Friday, February 6, 2009

Power Hungry

She flushed the toilet and hung her head in shame and disgust. She had promised she would not empty herself like that again. She had swore, and she had meant that promise. Meant it with everything that was inside of her, to do better, to be better, to work out her problems and anxieties without resorting to drastic measures. But not this time.

Like so many other times, she had lain in her bed, too tortured from her last meal to get up and go about her day. She lay there, writing in agony, not wanting to let her mind take control. Not wanting to look in the mirror and acknowledge the hideous beast that lingered there. The grotesque obese monster.

She cried as she walked to the bathroom, silent tears pouring down her face, knowing that this act that gave her control also took all of her power away. Closing and locking the door behind her, she turned on both faucets and stared at her face in the mirror. She hated herself.

The purging took an agonizingly long time. Her gag reflex had all but disappeared now, and her stomach refused to spasm and release her recently ingested food. She felt her nails scrape the soft tissue at the back of her throat, deep inside, and she knew soon the soreness would return, maybe even another infection. Her tongue was rough and her teeth rougher against her fingers, the familiar red marks would be there again.

She shook as she stood to clean herself, snot and spit dripping down her face from the effort, traces of vomit on the corner of her mouth and her right middle and index fingers. She shook from her exertion, but she felt the calm growing in her middle. She no longer had the weight of the food in her stomach, and she could breathe again.

Methodically, clinically, she washed her hands and face, rinsing her mouth, but careful not to swallow the water. She refused to weigh yet, afraid of another pound or half a pound adding itself to the already too high number. She would wait until tomorrow, after she had fasted and exercised tonight.

Returning to her room, she huddled back in her covers, regaining her strength. Soon she would put on music and exercise, burning off the calories she had not managed to regurgitate.

She smiled. She was back in control.


Matt said...

This sounds like such a part of you when you write.

Lenina Crowne said...

I like to disassociate.