When Eating Becomes an ObsessionA Story by Nessie_AJ Skinny. Perfect. These are the things a young girl fights for and against as she battles her eating disorder and herself. She spirals out of control and is forced to deal with the consequences. When Eating Becomes an Obsession She eats when she’s sad; she eats when she’s stressed. Sometimes she doesn’t eat at all. Fragile and frail, the young girl stuffed her face at the dinner table, not even aware of the food she was consuming or better yet…what was consuming her, an never- ending illness of self- doubt and low self- esteem. Surrounded by the smiling, naive faces of her relatives, who of course couldn't detect what was wrong, the girl shoved the food down her throat without tasting it. She could taste faint traces of her dinner, steak and potatoes, and for a second she almost enjoyed it, but she had a purpose. Self- control. Obsession. Skinny. SOS. *** As she finished loading the dishwasher, the girl took punctilious note of her surroundings. The obnoxious laughter of her family upstairs reassured her of her mission. They were so absorbed with family night that they neglected to include the entire family, but this made no difference to her. She couldn't care less about monotonous Scrabble matches and watching PG movies “as a family” because she knew the truth. They weren’t a family; families don’t hurt each other on purpose. As the girl walked by the trashcan, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and made her freeze in her tracks. It was unused cookie mix. Cookie dough, the label read. “Perfect,” she thought. Out of curiosity, she pulled it out and smelled it, tempted to have just one, little taste. She grew enraptured by the tempting smell of the mixture. “No, I’m doing so well today. I can’t jeopardize that.” The girl placed the box carefully and precisely back in its original spot and made her way to her safe haven, the bathroom. She let the snap of the bolt comfort her and make her feel at home, surrounded by her… Self- destruction Illness Catastrophe Killing Neurotic Eagerness Self- induced Sickness SICKNESS. *** Noises of dry- heaving and gagging could be heard just outside the bathroom door. The door shielded her in her self- induced haze as she propped herself on the toilet, her fingers down her throat. Her brunette hair shielded her face as she wretched the contents of her stomach into the toilet, traces of this and that taunting her, evidence of her demise. Flushing away the evidence, she wiped her mouth and brushed her teeth, covering all the bases. She was a pro, and she embraced this with pride, the trait of dedication. The girl flicked off the lights, sealing the room in darkness. Darkness didn’t just take over the bathroom; it tortured her as well, leaving her trapped in the room, trapped with her reflection. She felt like she was at a carnival, surrounded by the Hall of Mirrors, highlighting her every flaw and displaying them for the world to see. She looked fixedly at her reflection in the mirror, touching her anemic face, but to her...this was beauty. The pallor of her face was just one sign of her obsession, her obsession to become… Pretty Elegant Regal Fabricated Ectomorphic Calm Thin PERFECT. “Who is this girl?” she pondered as she grabbed the skin of her thighs, tormented by the fat. The girl took off her shirt and shorts and stood in the mirror, counting the flaws, counting the calories. Before she could even think of what she was about to do, the girl extracted a pair of rusty scissors from the mirror’s cabinet and with a flick of the blades, she was cutting her skin open as if the weight and calories would just spill out of her body. The girl carved words like fat and ugly. Tears cascaded down her face as she felt the words, felt the failure. The crimson blood that erupted from the fresh cuts existed as a mockery of the fat on her skin; it was her punishment for her selfish indulgence. Her cuts became her own scarlet letter, but instead of it pinning her “letter” to her breast, for the world to cackle at her shame, her cuts existed under the surface of her clothes, forming a wine red ‘A,’ reproving not her but the others, the ones who left her… Apart Lonely One None Exiled ALONE. The infected blades fell from her hands and clattered in the sink, staining it with her blood, her hopelessness. The girl took one last glance at the shiny reflective surface, committing all of her flaws to memory, forming new goals in her mind. Instead of “reflecting” on who she was, she was trapped on the other side of the mirror, reflecting on who she wished she could be. Before she left, the girl turned the light off making sure the door was closed behind her, sealing her demons inside the bathroom. *** After she laid down in her bed, the young girl stared at the ceiling, cluttered with faded glow-in- the- dark stars from her childhood. They were evidence of a happier time, a happier girl, a skinnier girl. Over time, the glow of the stars faded and one by one they fell from the ceiling, pieces of the girl's confidence collapsing right before her eyes. Finally, after hours of staying up, her eyelids fluttered before finally closing. As exhaustion claimed her, she drifted asleep but instead of sheep…she counted calories. *** RING! The obnoxious beeping of her alarm clock echoed in her ears, and the girl immediately shut it off. 3:30, the clock read. “No one is up,” she whispered. Slowly and quietly, she tip- toed to the kitchen, past the living room where the family portraits stared back at her, burning holes into her back. As she reached her destination, she opened the stainless silver door, the fluorescent refrigerator lights flashed forcing her bloodshot eyes to open as she filled her starved stomach with the fridge's contents, a mass acculturation of fats and sugars. She forced herself to swallow the food, mentally calculating the calories in her head, numbers clouding her judgment. Satisfied and overfed, she stopped and closed the door, instinctively making her way to the bathroom, a place where she could be herself or rather…become someone else. *** She lightly touched the bruises under her eyes and began creating the mask that would cover her face, constructed from blushes, foundations, and mascaras. As the time passed, the fake glow she craved, after she saw the Victoria Secret models parading around on TV, appeared on her face, faint traces of pinks and golds. Her face became someone else’s face, and she let out a Cheshire cat smile because she felt beautiful knowing that no one could see, no one cared to see. In fact, they told her all the time how small she is, the words like music to her ears. The problems were there though, brewing and brewing. She didn’t panic because the pounds erupted into the toilet, the girl immediately feeling better. She felt like if she could just throw up all of the bad stuff, all of the carbs, sugar and fats, the hurt would just escape too. The bad feelings would go away. The voices would go away. They didn’t. “Do it,” they thundered, “you know what you have to do.” *** Suddenly, unexpected knocking and a voice interrupted her and woke her up. She had collapsed from exhaustion on the porcelain toilet, her mother’s voice forcing her eyelids to flutter open. "Hey! What are you doing in there?" The mother’s voice asked, her voice shaky and borderline hysterical. But the girl didn’t hear her. She could only hear one voice…the small, vitriolic one inside of her, convincing her she wasn’t pretty just yet, and there was only way to get there. Distressed and overwrought, the mother banged on the door, jiggling the doorknob. Her terrified shouts begged for her daughter to open the door, to answer back. Dizziness struck the girl, and she quivered. All of the voices around her became one massive blur full of her mother’s pleas and her demon’s encouragement. All she could focus on was her progress. One pound gone was a victory; the decreasing numbers on the scale gave her no greater joy. Her hands slipped from their place on the toilet and she banged her head on the porcelain, collapsing to the floor like a feather. Before she could slip into oblivion, her memory flashed to the scale she stepped onto earlier and the number it gave back to her, promoting her illness. 85 lbs, it read, and with that, she drifted into a stupor of haunting calories from which she would never wake up from. Evidence of her misfortune lay just inches away, so it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together. The girl didn’t care though because her secret was out, and with that...she could happy knowing that she did it. She had reached her goal. Finally, she could… Rest In Peace RIP. *** © 2014 Nessie_AJAuthor's Note
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Nessie_AJNCAbout"Answer- that life exists and identity- that the powerful play goes on and I may contribute a verse." "Pain demands to be felt." Hey ya'll! From the South and blessed! I'm a lyrical dancer and I.. more..Writing
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