crash&burn.

I lock the door, and try to lock my head.

Running the water, I try to disconnect and think of butterflies; the time on my fourteenth birthday that me and The Friend caught dozens of butterflies, cramming them into a jar, and when it was full, we let them go.

Thinking of that is better than thinking of how I'm shoving my fingers down my throat, as deep as they'll go.

When there's nothing left to purge, I swallow tons of water and get rid of that too until it feels like I've done enough.

The story leading up to is is something I don't want to dwell on.

But I have to write it down, don't I?

I do:

On my empty stomach, even though I'd left out tons of things I'd 'eaten', my parents took me out to dinner at Burger King.

I nearly had a panic attack on the way there, but before we went we walked around the store when I saw three plushies that look like my two others I have, Beluga and Yeluga, that me and Sam (my not so super ex-girlfriend) used to call our 'children'. I picked them all up, laughing, and hugged them as their soundboxes went off, making spooky cackling noises.

My dad smiled. He doesn't show it, but I know that he's glad sometimes that I still act like a little kid, that he gets to see what I was like when he wasn't around.

He's turned away, walking down another aisle with the shopping cart, but I can hear the smile his voice. "Alright, add them to the pile."

"Wait, what?" I ask, grinning as I pretty much skip over to him.

"You heard me."

"ThankyouthankyouthankyouthankYOU!"

I spun off to find my mom and tell her that I could keep them.

Half an hour later, we went out to dinner.

I ordered a veggie burger, no mayo, and no tomatoes, with fries. I don't say it, of course, but I'm not going to eat the fries. Ordering them pleases my parents though, because if I don't eat them know I'll 'eat' them later. Eating=pouring in the garbage disposal.

I ate 3/4 of the burger (300). I wanted to only eat half, but doing that and not eating fries would probably raise eyebrows.

My part of the table as I eat is perfectly organized. My fries are laid out on a napkin, my burger is on its own too, and the things that I removed off of it have its own napkin as well.

I filled my cup with Diet Coke (2) when they weren't looking.

They ordered me a shake for dessert.

The start of a panic attack wore at my nerves. A cupcake shake. It's definitely a black food, so far from white.

It's not pure at all, but I drink nearly half of the small shake (275).

As we left, the panic attack finally hit full force. I started shaking really badly and got very cold. I said that it was chilly out.

It was seventy degrees out, but the excuse passes as I climb into the backseat and continue shaking.

I feel like I'm vibrating on a different plane, like I'll disappear if that shaking keeps on.

I got a hold of it, wrapping a jacket around me to pretend I really was just cold.

There was a traffic delay, so Dad pulled over onto into the park and they both got out to smoke, turning up the music.

My panic attack started again as a Radiohead song came on.

"I don't care if it hurts, I want to have to control," blare the speakers, a despondent, distant voice.

I started purging into what was left of my shake, through the wide straw.

It doesn't look like I'm puking, or sound like it. I don't make noise, or need to stick my fingers down my throat.

After ten minutes, the traffic lets up, and I set the purge-shake in the cupholder.

Dad gets in, and takes a sharp turn out into the line waiting to get off base that was now creeping along quickly.

The turn make the shake tip over, and splatter half on the car side, half on my lap.

I shrieked, and grabbed a skirt off the floor to mop it up with.

Seeing an opportunity, I cringed and dipped my fingers in the shake, smearing some in my hair.

The smell is horrible, the sweetness of the cupcake still pungent, but offset with the sick stench of puke.

"Ugh! The shake spilled," I informed everyone, wiping up all that had spilled.

A couple minutes later, I pretended I had only just noticed the shake in my hair.

"Oh, ew...There's shake in my hair."

"Well, good thing we're two minutes away. You can take a shower."

I kept down a smile that was probably more of a dutiful grimace.

I wasn't allowed to take showers right after meals, but now I had permission and a reason.

As soon as we got back, I got in the shower.

I'm positive it was zero calories, because I washed it out over and over my puking water, until the water that came back up was clear.

1,600 leg lifts.