days clean-0(another part of my novel "addicted"

        suddenly i am julted awake by that feeling. it strikes through me like lightning and thunders in my head and leaves a pouring storm of rain falling continuously from my storm cloud eyes. i havnt felt thisn way in weeks...ive been fighiting it off so easily, i could breath as i eat, even condume the full 1200 calories a day that im supsed to. maybe even a little more. GUILT FREE! But from this very second i can feel the unfelt anger running through my bldstreem, seeping into my bones, angry angry angry punnish punnish punnishpunnishpunnish

        for a whole week i have sinned, committed crimes listed in the skinny bible. i gave rough estimites of calries instead of counting exactly. i didnt run 3 miles every day. i didnt look at pictures of girls with bones protruding from their hips and spines about to tear through their frail skin and mile wide gaps between their thighs. i didnt punnish myself in any way shape or form and i was happy and smily and i didnt give a care in the world about my body or my immage. 

        i slowly walk into her room. shes a light tower, floating on top of her deserted island king sized bed, being swollowed by swells of pillows and comforters. her nose is in the second game of thrones book...winter is definitely coming, mother. youll see eventually. i creep past her, a lone sailor in a battered pattle boat avoiding her light house eyes. she had moved the scale into her bathroom after she noticed my changed eating habbits. any time i entered her room to find my cat or ask her for something shed watch it out of the corner of her eye like i was going to suddenly telleport directly over it. she really wants me fat. maybe because she wants to eat me.

        she was really into that stack of pages. i could see her mouthing the words, beads of sweat forming at her temples as she shivered and occasionally ghasped. perfect. she had no idea i even existed. i tip toed acrss the tile floor and carefully lifted my right foot first, then my left, so they wouldnt make any sound. i could feel her over my shoulder, still unaware of my resence. she could turn around any second. she could yell at me and tell me i need help again and then shoo me away. my adreniline began pumping through my veins just thinking about it. i looked down at the glowing blue numbers in the gray box between my toes. it goes up, down, up, down, and i shift my weight to get the most accurate numbers. it finally stops.

132

132

         ths is what i get. i guess its punnishment time. without thinking, i stomp, frustrated off of the scale, and wince when i descover what i had done. 

        "willow?"

        i had awoken the beast

        i freeze, hoping she wont see me if i hold still. "willow...what are you doing here? are you weighing yourself again?"

       still turned away from her, i form my hands into fists and dig my fingernails into my palms out of anxiety and anger. whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido

        i stelthly snatch a bottle of conditioner out of the bathroom cabnit, turn her her calmly, and reply "im out in my shower." at first i can see the doubt in her eyes, but she buys it, nt wanting to believe the truth. she nods and goes back to her book.whew

        i take the botle back into my room and throw it onto my messy bed. i immediately close the door and go looking in all my secret compartments for my box cutters, new pairs of siccors, etc. the anxiety bubbling up in my blood needed to be relieved or i thought i might explode. i cant find anything and remember that my mom had said she was going to organise my room for me. im such an idiot.

        i go on an easter edd hunt around the house for anything sharp. pencil sharpeners, dull siccors, shaving razors, anything. i find a pair of siccors and a swiss army knife. i know i have razors in  the shower. 

        as i stand under the shower head, i cant tell the boiling water from my tears. but i know theyre both there. first iopen the army knife. a bottlle opener, a magnifying glass, a nail file...cute. 

the actual blades are too dull to slice through the caluses on my thumb when i check, so i move onto the scissors. they too arent nearly sharp enough to penatrate skin, but i proceed to lower them to my hip and angerly lash the blade across my skin. no matter how fast i swipe r how hard i press all it causes is swelling, no blood. that is not good enough. i exchange the scissors for the razor and press it too against my hip and brush and brush and brush and i feel it sinking in and i feel the  anxiety anger and frustration and myself oozing out in red irony fluid

it mixes with the water and runs down my side. i know ill have trouble sleeping tonight because it will hurt to be on my side...but its worth it. my muscles loose their tension and i can breathe.

 

 

days clean-0

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741