The guilt.
Oh god, the guilt.
It lies on your chest, your lungs, your heart, your relationships. The pressure unbearably crushing you, with not one hint of mercy. Worst of all, it lies in your stomach. Begging to come out. Some way, any way it can.
It lies on the floor, with the rest of its kind. Wrappers, leftovers, crumbs, and tears. A terrible mix of the sort.
It lies on the cold, unforgiving bathroom tile, observing the horrors a Friday night binge has caused.
It lies in the toilet bowl. The big, disgusting bowl, with all of your mistakes dancing around in the water. There's a piece of yourself hidden in there, somewhere you can never get it back from.
It lies in the humiliating sound of the flush, something you hope you never have to hear again. Yet you do. Every single time.
It lies in the mirror. The puffy eyes, the red knuckles. Hands trembling as you come down from panic. Running them over your mouth, swearing that this is the most pathetic and vulnerable you have ever felt, and ever will feel.
It lies in the messy hair you once wore with utmost confidence. It's once soft, luscious existence taunting you in your memories. All that's left is brittle, thin pieces, just trying to keep itself alive.
the guilt never seems to end.
but the worst part of it all?
YOU ARE READING
Where the Guilt Lies
Short StoryTRIGGER WARNING! this is a snippet of my experience with an eating disorder. This is definitely going to be triggering, so please read at your own risk. Please take care of yourself and be safe. I made this in like an hour at 3:00 AM, so it won't be...
