Sunday, April 8, 2012

It's funny because it really happened

Thursday: Come back home from a long trip. First thing you do after entering the house: Eat. Wait until dad leaves. Throw up, all the food. No food coming anymore? Doesn't matter, attack throat violently. Hit your throat. Stick your fingers until you reach your stomach. Clean. Take nine laxatives, two Nurofen. Later in the evening, eat.

Friday: Wake up early. You can't stand up, you can't see anything after standing up, you have to wait until the dizziness goes away.. and then you can finally walk. Go downstairs. Muscles are hurting. Dizziness.  Try to go upstairs.. why can't you? Why are you so helpless and unable to move? You mentally push yourself harder and harder, and after a while you have reached the end of the stairs. Laxatives have not kicked in yet. Let's hope they will kick in soon or never, because you have to go to the church in the evening. Noon: Meet with your psychotherapist. Tell her how you've cried a few hours ago because you were angry. You start having cramps. They are fine, not so bad yet. You walk fifteen minutes to meet with your mother at the coiffeur. You get there and start having bad cramps. Should you ask where the toilet is? No, no. Wait.. 30 more minutes in hell. You want to cry. Your mother is finally done and you get to the car. You tell her to get home fast.  You look at the traffic lights. Be green, be green, you beg them. Your mind shouts at them to be green, because you can't stand the pain anymore. You are almost home. You start scratching the seat, the pain is unbearable. You call your dad to open the door house and the gate. In front of the house, you jump out and run inside, drop your shoes and run upstairs. Into the bathroom: relief. You ignore the blood. Get into your room, head is heavy, you go to sleep. You wake up after a few hours, get dressed for church. You feel nauseated, sick and tired. Mother tells you she's going to wait for 20 more minutes. You fall asleep on the bed. She wakes you and says you better stay home. You fall asleep in your street clothes. A few hours later, you are awake and dad tells you he has come to you while you were sleeping but you told him to leave you alone; you don't remember a thing. Later in the evening:  You are home alone with your brother, eat, throw up. Go to sleep at 1 AM.

Saturday: Wake up early. Tell yourself you are going to go the gym and burn 1000-fucking-calories. Eventually, you get there and get on the elliptical. 100. 200. 230. You can't breathe, muscles are hurting, lungs burn, you are dizzy, you are sick, you want to cry. You are sweaty, tired, dead. Push yourself. The more it hurts, the faster you move. More pain. Less air. 295. Voices are screaming in your head, you ignore them. They start screaming louder. 298. 299. Die!, die!, die! 300 calories in 28:30 minutes. You get down and slowly walk to the locker room. You sit for two minutes, take your pulse. 141 beats per minute. Give your empty stomach two sips of water combined with lemon juice. Wash your face. Back on the elliptical, you barely take a 100-calorie-worth walk in 20 minutes. Your parents pick you up, you almost fall asleep in the car. In front of the house you have to wait a few minutes before you can get out of the car - you can't move a muscle, not even your eyes. In the house, you go into the kitchen and fall on the cold floor. You wait, and wait, and your parents see you. You tell yourself to get up, but you just can't. You can't do anything but lie there and wait. Your dad gets you up and then holds you on his back. He takes you upstairs because you can't move by yourself. Mother thinks it is very funny. Like a drunk person, she says. She takes a picture. Two, three. Hilarious! Your dad puts you on your bed.

You feel dead.

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