It is five am, and half an hour ago I finished 600 leg lifts and 100 sit ups. The food channel flashes visions of a plump woman, pouring oil into a soup with full-fat cream.
It's 5am, my house is about to wake up, and I'm freaking out. Do vitamins have calories?
Since they are supposed to make you healthy does that mean they'll make me fat? When someone says "Oh, she's a healthy girl" they mean 'oh, she's a fat girl.'. That means vitamins will make me fat.
Oh god. Oh god. ohgodohgodohgodohgod. I don't want to get fat.
I need it out. The underground lake needs to flood, the fish need to lay out in the sun and die. I need to jam logfingers down my throat to break the dam.
It takes me a while to convince myself how absurd it would be to purge pills and water. And that I would wake everyone half an hour early with the noise.
Then my gears churn, and Matilda stretches herself out in the corner, where it's still dark. 1 liter of water is 3.3 pounds. I added 3.3 pounds to myself. It's weight. It's weight. IT'S WEIGHT IT'S WEIGHT IT'S WEIGHT IT'S WEIGHT.
8:24pm: I meant to eat. Really, I did. I planned. If I didn't eat all day, I could have a microwave side dish (240). It smells good when it's done cooking, the warmth and weight in my hands as I lift it from the microwave feels good. But no one is in the room, and it is just so easy to dump into a ziplock bag, dap some sauce at the corner of my lips, and after I put the baggie into a drawer to sit with the empty meal container in front of me, pretending to be chewing my last bite as someone walks into the room.
My stomach grumbles and rages under it's rib cage, an animal I have trapped. It whines and lets the knives go through it, the ones that make me gasp. But I don't feed it.
I had a dream I was making a cake for my grandpa, the one who died.
I remember putting in chocolate powder and flour and eggs and butter. I remember thinking about how to get out of eating it.
I hate how Matilda poisons all happy dreams.
No comments:
Post a Comment