can hear the clicking noise of her heels from miles away. She helps scare the students to do their work by her walking around the class.

“Yeah, I am here.” I flush the toilet and then walk out of the stalk and wash my hands. I stare in the mirror, looking at myself and seeing some ghost look at me back. I see how my hands are so pale. My eyes look as dark as night. Yes, I have dark eyes because my eyes look as dark as my soul when I am struggling. Despite how my makeup looked, I straightened my long brown hair. I still do look like a trash bag.

“Nicky, you okay?” Paige asks me. 

“Fine, just throwing up my lunch.” It’s the truth, at least.

“Nicky, you know this is not healthy.” I look at Paige. Her long blonde hair is in a messy bun, and her face looks amazing with her smokey eyeshadow. It brings out the blue in her eyes. Today, she looks super cute with her: “yay, it’s Friday” t-shirt and her black and white shirt. Of course, despite how tall she is, she has one of her four-inch heels. I am five foot one on a good day, and Paige is around five foot ten without heels.

“You remember what your therapist told you, right?” She reminds me. 

I remember exactly what Andrew said: “If you don’t stop throwing up, don’t stop starving yourself. I will send you to a mental hospital.” Andrew diagnosed me with an eating disorder called anorexia so many years ago. But to this day, I can barely eat one meal a day, even when my nutritionist tells me I need to eat three meals a day.

“I promise you, Paige, I am working on it.” I fake smile at her. But she sees right through me and says: “Nicky if you don’t start eating, you will be in a mental hospital with a feeding tube down your throat. I can promise you. I will drive you there if I have to just to make sure you are eating. Get your shit together, Nic. I love you with my heart, but I will not watch you kill yourself. So eat this damn candy bar, okay?”

I know she is right. Shit!

“Okay.” I grab the candy bar out of her hand, open it, and eat the bite. It makes me want to throw up again, tasting all that sugar. I know it is going to my stomach and thighs. I am already huge. But I fake smile at her as I eat this fucking candy bar because it helps, I know it helps. 

“You can get better, Nic. You just have to accept your illness, eat, and save yourself.” She hugged me, grabbed my hand, and led me out of the bathroom. I know she doesn’t trust me to eat a candy bar myself without throwing up, so I know she will watch me like a hawk.

I know she is right. 

How do I save myself?