crash&burn.

I had this dream.
I'm walking, and I'm tired, and I'm dizzy, and I just got back from the gym.
Every step I take in the dream, I am a pound lighter. The numbers flare in bold print, black and ominous.
88 flashes, and I stop walking. I stop moving. I'm a stand-still ghost.

I'm scared to eat things. I'm scared to drink, too. I have a rice cake (35) and a glass of water (0?) a few hours past lunch. Then I go in the kitchen, make a peanut butter sandwich in front of my mom, take it back to my room, and put that in a rotting box full of food.
Later, I put everything in that box in a brown bag, and then that in another bag, and then that bag in that bag into a black garbage bag and lug it all outside. This is two weeks of food I was supposed to have packed in my stomach. Disgusting.
I still don't know where the cookies are hidden. I'll probably find them while packing.

I threw a tantrum today in the living room, screamed and yelled, but I was playing.
Then I said "I'm going to lock myself in my room and never come out" and laughed. Then my dad said "Hey, you don't have a door." Then I was actually upset and my mom said "Be good and keep food down and then maybe you can have a door." Then I left and cried for real. Why does it always have to be about puking? Why don't they remember that I didn't eat for days at a time, that I never ate above five hundred or maybe eight hundred calories, that my organs were shutting down? It's about the puking to them. They can handle that. They can't handle a girl who wants to be empty and weightless.
I said I was going to shower, and then stood in the mirror for ten minutes, naked, crying. Not just crying, sobbing, pointing at myself in the mirror. The hot water runs and my face turns red. I squeeze my stomach, pinch my thighs. I'm disgusting. I'm fat.
everyone knows, everyone knows My head whispers.
My mom didn't do this to me. My school didn't do this to me. The media didn't do this to me. Not even kids who teased me when I was little. Not even my 'eating disorder' did this to me. I did this to me. I ruined my life. I'm not this person. I'm not this sad, scarred person. It's a lie, I promise.
My monster doesn't chase me or attack me. It lives inside of my, in between my ribs. I need to feed it pieces of my body or else it will figure out it can just eat my mind.

-you're disgusting. you're fat.
-i know.
-fix it. attack it.