Breakfast goes the same as it does, every single day. Every Single Freaking Day; A slowquickohmygodohmygooood thing you have to decide on within seconds or it won't happen at all. This time, its half a packet of oatmeal (65).
I remember that my mom used to make me two full packets every morning when I went to school, along with a tall glass of instant breakfast or hot chocolate with marshmallows. I would eat, I would drink, and go to school feeling sleepy and happy.
Lunch was too much food. It was about five snacks with a sandwich and then two Caprisons. I never ate it all, even when I was still normal. I gave it away because I didn't want her thinking I didn't eat it. I think that might of been when I started skipping meals. I was still so full from breakfast that I couldn't eat even the bit of my lunch I used to, so I gave it all away. Then I couldn't eat breakfast either, because I was full from dinner the night before. I don't know if I was really not hungry, or just didn't know what hungry felt like anymore. Then came dinner, soon after the absent meals, something I couldn't skip. Something I couldn't control. Mom always makes things like pasta and potatoes and bread with lots of butter. Sometimes, there would be a sliced apple or green beans, something that was white, but everything else was black. I would hold my stomach and take a shower as soon as I was done. At first, the art of getting it just right was hard. Clench your stomach, fingers down throat, hold hair back with other hand. Make use of gravity, elevate your lower body and stomach, head down and low. Then it comes, it surprises you. Every mistake, flowing out of your body. When nothing comes up anymore, you're frantic. You swallow a bottle of water you keep in your shower, and puke that up too. When you're down, the water in your shower has gone cold and you stand up into it and shake. Your skin screams. You remember to check your temperature, though, because every two degrees lower your body has to burn 200 more calories. It's all focus-focus and control- and careful, sneaky ways of cleansing yourself. The past goes the same as the present, except my mind is different. I don't care if I lose weight. Well, I do. I care more than anything;it's a fierce need that doesn't really have a name. But rather, it's not about being pretty or thin. It's about the way the numbers drop when I want them too.
Lunch today is watermelon cubes (37) and 3 mini rice cakes (21). I don't think I'll buy rice cakes anymore. They seem unsafe. Not white food anymore for sure, maybe not even grey. Dark, smokey charcoal, maybe, hanging out of the borderlands of being black food. I bet that they're the mean kids who steal lunch money.
Dinner is salad, with half a tablespoon of crumbled croutons and a quarter tablespoon of ranch dressing. I picked out the croutons when I decided I didn't want them. (48).
Where there is food, there is exercise. I can't do as much as I'd like because I don't have a door anymore.
I carried a thick handled paintbrush.
When I slow, I swat my inner arm with it.
It leaves red welts.
Forty minutes of running in place and around my room later, I sit down to drink water.
Later, I have a second snack. Three pickle slices (5) in a bowl, cut into slivers with a fork and knife like a steak. It's so boring. It's so the same. I don't understand food. It's the same after each bite, again and again. 'didn't i just do this?' you think, then shrug and think again 'oh, well. i guess I'll keep on.' Food is the same, again and again, but starvation is exciting and new. It's an onion but so much more exciting than an onion; you peel away each layer to reveal a new level of exquisite tears. The first layer isn't so bad, but by the middle you're sobbing and at the core you don't notice salt water anymore because you swim in it daily.
Later, I have a peppermint (20).
Tomorrow we're picking up my grandma and going out for dinner.
We're going to a place full of meat, and I'm a vegetarian. So, the salad bar will save me.
I don't know what dinner holds the spaceless void there scares me. But I'll do my best to eat a mountain of veggies that look look like a banquet.
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