She studied her face in the mirror. Each imperfection screamed out her begging to be noticed. The tiniest of flaws were not left unnoticed by her scrutinizing stare. Twenty whole minutes she spent carefully applying make up to cover up any trace of imperfection. Never satisfied but out of time, Charlotte left her room not bothering to eat any breakfast. Her mind still stuck in an unrestful sleep, Charlotte’s aching body dragged her to class. English, okay, I can do this. She tries to motivate herself to carry on. It’s hard but she’ll make it. She has too.

Each step sends a sharp pain through her shins, but she dare not mention it to anyone. She knows what they’ll say. And she can’t go down that way again. No, it’s best to keep this to herself. The physical pain, and the emotional kind, too. No one needed to know how miserable she felt. How unmotivated she felt or how much she cried for no real reason. No, it’s best they don’t know. She has to stay and she has to graduate. Getting kicked out of college isn’t perfect.

She sits in class and struggles to keep her mind on literary conventions. But she can’t. Thoughts flood her mind and drown her in worries. Soon her mind is far from thoughts of writing and analysis. It has become trapped in a dark place yet again. The same place that keeps her awake at night and that same place that ruins perfection.

Gaining nothing from english, Charlotte moves on through her day, wondering how she’ll pass class if she can’t focus or worse can’t find the motivation to go. She has a break between classes and so she drags herself back to her room. She needs to be alone. No, she wants to be alone. The sadness makes her feel isolated and she so believes she should be. Charlotte lays on her bed and cries, praying her roommate doesn’t walk in. Why can’t I stop this? Charlotte was a quick learner, everyone had always said. So why couldn’t she just end this quickly? Why couldn’t she just learn to be better and move on? Just like always. Self-hatred fills her mind and she thinks of how easy it would be if she just wasn’t. If she just wasn’t here. No. I can’t. I never quit. She can’t talk to anyone. No one can know how bad it is. Her friends won’t get it. Her family will make her come home and who knows what they’ll think of her. She can’t tell counselor or the nurse they’ll throw her out faster than she can promise to try harder. So she does what she does best. Wipes her tears, fakes a smile and acts like the happiest girl you’ve ever met.

She goes throughout her days and all her days like this. An overwhelming amount of happiness, an extremely low amount of calories, and a dangerously high amount of exercise. Days go by and no one suspects a thing. They say she’s doing well. Friends say she’s happy. Professor’s say she’s adjusting. Family says she’ll get used to it. No one notices the pain. Not the nurse. Not the counselor. They think she’ll be okay. But she doesn’t believe them. She doesn’t know how to think differently and she’s almost to afraid to try.


They give her medicine, therapy, a nurse. Appointments after appointments. But still nothing works. She seems to sink deeper and deeper. It’s not long before staying afloat becomes impossible. Dizzy spells overwhelm her causing her to sink briefly. Her body preserves her life and pushes her to the top once more. She knows her body is screaming for help but she doesn’t care. She can still do more she thinks. I have to lose more. Get to that goal and then I’ll be good. I’ll be great. The thoughts of the future make her keep pushing. Pushing and pushing herself until she has absolutely no energy. But still at night she lies awake and thinks. She wishes her brain would just stop and let her sleep, but it won’t. It races on like a train, and keeps her awake into the early hours of the night. Before she knows it, the morning has come again and its time to repeat her routine. Smile. Starve. Exercise. It will all be worth it soon. She repeats this over and over in her head. Pushing herself to go through the motions of the day. She’s functioning on autopilot; something other than herself, but still no one notices. Cold winter whips through the air and heavy coats and scarfs hide any signs of a withering girl. The cold pierces her body and makes her ache. She constantly shivers, but people say she’s just not a winter girl.


Cracked, purple hands, bleeding from the cold write out her french composition. The light blue lines on the paper blur together and words seem to swirl of the page. The noise from the classroom suddenly seems so distant. Black spots flash before eyes growing larger and larger until she can’t see anything at all. An extreme weakness has taken over her body. She wants to scream for help, but she can’t. She has no energy. She falls forward and smacks her against the cold, hard desk. Classmates screams are the last thing she hears before her world goes white and heart becomes silent.


At her funeral, people are horrified. Shocked. They didn’t know. She hid it so well, they say. Anger, blame, and sadness is thick in the air. No one wants to see their daughter, their friend, their student, die so young. Eighteen short years is hardly enough to time to have any experience. She was too young.

People wonder silently. Could someone have stopped her? Was there hope for her? Help for her? Could she have made it? People wonder and people think. They think things they wish they had told her. You are beautiful. Smart. Talented. Enough. You are perfect to us. If someone had taken time to tell her these things could she still be here? People cry and feel regret. Ten seconds to say you are worth it could have saved this girl and now it’s too late. They hope she realizes now how perfect she was.