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MidReal Story
The Weight of Love
Scenario:My name is Katerina Debrinsky but everyone calls me Kat. I'm 5'1" and 273 lbs. I've been hurt before and because of that I don't see myself as others do.
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Kat Debrinsky
resilient, and introspective. Kat faces bullying and body shaming, which affects her confidence. She finds solace in her supportive family and friends. Her journey involves selfreflection, embracing her identity, and overcoming societal pressures to find inner strength.
Dana Debrinsky
cautious, and concerned. Dana serves as a cautionary tale for the family regarding the risks of extreme weight loss measures.
Lily Debrinsky
supportive, and protective. Lily often stands up for Kat against their mother's harsh comments. Despite their differences in appearance, she shares a strong bond with Kat and encourages her to embrace her individuality.
My name is Katerina, but everyone calls me Kat.
I am 5'1" and weigh 273 pounds.
I know what you're thinking; that I let myself get to this point.
That I am lazy, that I am not determined enough to lose the weight.
That if I just put my mind to it, I could do it.
That is what my mom keeps telling me.
She keeps telling me that if I just put my mind to it, I could do it.
She tells me that if I wanted it bad enough, I could be skinny like her and like my sister Lily.
Lily is naturally skinny.
She has never had an issue with her weight.
She is also three years younger than me.
Sometimes I wish she would tell Mom to shut up when she starts putting me down like this.
She knows it hurts me, and it makes me feel like I was never good enough.
Like I am still not good enough.
Lily never does though, because she is too nice.
She doesn't want to hurt Mom's feelings.
I wish she would for once stand up for me; stand up for me against Mom.
I sit at the kitchen table, picking at my salad.
I know I have put too much dressing on it, but I can't help it.
Mom comments on how much dressing I use every time I eat a salad.
It's like she thinks if I don't use as much dressing, then maybe I won't be so fat.
I set my fork down on my plate and look down at my hands in my lap.
They are shaking.
The familiar ache in my chest starts up again, and I try to push it away, but it is too late.
I can't hold it in anymore.
"Stop," I say quietly.
My mom stops talking mid-sentence, water glass halfway to her mouth.
"Stop what?"
Her voice is full of innocence, but she knows what I mean.
"Every comment about my weight. Every suggestion about dieting. It hurts me."
My voice is stronger now.
"I am trying my best, but your words make me feel worthless."
Lily reaches for my hand under the table.
Mom sets her glass of water down on the table with a clink.
Her face goes through a few different emotions: shock, defensiveness, and then something softer.
She opens her mouth, closes it, and then stares down at her half-empty glass of water.
The clock in the kitchen ticks loudly.
The silence is uncomfortable.
Lily's hand squeezes mine tighter, her thumb rubbing small circles on my palm.
I force myself to keep eating my salad, stabbing each lettuce leaf deliberately with my fork.
The food tastes bitter in my mouth and churns in my stomach.
"Kat," Mom says softly.
"I didn't realize—"
I cut her off by scraping my chair back and standing up.
I freeze mid-step at the sound, my hand still gripping the back of my chair.
Mom's words die on her lips as we all turn toward the living room doorway.
The silence is heavy.
The only sound is the hum of the refrigerator behind me.
Lily's hand slips from mine as she stands up slowly.
I'm about to tell her to sit back down when I hear glass crunching.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I edge toward the doorway, pressing my back flat against the wall.
Through the gap between the door and frame, I can see movement—a shadow crossing the floor.
"Girls, call the police," Mom whispers from behind me.
I grip the wall tighter as the shadow stretches across the floor, growing longer and darker.
Mom fumbles for her phone on the counter, dropping it twice before she manages to pick it up.
She presses a few buttons, and I hear the operator's voice through the speaker.
"911, what is your emergency?"
The voice is tinny and distant.
I can't hear Mom's response because she is whispering too quietly.
Lily edges closer to me, her shoulder pressing against mine.
The floorboards in the living room creak under slow, deliberate footsteps.
I hold my breath and count each step: one, two, three.
A metallic scraping sound fills the air.
The shadow grows darker and larger, consuming more of the floor.