ShameSat at five am eating a cheese burger with a knife and fork - my mum walks in. She doesn't question it but nonetheless it's suddenly impossible to swallow as my throat fills with shame and contracts with the strength of my self loathing. What are you doing? I am not sure, I was anxious so I couldn't sleep and suddenly the idea popped into my head and then it was all I could think about until eventually I figured I wouldn't get to sleep unless I got it over with.
Sometimes, often, I cry when I eat. As I put larded handfuls to my lips I hear someone in my head screaming; what are you doing?
I feel nauseous now. Not intentionally, although I am certain that my binge eating is both emotional and disorderly, but as a pool of disgust wriggles in my flabby stomach.
I try to be honest, in fact I am known for it, but every once in a while I write something so true that the thought of releasing an inventory of my flaws into a starscape of eager critics makes me sick to my eyeballs, so I close th
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc