Sunday, 29 September 2013


TRIGGER WARNING. Please stay safe.

A sort-of-kind-of-not-really continuation of this story.
She sits on her bed in the fading light, staring at the girl in the mirror. She notes the hollowness of her eyes, the light swelling of her face indicative of a binge, announcing to the world that she is a useless, greedy, selfish pig.


She says the word repeatedly in her head, letting it gain volume and strength until it bursts free from her lips, an accusation directed at the fat faced girl staring back at her.


The girl in the mirror cringes slightly but she does not dispute this assessment, instead accepting it for what it is; the unequivocal truth. She glares at the girl, her unwavering eyes taking in the disgusting greasy shine to her face, the rounded, horrible double chin visible from all angles, and the distinct shadow of thin black hairs above her lip.

Awesome. You have a fucking moustache, too.

She tightens her jaw and rises from the soft comfort of the bed, knowing that fat pieces of shit like her do not deserve to be seated, do not deserve to be comfortable. Slowly, as though she is in a dream, she walks into the bathroom, keeping her gaze fixed on her enviable end point.

Her judge, her jury, and her executioner.

She flicks on the light and the scale glistens slightly, inviting her to step on it, preparing to tear her down and let her know just how badly she has screwed up. For a moment she holds her breath but she quickly changes her mind, afraid that the extra air in her lungs might affect the number. She laughs bitterly to herself; such trivial fluctuations might have mattered when she was on her way to perfection, but they longer count for anything. Her sins are no longer weighed by the ounce.

She closes her eyes and steps onto the glass. Her arm tingles in anticipation. It’s no longer a question of if. It’s just a question of how many. She opens her eyes.


She steps back unsteadily as her heart rate quickens. This is it. She has gained back every single fucking pound she worked so hard to lose, that she starved off her disgusting body. She clenches her teeth, sick of the cycle she has put herself in, sick of fighting with her clothes to get them to go on in the morning, sick of the inevitable cutting binge that was about to follow. She knows exactly what will come next. She’s played this game before. First she must atone for sins. An eye for an eye; a cut for a pound. Then, once she has cleaned every trace of her sugary blood from the tiles, she will tell herself that tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow she will start getting back to where she was. She will start making her way towards that perfect, elusive 84lbs once more. Tomorrow she will exist on nothing but air and the putrid lumps of fat hanging from her frame like a parasite. Tomorrow, she will be perfect.

And she will be. Right up until 6 or 7pm. Then she would go nuts and binge like the fucking whore she is. Well. Not this time.

She walks towards the mirror, staring intently into the eyes of the overweight bitch in the mirror. A surge of hatred flows through her, and she resists the temptation to yank open the draw at the bottom on the vanity. She needs to do this first.

“Please,” she whispers to the girl, pleading with her. “Stop doing this to us. We are better than this. So much better. Don’t you see what you are doing? Don’t you see how you are hurting us?” The girl in the mirror stares back, stone-faced and unmoved. She loses her patience, slamming her hand into the glass in an effort to make her listen. The girl in the mirror raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t do this without you.” She searches her fat, pathetic face for a glimmer of hope, for an indication that she will actually do better this time, that she understands the gravity of what she has allowed to happen.  The girl in the mirror stares back for a long moment before giving a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. She sighs in relief, feeling the tension in her shoulders melt away. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow they will be working together, rather than fighting it out. From this moment on, they are on the same side. They will do better. Be better.

They will be thinner.