Time to get serious again, folks! While cleaning out my parent’s first floor after the hurricane I came across some stories I had written. Luckily, the ink on most of them were still visible. The following is one of those stories. I wrote it in the Fall of 2005, towards the end of my battle with an eating disorder. Although I no longer suffer, each day I continue to struggle with it.
With her left hand she grips the porcelain bowl. The right index finger enters her mouth and moves back to the farthest reaches of her throat. She tickles her tonsils and feels the bile rise; almost there. Remove the finger, let the floodgates open and expel dinner. A running shower prevents detection. The bowl a putrid mixture of acid, food and soda. The tomato sauce had been tastier on the way down. Nothing sticks around for long. Continue reading