• drip. drip. drip. drip.
    You look up at the iv bag, follow the tube down to the needle stuck in her arm.
    How did it get this bad?
    How?
    Why?
    When?
    This is all everyone asks you.
    You know when that one's easy; it was back in sixth grade, you'd never forget that story.
    She was eating lunch one day and a girl from your class turned to her and said " God, Kelsey could you chew any louder?" most kids at this age would have laughed. Turned to the girl and chewed with their mouth wide open letting food fly at the ignorant girl, but not Kelse.
    No even back then she was different. She always cared what they thought. Not in a normal how do I look? , what do they think of me? way either. No she really deep down to her heart cared what these insignificant ignorant little children thought of her.
    That was three and a half years ago.
    Now here your best friend sits strapped to a gurney iv's and tubes lacing her tiny slender form.
    Why?
    That's a given. She hates herself body, mind, and soul. No one knows why she has such a strong self hatred but she does and that's why she's doing this.
    How?
    You look around her hospital room blank and bare. Somber. Suddenly you got a sick twist a knot in your stomach.
    Was she going to die here?
    No.
    No.
    You couldn't let that happen to her you'd do something. Figure something out. She was going to be fine, in a month she was going to get up back to her 120 pound self and take Matt by the hand. Walk right out, like nothing ever happened.
    No.
    It was too late for that.
    You knew better than to give in to your false hopes and pretend it'll be alright.
    It won't, and you knew that.
    After all it's your fault she's here in the first place.
    You knew long before her efforts began to show how she felt about her body. You could tell people what she thought about almost every part of her body. From her frizz (spidies she called them) to her toes.
    Eyes: one drooped lower, it was lazy. She hated it.
    Mouth: lips too pudgy always grossly chapped, teeth tinted yellow, tounge too tiny. She hated it.
    Skin: blotchy, covered in pimples(she called them blemafishies pimples grossed her out.), too pale. She hated it.
    Her stomach: bumpy, fat, had a distcousting crease that didn't belong, had the grossest playdough-like feel to it. She hated it.
    Her knees: too knobby, boney and rough covered in dead dry skin. She hated it.
    Her toes: too square at the tops, in between her big toe and the next toe over there was a gap big enough to fit another toe, her nails had a yellowish tint. She hated it.
    Her arms: HUGE, discoustingly playdough-like, sausages she called them. She hated them most of all.
    She ofcourse was the only person who saw these issues.
    Her eyes were beautiful blue, skin clear, thin slender arms but strong with muscle.
    She was curvy, all the right things in all the right places. She was 120 pounds and a one in skinny jeans, and they were too lose on her.
    The operative word being was, though.
    Now...
    Now...
    Now she's 60 pounds maybe less.
    Now she's dying, of heart failure and mal nutrition.
    Now she was weak and tiny.
    Fragile.
    She never used to be fragile.
    Even though she was small and petite anyone could tell she could hold her own, throw a mean punch with that arm of hers.
    That is back when she could lift them.
    Now, even though her arms must weigh less than a feather, she couldn't lift them but an inch off the bed.
    Now, even though she was still Kelsey, she wasn't.
    She wasn't the girl you told all your secrets too.
    She wasn't the girl who let you cry on her shoulder when Jason stopped talking to you.
    She wasn't the girl who sat up talking and joking with you till eight o'clock in the morning during her stay at your dad's house in Ohio.
    She wasn't the girl who walked into the mall with you and spent hours in Hot Topic and Forever 21.
    She wasn't the girl who shared tears with you on the floor of the girls bathroom at school over guys and fights you had had.
    She wasn't the girl that argued perfusly that dark chocolate and all it's discousting bitterness was far better than milk.
    She wasn't Kelsey.
    She wasn't your Kelsey.
    No, this girl is the one who cried whenever she glanced in a mirror.
    This was the girl that screamed at you and said you were lying in the dressing rooms at Platos Closet.
    This was the girl that made excuses not to eat dinner every night.' I'm not hungry, I already ate. I'm eating at Matt's. I'm eating at Rachael's. I'm not feeling good. I hate what you guys are having anyways. I'm going to eat later."
    She's not the same girl at all.
    But again it's your fault.
    You knew about her eating disorder all along.
    Three and a half years and you'd known the whole time, that she was starving herself.
    You knew about her late night runs around the block.
    You knew about the lists of calories and food intake.
    You knew about the constant lying.
    You knew about the way-ins and measuring.
    You knew about the throwing out and hiding of food.
    You knew about her hair loss.
    You knew about her constant shivering.
    You knew about how prominent her hip bones were.
    You knew how far her ribs stuck out.
    You knew how not even her underwear reallly fit her, and how all her clothing hung loose and baggy.
    You knew all along.
    Never once did you try to stop it.
    Not once did you tell someone that could help her.
    Not once did you tell her mother that instead of eating at your house she was out running.
    Not once did you speak up to save her.
    She had lost her voice and instead of shouting for her, you just watched as She ran out of breathe and then slowly suffocated.
    It's your fault.
    And now as you sit here thinking about how, you realize you know the answer. Knew it all along.
    How?
    Well it's simple you see, because you let it happen.
    You let her go on hating herself instead of telling her how much of a wonderful person she really was.
    You let her go on cutting, starving, purging, exercising, lying, crying, suffering, screaming, bleeding, and dying...
    How did she get so thin?
    You let her believe what she saw in the mirror.
    You knew she didn't see what you, Matt, and the rest of the world saw.
    But you let her go on believeing she was some monsterous, fat, ugly, discousting, repulsing, insignificant little creature.
    She wasn't.
    She was, is, beautful, smart, loving, kind, bossy, determined, argumentative, intuative, crazy, insane, irrational, hilarious, clumsy, obsessive, a neat freak, whiny, lovable, trusting, important and needed more than anyone can really grasp.
    She always was there to pick you up when you were down.
    She was always there to hold your hand through the hard parts.
    She was always there to tell you it will be okay in the end.
    She was always there for you.
    She was, is, Kelsey, my best friend.
    Now as I sit here I take her boney skeleton hand in mine.
    For once I let it sink in, the fact that she is going to die here at the age of sixteen.
    I let that sink deep in my brain, heart, and soul.
    And in those final moments in that room I whispered the last word this beautiful girl would ever here.
    Kelsey, you are and forever always will be my best friend. You will always be your mothers first child. You will always be the kind hearted loving friend that everyone grew to know and love. But Kelsey, never have you been or will you be ugly, discousting, or repulsive. You will forever remain the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. And even though you gave up on me a while ago and decided that you hate me I still care. I decided to forgive you because Kelse you aren't the one on the gurney with an iv in your arm. You aren't the one that die inside after being told you were pathetic and weak in the cafeteria of your highschool. I was the one who was torn to pieces when you said goodbye. I am the one who's dead and I want you to know...I forgive you. You're still my best friend my ana buddy my murder