Standing at the kitchen counter, she stared at the bag of Doritos. She’d promised herself she’d treat herself well, energizing her body with fuel that truly made her feel good, inside and out. She knew how, she’d done it before; she’d lost 80 pounds naturally, with sweat and tears and finding what worked for her, over and again, through every misstep and plateau.
Yet, here she was, staring at the open bag of Doritos, sliding in her hand, promising herself she’d eat just a few.
Oh, wow. I forgot how good these are.
A few more won’t hurt.
That few, allowed a few more, and a few more, until the rest of the bag was gone.
It was so easy, even now after all that hard work, for her to squash that reasonable voice which begged her to stop, that reminded her how awful she’d feel after. And she knew that awful feeling! She’d stared at the bottom of dozens of Dorito bags in the time before. She’d rationalized that voice away hundreds and thousands of times, allowing fear and stress to twist her thoughts ass backward and tell her she deserved to eat yummy things, to be rewarded for her hard work and effort, and not feel deprived. She’d felt that all too brief euphoria after the indulgences, stuffing that rational voice to the pit of her gut under all that junk. She’d stuffed it away until the scale read 260.
It had been been an endless cycle of stuffing feelings, feeding them with food, and feeling guilt and shame. It would be now, too, if she let it.
Staring now at this empty bag, she was sure her shame would more than fill it. It grew and grew, until it took up all the space in the room, permeating her pores, infiltrating her gut to a wretching level. Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the bag….crack, crack, crack.
Wiping away the tears, she walked the six steps to the bathroom. She glared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she contemplated sticking her fingers down her throat, purging and purging until all that molten shame was out, flushable.
That’s too easy.
I have to live with the consequences, that’s what I deserve.
Again, tears came, trickling down her cheeks, dripping from her jawline into the sink, although she paid them no attention.
Oh, God. How did I get here again?
“Help me,” she whispered, to no one, the no one looking back at her.
Created in response to: Help, Daily Prompt. While I’m at a much better place now, this is a part of my story. It was an all too familiar place for me. I see glimpses on occasion if I let myself; the struggle continues.