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A girl battling the thought of food. (Inspired while my mom was cooking dinner.)


Submitted:May 18, 2011    Reads: 45    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   


Maybe just a quick taste. I know it won't be for long. I can't take advantage of my body like this forever. But it smells so good, and this is the first time my eyes lit up in weeks. If I could just stomach the pain afterwards.

Leftovers are beckoning me, just give in already Josie! I can't. I promised myself that I would be good. I'm not going to binge and binge, until I can't even control myself any longer. Dieting sucks, I don't care who says it's a breeze, they're probably barfing whatever they eat in their toilet. I'm not much of a purger myself, but this roast beef is starting to make it all worth while.

Maybe a ham sandwich instead. God, I'm a large piece of lard. I can't even control myself for more than a week without caving. Jess would be so pissed if she entered my thoughts right now. But I can't help it, I've always been this way. Why stop now? Once a fat piece of shit always a fat piece of shit, like I always say. Starting now, apparently. I creep up the steps, walk into the kitchen. Tyra muted, because I just can't handle much more entering my brain right now.

I retreat back down to the steps, hurry pass the living room and into my bedroom of safety. I strip from my t-shirt, unbutton my jeans, until I'm down to my underwear and bra. Ugh, the lard. I can't stand it anymore. I pinch at the chub overlapping my underwear line. WHY? My sister is a twig, and you can find my mother at the gym every other afternoon.

Why am I cursed with curves, and flab? I dress myself, storm out of the room. Frustration invades me. I just want to be able to eat what I want, is that so much to ask for? If Bryn didn't dump my ass after prom, I may have one leg to stand on here, but I am completely alone, besides my dear friend, sausages and his dear friend, cheese. Am I weird that I like that combination? No, just fat.

Maybe, if I moved my ass more, this wouldn't be such a dilemma. I trace the kitchen, brush my hand against each counter, until I reach the handle to the refrigerator door. I can't control it, it's overpowering, the cool breath of it's entrance, greeting me with a smile, as I open it wide. I stick my hands in, and indulge. Temporary bliss. Guilt amiss.





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