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And while I try not to focus too much on my weight, it’s hard some days.
Whenever I feel like I’m going to relapse into another binge-eating episode, I write in my diary to clear my thoughts and listen to whale sounds. Just like Dr. Bailey suggested. It has helped me tremendously.
Not fixed. Not cured. Not healed.
But coping — that’s what I’m doing.
I unwrap my cold sandwich and a lump forms in my throat. Bringing it to my mouth, the smell of chicken mayo fills my nose. I nibble on the corner of before taking a small bite. A burst of flavor fills my mouth and I chew slowly.
I am unattractive.
I am beautiful.
I am grotesque.
I am strong.
I am a failure.
I am brave.
I am worthless.
I am worthy.
You will eat, Riley. I remind myself. Another bite. Chew slowly. Breathe. And you will not purge. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Slow bites after slow bites, I eventually finish my sandwich. It settles heavily into my stomach and there’s rumbling inside me. I clench my shaky fists. Breathe, I tell myself.
“So, have you finished the English assignment yet?” Lila asks, forcing me out of my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“English assignment. It’s due next week,” she reiterates slowly.
“No, I haven’t started it yet.”
Her eyes go wide. “You haven’t started it yet?”
“It’s due next week, right? So I still have time.” I frown. Why is she shocked?
Her slack jaw snaps close and then she shrugs. “Fair point. I guess you still have time.”
“You finished yours already?”
“Yeah, the day it was assigned.”
My eyebrow quirks up in question. “Ah, so you’re not a procrastinator.”
“No. My grandma likes to call me a perfectionist.” She purses her lips, in a mock pout. “But I’m just very organized.”
“Miss Perfectionist,” I find myself teasing her.
She smiles, and it’s genuine.
“So, why do they hate you so much?” she finally asks when she finishes her lunch.
I release a shuddering breath at her question. It’s so direct and I wasn’t expecting it. “You don’t know?”
