Fasting- a word we use because we don't believe we are starving. We are doing the body good. We "fast" for days. Shaking hands, thin wobbling knees, eyes sunken in. "No, I don't have HIV...I have anorexia."
Soon you can't fast anymore. You begin to shake. Your feet start moving uncontrollably. You have an anxiety attack. You think you're dying. Your head begins to spin, you're dizzy. "One cracker," is what you tell yourself- "that's the limit." You find yourself on the couch with your hand wrapped around your waist, measuring - to digging in the pantry on your knees through everything. Pouring brown sugar, honey, more sugar, pancake batter, butter, syrup all into a bowl. You eat it. You have three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, half gallon of icecream, bag of Family Sized chips, cookies, candy that isn't yours, and soda. You down a whole liter of soda- then find cans of energy drinks and gulp them.
"What the fuck have I done," I say looking at myself in the mirror thinking 15 pounds will magically appear on my ass in seconds. "You have no self control. You're fat and gross. You are a fat, disgusting ugly faggot." You begin to cry- you can't take looking at yourself in the mirror.
You run to the bathroom, throw yourself onto your knees in front of the toilet. You worship the toilet, like you worship the spot behind your house where you go when people are home. You put your fingers down your throat. This is familiar, this is easy because your gag reflex is sensitive. You begin to throw up. There's the peanut butter and jelly. There goes the vanilla icecream and chocolate candy bars. After awhile when there's nothing but water, blood, and bile you stop. It's over- it's gone. The puking is over but you're not completely done. You pop in twenty diet pills in your mouth and after an hour you're on the toilet shitting. You have diarrhea and that's ok.
Now you need a few days of starving and living off of appetite suppressants, cigarettes, sugarfree gum, and reduced calorie peanut butter, and 9 mile runs everyday to compensate for what you've done.
Then comes the dreaded weigh-in at the doctors. You step on, close your eyes. I can't be. I can't fucking be. 126- I've lost weight. How? I step off, step on, step off, step on. Cry.
This is anorexia nervosa. This is my story. This is hard to write because I want to go back. But I can't.
Soon you can't fast anymore. You begin to shake. Your feet start moving uncontrollably. You have an anxiety attack. You think you're dying. Your head begins to spin, you're dizzy. "One cracker," is what you tell yourself- "that's the limit." You find yourself on the couch with your hand wrapped around your waist, measuring - to digging in the pantry on your knees through everything. Pouring brown sugar, honey, more sugar, pancake batter, butter, syrup all into a bowl. You eat it. You have three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, half gallon of icecream, bag of Family Sized chips, cookies, candy that isn't yours, and soda. You down a whole liter of soda- then find cans of energy drinks and gulp them.
"What the fuck have I done," I say looking at myself in the mirror thinking 15 pounds will magically appear on my ass in seconds. "You have no self control. You're fat and gross. You are a fat, disgusting ugly faggot." You begin to cry- you can't take looking at yourself in the mirror.
You run to the bathroom, throw yourself onto your knees in front of the toilet. You worship the toilet, like you worship the spot behind your house where you go when people are home. You put your fingers down your throat. This is familiar, this is easy because your gag reflex is sensitive. You begin to throw up. There's the peanut butter and jelly. There goes the vanilla icecream and chocolate candy bars. After awhile when there's nothing but water, blood, and bile you stop. It's over- it's gone. The puking is over but you're not completely done. You pop in twenty diet pills in your mouth and after an hour you're on the toilet shitting. You have diarrhea and that's ok.
Now you need a few days of starving and living off of appetite suppressants, cigarettes, sugarfree gum, and reduced calorie peanut butter, and 9 mile runs everyday to compensate for what you've done.
Then comes the dreaded weigh-in at the doctors. You step on, close your eyes. I can't be. I can't fucking be. 126- I've lost weight. How? I step off, step on, step off, step on. Cry.
This is anorexia nervosa. This is my story. This is hard to write because I want to go back. But I can't.
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