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Purge
There was an innate sort of control, that came with slipping my fingers down my throat,
Because at that moment, when the world went still and quiet, I had never felt more alive.
And maybe I was damned, from the moment I traded dinners for crushed ice and koolaid packets, or when I began to weigh myself every morning when I woke up, and every night when I went to bed, but god; could I have cared any less than in that small, moment of blissful silence.
I am older now, and eating tastes like chewed up fingernails and sugar free crystal light, But I am not doing it anymore; even though sometimes I wish I could so bad, to have that beautiful silence again, that absolute control over my own body, the feeling that I have been chasing my entire adult life.
It starts out slow; the feeling of wanting to feel nothing at all; and when the world feels as if it is coming to one more final crescendo, I purge.
I purge until my throat tastes of bile, and it is red, angry and raw; as if that would stop me anyways. There is an innate feeling of control, when I slip my fingers down into the wells in the back of my throat, a control that only I, could possess.
A thirst, that only my fingers in the back of my throat, could quench.
And maybe I was damned the minute my fingers slipped down into the cavern of my throat, but oh, how I didn't care.
It didn’t matter, does not matter, as long as I am beautiful. I hate myself, the way I breathe, the way my body curves and dips. The Cellulite, and The stretch marks across my hips. I fucking hate it all.
I find myself comparing myself to every other woman I have known; and hating them for having the thing I crave the most; a body that I’d kill to have.
I once spent two hours counting the calories of my dinner, as if the chicken lettuce wrap would cry out beast, and crawl its way back up my esophagus.
And another thirty minutes comparing my body to my little sisters, and then another twenty eight minutes in the shower, holding myself against the wall, willing myself not to break.
It is all minuscule, when it comes to what I want, what I think I need, but know that I can’t have; and that is to Purge, until my throat is covered in stomach acid and low-fat ranch dressing, and enough water to drown out an ocean of blood from the pit growing inside my stomach. And Even then, I’d trade it all, right now.
To purge.
Because at that moment, when the world went still and quiet, I had never felt more alive.
And maybe I was damned, from the moment I traded dinners for crushed ice and koolaid packets, or when I began to weigh myself every morning when I woke up, and every night when I went to bed, but god; could I have cared any less than in that small, moment of blissful silence.
I am older now, and eating tastes like chewed up fingernails and sugar free crystal light, But I am not doing it anymore; even though sometimes I wish I could so bad, to have that beautiful silence again, that absolute control over my own body, the feeling that I have been chasing my entire adult life.
It starts out slow; the feeling of wanting to feel nothing at all; and when the world feels as if it is coming to one more final crescendo, I purge.
I purge until my throat tastes of bile, and it is red, angry and raw; as if that would stop me anyways. There is an innate feeling of control, when I slip my fingers down into the wells in the back of my throat, a control that only I, could possess.
A thirst, that only my fingers in the back of my throat, could quench.
And maybe I was damned the minute my fingers slipped down into the cavern of my throat, but oh, how I didn't care.
It didn’t matter, does not matter, as long as I am beautiful. I hate myself, the way I breathe, the way my body curves and dips. The Cellulite, and The stretch marks across my hips. I fucking hate it all.
I find myself comparing myself to every other woman I have known; and hating them for having the thing I crave the most; a body that I’d kill to have.
I once spent two hours counting the calories of my dinner, as if the chicken lettuce wrap would cry out beast, and crawl its way back up my esophagus.
And another thirty minutes comparing my body to my little sisters, and then another twenty eight minutes in the shower, holding myself against the wall, willing myself not to break.
It is all minuscule, when it comes to what I want, what I think I need, but know that I can’t have; and that is to Purge, until my throat is covered in stomach acid and low-fat ranch dressing, and enough water to drown out an ocean of blood from the pit growing inside my stomach. And Even then, I’d trade it all, right now.
To purge.
Published 2nd Apr 2024
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2nd Apr 2024 2:07pm
Eating disorders can really control you without realizing. But I get the sense of control you feel from it, I’ve suffered a variety of eating disorders myself. Take care poetess, sending warm thoughts your way.
Anonymous
8th Jun 2024 2:36pm
I see such a beautiful face and yet, the eating disorder may in years to come disfigure it if it were to continue. Your teeth would suffer to.
Comparing yourself to others never works, nor does trying to be perfect.
I had a girlfriend with all you mentioned. It didn't matter to me once I fell for her.
You're gorgeous, I'll leave it at that. :)
Comparing yourself to others never works, nor does trying to be perfect.
I had a girlfriend with all you mentioned. It didn't matter to me once I fell for her.
You're gorgeous, I'll leave it at that. :)
