141.
you think for a moment you're still dreaming, trapped in another nightmare. you blink down at the scale and wait for the real number, the right number. when it doesnt change, reality hits you and your heart almost stops...
no. no no no no please god no, that can't be right, this isn't happening... you step back off the scale, watch the dial snap to 0, and step back on...
the deadhungryangry ghosts are mad mad mad. they whirl around you in a winter-shadow cloud, and their whispers have turned to screams.
FAT. FAILURE. WEAK. GROSS. PIG. PIG FUCKING PIG. UGLY. FAILURE. UGLY.
2 days ago, you were 134. the lowest you've ever been, even below you're first goal (135). that was the day your friend took you to lunch at applebees. your stupidweakstupid brain told you why you should eat, spitting lies like 'you deserve this. you've come so far. one meal won't kill you. it will help, your body needs this. you don't have to eat all of it. you deserve this.' so you caved.
you purged 5 times by the end of that day. one meal and all control was lost. the next morning, you had gained 3 pounds. you promised yourself you would fix it, not eat that day. but you crashed again. and this time, you physically couldn't throw it up, even after trying till your face swelled and your throat bled...
7 pounds in 2 days. that's not supposed to be possible. your body wants to be huge, fat, disgusting. your body is plotting against you. your body is trying to ruin you.
you want to carve yourself out of this body and bury it in the backyard.
no one sees your tears on the bus to school. but its ok. you're used to being invisible.
~JH
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
#7
It's not planned this time. just eat a little, you tell yourself over and over and over. just a little, just enough. but this time, you don't plan it. it just happens.
2 egg whites. a slice of dry toast. then you lose control.
2 more slices of toast, one with jam, one with butter and brown sugar. crackers with cheese. apple pie, christmas cookies. more crackers, more cheese. gulps of milk. you can't stop. panic.
take 2 seconds to step on the scale. 141. shove, retch, cough, spit, repeat. repeat. repeat.
back on the scale. 139. strip naked. 138.
you stand leaning out the window 5 minutes later, trying to calm down. you despise yourself for eating so much, for losing control. you can feel your thighs expanding, your arms blowing up, your fat fat stomach getting fat fat fatter.
no, you tell yourself, you're ok, you threw it all up, its not inside you anymore, its ok ok ok ok you're fine breathe. just don't eat again today. it's ok, you're ok. breathe. breathe. breathe.
fat fat fucking lard pregnant enormous disgusting gross fat pig fat fat fat....
~JH
2 egg whites. a slice of dry toast. then you lose control.
2 more slices of toast, one with jam, one with butter and brown sugar. crackers with cheese. apple pie, christmas cookies. more crackers, more cheese. gulps of milk. you can't stop. panic.
take 2 seconds to step on the scale. 141. shove, retch, cough, spit, repeat. repeat. repeat.
back on the scale. 139. strip naked. 138.
you stand leaning out the window 5 minutes later, trying to calm down. you despise yourself for eating so much, for losing control. you can feel your thighs expanding, your arms blowing up, your fat fat stomach getting fat fat fatter.
no, you tell yourself, you're ok, you threw it all up, its not inside you anymore, its ok ok ok ok you're fine breathe. just don't eat again today. it's ok, you're ok. breathe. breathe. breathe.
fat fat fucking lard pregnant enormous disgusting gross fat pig fat fat fat....
~JH
#6
The morning starts like any other morning. wake up, shower, dress, smoke. the cigarette hits you harder than usual; it always does when your stomach is empty. you drop it, half-smoked, on the snow outside your window. you move into the room and get dizzy. you sink/fall to the floor, lay there with your head spinning and think about how you're going to miss the bus. a few dizzy minutes pass and you struggle to your feet. into the hall, take the stairs one at a time, hold the wall for support. you need water. all you consumed yesterday was diet soda, beer, and smoke. your knees give out and you collapse halfway down the stairs.
everything turns to static. you hear static, see static, pressure pressure on your head, ears, eyes. you break into a coldsweat. you can't sit up or stand. it's hard to breathe.
you think about eating. just something, a piece of bread, a carrot stick. NO you don;t need food. yes no yes you do no you fucking don't you fat fuck stop stop it. water. you need water.
your mom opens the door to tell you to hurry, you'll miss the bus. she starts and stutters oh honey, ok? you ok? offers you food, say no. i need water. offers you a ride to school, say yes. sip water on the steps and watch the static clear.
2 days no food, that's the deal for making up for saturday's binge. 2 days. easy. you'll eat tomorrow tomorrow. pat yourself on the back. good girl, stay strong. hungry is strong.
~JH
everything turns to static. you hear static, see static, pressure pressure on your head, ears, eyes. you break into a coldsweat. you can't sit up or stand. it's hard to breathe.
you think about eating. just something, a piece of bread, a carrot stick. NO you don;t need food. yes no yes you do no you fucking don't you fat fuck stop stop it. water. you need water.
your mom opens the door to tell you to hurry, you'll miss the bus. she starts and stutters oh honey, ok? you ok? offers you food, say no. i need water. offers you a ride to school, say yes. sip water on the steps and watch the static clear.
2 days no food, that's the deal for making up for saturday's binge. 2 days. easy. you'll eat tomorrow tomorrow. pat yourself on the back. good girl, stay strong. hungry is strong.
~JH
#5
It's a little past midnight. you wake up with a start. you're shivering. you've just had a nightmare about grilled cheese sandwiches. you panic for several moments until you realize it wasn't real, its ok, you didnt really eat, its ok ok calm calm down it's ok. you can't feel your nose. or your ears or hands or feet. your room is an icebox, an attempt to burn more calories in your sleep. screw this, fuck cold. you crawl out of bed, get dizzy, almost fall on your way to the heater.
you lay in bed for an hour, convulsing from the cold. cold cold fucking cold heater needs to work. now.
you decide you need to move. getting out of bed again makes you want a cigarette. you put on your fat jeans, the ones that used to fit but now barely cling to the bones of your hips. hoodie, hat, open the window, lean out, breathe smokey heat.
everything outside is quiet. the intense, frozen quiet of 1am in december. no wind, no movement. you wish this kind of quiet existed somewhere other than 1am in december. somewhere like, say, inside your head. where everything is scrambled frantic running spinning out of control all the time.
the quiet makes you think of christmas. you listen for a crying baby.
~JH
you lay in bed for an hour, convulsing from the cold. cold cold fucking cold heater needs to work. now.
you decide you need to move. getting out of bed again makes you want a cigarette. you put on your fat jeans, the ones that used to fit but now barely cling to the bones of your hips. hoodie, hat, open the window, lean out, breathe smokey heat.
everything outside is quiet. the intense, frozen quiet of 1am in december. no wind, no movement. you wish this kind of quiet existed somewhere other than 1am in december. somewhere like, say, inside your head. where everything is scrambled frantic running spinning out of control all the time.
the quiet makes you think of christmas. you listen for a crying baby.
~JH
#4
Spaghetti is where it begins. spaghetti topped with grilled chicken, alfredo sauce, and mounds of parmesan cheese. 2 slices of garlic bread. you stare at it hungrily, already feasting with your eyes. it's only nights like these you get to eat such rich food. you know that once you start, there's no turning back. you take a bite.
5 minutes later, your stomach is already bulging, but you go back for seconds. you hope your mom doesn't question this, only hours earlier you were boasting about finally weighing 138. you pile all the remaining food onto your plate and wait eagerly while it heats up in the microwave, tapping the counter, pacing. you breeze through the second helping, and you want more.
your mom begins to snore on the couch. a miracle. you quietly stand up and sneak back to the kitchen.
you pile slices of cheese on bread and put it in the microwave. you take a box of ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer and eat them as you wait. one after another, you're ravenous, frantic. bits of chocolate fall to the floor and you briefly consider eating them too. one by one, then the box is empty. you take the cheesy bread out of the microwave and get frustrated when it takes too long to eat. after that you devour a bag of expensive chocolate, sipping milk from the carton as you go. a few minutes pass, and the chocolate is gone. you search through the pantry, the freezer, the fridge, a crazed animal in search of sustenance. your stomach has expanded and is pressing against your diaphragm, making it hard to breathe. but still you want more.
nothing is good enough, so you swallow the remainder of the milk and grab 2 diet sodas out of the fridge. your mom continues to snore on the couch as you head upstairs. you're incredibly grateful for the unexpected privacy.
you're so full, it hurts to move. you close and lock the bathroom door behind you, set the sodas on the counter.
you tie back your hair, pin back your bangs. radio on, volume up, faucet on. you've gone through these motions so many times you don't even think about it. before sitting on the floor next to the toilet, you pull up your shirt and look at your bloated belly in the mirror. hatred boils in your chest. you think, look at that fat fuck. fat, pregnant, cow. huge, bulging, disgusting, fat fucking pig. your reflection makes you sick even before you do.
the first few minutes are a breeze, they always are. your body is glad to be able to breathe again, to be rid of the unnatural excess of food. big, compressed clumps of cheesy bread splash toilet water and vomit on your face, but you don't care. your fingers dive down your throat and you retch, again and again, the radio drowning out the noise. shove, retch, cough, spit, repeat.
5 minutes in, you lose your momentum. no matter how desperately you try to coax the food out of your gut, it won't budge. so you sit up, rinse your hand, and crack open one of the cans of diet pop. you chug the entire thing as fast as you can, ignoring the carbonation that makes your eyes and nose sting. you lean back over the toilet, flush for the third time, and keep going.
the soda trick works like a gem. instead of dry heaving, you burp, and with each insanely huge burp, a spew of food empties into the toilet. you smile as you purge, immensely pleased that the soda worked. then finally, after 15 minutes, you see what you've been waiting for; chunks of bright orange floating in the water. carrots were the very first thing you ate, munching on them as the pasta boiled. you're happy that you remembered to eat something bright first, so you knew when everything was out. you wipe your face, the toilet seat, the wall, flush everything one last time.
the purge has given you a high. you feel powerful. you feel amazing. you stand up and white dots try to knock you back down. you hang on to the counter as your knees buckle, slowly regaining your balance. even through this, you feel ridiculously empowered. you're weak and strong all at once. you straiten up, lift your shirt, and look in the mirror again. your hand grazes over the flatness, and you can;t stop grinning. right now, you feel like you could conquer anything. knock down a concrete building, jump off the roof and start to fly. the emptiness you've created makes you superwoman, unstoppable. your head buzzes with the high.
you pinch the layer of fat on your abs and think, only a few more pounds to go.
right now, you can do anything. easy.
~JH
5 minutes later, your stomach is already bulging, but you go back for seconds. you hope your mom doesn't question this, only hours earlier you were boasting about finally weighing 138. you pile all the remaining food onto your plate and wait eagerly while it heats up in the microwave, tapping the counter, pacing. you breeze through the second helping, and you want more.
your mom begins to snore on the couch. a miracle. you quietly stand up and sneak back to the kitchen.
you pile slices of cheese on bread and put it in the microwave. you take a box of ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer and eat them as you wait. one after another, you're ravenous, frantic. bits of chocolate fall to the floor and you briefly consider eating them too. one by one, then the box is empty. you take the cheesy bread out of the microwave and get frustrated when it takes too long to eat. after that you devour a bag of expensive chocolate, sipping milk from the carton as you go. a few minutes pass, and the chocolate is gone. you search through the pantry, the freezer, the fridge, a crazed animal in search of sustenance. your stomach has expanded and is pressing against your diaphragm, making it hard to breathe. but still you want more.
nothing is good enough, so you swallow the remainder of the milk and grab 2 diet sodas out of the fridge. your mom continues to snore on the couch as you head upstairs. you're incredibly grateful for the unexpected privacy.
you're so full, it hurts to move. you close and lock the bathroom door behind you, set the sodas on the counter.
you tie back your hair, pin back your bangs. radio on, volume up, faucet on. you've gone through these motions so many times you don't even think about it. before sitting on the floor next to the toilet, you pull up your shirt and look at your bloated belly in the mirror. hatred boils in your chest. you think, look at that fat fuck. fat, pregnant, cow. huge, bulging, disgusting, fat fucking pig. your reflection makes you sick even before you do.
the first few minutes are a breeze, they always are. your body is glad to be able to breathe again, to be rid of the unnatural excess of food. big, compressed clumps of cheesy bread splash toilet water and vomit on your face, but you don't care. your fingers dive down your throat and you retch, again and again, the radio drowning out the noise. shove, retch, cough, spit, repeat.
5 minutes in, you lose your momentum. no matter how desperately you try to coax the food out of your gut, it won't budge. so you sit up, rinse your hand, and crack open one of the cans of diet pop. you chug the entire thing as fast as you can, ignoring the carbonation that makes your eyes and nose sting. you lean back over the toilet, flush for the third time, and keep going.
the soda trick works like a gem. instead of dry heaving, you burp, and with each insanely huge burp, a spew of food empties into the toilet. you smile as you purge, immensely pleased that the soda worked. then finally, after 15 minutes, you see what you've been waiting for; chunks of bright orange floating in the water. carrots were the very first thing you ate, munching on them as the pasta boiled. you're happy that you remembered to eat something bright first, so you knew when everything was out. you wipe your face, the toilet seat, the wall, flush everything one last time.
the purge has given you a high. you feel powerful. you feel amazing. you stand up and white dots try to knock you back down. you hang on to the counter as your knees buckle, slowly regaining your balance. even through this, you feel ridiculously empowered. you're weak and strong all at once. you straiten up, lift your shirt, and look in the mirror again. your hand grazes over the flatness, and you can;t stop grinning. right now, you feel like you could conquer anything. knock down a concrete building, jump off the roof and start to fly. the emptiness you've created makes you superwoman, unstoppable. your head buzzes with the high.
you pinch the layer of fat on your abs and think, only a few more pounds to go.
right now, you can do anything. easy.
~JH
#3
T. T for try. try to understand. try to lose weight. just try. T for ten... ten more pounds i need to drop. ten more minutes i need to run, ten more calories i'm allowed to eat, or shouldn't have eaten. T for taste. the taste of food after 2 empty days. the taste of vomit, the taste of blood, the two tastes mixed into one. T for the temptation i have to resist. T for the track i have to stay on. T for the torture, the torment every day. T for how terrified i am if i fail.
H. H for heavy. H for the hate i feel towards a mirror. H for hide, hide my body, hide my thoughts, hide the food i was supposed to eat. H for the help i desperately need, H for the help i need to avoid. H for the hell inside my head. H for heartbeats, racing and skipping. H for the heartbreak that started this all.
I. I for insecure. I for insignificant. I for this illness i can't seem to cure. I for inside, keep it inside, everything inside. I for the inspiration i need to keep breathing. I for incomplete... i'm so incomplete.
N. N for the numbers filling my head. N for nothing inside my stomach. N for the nothing i have to maintain. N for not enough, not good enough. N for no. N for numb. N for never, never give up.
Thin. it's what i crave, my antidote, my last hope for survival. i live thin, i breathe thin. i think and run and sleep thin. it's everything i want to be. it consumes me. it drives me. thin is my food. thin is my dream. thin is what i'm good at. thin is the only thing i can accomplish, the only trophy i can win. thin. is. everything.
~JH
H. H for heavy. H for the hate i feel towards a mirror. H for hide, hide my body, hide my thoughts, hide the food i was supposed to eat. H for the help i desperately need, H for the help i need to avoid. H for the hell inside my head. H for heartbeats, racing and skipping. H for the heartbreak that started this all.
I. I for insecure. I for insignificant. I for this illness i can't seem to cure. I for inside, keep it inside, everything inside. I for the inspiration i need to keep breathing. I for incomplete... i'm so incomplete.
N. N for the numbers filling my head. N for nothing inside my stomach. N for the nothing i have to maintain. N for not enough, not good enough. N for no. N for numb. N for never, never give up.
Thin. it's what i crave, my antidote, my last hope for survival. i live thin, i breathe thin. i think and run and sleep thin. it's everything i want to be. it consumes me. it drives me. thin is my food. thin is my dream. thin is what i'm good at. thin is the only thing i can accomplish, the only trophy i can win. thin. is. everything.
~JH
#2
I'm not that bad, you say. i just want to lose 5 pounds. 10 pounds. i'll stop at 145. 140. 135. your goal drops with your weight. 130. 125...
you read a book about an anorexic girl. you read about her methods, adopt some as your own. drink 2, 3, 4 cups of coffee a day. munch on frozen diet soda ice cubes. dip carrot sticks in mustard and call it dinner. you read about her emergency trips to the hospital, about her low blood pressure and heart murmers and teenage arthritis. you read about her reaching 62 pounds at 5'6 and nearly dying. you cut your intake to 500 calories a day. then 300. then 100, just for today, just for this week. i'm fine, you say. i'm not that bad, you say. i wont let it get that bad.
you lay in bed at night and go over every inch of skin with your hands. when you notice that your gut is smaller, there's a bigger gap between your thighs, that bone didn't stick out before, you squeel in excitement and can't stop grinning. you fall asleep on a hunger high. think, i can do this. i'm doing this. 5 more pounds. 10 more pounds. i'm just fine, you say.
~JH
you read a book about an anorexic girl. you read about her methods, adopt some as your own. drink 2, 3, 4 cups of coffee a day. munch on frozen diet soda ice cubes. dip carrot sticks in mustard and call it dinner. you read about her emergency trips to the hospital, about her low blood pressure and heart murmers and teenage arthritis. you read about her reaching 62 pounds at 5'6 and nearly dying. you cut your intake to 500 calories a day. then 300. then 100, just for today, just for this week. i'm fine, you say. i'm not that bad, you say. i wont let it get that bad.
you lay in bed at night and go over every inch of skin with your hands. when you notice that your gut is smaller, there's a bigger gap between your thighs, that bone didn't stick out before, you squeel in excitement and can't stop grinning. you fall asleep on a hunger high. think, i can do this. i'm doing this. 5 more pounds. 10 more pounds. i'm just fine, you say.
~JH
#1
They haunt you. they follow you. they have yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and dead faces. they crouch under your desk at school, stare at you from the passenger side when you drive, and float above your head like black balloons wherever you go. they crawl under your skin and make you itch and ache. they whisper razorwords in your ear.
they are the deadhungryangry ghosts that only you can see.
it's almost midnight, you're laying in bed. you're about to fall off the edge of awake into the sleepydreamcanyon when
you hear them.
you hear their footsteps on the walls, loud glass thuds on the windows and cat-paw steps across the floor. you roll over and see them crawlslitherslide towards you, leaving dark shadow trails behind them. you're terrified, frozen solid. there is ice on your skin and snow in your lungs. their dead eyes freeze you like december.
they crawl under the covers and over your skin. they kiss the bones that stick out, "good..." the croon. they love your bones. if it were up to them, you would be made of bones. bones are pure and clean and beautiful. they make you want to be made of bones too.
when they touch the fat parts, they hiss and breathe smoke.
the deadhungryangry ghosts slide inside your mouth. they are angry at the fat parts. they rage inside your stomach, hunger pains that make you cry. they throw iceballs at your ribcage and bang against your bones. they crawl under your skin, stretching the cuts and scars until they're about to burst and spill sugar-rust all over your bed. they climb up your spine and into your head, and the razorwhispers come...
fat.stupid.weak.pathetic.bitch.whale.fat.ugly.loner.loser.outcast.waste.dyke.pig.fat.ugly.fat.ugly.ugly.
you want them to shut up, but love to hear them speak. you want them to stop hurting you, but love the pain they create. you hate them, love them, despise them, adore them. you and the ghosts have an agreement. you give them self-control and willpower and strength... they will give you beauty and bones. you need them, you know the deadhungryangry ghosts will give you what you want.
and it's too late to turn around. you've already read the contract and signed your name in blood.
~JH
they are the deadhungryangry ghosts that only you can see.
it's almost midnight, you're laying in bed. you're about to fall off the edge of awake into the sleepydreamcanyon when
you hear them.
you hear their footsteps on the walls, loud glass thuds on the windows and cat-paw steps across the floor. you roll over and see them crawlslitherslide towards you, leaving dark shadow trails behind them. you're terrified, frozen solid. there is ice on your skin and snow in your lungs. their dead eyes freeze you like december.
they crawl under the covers and over your skin. they kiss the bones that stick out, "good..." the croon. they love your bones. if it were up to them, you would be made of bones. bones are pure and clean and beautiful. they make you want to be made of bones too.
when they touch the fat parts, they hiss and breathe smoke.
the deadhungryangry ghosts slide inside your mouth. they are angry at the fat parts. they rage inside your stomach, hunger pains that make you cry. they throw iceballs at your ribcage and bang against your bones. they crawl under your skin, stretching the cuts and scars until they're about to burst and spill sugar-rust all over your bed. they climb up your spine and into your head, and the razorwhispers come...
fat.stupid.weak.pathetic.bitch.whale.fat.ugly.loner.loser.outcast.waste.dyke.pig.fat.ugly.fat.ugly.ugly.
you want them to shut up, but love to hear them speak. you want them to stop hurting you, but love the pain they create. you hate them, love them, despise them, adore them. you and the ghosts have an agreement. you give them self-control and willpower and strength... they will give you beauty and bones. you need them, you know the deadhungryangry ghosts will give you what you want.
and it's too late to turn around. you've already read the contract and signed your name in blood.
~JH
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