After school Monday,

dad barged into the bathroom

when I was vomiting.

Sitting up,

I yelled,

a gurgling sound

mixed with raspiness in my voice.

It was an invasion of privacy.

But he only ignored me

and rummaged through the cabinet

finding all the ipecac bottles.

"this stuff can kill you"

he yelled

"what the hell were you thinking"

But I fought back;

I needed that medicine

I needed to be thin.

"n-no"

One word barely escaped my lips.

My throat burned

and my mind whirled.

He couldn't do this to me,

he couldn't.

But he could, and he did.

And as I stood up

and gripped onto the sink,

I thought

I'm not fine

I'm not fine.

I'm not fine at all.