I May Be Developing An Ed

Over the past five days I have eaten nothing more than one thousand calories. My hunger fueled me to keep going. The stomach pains made me feel beautiful. Doing cardio would make me light-headed, and it made me proud. Today I had two glasses of chocolate milk and a bag of chips. As my stomach inflated with the foreign food, my self-esteem inflated with disgust. Disgust for my weakness, disgust for my weight, disgust for me. I desperately tried to use the sick feeling in my stomach to rid myself of the chocolatey sin I had gorged myself with. I learned that the use of fingers, toothbrushes, or violently pounding against my abused stomach wouldn't convince the food to come back up. The pain streamed out of my eyes, as I pleaded with any god out there to please, let me throw up. Shame and anger fill every inch of my being when I realize I won't be able to rid myself of the calories. I won't even be given the mercy of this small victory. As disappointment pools in my stomach like the chocolate milk, I promise myself two more hours of cardio tonight, hoping it will be enough to put my self-destructive conscience at rest. Excuse the poorly written poem, I'm writing this during a nervous breakdown.