Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online

too tight just make you look fat.”
    “Oh.”
    It’s about midnight by the time she gives up. I gave up hours ago. But I’m surprised to find that she’s actually done a fairly good job of selecting clothes. Even if I will be traveling light.
    “Thanks,” I tell her as I check out my hair in the mirror again.“And thanks for helping me with my parents tonight.”
    She laughs. “Hey, that was fun. I’ve never seen your dad at such a loss for words.”
    “Yeah, at first I thought he was really going to freak.”
    “I think he actually liked it, after he got used to it.”
    “Yeah. Even my mom seemed pretty much okay. Well, other than the fact that I did it behind their backs.”
    “But at least you apologized to them.”
    I consider this as we’re going to sleep. (Leah insists that we get our “beauty sleep.”) It’s not that I want to rebel against my parents exactly, and I know the Bible says to obey your parents, but I guess I feel I need to take some control of my own life too. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize how much I let my parents control me. My dad makes me feel lousy about my weight gain, and my mom consoles me with food. And I have a strong suspicion that’s not a good combination.
    But as I ruminate over these things (and now I can hear Leah’s even breathing, which tells me she’s already fallen asleep) I begin to feel ravenously hungry. And then I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t eat something sweet. And it occurs to me how I’ll be at AFI on Monday and that I probably won’t have the freedom to eat what I like, when I like.
    Then I remind myself how good I’ve been doing by not snacking. I can’t believe how many fruits and vegetables I’ve eaten these past few weeks. And I’ve exercised, sometimes twice a day. And what has that gotten me? All that work and discipline and I’ve lost a mere three pounds. At this rate, it’ll take me a year to reach my goal. If I don’t give up. I’m afraid I’ll give up.
    Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I quietly get up, sneak out into the hallway, make sure that the house is silent, and then slip down thestairs. I go directly to the kitchen, and that’s when I totally pig out.
    I go for Mom’s secret stash, hidden in a basket that’s stored in the bottom shelf of the pantry. It’s the only “safe” junk food because my mom will never mention that it’s missing, and consequently my dad will never find out. I quickly put away most of a box of Mystic Mint cookies, washing them down with two glasses of milk (and not the skim milk that Leah told me to start drinking). Then I’m craving salt, so I go for chips. I polish off a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, along with a lot of Pepsi. And then I’m about to go for a king-sized Snickers bar, thinking I’m still hungry, but then I realize that my stomach is actually aching. It’s like I haven’t eaten this much crud in weeks, and it’s making me feel sick.
    Suddenly I feel worried. What if eating like this after you’ve been dieting is dangerous? I imagine my stomach, stretched beyond capacity, exploding, or maybe I’ll have a heart attack. Now I’m getting seriously scared. I even consider waking up my mom. But then my dad would find out, and probably even Leah. And I just don’t think I can take that kind of humiliation. On the other hand, I don’t want them to find me dead in the kitchen— “she died from eating junk food” listed as cause of death. I am desperate.
    I go to the downstairs bathroom and stare into the toilet, wishing I could barf it all up. The weird thing is, I hate throwing up. I hate the feeling of nausea. And yet here I stand wishing for it. And as I stand here, I hate that I’ve given into eating all that junk. What was I thinking? I mean, maybe losing three pounds doesn’t sound like much, but it was a start, wasn’t it? And then I go and eat enough food to put on three pounds. What is wrong with me?
    And that’s when I do it. I