Laxative

If you take them three at a time you get through them quicker, less time to think about what you’re doing, less time to change your mind. 3,6,9,12,15… Is that enough? No; 18, 21, 24... No more left, that will have to be enough. I hide the empty packet to dispose of later, but I know I will forget, I always forget. I just got out of the shower, so time to clean the bathroom. My favourite part is pulling half my hair out of the plug hole and trying to salvage the half left on my head. But not before pinching my cheeks in a vain attempt to find some colour in the ghostly complexion in the mirror. I eat now, and I don’t throw up anymore. But the laxatives –the laxatives – they control me. I plan my days around them, my weeks around them, and my months around them; basically, I plan my life around them. Every time I buy a packet, I wonder if that will be the packet that puts me six feet under; probably from a heart attack, but possibly blood loss or some other painful method of demise. Although it is more likely to simply be another packet which puts me back in hospital, I always have that letter kept open on my computer screen just in case. You know the one, the one that attempts to offer some pathetic explanation and heartfelt apology for being so stupid.

The last time I was in hospital I nearly died, I really believed I wouldn’t make my 21st birthday… Well I still might not. The laxatives made me bleed; they made me bleed a lot. I was suffering from colitis, severe dehydration and acute oxygen deprivation. Nothing quite makes you review your life so much as finding yourself rushed to the front of the queue in A&E before being put on a ward full woman four times your own age. Wondering how I got there and finding excuses in my mind, I felt like I was back in school saying “the dog ate my homework”.

Most people say that their eating disorder started innocently enough, just trying to lose a few pounds. Not me, I knew, well at least I thought I did. You can think over it a million times to find all the possible outcomes, but in my experience life isn’t always that predictable. I thought being thin would make my voice heard, but all it has done is make me quieter and quieter. At some points, my voice hasn’t been mine at all; perhaps even now this isn’t me. I don’t know anymore.

There is no ending I can write, as when the ending comes I will not be here to write it. So for now, let’s leave it at that.