She seems even more incensed at this. She doubles down, and I get the feeling that she feels me slipping away.
“Is this how you show your gratitude, Xiaoyu? To turn your back on your family?”
Gratitude. I’m so fucking sick of that word. She always holds this over my head like an axe swinging like a pendulum.
For the next thirty minutes, she berates me. The worst part? She sounds calm and reasonable—like I’m the problem because I’m the one sniffling with tears. This isn’t the first time she has told me this. It’s a cycle with us. She threatens to kick me out of the house she brought for me, I agree to move out, and she doubles down with threats until she says she only does this because she loves me.
If this is love, then it’s a jagged shard through my heart. For a moment, I wish Mother would stop loving me. It’s so…dehumanizing being loved by her.
By the end of our call, she has haphazardly patched our “relationship” and agreed that I can stay for a few more months until I find my footing. It’s a settlement that doesn’t sit right with me. I am moving out, I just don’t tell her.
I’m already tired as I begin my day. I search endlessly online for new teaching jobs in another city. Another state. Anywhere away from her.
I sigh as I hit send on the twelfth application letter to the farthest university. This is done on purpose. I do have enoughmoney to pay for my “mortgage,” I just don’t want to waste it if I was going to move anyway.
God, I sound like a rebellious teen, not a thirty-two year old woman.
I rub my forehead as my glasses’ fog fade away. Something’s catching my eye. An unusual ad on an employment website. It’s like one of those brazen porn ads.There’s a girl who wants to fuck you two miles away.Instead of that, it’sthere’s a dealer who wants to sell you drugs two miles away.
Mate bonds. Synthesized pheromones. A society plagued with apathy would quiver in their boots in excitement. It’s like gas station boner pills. God, at least it’s not one of those reset pills—the one taken to erase memories, traumas. It sounds convenient, to simply erase one’s trauma, but every shortcut has its price.
“God, kill me now.” I sigh in exasperation as I exit the website…only to be led to another one.
It’s a minimalistic page of a questionnaire that has an equally minimalist logo of a tree. It’s one of those annoying prompt ads that you can’t get out of unless you answer. The new“are you human?”verification checkbox.
“Jesus Christ.” I snarl as I read through the thing. It’s some sort of general mood intake and inquiry about my dreams. I make a sardonic joke about my devices hearing me curse my life. Frustrated, I answer it with equal aggravation, ranking the lowest of lowest moods when it asks me that. I’m furious as I type down my dream about the mouth that keeps luring me.
The last question though makes me pause.
Have you been having thoughts of self-harm?
The sardonic joke doesn’t sound like a joke anymore. A chill runs down my spine, and I feel I’m being watched. Surveilled.
To answer the question honestly? There’ve been so many times I just wanted to give up… Giving up meant…what, Xiaoyu? Is that considered self-harm? I’d never felt compelled to cut myself, hang myself…
My stomach groans in hunger, and it pinches something in my gut. I haven’t eaten since yesterday…
On a whim, I click yes and hit submit. Starving myself is self-harm, right? It never asks for a name, so I don’t think much of it. Still, the feeling of being watched lingers like a decaying stench.
It’s well within the night when I finally eat my first meal of the “day.” I try to keep it as hearty as possible since it will be a few more days until I can eat meat again. I convince myself it’s intermittent fasting, but it’s not. It’s an unhealthy habit I’m all too familiar with. I want to do better, eat more, but there’s always a voice inside my head telling me Mother would see if I gain even a pound.
She’d be a lot more disappointed in me…
You’re running away, bitch. Her opinions aren’t worth shit.
Yes, it shouldn’t matter anymore, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks…but I can be self-aware enough that I have bad habits. I don’t want anyone to eat the way I do like I would never wish Mother’s love upon them.
I swallow down all the food I can stomach and settle in pain on my bed. Belly hurting, I curl into a ball as it churns. For a second, I’m reminded of my dream last night.
I’d felt a sort of companionship with that endless gaping hole. Its hunger is something I can connect with. A mutual struggle the two of us are plagued with. It seems so pathetic, but I want to dream of it again. I want to know what it’s like to befriend it.
It’s my cheat day and I can’t wait to eat a burger. I feel weak and cranky, but it’s the physical toll of depriving myself of food. I’m so used to running on water and caffeine that I only remember I should be eating when I’m getting pissed off at everyone.
Hangry, they call it.
As I munch down my enormous burger, my eyes nearly roll back in joy. It’s heaven on my tongue. The beef patty is crisp on the outside, juicy on the inside. The bun just toasted enough to crunch when I bite again. In less than five minutes, I finished the whole thing and munched on the fries.
“I really wonder where you put all that weight, Xiao.” Crystal, a friend who I will miss when I move, says offhandedly. She’s not aware of my habits. She’s a very beautiful lady with luscious curves and an equally big personality. Like me, she hides her struggles with eating, too.
