70 Pounds of Guilt

After developing anorexia, my weight plummeted from 120 pounds to a terrifying 70 pounds.

Mom and Dad poured everything into my treatment, bringing home boxes of outrageously expensive supplements and tonics.

Before long, our savings ran dry, and daily life became a constant struggle.

Daisy’s clothes grew faded and threadbare, and our meals were reduced to oatmeal and cheap fast-food burgers.

If she even dared take a sip of my leftover supplement, Mom and Dad would snap at her, scolding her relentlessly until she cowered, tears streaming down her face.

Later, on the day Daisy got her Ivy League acceptance letter, our family brought out my supplements to share with her—for the first time ever.

But by then, I couldn’t even swallow water.

“Mom, Dad, I really can’t eat…”

“You have to eat, even if you can’t!”Dad suddenly exploded, grabbing the warm liquid supplement roughly and forcing it into my mouth.

“Do you realize how much we’ve all sacrificed for you? Daisy hasn’t had a decent meal since she was a little girl!”

Mom’s eyes were red, her voice shaking. “Is it really that hard to just eat something? What do we have to do to get a moment’s peace?”

As I gagged, their expressions filled with frustration.

Watching their angry retreating backs, I slowly lifted my gaze, a strange sense of relief washing over me.

Mom, Dad, Daisy… For so many years, I’ve been a burden to you, and I’ve suffered too.

It’s time to put an end to all this.