crash&burn.

Mom, is screaming and standing in my door-less doorway: "You can't tell me you're not doing it again!"

Me, pulling her sleeve down to cover gashes: "I'm not! God, mom, I'm not exactly underweight!"

Mom, giving me the Oh My Gawd What The Hell Look: "You barely eat."

Me, wishing she had a door to slam: "I. EAT."

The next week is constant restaurant and buffet visits, impossibly longshort/shortlong drives with me fidgeting in the backseat.

The week after is binging and purging and getting sick and laying in bed and drawing valleys in my skin; carved ivory ready for import.

I always eat too much or too little.

It's feast or famine. I hate both just the same, the only difference is that one hurts more (i haven't figured out which one that is yet).

Some-days I do it just right. Some-days I'm awesome. Some-days I Rock.

(but most of the time i suck.)

I lost my period. No blood in my toilet last month or this month. Blood from my arms and legs(and stomach and shoulders and back and forehead) Do Not Count.

With the way I've been eating, it'll be back soon.
---
March 21st, 2010
A travelling carnival has sprung up on the way from my house to Daks.

The seeds for it were planted weeks ago; iron and steel skeletons, faded rainbow fabric blowing in the storms. It's all there now, spung sugar in the air.
I want to join the circus, far away. I'd feed elephants and jump through hoops and make cotton candy with cane sugar aspartame and real strawberry juice artificial 'fruit' flavoring.

(i want to join the circus today even more than usual. before i leave mom rages at me for twenty minutes. 'Eat that candy bar!' 'But you USED to like that!' 'You're THIS close to going back to the hospital!')

At Dakota's I hang upside down from her bed, avoid brownies (and everything else solid), and listen to Garbage (Bleed Like Me, Only Happy When it Rains, The World is not Enough), while I explain my theroy on why teenagers are angsty as fuck. I lick sweetener off my fingers. Megan walks around in her underwear.

Megan wanted to buy food, and was thoroughly offended by the half-molded broccoli that was offered to her instead of a bloody slab of cooked meat. So we walked to the store for applesauce and salad. I bought a bag of crunchy, white leaves, Equal, and two liters of Dr. Pepper Zero. (I drank 500ml, 1.5 calories per 250ml. The rest is saved in my bag.)

When Megan was a sleeping log on the bed, Dakota and I dressed in flimsy skirts and old Halloween capes that flowed behind us when we walked and left the house, because it was all very dangerous and We Are Big, Restless Girls Women Young Ladies Who Cannot Be Contained in Four Walls (or eight or sixteen or even ninety-six).

We talked about how we had no where to go at three in the morning, so we sat in an empty lot four blocks away and laughed. My zipper kept coming undone, her skirt kept falling off. ("Reaaaally, Ari? You can't control yourself...How....Perfect!" "Oh, Dak! Not here...Keep your skirt on! gigglegiggle.")

The whole way back, she held my hand, fingers laced. We light up the streets with howling laughter. Dogs barked, chasing each other (and us) along chainlink fences, which only made us laugh louder.

In middle of the night, after we came back, I slept and then woke up, gasping. It's five am, and there are razors in my stomach, knives in my intestines. A black snake curls around my heart, and squeeze, squeeze, squeezes. I lie still, shaking and my entire body moved by my heartbeat. When it's over, I roll over and snuggle into someone. (i think it was megan. she smells like dandruff and strawberries.)

I haven't eaten yet, it's eight at night and I'm tucked home safe now, between the dresser and the desk.

My stomach sloshes when I move, organic peppermint tea and water and Dr. Pepper Zero.

(-i'm hungry, i have to eat. food.

-you're not hungry, you don't have to eat.

-food is good, though. megan eats and is small. The Friend eats and is small. everyone who is small eats.

-liar.

-it's true!

-well, it may be. but you're not like them. your body is gross. your metabolism is gross. it bubbles fat all over your bones. have you SEEN what fat looks like? look it up, 'five pounds of fat', and look at the picture. it's disgusting. now, think about how many of those you have on your body. still hungry, darlin?

-if it hurts too bad, i'm eating green beans. just half a cup. it's tw-

-twenty calories. you forget; i know these things.

-....

-you better be absolutely crippled when you eat those.)

An hour later after the Voice is quelled by quotes and lots (andlotsandlotsandlots) of water, I eat the green beans. I measure them, and wish I had a foodscale. There's one that I found I want, only a little bigger than my cell phone. Or one that looks like a CD and hides in my little row of music, between Feng Shui and

I cut each green bean in half, put them back in the water they were canned in, add six shakes of herbs, and nuke until they are hotter than my blood. I pour another cup of Dr. Pepper Zero (1.5) and sip. A bottle of water comes with me. Chew one half bean, 24 times (-don't touch your fork or glass or bowl while chewing.), take a sip of soda or water. For desert I pour a packet of Equal in my palm and masticate consume lick it. I am gluttonous.