A Body To Die For         

           BOOK EXCERPT

April 26, Dear Journal:  Welcome to my miserable life.  Due to the retirement of my previous journal, you have been selected to hear the details of my life that no one else is allowed to know about, and wouldn’t care enough to want to know about, anyway.  I know you were probably hoping for an owner whose life is always happy, exciting, and filled with juicy details. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.  You have a fat, ugly owner whose life is as miserable as hell.  I’m truly sorry that you have to get stuck with someone like me, but you have to understand:  I need someone in my life to talk to, or I’ll self-destruct.  You’re the only one I can tell my thoughts and feelings to who won’t judge me for them.  All you do is listen.  That’s what makes you such a good friend, and I can desperately use one of those right now. 

Before I start pouring out my life troubles to you, it’s only fair that I give you a proper introduction of myself.  My name is Christina Brendle, and I’m seventeen years old.  I’m roughly five-eight with blue eyes and medium-length black hair.  (I took after my father.  I would give anything to have taken after my mom, who’s a gorgeous blonde.)  My family moved from Michigan to the Barbie Doll world of California just two years ago.  I’m a senior about to graduate from Douglas High School; and, as I mentioned earlier, my life is as miserable as hell.  The most recent miserable occurrence in my life happened last night.  My boyfriend Steven dumped me.  I knew it would happen sooner or later.  I knew God would finally give me the punch line to the cruel joke of an incredible guy like Steven actually being interested in me.  Steven dumped me for a pretty, thin girl named Lisa.  She is—was—his ex-girlfriend.  They dated before I moved here, and now he wants her back.  What am I supposed to do now?  I can’t stop crying.  It hurts so much.  Steven is the only thing that made my life worth living.  Now that he’s gone, I feel so empty and alone.  No one wants me.  Who would dare want hideous me?  I was extremely lucky to get Steven.  How am I supposed to handle losing him, especially if I have to see him every day in school?  Oh, Dear Journal, I didn’t think of that until just now!  I have to watch the two of them together every day at school.  I have to watch Steven and Lisa hold hands and kiss and be uncontrollably happy with each other.  I have to torturously watch them be in love.  I don’t want to go to school Monday.  I can’t handle watching Steven in love with someone else when I’m still hopelessly in love with him.  I just want to stay in my room balled up in my bed until I die.  My life is so depressing, and it’s all because of my disgusting body.  I have to lose weight.  I just have to.  Somehow I have to do it without Mom and Dad finding out.  Their parental thinking just wouldn’t allow them to understand that I have to lose weight.  If they find out I’ve started dieting again, they’ll probably stick me back in that treatment center.  None of this would be happening if I hadn’t gone there in the first place.  Everything was fine between Steven and me before my parents shipped me off to that stupid center.  You don’t know what I’m talking about.  A few months ago I was put in a treatment center for anorexia and bulimia, but there’s nothing wrong with me.  I just want to be skinny.  There’s nothing sick about wanting to be skinny.  My huge body is what’s sickening.

April 27, Dear Journal:  Miraculously, I managed to stick to my diet today.  Today is Sunday, so Mom was off work and cooked her usual big Sunday breakfast and big Sunday dinner.  She brought my food upstairs to my room.  She knew how depressed I was about Steven, so she didn’t force me to go downstairs and eat with everyone else.  She even fixed me lunch.  The quicker she brought up the food, the quicker I got rid of it.  I would wait until I could no longer hear her footsteps; then I’d quickly empty the food in a brown paper bag and toss it out my bedroom window, the one that faces the side of the house, where we keep the trash bin.  The trash bin sits directly under my window, so I just dropped the bag right in.  Mom brought up pancakes and sausage for breakfast; a grilled-cheese sandwich for lunch; and meat loaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and big buttery dinner rolls for dinner.  It all looked and smelled so absolutely wonderful.  I know if I had emptied any of that food in my garbage, I would be tempted to get it out and eat it.  I didn’t eat anything today.  I had a glass of orange juice, and I exercised for three hours.  I didn’t do much of anything today, either.  I’ve just been locked in my bedroom listening to sad songs and crying over Steven.  I think I’ve listened to Roxette’s “Spending My Time” a zillion times. That’s what I’m doing, spending my time watching the empty, meaningless days of my empty, meaningless life go by.  Every time Mom comes in my room, she comes in with this phony ray of hope.  She keeps telling me that everything is going to be okay and that I’ll find someone else, but I know I won’t.  I’m not exactly the prettiest girl in the world.  I’m not even close.  Guys like Steven, or any guys for that matter, will not be knocking my door down, especially with gorgeous, skinny girls like Lisa around. 

April 28, Dear Journal:  I’m sorry to be drowning you in my tears again.  Today was a horrible day at school.  I could hardly concentrate in my classes.  I knew that by third period all the kids knew Steven had dumped me, and were laughing and talking about me behind my back.  I walked around paranoid all day.  I had this fear of running into Lisa and Steven together.  That fear became an unbearable reality.  I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.  I had tried so hard to avoid them.  I took different routes going to my classes so I wouldn’t see them like I usually do when I go my usual routes, but my dodging wasn’t good enough.  It’s as if God enjoys being cruel to me.  I saw them while I was at my locker.  They were walking down the hall holding hands, and laughing with their friends, who were probably congratulating Steven for finally coming to his senses and dumping me.

Steven and Lisa looked so perfect and happy together.  Steven definitely looks happier with Lisa than he ever has with me.  He has this glow about him, this look of relief and uncontrollable happiness.  I just couldn’t bear watching him and Lisa together.  I ran in the girls’ bathroom, sat in one of the stalls and cried for an entire class period.  I barely made it through my last two classes.  They seemed to drag on forever.  I couldn’t wait to get out of that school, away from the spreading news about Steven and me, the whispering and laughing behind my back, and the tense feeling I felt because I knew Lisa and Steven were always around somewhere—together.  I felt like I was going to suffocate.     

The environment I had to go to afterwards wasn’t much better.  I had to go to my fashion-show rehearsal and be around all those thin, gorgeous, cheerful girls and be reminded how revolting I am and how wretched my life is, not that I need them to remind me; every time I open my eyes in the morning, I’m reminded of that.  I dragged through the entire rehearsal.  I was too depressed over Steven, who I am, and my life, period, to smile pretty and look perky and happy like the other girls.  Mrs. Taylor, the fashion-show coordinator (She’s also the reason I’m modeling.  She approached me one day last year while I was shopping in the mall with Mom.  She said she liked the way I looked and asked would I be interested in modeling in some of her shows.  I couldn’t believe she was asking me.  Mom and Dad agreed to let me model for her if I promised to keep my grades up), couldn’t help but notice how bummed-out I was.  She asked me was I okay.  I lied and told her yes.  I didn’t want her to try to cheer me up.   I just wanted to be left alone.  She asked me was I sure I was okay.  I told her yes.  I don’t think she believed me, but she saw how determined I was not to talk about it and she let it go.  I just really didn’t want to be there.  I didn’t want to be anywhere.  I just wanted to come home, lock myself in my room, listen to my mourning music and block out the world.  I feel so empty and alone, Dear Journal. 

At least there is actually one bright spot in this awful day.  I’ve managed to get through another successful day of dieting.  All I have to do now is continue.  I know I have to, but it’s so hard, Dear Journal.  I’m so hungry.  But I can’t eat.  I have to have willpower.  I have to control myself.  I had a small salad and a diet pop for dinner.  As usual, both Mom and Dad had to work late, so there was no one here to force me to eat more.  I’ve done three hours of aerobics.  Tomorrow I’m going to start working out three times a day.  I have to get rid of this weight.  The sooner I lose it, the sooner I’ll be accepted and happy in this made-for-the-skinny world. 

I’m going to sign out now.   I need to be with my mourning music.

April 29, Dear Journal:  I just finished helping my brother Martin with his English homework.  Things have been a little weird between us lately, more so on his part than mine.  There was a time when I couldn’t go more than five minutes without a wisecrack or an insult from him, but ever since school started this year, he’s been distant with me.  He still makes wisecracks about me and insults me but not nearly as much as he used to.  At first I thought maybe it was a combination of him possibly being nervous about graduating from the eighth grade this year and him becoming busier with his friends, but there are times when he actually seems angry with me, although I don’t have the slightest idea why; I haven’t done anything to him—I don’t think.  When I confronted him about it once, he just said he was fine, half-heartedly called me dogface, and walked away.  Whatever the problem is, I hope it resolves itself soon.  As insane as it sounds, I miss my pain-in-the-butt brother, especially now.

I didn’t see Lisa and Steven in school today, but I still felt uncomfortable there knowing that everyone knows about the situation and was probably gossiping about it behind my back.  I was also uncomfortable because I knew that, although I didn’t see them, Lisa and Steven were still somewhere in the building, and I had a good chance of bumping into them again.  I know I’ll see them together again.  What hurts the most about all of this is that Steven said he loved me.  He said he loved me, and yet he dumped me for a thinner, prettier girl.  I guess no matter how much the world denies it, or simply wishes it weren’t so, love is only skin deep, and I just want to be loved.

April 30, Dear Journal:  I stopped at the bookstore after school today to buy a notebook to try to cheer myself up.  I collect beautiful, unique hardcover notebooks.  I have lots of them.  Someday I hope to fill them with masterfully written, captivating stories.  Usually, I can’t leave the bookstore without buying at least one notebook.  Today I couldn’t find one I liked.  My heart just wasn’t in it.

Bridgette Turner called a little while ago.  She’s a girl I know from school, but she doesn’t go to my school anymore.  Her parents moved to another city a hundred miles away, and she transferred to another school.  She’s a social outcast like me.  The kids in school used to make fun of her because of the way she dresses.  I have to admit, she does dresses weird.  One time she wore a pair of jeans with a pair of cut-off jogging pants over the top of them.  What the hell was she thinking?  When she lived here, we really didn’t hang out together that much.  Every once in a while we’d go to a movie or something.  But we talked on the phone a lot, mostly about the latest gossip at school and how much better our futures are going to be than the popular kids’ because they’re so shallow and stupid, trying to make ourselves feel better about not being popular like we both knew we so desperately wanted to be.  Since she moved, we don’t talk on the phone nearly as much, mostly because the calls are long distance now.  Every once in a while she’ll call to get the latest gossip and talk trashy about the popular kids, but I think she mostly calls because she really doesn’t have any friends and she’s lonely and needs someone to talk to.  Look who’s talking, huh?  When she called, I told Martin to tell her I wasn’t here.  I really don’t feel like gossiping, especially since the latest gossip is about me.

I’m going to go exercise now.  I’ve started working out three times a day like I promised.  I get up earlier to workout an hour before school; I workout an hour before my usual salad, and two hours afterwards.

May 2, Dear Journal:  After school today, I dreadfully stopped at the mall and got Mom a Mother’s Day present.  I got her a blue silk blouse.  I hope she likes it.

May 3, Dear Journal:  I just witnessed something so shocking and unbelievable I just couldn’t wait to tell you.  It’s the first thing all week that, for some reason, actually made me laugh.  About fifteen minutes ago I decided to actually leave my room and go downstairs to watch a movie on the VCR. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Martin making out with a girl on our living-room couch.  I mean, we’re talking serious body touching here.  They don’t know I saw them.  They’re still down there.   I wonder who the girl is.  I remember Martin mentioning that he likes some girl named Sabrina in his history class.  I think that’s her he’s with downstairs.  He said she’s blonde, and the girl downstairs is blonde.  I am in complete and total shock.  For some reason, I can’t stop laughing.  I don’t know why.  He wasn’t doing any position or moves that were particularly funny or wrong.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know whether I should be understanding and supportive and slip him a condom (I got them from health class at school), or be concerned about how young they are and make them stop.  I do know that I definitely don’t want to embarrass him, so I think I’ll just stay up here until I’m sure they’re finished.  I mean, how long can they go?  I can’t believe my baby brother is downstairs making out on the living-room couch.  This feels so weird.  I just can’t stop laughing.  I think the most shocking part is, from what I’ve seen, he’s actually good.  He makes out great for his young age—too great.  He puts his hands in all the right places, and he kisses incredibly.  Where did he learn to make out like that?  Where did he learn to make out, period?  This is so unbelievable.  I wonder what they’re doing now.  I have to go back and watch.  I’d be a disgrace to all the older sisters across America if I don’t.

An hour later, Dear Journal:  Martin and Sabrina have finally stopped.  I can’t believe they lasted so long.  They didn’t actually have full-blown sex, but it was definitely close.  It was astonishing.  Journal, this is the one time I wish you had eyes so that you could have seen the two of them.  I know my eyes were practically popping out of my head the entire time.  I wonder how many times has Martin done this.  I know this wasn’t his first time making out with a girl; he was too good; you only get that good from practice.  I wonder if that is as far as he’s ever gone.  I wonder if he has ever had actual full-blown sex before.  I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here questioning whether or not my thirteen-year-old brother is still a virgin.  It all seems so unreal.  I mean, I know he’s interested in girls, but I could never picture him kissing one, let alone actually having sex with one.  He’s always been my silly, wisecracking, naïve baby brother.  But downstairs, when I saw him on the couch with that girl, I saw him differently.  Downstairs, he didn’t seem like my baby brother.  He was a typical sex-driven male.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that picture of him making out with that girl out of my mind.  From here on out, I’ll see him in a completely different way.  He’ll still be my younger brother, just not so much the baby anymore.

Later at night, Dear Journal:  I did get to see my movie today.  I watched Back to The Future Part III.  When I went downstairs to watch it, Martin introduced me to his girlfriend. I couldn’t even look in their sweet little faces. They sat down and watched the movie with me.  It was really awkward sitting there knowing what they had done.  I could hardly concentrate on the movie.  I was too busy being amazed by them.  They were acting so normal and innocent.  They were laughing at the movie and talking about history class.  All I could picture was what they had done—what they had come very close to doing!—and it made me laugh.  I still can’t figure out why it’s so funny to me.  I snickered through the entire movie thinking about it.  I’m glad we were watching a comedy.  If it had been a serious movie, like a murder mystery or something, they probably would have thought I was a total moron. 

Even through the laughter there’s still sadness in me, especially today.  Today was the beginning of my first weekend without Steven.  It was lonely.  The weekends were usually when Steven and I spent the most time together.  Now I have to spend the weekends without him.  I wonder what he’s doing.  I would like to fantasize that he’s at home thinking about me and being just as heartbroken as I am over this breakup, but we both know that is highly unlikely when he’s got Lisa, the girl he’s always wanted, the girl of his dreams, the girl of every boy’s dreams?  I wonder if he’s with her now.  What am I, an idiot?  Of course he’s with her now.  He’s been secretly hoping to be with her throughout our entire relationship.  I wonder if he takes her to the same places he and I used to go.  I wonder is he doing the same things with her that he used to do with me.  I wonder is he doing the same things to her that he used to do to me, hickeys and all.  Oh, Dear Journal, I feel like dying just thinking about it.

In a twisted way, I’m sort of glad that the Sabrina and Martin thing happened and that I got to watch it.  It brought a little laughter and excitement to what would have otherwise been an especially miserable and tearful first weekend without Steven.  When I close my eyes tonight, I know for sure I’m going to think of Steven, but the laughter and shock from the picture in my head of Sabrina and Martin are going to hold back some of my tears. For the first time in ages, I think I might actually go to sleep with a slight smile on my face.  I just wish it were because of Steven.

May 5, Dear Journal:  The Petersons are coming over for dinner tonight.  The Petersons are our next-door neighbors.  Mr. and Mrs. Peterson are both college professors.  Mrs. Peterson is an English professor, and Mr. Peterson is a history professor.  They had us over to their house for dinner the first night we moved in, and they, Mom, and Dad have been best friends ever since.  Mom and Dad were hoping that the Peterson’s daughter Cameron and I would also become best friends, but it hasn’t quite worked out that way.  Cameron is so annoyingly nice and perky it drives me insane just to be around her, not to mention that we have absolutely nothing in common.  I wish they weren’t coming for dinner.  This sucks.  I so don’t feel like socializing.

May 4, Dear Journal:  Just another lonely, boring Sunday.  I put in all my required hours of exercising.  For Mom’s big breakfast and dinner, I took small bites off my food so I could look like I was eating.  When my family was gabbing and I was sure they weren’t paying any attention to me, I slid some of my food into my napkin on my lap and balled up the napkin.  I scattered the rest of the food around on my plate so that it looked like I had eaten most of it.  When we were done eating, I ran upstairs to my bathroom and barfed up what I had actually eaten, and I exercised. 

I still have the Martin-and-Sabrina picture in my head.  Every time I look at Martin’s little baby face, the picture comes to me.  I’m still humorously amazed by it.  He went over to Sabrina’s house today.  I guess since Mom was home, he had no choice but to go test how comfortable Sabrina’s couch is!

May 6, Dear Journal:  I stepped on the dreadful scale today.  According to it, I’ve lost five pounds.  I now weigh one hundred and twenty-four pounds.  I don’t feel like I weigh one hundred and twenty-four pounds.  I looked in the mirror and I definitely don’t look like I weigh one hundred and twenty-four pounds.  I look and feel the same way I did when I started the diet a week ago, although it feels like I started it centuries ago.  I want so badly to be skinny, and after a week, it looks like I haven’t lost anything.  It’s so frustrating.  I’m definitely going for one- twenty.

May 7, Dear Journal:  The fashion show is four days away.  I’ve already done two shows before this one, so I’m not too nervous about it.  I just wish I had more time so I could lose more weight.  I know if I had lost it about a month ago, I would be modeling the centerpiece, or at least have been considered for it. 

            The centerpiece is the outfit worn in the grand finale of the show.  It summarizes the theme of the entire fashion show.  The outfit is usually more breathtaking than the others.  It is the outfit every reporter, and every other important person in the audience, are anxiously waiting to see, and with good reason.  It is such a glorious moment.  The person wearing the centerpiece makes a grand solo entrance to dramatic theme music and lights.  The audience looks on in awe and stands up with roaring applause.  The lights from the cameras are flashing so often and so fast that it nearly blinds you and makes your head spin.  The enviously thin, gorgeous model stands elegantly on that runway, showing off the exquisite outfit and basking in the praise of the crowd.  It’s the most spectacular part of the show.  It’s such an honor for a model to get that prestigious spot.  I want to do that centerpiece so badly, but being rejected is one of the prices you pay for not being skinny and pretty.  Nicole “hard body” Hamilton is going to do the centerpiece, of course.  With thin and beautiful girls like her meeting and setting the standards for beauty, girls like me will always fall short in this world.

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