Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The Binge

She flips through image after image but they are all too familiar now. Nothing works anymore.
All of the pictures of skinny girls with thigh gaps and flat stomachs. All she can think about is how they aren't her.
She looks at that old picture of herself. The one from when she was skinny. She wasn't happy back then but at least she was beautiful.
She thinks about how long it would take to get back to that weight.
A sense of hopelessness overwhelms her, as she wonders if she will be like her mother. What if all she ever says is that she plans to lose weight, but thirty years from now hasn't lost a pound?
What if she is stuck like this? Forever?
She feels herself start to move as if controlled by an invisible puppeteer
It's as if she is helpless to stop herself. She pops some candy into her mouth and it tastes so good but she feels like she's dying.
"Stop!" She's screaming at herself on the inside. "Stop fucking eating!"
But she can't and she doesn't. The empty feeling she had been feeling moment earlier slowly dissipates, replaced by a sick feeling of dread.
"Please stop," she whispers to herself out loud. Tears start to run down her face.
It takes no longer than ten minutes for it to be over. Ten minutes that ruin everything.
When she finally gets a hold of herself she tosses the bag of candy into the trash and rips off her clothes. She's alone in her bedroom after all.
She stands in front of the mirror and just stares at the unrecognizable creature in front of her.
How did it get this far?
She used to be within the normal weight range and now she's fatter than she'd ever been. Even fatter than she was in high school. She'd even reached a new high weight.
"You're disgusting," she spat at her image.
She pinched her fat and grabbed handfuls of it, not believing that she could even do so for a moment.
Her legs rubbed together when she walked and she looked like she was pregnant or something. Everything was covered in stretch marks and cellulite.
She felt so much shame that she had to turn away. She's couldn't bear to see herself.
She grabbed her razors and started to cut. Angry, burning, red lines appeared on her arms and legs. She just felt so much hatred for her body, but mostly for herself. She was angry that she had let herself go, angry that she was all alone, and angry that she had just binged. She was a problem, one that she couldn't fix.
"If you really wanted to be skinny," she told herself, "You would be. No excuses. You would have stopped before you even started. If you were meant to be beautiful you would have had the strength to starve, the energy to exercise several hours every day. If you really wanted it... I'm pathetic. Worthless..."
She put some clothes on and went into the bathroom. No one was there to hear her anyways. After a few dry wretches she realized she had waited too long.
She realized all of a sudden that there was nothing that could fix what she just did. She already saw the number on the scale for the next morning.
She screamed. She cried. She smashed things she knew she would miss. And then she gave up, and went to bed.
She curled up under the covers and pulled her laptop towards her. And on her blog she typed.

Dear Ana,
Please save me from myself.