Fight Until You Can't

But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.

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I'm going to Rader

I have to binge and purge before I go. The television blares in the background as I lie on my bed eating. Eating everything I love, everything I hate, everything I fear. An abusive relationship with food. An abusive lover.
A turkey sandwich, chicken taquitos, buffalo wings, lasagna, manicottis, chocolate angelfood cake, two yogurts, one liter chocolate milk...
And then... Then my gut is sticking out, a foreign entity attached to my body. Waves of nausea flood me and my neck tingles.
The art of vomiting is a delicate one. A torment to the sould. But it has to be done. The precise actions of the fingers, punching yourself as hard as you can in a specific spot on your stomach while shoving your hand as fard down as it will go because you ate too much for it to budge... Praying, praying this whole time though you aren't even sure of your faith anymore that your stomach won't rupture.
And the relief when when large streams come shooting out and the pain diminishes. More. You must throw up more.
Legs shaking, the ground dissappears, and for a moment you are blind. What is that in your chest? That uncomfortable, strained feeling? Who cares. Ignore it.
And then as you crawl back into bed you vow never to do it again. You know you won't die because you don't die but your heart is beating so fast that all the beats turn into one, a loud drum in your chest, painful. And who knew your bed could turn into a ship on a violent sea?
Yes. I just described my morning. And then... Then they call. And they tell you they can take you when you've nearly given up hope. Inside you are pleading that it will be soon but as casually as you can you ask, "When can I come in?"
They hear the strain, the fear. They say Monday. And you are so grateful you are thanking them. So sick of this disorder. Of this disease. You are able to fall asleep and though you can't make yourself take your insulin, not more than two units, you are relieved. You will be okay.
So thats the story. I'm going in on Monday. I'm leaving here Sunday afternoon and spending the night in a hotel.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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