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You’re disgusting.
A disgrace. An embarrassment to your parents.
I’m furious with myself, screaming, upset, depressed. Loathing of my mind and body both. How could I eat that food he made when I know it’s going to make me gain weight?
Today it was beef lasagna. He said I needed energy for my three-hour practice tomorrow, that food is fuel.
You’re worthless.
I’m on my knees shoving my fingers down my throat.
Ugly, stupid, broken.
Failure.
Vomit flies out of my throat and hits the water. Some of it splashes on the white of the seat, horrifying me.
Acid burns my throat. My head spins.
I’m shaking.
My stomach flips, unruly. Unhappy.
I scrub the seat raw. Scrub it long after the vomit is gone. Scrub it maniacally, cleaning the filth that I can’t see.That I know is there.
No evidence.
No proof of how defective I am.
Flush. Swirl.
Chaotic water just like the chaos in my brain. It’s an invisible war zone and I’m an everyday casualty.
The stain is gone, just like the food.
You’re so fucking stupid.
No self-control whatsoever. You’re no better than an animal.
I get to my feet and stumble.
Weak.
My legs shake, I’m trembling, looking at myself in the mirror.
Disgusting.
Contempt. Apathy.
I wipe the back of my hand against my lips and gargle some water in my mouth.
I’m holding on to the sink for dear life.
So lightheaded.
It won’t even be worth it. If I’m not throwing it up immediately, I’m not getting rid of it, not really.
I’m getting rid of the weight of it, but the damage has already been done. The calories absorbed.
