in your skin

i walk down my stairs after hours of doing nothing,

creeping down the stairs hoping that i don’t wake up my mother.

and i tell myself this is the last time.

i can’t put off the screaming in my head, begging me to eat, berating me for having lunch at work.

i open the fridge. then shut it again. open. shut.

and before i know it, i’m raiding through every cupboard, like a rat looking for scraps.

i eat the leftover pasta i promised myself i wouldn’t touch.

i dig in to my third bowl of cereal until the milk runs out and i eat it dry.

i mindlessly go at raw noodles that have expired from they’ve been in my cupboard that long, because if it’s not cooked then it’s not a meal. it’s not filling.

it’s not enough. but nothing is.

i eat whatever i see first, chewing it and spitting it into the plastic bag by the back door. 

so that i’m not actually eating it.

it’s okay. i’ll make up for it. 

i’ll have nothing but green tea for three days.

it’s okay. i’ll make up for it.

i’ll wake up extra early tomorrow and go on a run. to clear my head,

it’s okay, i’ll make up for it.

i’ll google thinspo on pinterest and search ‘10 ways to curb hunger cravings that really work!’

i will make up for it.