I am a fat old woman.

You are a fat old woman, she says as I look at myself in the mirror. Fat and stupid and careless. You don’t deserve to eat, she tells me as my stomach rumbles. It rumbles because I purged tonight. I took my kids to dinner Continue reading

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Seven minutes

T says that it takes seven minutes for the urge to pass.  Seven minutes.  I look at the clock, 9:14 and I think all I have to do is make it to 9:21 and I will be ok.  Like a computer, my mind starts to analyze the possibilities, every stream, every branch to look for an opportunity.  I could go for a run but it would take me more than seven minutes to get ready and the wet heavy fog that is pervading the city today is not what I want to run in.  I could run but it is late at night and if I get attacked then my love would know and I would have to go to the hospital and People would know, and that cannot be.  A minute ticks by, and the anxiety in my stomach grows.  I can feel every bite, every calorie, every fat gram that I ate in my perfectly reasonable and healthy meal but to my haunted stomach, it does not feel reasonable or healthy.  It feels foreign and the urge rises up within me and I need to find other options. Continue reading