Make Me Over

The house is quite; only T and I are home. I tip toe quietly to the kitchen, listening to the clock tick menacingly on the wall behind me. I know that at any moment T could walk out of our room to find me binging again. This time is different though. No more than 6 hours ago, I argued with him telling him its my right to starve myself if I want to. And now here I am. Standing on the precipice once again, about to fall into the dirty grasp of food.
"Just a packet of oatmeal" I tell myself. "I won't binge."

Since the sun has risen I've had half a cup of dry Kix cereal, a piece of watermelon 1/4th the size of my palm, and a Quesadilla made with fat free cheese and a flour tortilla. 405 calories, all in one sitting.


"Hey." T says, scaring the living shit out of me. I spin around to see him behind me, my face turning red and hot. How didn't I hear him?

"Uh.. hey." I say, trying to seem nonchalant. The air is suddenly sticky. I reach for a blue glass bowl from the cupboard and see him staring at me, smirking.

"You know what I think is funny?" He says.

"What?" I say, smiling, hoping for a joke and not a lecture.

"I think its funny how you spent pretty much all day talking about how much you hate food and arguing that I can't make you eat, yet here you are, doing it all on your own." He's still smirking. I veer between embarrassment and horror, and wonder if he intended that to be so hurtful.

"I cannot believe you just said that to me." I say, feeling anger wash over me in hot waves. I throw the opened package of oatmeal onto the floor, watching it scatter everywhere in off-white flakes, and making the grey tile look like a speckled egg. I turn around and quickly walk to my room, throwing myself under the cool feather blanket.

Thoughts flash through my brain like a torrent of river water. I eat too often. I want to throw up. I want to walk up to him and slice my stomach open, watching the contents spill all over the floor before him and scream 'SEE? IS THAT BETTER? IS THAT FUCKING BETTER?'



I have told him that I'm "recovering". He convinces me to eat, throws food at me constantly, and tells me my body is "beautiful" and theres "no way in hell" I'm fat.

My body is not beautiful.
My body is fucking disgusting.
I.
Don't.
Want.
To.
Hear.
Bullshit.
Lies.




Although I binge often, and tell him I'm recovered, I honestly cant tell if I am. I weigh myself everyday again, and how much I've gained is constantly lurking in the back of my mind. 129 lbs.

From 124 to 129 in 3 days. My weight literally stayed at 123/124 up until three days ago, and now I'm panicking. I stalk around the kitchen frequently opening and closing the cabinets and fridge, my mind twisting and turning. 100 calories, 200 calories, 300 calories, stop. 700 calories, 800 calories, 900 calories, stop.

T comes into my room, plopping down on my bed with a creak.

"So you're mad?" He says, testing the waters.
"Sure. Now leave me alone." I say, not wanting my food issues to be in the limelight. This is the one soft spot that really kills me: my failure as an "eating disordered" person.
"Are you fucking kidding?" He says, loudly.
"Go. Away. I'm not talking about this." I say, spitting the words out.
"So you're telling me you're fucking mad at me, because I insinuated that you're hungry?" He says. 'Thats it, just twist the fucking knife.' I think.
"YES. NOW GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME." I say, pulling a pillow over my head.
He stands up and walks out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.
I wish I could throw up, and wonder how I'm going to write this all down properly. I play the words over and over again in my head, trying to make them stick so that when I write them, the story is as close to the truth as possible.


I have spent many hours in bed trying to think of how to word the past month.
I'm sure it seems as if I've abandoned this blog like some accidental love child
left on the doorstep of a church, but alas this is not the case. I have too many stories, too many incidences, and too many things that I feel imperative to relate to you to leave in this single post. The past month will take time to bleed out of me in words, but it will come. Although randomly in short spurts and bursts of nostalgia, it will come nonetheless.

I love you all dearly, and hope I didn't make you all worry enough to stress eat. Oh, irony.





XOXO Sophia Ruins <3