I just can’t stop eating. God help me I can’t. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I wish. No matter how much I pray. Nothing can prevent me from gorging. And then…purging. It’s a sick, sad cycle that never ends. What goes down, comes back up. I ‘m plagued with the constant urge to purge. Not just the digested food in my stomach but the pain in my head, the pangs in my heart and the heaviness in my soul.
Unfortunately, the only thing I’m able to get out of my shoddy system is what lies inside my belly. I’m very good at it. In fact, I’m fucking fantastic at it! No one can vomit better than me. It’s what I do best besides eating and fucking up. But what I do best isn’t what’s best for my mind and body. The damage I’ve done to my digestive system has been tremendous and irrevocable.
The enamel on my teeth has eroded terribly, the inside of my throat is abrasively raw. And then there are my agonizing bouts with severe stomach cramps which leave me reeling in a fetal position. Another thing I find truly distasteful about throwing up is the taste. It is impossibly vile.
Purging takes so much out of me. I don’t want to do it anymore. But I have no choice. If I binge, I must purge. Binging and purging have been apart of my daily routine since I was a fat girl in six grade. It's been pretty much been the only constant in my whole life. It overshadows my life. I've always cowered before the bully known as Bulimia Nervosa.
The only time I bore the balls to put an end to my sickness is when I intentionally ingested an entire bottle of potent prescription pills and fell asleep… forever. Or so I thought.
I quickly realized after waking up from my overdose that I was no longer among the living. I was one of the living dead. Ten months have passed since my death date and yet I still retain virtually all my mental faculties, as well, as my emotions. My physical well being is a different matter.
Stiffening in my muscle and joints has occurred which affects my mobility to some extent, but not enough to prevent me from moving fast if I stressed it. The clarity and depth of my vision has dulled a bit. Creepy and crawling pests desire to make nests in my flesh and my skin has hardened and become discolored. You know what though? I don’t really care if my body literally falls apart. Just as long as I don’t get fat.
Earlier today, I stood totally naked in front of a full length mirror and I finally liked what I saw. I loved what I saw! What I saw staring back before me was a young woman who was dead, who was rotting and who was happy. Happy with her skinny body! For the first time in my life,(or death) I saw my ribs as clear as day. The love handles were gone. That annoying little sagging pooch I tried my hardest to get rid of for the longest time had disappeared. Death certainly has it’s perks. It also continues to have it’s cons.
Turning into a zombie has increased my cravings. Just when I thought that death would be the cure to all my problems, it turned out death multiplied my biggest ill by tenfold. My hunger is unbearably insatiable. I no longer possess an appetite for food grown, raised or made by people. All I want to eat is people. I want to devour every single human being on this Earth. And then vomit them back up.
Like I said before, I can’t help it. Bad habits die hard even after you die. When I’m done writing this, I’m gonna go out and slaughter a twentysomething couple who’s hiding out nearby. And after I finish eating them up, I will throw them up - which will bring me down.
I don’t want to kill people. I don’t want to consume their flesh. I don’t want to be dead yet still living. And I definitely don’t want bulimia. But a girl has to do what she must to stay thin.