novembre

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i'm so gross.

possible solutions cross my mind like the heater shutting on and off in the middle of the night.

#1
i think i should take seven diet pills a day and eat white rice.

#2
i should throw up everything i eat. but i just had surgery on my throat and that's a brand new toilet.

#3
stop eating. stop eating anything. even though my oral fetish is the size of cleveland.

#4
keep doing what i'm doing. eating whatever the fuck is cheap at the supermarket and writing "EXCERCISE" in giant, underlined letters on every to-do list.

#5
cleaveland is huge. and it is filled with to-do lists.

#6
maybe i should just go on a liquid fasting diet like oprah.

i get so sad when it comes to this. i've spent years trying to learn how to love my body, but i came about it the wrong way. feelings don't run in a linear pattern. eating disorders are giant road blocks that get cranky if you try to subvert them.

when i was in third grade i tore a gash in my leg. a jagged screw sticking out from a dusty chain link fence lining the little league field. my mother realized i was hurt before me; she looked at my leg and started screaming. i followed her gaze to just above my right kneecap, and then stared blankly at a few blood vessels hanging out over flaps of skin. what was pouring out of the wound? tiny, round, yellow balls. fat cells. i watched them fall on the ground and get dusty, exiting my inner world and joining that of little leagues, fat kids, hysterical mothers and then there was the beginning of something uncalm,
something muted.

11:26 pm - 2.25.01

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