I want to write a book

Bent over staring at the reflection of myself is the water of the toilet I’ve spent so much time in front of. Debating, do I, don’t I. But It’s too late, by the time I cross the threshold into my bathroom, my mind has been made up and I know I’m going to purge.

 

I love the taste of my fingers in my throat. It’s like the pre-high. My mind goes blank for a moment while I live in the moment. Sometimes I feel guilty, but then other parts of myself are too eager to chase the pause from the reality I call my sad, sad life.

 

After my reflection disappears in a mountain of shame and bad decisions, I wipe my mouth, wash my hands, and stare of my full reflection in the mirror. In this mirror I can see all the flaws. The bags under my eyes, my puffy cheeks that are the result of my failed attempts to lose weight through this addiction I’ve let control my life. I talk to myself. “You’re disgusting, you’re a failure, you are nothing.” I wash my hands, and I leave the bathroom, sometimes on my way to another binge, my heart beating fast getting ready for round two, or three, or four. Sometimes it’s to go to bed, another effort to numb the thoughts that consume my mind. Sometimes it’s to meet others for a night of ‘fun’, dinner and drinks. Whatever it is, I know that this will not be the last time I face the thrown of my weakness.

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