New Day, Same Problems

The days all blur together at this point. It’s the same routine everyday. Wake up to the sounds of my many alarms. Sleep through my Zoom classes. Finally lift my large body out of bed. Look at the clock only to realize I’ve slept half the day away. I hate that I am wasting my life away but I revel in it briefly, happy that I was able to skip breakfast and lunch. I muster up the energy to take a shower, brush my teeth, get dressed into another pair of pajamas. Normal things that I force myself to do nowadays. I promise myself I’ll wait until 5pm to eat something light. Then 3 pm hits and my stomach growls. I desperately guzzle down water. My stomach feels bloated and the liquid inside sloshes with every movement I make. My will begins to break as I smell the food my mom is making in the kitchen. They call me to eat, and I can’t refuse. I force myself to imagine that the food is disgusting. But, in reality, it’s not. It’s delicious. I shovel more and more forkfuls into my mouth until I’m utterly stuffed. As soon as I come down from my food high, the panic sets in. Why did I eat that? I’m so stupid. I hate myself. I immediately regret my dumb decisions, fueled by irrational thoughts. I wallow in self pity, neglecting my weeks worth of assignments. I reassure myself, tell myself a lie to make myself feel better. I say that I won’t eat for the rest of the day. This seems to work until suddenly it’s 9pm, and my damn stomach betrays me once again. The incessant growling distracts me from my work. I put headphones in to drown out the noise, drink a gallon of water to satiate my hunger. I can’t take it anymore. I go to the kitchen, tell myself I’ll grab a yogurt or a banana. But I don’t want those things. I need those things, yes, but what I actually want are the bags of chips on the counter. My body lets me down and I eat everything within reach. My mind screams at me but my tastebuds are excited, delighted by the taste of my favorite, calorie filled foods. After my episode, I shamefully clean up after myself, leaving not even a crumb so as to not let my parents find out. But they know. They see me growing larger everyday, see me hide underneath oversized shirts and sweatpants. They know but I pretend to not believe that they do. My delicate state of sanity would be shattered if I admitted that people can see my body and can see the damage I am doing to it. After cleaning up after myself, I futilely try to repair the damage, do some workouts. The fat hanging off me does me no favors. I am sweaty and disgusting after five minutes. I once again give up, just like everything else I do in my life. I take another shower and have a pity party for myself, even though I know that I am the source of all my problems. My work is not yet done, so I stay up late, desperately trying to keep control of at least one thing in my life. The clock reads 3 am. I am exhausted. I climb into bed and scroll on TikTok. I am bombarded by pretty and skinny women, girls that I know I will never look like but I can help but strive towards it. My eyes grow heavy and my last thought before succumbing to sleep is, I will do better tomorrow. I go to bed and the cycle repeats. Day after day after day. This insufferable routine keeps me trapped in a hell of my own doing. But this is all I’ve ever known. This thin line between starvation and binging. The only question I can ask myself is: “will it always be like this?”However, I don’t want an answer. I don’t want to accept this life forever. But I’m scared of change. So I will live in my routine until I can’t anymore.

Everything’s fine

That feeling when you’ve always been the “fat” “chubby” “big-boned” “thick” one and you’ve tried a million different diets and have finally resorted to starving yourself to make yourself happy and your dad notices you not eating and says “I’m so proud of you for taking control.”

I love when my friends and family notice my hunger, my not eating and chalk it up to just “doing better”.

No one will ever care if I don’t eat because I’m the fat one.

That’s motivation on why I want to keep going forward. To push myself. For myself.

For all the times I’ve cried because of my weight, cried about how other people see me, how I see myself.

All I know is I will get skinny.

Whatever it takes.