Matryoshka69’s Weblog

  What the fuck is bulimia? An illness desperately in need of treatment or a self-induced moment of weakness spent heaving over the toilet? Whose fault is it- Angelina Jolie’s legs or my frivolous desire for my body to mimic hers? 

   It’s listening to the water running for another twenty minutes while snot accumulates below your nose. It’s hoping your roommate is really as asleep as her snoring leads you to believe so you won’t have to answer her stares over breakfast. Or her judgmental disappointment and discomfort around you. Or the disappointment and discomfort you imagine she’s feeling… because that’s what you would feel in her shoes. It’s when you keep trying despite the chafing in your esophagus because when you shift to wipe your face, your legs jiggle a little. It’s always being conscious of how and where your body moves. You never feel solid enough.

  It’s always feeling hungry. And then feeling fat. And never fitting quite well enough into your clothes, because you are so soft around the hips. It’s feeling a rush of relief as your stomach violently turns inside out. It’s having the moisture sucked right out of your cheeks and your forehead stretching red and tight. It’s crouching with your knees on the icy tile floor, wondering when you will get multi-system failure. When your lung will rupture and fill with your last meal. When the cancer cells will begin to form. And not stopping. It’s shame in knowing that you’d rather die than feel disgusting in your skin. It’s deciding if you should take the easy way and blame “the media”, or blame yourself for giving in to what you hate.