Once I hear the front door close, signaling my dad has left for work, I make my way out of my bedroom. It is currently 4:30 so my mom should be just finishing work, meaning I have about 20 minutes to make up for the food I haven't eaten today. The only things I've consumed since awaking are the bowl of cheerios I shoved down my throat before my mom woke up and a fruit snack I snuck into Art.
I make my way downstairs, still feeling the need to be quiet and sneaky. The nerves in my stomach bounce against each wall because I know my mom could come home any minute. I always worry that maybe she got off work early and will walk through the door any second. With that, I catch my hands shaking and find myself repeatedly looking towards the front door.
I quickly open the cupboard and immediately place my eyes on the box of granola bars. I'll just have one and nobody will notice that it is even missing, I tell myself. After all, it's only one. Unwrapping the plastic, I shove the bar into my mouth, moaning in satisfaction. At that moment, it didn't even matter that I hardly savored the taste; because I needed more.
Just one more. I can have another, right? There's 10 in the box, surely no one will notice if two are missing.
So I take another one out of the cardboard box, and I eat it. I try to savor it but it tastes like absolute heaven and I can't help but shove it all into my mouth at once. I'm still not satisfied though. I need more because my growling stomach hasn't eaten all day, so I deserve at least one more. Just one though.
Before I know it, eight wrappers litter the kitchen floor, nine if you include the one I just threw down. I'm not done yet though, I'm still hungry. So I open the fridge and put the container of fruit juice up to my lips, chugging the liquid until I feel sick. I then grab the container of cream cheese and dig my two fingers into the white spread, shoving them into my mouth only two seconds later.
By then, I've totally lost control. I can't seem to stop myself because the girl who hates her body more than anything else no longer exists. Instead, it's this starving girl who would appear to not of eaten in weeks. I devour half a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch by just shoving handfuls into my mouth, barely even chewing. Old takeout food that has been sitting in the fridge for weeks is in my mouth within seconds because right now I don't care.
At this moment in time, I do not care. I don't care if I get even more fat and I don't care about Zayn's remarks or anyone else's for that matter. If my mom walked through the front door and caught me, I wouldn't care. I do not care the least.
I feel so content in my own world right now that the endless worry of my self image doesn't exist. There's no one to judge me here in this paradise because it's only me and the one thing that's ever actually been there for me: food.
But, now that I'm thinking about it, I suddenly feel full. Like grossly, ready-to-puke full. My stomach hurts and a headache forms which pounds against my skull from all the sugar I just consumed. My stomach is bloated which makes me look twice as fat as I already am, also leaving a heavily disgusting feeling in its place.
And now it's time to regret it all. I look at the counter and floor which are both scattered with garbage and food remains. My fingers are grimy and sticky with contents of all that food I consumed in under 15 minutes. Several boxes that once had packaged food in them are now empty, representing my soul.
I'm so overly full, but at the same time I'm so very empty. I disgust myself in every single way I could ever contemplate. I said I don't care, but I care so much more now that it's over and I'm left with the after affects. This happens every time and I can never control it. I hate myself for always letting this happen, for always allowing the urge to eat to take over my body.
I cry. I pull at the roots of my hair and bawl my eyes out. I cry as I pick up the trash that litters the floor and I cry as I wipe the crumbs off of the counter. I cry because I am so fucking nasty and so weak that I can't even eat without inhaling all of the food like a whale. I cry because I know that this will never end and that I will always be fat. I cry and cry and cry some more because I am such a fat ass who relies on something so disgusting as food to comfort her.
I am truly revolting in every single way. I said that I didn't care, but now that I look back on what I just did, I realize I care too much.
i know parts of this chapter can be looked at as funny, but this was supposed to be kind of sad, its kind of like she can't stop eating, but whenever she does she hates herself for it
