I leaned over the toilet bowl, and it poured out of me. The warm liquid burned in my throat. Chunks of the food I had eaten earlier filled my mouth. The stench of vomit invaded my nostrils. The bitter taste of bile filled my mouth. I started dry heaving. Pain soared across my chest. It felt like my organs were trying to pop out of my stomach, again, again, and again. Tears came to my eyes, and I laid there on the floor, sobbing. I shouldn't have done it.
I didn't want to, but it seemed so great. A drug that made you puke so you could lose weight. I tried to say no, but the words came out yes. I couldn't stand being the fat kid anymore.
I took the drug, and it worked. I kept puking my guts up until there was nothing there. It came out of me like water at Niagara Falls. It felt horrible yet great at the same time. I climbed into bed, knowing that in a few weeks time, I'd be thinner than a piece of paper.
A week later, after taking the drug nonstop, school started. My friend Billy walked up to me in the hall and asked, "Man, Tom, you've lost some weight. What have you been doing?"
"Nothing," I replied, even though I knew it was a lie.
I managed to get through the terribly boring day. When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at my short Hair as black as night and my eyes brown like mud. I looked thin. Almost too thin. I couldn't believe it. For once in my life I looked too small.
I tried to quit the drug. It was then that I found out I was addicted. I liked losing weight. I didn't want to give it up. I tried and I tried, but I couldn't quit.
Finally I gave up. I gave up on life. I gave up on everything. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled out my father's pistol, and I shot myself through the head