Saturday, July 20, 2013

the glutton

These are the words trapped in my head. I don't need anyone to do anything about them. I just need to get them out where I can see them. I need to do it here where fewer people - but still some people - can read them. Here there is plausible deniability. Here there is veiled anonymity.

Bacon is sizzling on the stove. I can smell it from where I am in the living room. I need to go check on it. Turn it. Keep it golden, never black. I am torn between the gagging feeling in my throat that indicates words that need to come out, and knowing the bacon needs turning.

I will turn the bacon. Drain it on paper towel. Fry an egg in its dripping. I have already sliced canteloupe to have with them. I tell myself that is balanced. I will drink lemon water with it. I  tell myself it's a diuretic. It will help hide my shame.

I have eaten almost all day. Not non-stop, but not stopped for long. I was going to stop at 4. Do a purge - epsom salts and lemon juice and olive oil. But my gut already hurt, and I didn't have the courage. My gut no longer hurts. But I don't purge - I eat more.

I have been alone all day. My Man was gone long before I woke up this morning. I don't know where The Little One is - he hasn't been home for days. I tried texting friends, but no one was available. I tried making plans via Facebook, but nothing developed. I had a day to do anything - go to the beach, read, explore, adventure, take steps to move from this life I am surviving to one I could love. I ate. I shopped for food, and bought food, and ate.

I know a woman who cuts herself. Although she is ashamed of the action, she takes great pride in the beauty of her tiny perfect parallel cuts. I have seen them. They are beautiful. I gorge myself, and feel shame both for the action and for the restult. I wish I could hide my hulking, pallid, distorted body.

I don't want to be naked in front of My Man. I hate when he looks at my body with hunger. I feel ill when I imagine how it feels to touch the oozing softness of my belly. I sleep on my stomach to make it smaller, at least for the night. For those hours, if sleep comes, my bloated abdomen is under control. I get dressed in the dark. I don't look in the mirror until I am clothed.

I am now typing and eating and editing. This is not a cry for help. I don't want to read a book you read. I know I need to talk to someone. I just want the words out of my head. I want to not be alone. And with every bite, I am building my castle walls.


  1. A very emotional piece.

    I hate the feeling of wanting to eat... it's very different from the feeling of hunger. They are separate.

    Eating takes away the feeling of hunger.

    Eating does not take away the feeling of wanting to eat.

  2. I hear you. I get needing to get the words out.