Fucked up life

Posted 13th November 2015 09

It’s hard because the food is just there. Your mind glorifies it when in reality it is just a fucking clump of calories. You lay in bed and stare across the room at the cookies your grandma sent you. And your heart beats fast because you want to eat it so bad. And your fingers and toes clench because no, you can’t do this again. It needs to stop. It won’t leave your head. And before you know what’s happening you’re in front of the food hands shaking because your demons are fighting with your mind. You don’t remember grabbing the M&Ms but there they are, already half chewed between your teeth. And once you eat one, you can’t stop. Fuck everything because you wish you had self-control. But instead, you have nothing but chocolate in your stomach. You feel numb for a second but then the tears appear behind your eyes because you did it again. You fucking ate. How dare you. Nighttime eating sucks. The days are easier. But it’s when no one is in the bathroom so you slip quietly out the door and walk across the hall into the handicap stall. You stare down into the toilet, slowly kneel down, stick two fingers down your throat, close your eyes, and gag. But, because you can’t do anything right, nothing comes up. You’re a failure for eating and now you can’t even get rid of it. You squat there for five minutes, breathing deep, tears dripping, coughing up phlegm, but not food. Never food because you’re a fucking pussy. After ten minutes you stand up, dizzy and throat hurting, and silently walk out of the stall, wash your hands because yes of course you were using the restroom, and retreat back into your room. Another failure. More calories, more fat, more hatred, more cuts, more self-loathing. The essay that is due tomorrow at 8 am doesn’t get done because you spend the rest of the night laying in bed feeling like a fat fucker and because you feel bad for yourself, you hate yourself even more. You look at the anorexia hashtags on instagram trying to get motivation. But then you turn your phone off because you feel guilty. You are so sick for wanting anorexia and for looking up to it for help. It’s a serious illness, what are you doing? But you want it so badly. Not the disease, but the thinness. The light-as-a-feather feeling you once had. Because once, you were skinny. You ate jello for lunch and learned to drink water to mute your stomach growling and mask the starvation you were experiencing. It had felt so good to sit in class, head swimming, eyes blurred because you were hungry. Everyone complimented you on a job well done, 30 pounds lost, you have so much willpower! But your friends and family knew. They knew you didn’t eat and they interfered, took you to doctors, you agreed to eat, but never acted on that promise. But that trip to Florida fucked you over because there was good food you couldn’t refuse in the presence of your grandmother. So you ate for her and never looked back. It became obsessive and you couldn’t stop. So you gained back the weight right before college and then some more while in college. Because your friends ate and there was so much food. Right there. In front of you. You couldn’t resist it. Which led you to this moment, lying in bed, fresh cuts stinging from earlier in the shower because you’re such a goddamn failure, stomach disgustingly full. Nothing suited you, no disease was right for you. You don’t deserve anything because you don’t have the willpower to fit into a fucking category. So you survive miserably in between, not knowing where you belong, wondering if you are even qualified to say you have a problem. If people saw you now they would laugh secretly and ask why you gained all the weight and then some back. Of course you aren’t sick, you eat all the time! The frustration builds until you say one day FUCK IT I’M NOT EATING TOMORROW. That always fails, but it’s nice to pretend it’s going to happen. It didn’t happen suddenly last time, it was gradual, but you don’t have time for that. The holidays are almost here and you can’t resort back to obesity right before you see all your family. How embarrassing. So it’ll have to be abrupt, quick, and brutal this time. Weight will be lost because there is no other choice. No going back to eating. It’s time to stop and feel euphoric again because you secretly want others to comment on your weight and express their concern, which is sick of you. How dare you. That’s horrible. But that’s the reality, no matter how fucked up it is. Succeeding in your goals is all you have left, and you need it. You’ll feel prettier and more confident because finally you excelled in something. This time there will be no relapse. This time the weight won’t come back. It’ll stay gone forever. No matter how much it takes.