No, I didn’t forget to eat. Oh, you’re too silly. You say you’ve been noticing? Aha, no it’s just I’ve been um, forgetting I guess.
Great, they caught you. Snap out of it. You’re stuck. You feel your legs slowly sinking into tar. You try to run. But you’re too exhausted from the weight on your shoulders of keeping a lie.
For what? A few pounds. You know you will never look like the dream you’ve been wanting. Is it really even a dream. Or an occurring nightmare that creeps into your dreams at night ready to destroy you at any cost. It stabs at your heart over and over. While you wade through the pain you wished it stabbed at something else, the extra pounds on your thighs, stomach, arms.
Why? You know it, they all know it. Paranoid! You’re just paranoid. No. No! NO! NO GODDAMMIT I KNOW THEY ARE THINKING IT.
No? I’m not, I eat.
You reply at a speed that’s mannerly, but off. Everyone stares.
Do they know you’re fat, or that you’re that girl now. I promise! Shit…they know.
You’re the anorexic bitch.
Oh guys…c’mon, I don’t starve myself.
The stares. Piercing eyes, everyone impaling you through and through, just with a stare.
Quick, count how many red things there are in the room. Oh Jen, you’re dumb therapist, this tip better work.
No, please don’t. You feel your palms sweat, shaky breath.
GUYS, I eat I promise.
One kid laughs and makes a joke. It’s about bulimia. Everyone laughs.
The mention of the illness pokes at the back of my throat just like my
two fingers
did last night after dinner.
Over and over.
Holding them there until I vomit.
Choking me,
yet I don’t feel the reward of throwing up what I had just ate.
I avoid breakfast. I say I don’t have enough time. Lunch time at school I just don’t eat. Avoid it at all costs, talk to friends.
Dinner is hard, but I eat with my family. If I feel the need I slip away into a bathroom. I turn the sink on. Hoping they won’t hear my gagging over the sound of the running faucet.
What a waste of water, what a waste of happiness. I get on my knees in order to aim at the toilet. I slip my fingers back as far as I can.
Hold them.
Fuck this hurts. Nope, stay.
It’s over.
You look down.
Guilt, shame.
Well fuck me I did it again.
Wasn’t the last time the last time? And the time before then? You feel it deep down in your soul. A quiet knock, slowly progressing to a persistent bang. Open the door they scream. You dropped the key. It’s in the toilet you just flushed. Along with other important things.
How will u ever be able to open it now? Forgive yourself? You can’t stop. You’re addicted to counting your calories.
Please don’t ask me to eat. It’s a hard time already. I cannot simply chew and swallow. I count, chew, spit it out. If I swallow then give me about 20 minutes I’ll be in the bathroom. You’re silly, I’m not sick! I’m fine I don’t do it often. Please don’t say anything .
Calm down, because in the end it’s just a harmless joke to them.