Host

She's stuck.

Stuck in a world,
a society filled with criticism.

"Don't drink that, it's fattening."
"Don't take the elevator, the stairs burn more."

"Don't eat that. Or that. Or that."


She's stuck in a home
with two parents who love food.
Bad food.
Danger food, off-limits food.

High-calorie food.


She's stuck in her head,
which feeds her lines like,
'Just a little longer, you'll drop the weight.'
'You might not be happy now, but you'll be happy when you're thin.'

'I can't believe you ate that. Purge it before it digests.'


And she turns to her friends,
she knows that they care,
but they don't understand.
They never understand.

"Why? Why are you doing this?
Do you want attention?
You're so pretty, though.
You carry your weight well.

Just eat this, you'll feel better."


She walks through the halls,
staring. Examining.
Evaluating every girl she sees,
determining why they're prettier.

'She's so small. I wish I was her size.
Look at those eyes, those are beautiful.
She may not be a stick, but she looks so happy.

Why can't I be that small?
Why can't I be that happy?"


She's dropping weight by the minute.
Several pounds a week.
She's weak, sickly,
pale. She's deteriorating.

She's stuck.
Stuck in a vicious cycle that makes her
starve, starve, starve, purge, starve, eat, purge.
A vicious cycle that makes her
get on the scale, get off the scale.
Stare in the mirror for hours.
Eat air for breakfast,
lunch,
dinner.


She didn't choose this, it chose her.
It rules her life.
The day it arrived,
she died inside. And it took over.
She's a walking, talking,
breathing, sleeping shell.
A carbon copy of a once happy girl.
A host to a bloodthirsty parasite
that eats her insides and poisons her brain.

A parasite that loves her,
keeps her around so it can feed.
And in turn, becomes a part of her.


She's not ready to lose a part of herself.