It Frightens You, Because You're Barely Alive

Friday.
Binge Day.[you don't need it, you're fat enough, stop eating you fat little piggy]
{don't listen to her, eating is normal, not too much now though you don't want to get fat, there, that's good}

I awoke to the sound of our seven year old dog, M, barking. At first, my vision was hazy and I couldn't make out the room where I was in. This happens often. (am i home am i outside am i dead where the fuck am i why am i waking up oh my god what is that sound oh it's just the dog okay good calm down now)
I stretched, rolled over, and pulled the covers back over my head. There is something about my bed that makes me feel like a child again. Or maybe it has a sickness-feel, a place where you can go when you are deathly ill and you can stay safe and warm. [you're a fat pig all you do is lay in bed and sleep get the fuck up and start exercising pig] {don't listen to her you're just depressed it's normal it happens all the time it's okay}
I thought about the day. Once a month, Friday is a binge day. The first Friday of each month, it's exciting, to be honest. (i remember, holding in my hands, the source of my guilt: a chicken sandwich, from a fast food restaurant, and i know i was supposed to feel guilty, but all i could do was plan a binge. i would buy 10 chicken sandwiches, 5 cheeseburgers, 5 extra large fries, and 3 diet cokes. binge, then take a package of laxatives to make up for my greediness. [you're a fat pig, really, why did you binge, you shouldn't do that, don't plan these binges, starving is easy lovely, you don't need a thing but water, please stop eating JUST STOP EATING FATTIE] someday i worry that day will come.) I was planning on eating the donuts my mother had brought, then a bowl of mint-oreo-cookie ice cream, then five slices of american cheese, then a bowl of plain melted sharp cheddar cheese, then sneaking into my mother's stash of chocolate candies and eating a handful, then a bowl of Krave, then applesauce, and then a salad with olives and tomatoes and more cheese.
And then I would take laxatives, stay up late, and be silent as I creep down the stairs, unlock the bathroom, turn the light on, and feel the guilt and pain of my binge.
{you shouldn't do this, it isn't normal, remember what happened the last time you took too many? you freaked out, made your heart beat too fast, made yourself dizzy, you couldn't walk, you need to stop taking these things, they don't make you lose weight}
[oh fuck it to hell, anything is worth watching the scale drop]

I binged.
I sat on the couch, skipped school, and binged. And binged. And binged.
(i can't possibly still want to eat, i'm too full, stop eating, please...please stop eating)
As I sat in my room, waiting for the laxatives to kick in, I thought back to a book I had read earlier that day.
"What was my problem? Eating. Eating was definitely a problem. Got to stop eating."
(got to stop eating) [got to stop eating]


I've got to stop eating.

(intake for the day: +3000)
(output for the day: ~150 )