Flashback – 2008
Mum and dad had just left.
They had been dawdling for about 20 minutes getting ready while I was sitting on the couch, anxious and distracted, itching to get my hands on the fridge.
The second the door snapped shut I Dived into the bread. I’d toast two pieces. That’d satisfy me. So with a stack of butter and vegemite I ate the toast with the appetite of a starving child.
Which was kinda what I’d been anyway.
Halfway through I decided I wanted more. I’d do three just in case I wanted more than two. While they toasted I sat against the bench picking the brazil nuts put of the jar, eating them one by one, nonstop until my toast was ready 5 minutes later. Then I carefully put the Spread on and ate them all promptly.
Now for something sweet.
There was a carrot cake bar in the fridge. I cut myself a piece and swallowed it. I cut another piece- devoured. It was getting dark. I started eating the next piece, and as soon as the sugary cake dissolved on my tongue and I tasted it, I burst into tears.
What the fuck was I doing?! How had I ended up like this? A fat fuck greedily munching on everything I could get my hands on? I sunk onto the kitchen floor and cried and cried into my hands, hyperventilating and letting out large sobs. And who could I call? I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d done.
I was so ashamed of myself. Useless and weak, greedy and chubby. But I could still be dainty and strong if I could get rid of what I’d just eaten. I dragged my sorry self up down to the bathroom, fell onto my knees and shoved my fingers down my throat over and over until I was choking on air and my eyes almost popped out of my head.
After I’d got about two pieces of toasts worth out of my stomach, I gave up. It hurt so much. I wasn’t strong like the beautiful skinny women, they had the willpower to starve themselves and get rid of every single morsel in their stomach, and I didn’t.
I wasn’t a real bulimic. I wasn’t good enough for that. I was just a fat fuck who couldn’t stop eating.
I packed up the food, sprayed the air so it didn’t smell like toast, and went and sat back on my laptop so when mum and dad got home, they didn’t suspect a thing.
A daily routine. Rinse and repeat.
a first chill sesh.
It was a summer afternoon, and I found myself extremely bored, so B invited me over to chill with her and her friend. I was expecting to feel intimidated and left out but when I got there her friend was really nice and they both made me feel like we’d all been friends for years. For the whole afternoon we sat in B’s caravan watching Skins, which I’d never seen before but I quickly fell in love with. The caravan was filled with the heat of the sun and the soothing aroma of cigarettes, and we relaxed, talking about anything and everything.
We soon hopped in the spa and took photos, joking about how B’s grandma almost saw her tattoo, bitching about how shit boys are and sharing stories. We shared our secrets cautiously and casually, and I discovered there was nothing more than care and honesty in these girls. As fucked up as we were, we were amazing. I’d never felt so at home as I did that day with B.
I miss you. And I’m sorry.
