My thoughts seemed to swarm in my mind like bees. All I could think about was getting up out of bed to eat. God, anything but that. The noise of my human instincts was too loud to ignore.
I reached under my bed for some comfort. The alcohol satisfyingly burned and hummed inside of my pink and empty stomach. 522 calories. It’s okay. It’s liquid. It doesn’t count. The green glow of the stars on my ceiling faded into the background. Even though every light in the house was switched off, the corners of my vision still seemed to grow darker.
I fell asleep satisfied, alone and relieved. I dreamt of cats and drugs and sexual abuse.
I saw things that I couldn’t call monsters or angels.
…
I awoke and noticed the shift in the way the world was filtering through me. I peeled and slumped each of my limbs individually out of bed. The weight of my body pushed down hard on my ankles and toes. I took note of the way the hardwood floor bent and crackled under my weight. Every movement hurt and felt calculated or mechanic. The pain itself was clouded by my tolerance to it. My blinking became a conscious act. The hairs resting on the base of my neck forced me to notice the boundaries of my body. An image of my neck folded like an accordion bombarded my head; Rolls of fat erasing my jawline.
My thighs rubbed together as I walk through the dim hallway to the kitchen. The sun was already fully out, the house filled with hot, stagnant air. No one was home but me – 1:43pm. I poured myself coffee that my dad must’ve brewed earlier in the day. I commanded my body to move to the table and get out my journal.
1:45pm
By 3am her exterior was drenched in sweat and wounds.
Her interior drenched in cigarette smoke and vodka.
She was absorbed by her creaking floorboards.
Fatal flaws and vices grow from tainted soil.
The parched earth needs weak people to grow,
and she was one of the resources of that weakness.
From her tears bloomed a thousand flowers
black and frail.
…
My weaknesses have names, and of one them is Imperium.
Nobody will understand how and why
Her existence makes me feel like I'm on fire and have a purpose;
That if I tried to tell her that she'd laugh.
There’s no way out of Her hands.
Every decision I make is influenced by Her.
I hate myself for letting Her tighten Her grip on me;
But I allow her to rule my mind in hopes of becoming the body I desire; but in letting her have her way, I get further away from what I think that body will grant me – contentment. The bigger She grows, the smaller I get.
…
I slammed my journal closed and relaxed my fingers – allowing my pen to fall onto the table. I finished my coffee. 2 calories. I thought to myself how nice it was that I could distance myself from the night with the day and the progress I could make. Then again, I enjoyed the night because it was an excuse to not eat.
I slid out my lighter and pack of cigarettes from under the couch and went out to the backyard. I took the clothes off my body – they were looser; my boxers fell to the grass as soon as they unhooked from my hips. I lit up the other half of my breakfast and sat there in my underwear. The sun was hot on my skin and I began to sweat. Good. Sweating would help me shrink. I started to relax, my limbs loosening up, my thoughts becoming more cohesive. I could live in this moment for ten more minutes, then I would run. I lay my limbs out on the earth, allowing the grass to poke and tickle my skin.
I looked to my right, my eyes leveled with the grass. I watched ants weave through this small forest. I imagined myself so small that I could use a blade of grass to block the sun. To be small was to be easy to tuck away, easy to be unnoticed. I peeled myself off of the ground, my skin imprinted with grass-shaped lines. I put my clothes back on and walked around the side of the house. I sunk my feet into my running shoes and started towards the road. I threw my cigarette butt into the neighbors’ garbage. I let my feet do the work and my mind do the escaping. Run. Run or die fat.
...
My parents and sister pulled up in the driveway at 6:42pm. They had been out surfing in town. I ran to the fridge, grabbed an apple, hopped onto the couch and turned on the TV. The sporadic rhythms of three sets of feet coming up the stairs approached and opened the door. I took two bites of my apple.
“Did you eat dinner?”
“Yes, and this is my dessert.”
“Good.”
The footsteps moved into their rooms and I got off the couch. I spit my chewed bites of apple into my hand and threw them into the garbage disposal. I cut the rest of the apple up and added that to the sink. I proceeded to wash the dishes to distract my family from the sound of the garbage disposal – and imagined the smashed-up apple flowing through the pipes as if they were my own organs. I didn’t always have to lie about eating; there were times when they didn’t ask.