Thin

Thin

     I told myself “never again”, yet here I was again bent over and empting my stomach’s contents into the porcelain bowl.  I listened to splashes as stream after stream of partially digested food polluted the water within.  Eyes clamped shut I didn’t care to see any of it.  The taste was bad enough.

     Erecting my five foot tall frame I closed the lid and flushed.  For a moment I considered the purple seat cover, ran a few fingers over it, and discovered its shaggy carpet soft.  I didn’t expect anything more or less.  It just seemed oddly interesting though it hadn’t changed in the last few weeks.  I wiped my lips on a square of toilet tissue, balled it up and tossed it into the wastebasket.

     The scale in the corner was an eyesore, but much more than that it was my enemy.  What number would it throw in my face this time?  Wincing I stepped onto it.  The dial rushed, bounced and finally settled on a three digit number.  My heart sank.

     “100,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.  How could it be that high?!  I backpedaled.  As I did so the dial swung back to zero and I found myself slowly turning to face the mirror.  The thing staring back was an engorged monster! 

     No, I told myself.  Smaller portions, I thought and nodded.  More salads and water, especially water.  I can shed another twenty pounds if I discipline myself. 

      But it wouldn’t be good enough.  I knew that.  No weight would ever be good enough because I’d never be thin enough.