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.
bitching.
im angry today. resentful and angry. about a lot of things.
for one, my internet. my room is like right below the wireless router and it always fucking cuts out. i can never hold a conversation or look up pictures or watch movies because its a fucking piece of shit.
customers put me in a bad mood today. fucking fat fucks. all people ever want is food. and a lot of it. they’ll come in and order like everything on the fucking rack and then complain they have to pay for fucking butter on their fatty cheesy roll, for fucks sake, go to the gym or eat some fucking salad. dont complain to me you’re on a diet and then order a fatty fucking muffin, sit there all by yourself with your hot chocolate and chow down like a fat pig.
customer after customer, pie pie pie, roll roll roll, muffin, scone, danish… they disgust me. shovelling all that shit into their mouths like their life depends on it. spending $20 on food at a time, just to sit there and get fat on it. oh delicious. and then the fat pigs leave pie shit all over their plates, they eat like fucking animals. with shit all over their mouths and sauce all over their hands. come up for something else because they just aren’t satisfied. fuck off. you dont need this fucking food. fucking fat fucks.
yep i’m really not a nice person sometimes. deal with it.
and i hate it when people dwell on the past. shoulda, coulda, woulda.
yes i HAVE learnt from what i did so why the fuck must you go on and on about it? it wont fucking change anything! wasting your energy on holding fucking grudges, moaping about things you cant do anything about because they’ve ALREADY FUCKING HAPPENED.
get a fucking grip, live on the edge, be careful, but no regrets.
end rant.
