Eunoia

White Picket Fence

I want to feel my ribs like the way I feel white picket fences when I skim past them with my fingertips.
Those white picket fences are part of the American dream.
My dream? My dream is to go more than 24, 36, 72, hours without touching a single crumb of food.
Food.
Maybe if I say it in a different language it will sound better?
Let me give it a try in Portuguese. Comida.
Nope, no matter what, that word makes a shiver run up my spine.
Oh my spine. I dream for it to show through my skin so I'll be satisfied with myself.
That's all I've ever wanted, to be satisfied. To have control.
Not the kind of control where I flex my neck in some weird position so my collarbones are on display, so I look...thinner.
It's the kind of control where I kindly decline lunch's invitation.
It's the kind of control where I play hide and seek with my granola bars. His common hiding spot is in my full bag of Halloween candy.
I just want control of my life and there's nothing to control except, dare I say it, food.
And this decision has more to offer than I've ever imagined.
I get to be skinny.
But this decision comes with something that I never wanted.
I didn't want their stares.
By "their" I mean the people in my dreams that I can't get out of my head that stay throughout the day.
And they scream at me. They scream that it's okay to have breakfast but you can't have lunch Sophia.
Because if you do, everyone will look at the way you eat and think you're some joke. Not only that, but you're going to get FAT, Sophia, you're going to get fat. But jokes on you, you already are!
They scream that it's okay to have dinner Sophia but it can only be in small portions.
This decision comes with a price.
Here I am all day everyday, measuring my wrist with two fingers, hoping to God I can still get them to touch.
Yesterday I could only succeed with one wrist but it's now the next day and I can do it with both,
and I'm sorry but that means more to me than anything.
All day everyday I am constantly thinking of what time I'm going to eat and what I'm going to let in my body.
All day everyday I am constantly thinking of the amount of calories in last night's supper.
All day everyday I am constantly squeezing parts of my body because apparently I think that will make the fat go away, but of course that's not the point.
The point is there's no escape in this house I've built for myself.
There's no door and there are no windows but one. And if I look outside the window I can see a glimpse of the white picket fence. The white picket fence with engraved messages, engraved messages that claim what rewards I get out of doing this to myself. Except I can't fit through the window.
And I think we all know exactly why I can't fit through it.