Ever since I can remember, I admired the skinny girls.
The popular ones, the pretty ones, the skinny ones.
I was the jock. I wasn’t exactly “skinny”.
My eating disorder was there, just not as bad.
I hid behind my sweats, my jersey, my hoodies.
I’d get dizzy running bases in the infield. Socks tucked into my softball pants.
With each shot I blocked, my vision turned black as I committed to diving with my goalie gloves.
Voted “Most Unforgettable”. I still envied the popular skinnies.
I look at them now, the years of partying around their thighs and waist.
The years of starving becoming more obvious for me.
“You don’t look too sick yet, but you’re getting there.”
I wonder what happened to them and their body.
I wonder if they ask the same about me.