These Demons

Chapter Five

Because I don't have any appointments set for the following few days, I get my car back from where I left it at the studio, empty my pantry and tell the band I'll just relax to keep them from worrying, but of course that's not what I actually do. As many workouts as my sore muscles can take, as few calories as my stomach can intake and as much sleep and caffeine as 24 hours can offer is what my real schedule says. With the Misfits album 'American Psycho' on repeat, I force myself through the exercises, beyond glad every time I've finished a repetition because I hardly make it through with so much dizziness in my head. I notice that my hair is getting thinner and my nails brittle, but I couldn't care less. Zoe constantly tries to reach me, but I shake her off with short text messages until, on day five, the door bell rings and it's definitely not the mail man.
I wish I could just ignore it, but many people unfortunately take that for a reason to ring even more often, so I reluctantly open up.

It's hard to suppress an annoyed sigh when I recognize her.
"Hello to you too," she says because I didn't say anything.
"Can I come in?"
"Where did you get my address?" I want to know instead.
"Just like I got to your private show. I know some people who work with you and your production team. So?" I hate how chill and happy she looks because what I'm feeling resembles the exact opposite.
"You're a pain in the ass," I note, but as usual, she doesn't seem to be bothered. This girl has the calmness of a fucking Buddha.
When I open my mouth again, she just shoves me out of the way and enters my house without my permission, making me furious.
"You can't just walk into other people's homes like that!" I call after her.
"But you can just run away after pretending to have dinner with other people?" she replies without turning around.
"That was something else," I defend myself and follow her into the kitchen to keep her from invading my privacy any further, but it's too late for that. Without giving me a chance to stop her, she opens my fridge like it belongs to her and inspects it.

Uncomfortably, I shift my weight from one foot to another when I watch her staring at the products lining up in huge amounts in front of her: dairy and fat free yogurt, vegetables, vinegar and diet coke. Great.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zoe simply comments and slams the door shut to face me. Before I can attempt to talk my way out of it, she already continues her rant.
"What the hell is that? No, I have a better question- what is wrong with you? You have a problem, man!"
"No, I don't," I snap and interrupt her, but it doesn't startle her at all.
"Yes, you damn sure do! Look at that! Don't tell me you just didn't get to go grocery shopping because I'm damn sure this didn't look any different yesterday and won't look any different tomorrow!"
Not giving me a chance to say something, she storms through the kitchen and opens all the cupboards and shelves, but the only other edible items she finds are some fruits and a pack of crisp bread.
She leaves the kitchen without closing the doors, obviously angry. "Where is your pantry?"
"I don't have one," I lie, but she's not stupid and because the stupid thing is unfortunately right in the hallway, she finds it right away and looks even more shocked when she finds out that there is nothing stored except toilet paper, toiletry items and more diet drinks. Even worse, she finds the small bottles of diet pills I keep here, just in case. "What the hell, Andy!" she exclaims once she's read the label.
"I don't take those," I tell her truthfully.
"'Course you don't."
They really only exist for emergencies, but it doesn't surprise me that she doesn't believe that.

I wish she'd been here a week ago, but after my last embarrassing binge, I threw everything forbidden away and swore to myself I wouldn't buy any of those things again either. If I'd kept some of it, I would now be able to create the illusion that I eat such things, but because she came here without letting me know about it, I didn't have any time to prepare such a fraud.
Slamming the door shut, she states: "You need help, Andy."
Her eyes are cold and stern, but I don't buy any of it. She's wrong.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," she insists, but I won't play any childish games with her.
"You don't even know me," I snap, my teeth gritted. "You have no freaking idea what I need and what I don't need. You just keep showing up whenever it's inconvenient."
Zoe is still not convinced which I can tell by the way she repeatedly shakes her head.
"You're a liar, Andy, and a bad one, and I ain't gonna let you get away with it."

"With what?!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up. "What are you even talking about?"
She sighs. "Don't tell me you're really that delusional." When I just throw her a look, she continues, "You're sick, Andy."
"No, I'm not," I return sternly.
"Can I try something?" she asks, making me deeply uncomfortable. "Like what?"
"Trust me?" Zoe requests, but of course I don't. Instead of answering, I cross my arms, but when she sees that, she sighs again like a tired old lady and just grabs my arm to drag me down the hallway to the bathroom, ignoring my protests. I want to shake her off, but she holds on so hard that I'd have to hurt her.

She stops in front of the tall mirror above the sink that shows my entire upper body and instantly makes me want to vomit. "What do you see?" Zoe asks me and I tilt my head to throw her a weird look. "What?"
"What do you see?" she just repeats, obviously confident with whatever plan she has designed.
"Myself?" I try and don't understand where she's going with this. She rolls her eyes. "Well, who would have thought that. No, I want to hear you say how you see your body."
"There are no different ways to see your body," I tell her. "That's why there are mirrors. They don't lie."
"Oh, really?" Zoe raises both of her brows doubtfully. "Then go ahead and describe your body to me. I want to hear it."

"That's none of your business," I hiss, but that seems to be exactly what she expected because she looks like I just proved something that makes her the winner in this nonsense game. "Tell me the truth and I'll stop bothering you."
"I don't believe you," I reply bluntly, making her laugh humorlessly. "If you can prove that there is nothing wrong with you, then you shouldn't have a problem with telling me what you see, Andy." I know that I shouldn't even go into this and let her have power over me by being responsive to this crap, but she'll only think that she won if I refuse, so I sigh and face what I hate the most: my reflection.

"I see my body. And it's not the way it used to be."
"How was it?" I hate her for digging like this.
"Skinny," I mutter.
"And what is it like now?"
Gritting my teeth, I wish I could just slap her across that smartass face of hers. "Not skinny."

She gives me a look that shows me she's waiting for me to continue and I can't help but curse under my breath before I do it.
"My cheekbones aren't as visible as they used to be," I admit.
"Your cheekbones?" she repeats in disbelief. "That's all you got?"
"And my jawline isn't sharp anymore."
"Your jawline. Seriously, Andy? You're making this about your facial features?"

"What on earth do you want to hear?" I almost yell in my frustration and she points to all the gross parts of me below my face. "How do you see the rest of you? Your chest, stomach and all that?"

"I can't see my ribs anymore because I've gained so much weight," I almost whisper after a few seconds of silence, looking away because I'm so embarrassed of myself. "And my stomach..." I feel myself choking on my own words because I hate saying them out loud. "My stomach is not flat... It sticks out, you know? Almost like... Like it's overhanging. And everything is so... So soft and flabby. Not, you know, the way it's supposed to be."

"Which is how?"
"Flat. Toned. Thin."

The words linger in the air like the smell of something rotten. I take a deep breath because I almost cannot breathe anymore. The overwhelming, crushing fear that fills my head because I now can no longer stop thinking about all those things that are wrong with my appearance is suffocating me in every way.

fat, ugly, stupid, weak, fat, gross, fat, weak, ugly

The voice that keeps me from eating is screaming now and there's no way to drown it out anymore. I'm terrified and don't even know what scares me so much. It's probably just my own damn failure because I can never stay strong. I could be as skinny as I want to be, but because I don't have any strength or discipline, I'm this disgusting, huge, unidentifiable mess. My ex is fucking some model and I'm devoting my existence to loathing in self-pity simply because I can't keep my shit together and stay away from everything that endangers my plan and just spend my time working out to finally lose some of all of this weight instead.

I hear Zoe calling my name, but I don't really hear it. I don't feel anything anymore. All that's left is the sound of my heart racing and the voices screaming in my ears. My vision blurs and my knees turn to jelly, and before I know it, I feel the cold bathroom tiles below me and my body curling up to protect itself from everything around me. I want to cry, but I can't. I want to scream, but I can't. I want to shake Zoe off when she puts her arm around me, but I can't. All I can do is tremble silently, waiting for my panic attack to end.

I need to be thin.

I need to be thin.

I need to be thin.