Perfection

A friend, once stopped eating, and she still continues to. She pursues perfection which is so vastly advocated by the media. Decide for yourself, comment and I'll read them. I never checked this story

Such a perfect girl. Effortless beauty, I stared at the TV, hypnotized by her magnificence. I wanted that fame, but how? Auction my talent of, to whom? I wanted it, I wanted it so badly. But I hated it, for it took me away from myself, plunging me deeper into a strange world. Coward, I can’t even make a decision now, and so I do what I always do, I run away from it all.

47, the red number glares at me, once, twice, thrice. I am scared, and sometimes I wish I can go back, to then, when I didn’t care and my brain was too dull for maths. I say to myself, addition... subtraction, you’ll get through life if you know those, no more, no less. NO. I only need addition. NO. I need neither. What did I do to deserve this? It’s been a while since I rejoice and was grateful of what thy gave me, borrowed to me, but how can I when I am miserable. Most of the time. Why, plunge me and suffocate me, make me breathe in the dust, which chokes me and slowly robs me of my life? I know it is mine to owe, but must you demand it so, must I pay my debt so soon.Coward, I can’t even make a decision now, and so I do what I always do, I run away from it all.

I huff, and spit out the water from my lungs. I want to die. But am I not already dead, my mind is plagued with this thought, the same thought, guilt, remorse. I’m sure by now 80% of my nervous system is damaged, scoffing, I acknowledge how doctors or other wordly genius scientist decide to ignore this thought, as a disease. How they praise themselves of their intelligence, and yet miss out the real culprit to it all, your mind. Coward, I can’t even make a decision now, and so I do what I always do, I run away from it all. Seeking refuge to heaven, I plunge my head into the bath tub, filled with cold ice water.

You know its cruel, truly is cruel. When you’re put through such misery, when you’re living at that point just before death, and yet you can’t pass that final plateau. Somehow when my mind starts to rumble, and go wild and ravenous the thought of death, even just a glimpse, is just as comforting as your mac n cheese. I walk towards the fridge, there’s steak, a whole 5 pound slab of it, cheese cake, a box of doughnuts, crepes filled with whip cream. On the other hand there’s grapes, apples and bananas. I cry as I stuff myself with steak, the cake and doughnuts. I hurt myself. I envy those who can savor each bite I take, for right now my tongue is so mute I might of cut it off but not realize. My tears fall, and I know you can’t understand me now, its called binging, in your stupid literary words. You kind heartedly give me a few advice, expecting me to forget just like that. But I don’t, I continue and now for the crepes.

I found it, at last, I scoured 14 shops to get 50 bottles of them. And I gobble them all at once. Last time I tried 49 bottles, and I survived. This time I can start to see the foam coming out from my mouth, I cry, for the first in many years, I cry tears of joy, and I smile before I die. Peace, at last.

 

               

Author's Note

I wrote this in a burst of emotion, never double checked it. So I don't know whether it make sense, the grammar is correct, etc. Corrections are welcomed. Thank You for reading.

Reviews

[TLK]

This is quite disconnected -- like seeing a procession of faulty thoughts in the mind of an obsessive. While I appreciate the style, and as a Psychologist find it very fitting, it seems very difficult to piece together a definite meaning for each paragraph. I was particularly thrown by "spit out the water from my lungs" -- I have no idea how the narrator got into this situation, or how they managed to spit (a mouth action) from their lungs.

The heart of the piece seems to be: " My tears fall, and I know you can’t understand me now, its called binging, in your stupid literary words. You kind heartedly give me a few advice, expecting me to forget just like that." I have a loose idea of WHO they are blaming, but I can't pin down WHY they are blaming them, or exactly what is wrong with giving the behaviour a word ('binging') so that we can discuss it.

I am also confused about how 'crepes' turn into '50 bottles of them'. I don't usually buy pancakes in bottles.

I've written something on a similar topic, but in a very different way. If you're interested, you can find it here, but you're not expected to read it! http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1035352/

Welcome to the 'site.

[Toiy]

Gee, thanks guys. Really appreciated the review. I do realize how far fetched this writing is, and while TLK found that this piece was quite disconnected and vague Alvin on the other hand I may gladly say, got the exact idea I was going for. Thank you for sparing the time to read and the effort to write this review. I'll really try to double-check my writing next time, it's not something enjoyable for me but I'll try. You guys are such great readers, and I'll try to deliver my best quality of writing in every piece. Again thanks.

[Alvin L. Kathembe]

I was able to somewhat follow the gist of this story - I think the disjointed, dreamy style is perfect for this kind of piece.
This is a generation of stargazers, we don't peer through telescopes, as Galileo did, we gawk at TV. And the images we see are those of personal-trainer toned, surgeon-sculpted goddesses that we are supposed to aspire to. My favourite rapper says to 'Help them girls find beauty without a magazine or movie...' seems that's not the way these days.
47...is that a clothes size? I got the impression - from the whole paragraph - that it was a girl obsessing over her size, hence the addition and subtraction...?
The 'water from her lungs'...I think, after a binge, the persona has just forced herself to throw up, possibly using salt water. The diction in this paragraph reflects the bulimic state of mind, I think, pretty well...or is the water from 'I plunge my head into the bath tub, filled with cold ice water...'?
The tortured mind finds solace in the food that it hates, that it must 'purge' itself of...striking thought, how the food that brings pleasure to most brings anguish to others. One man's meat, another man's poison?
The 50 bottles must be some medicine or something toxic - 50 bottles is surely an overdose...peace at last, in death...?
Hope I understood your piece! It is jumbled and disjointed but as I mentioned, it's a great stylistic device to convey the persona's anguish. A couple of spelling mistakes but you did warn that you hadn't gone over it.
This was obviously an intensely personal write.
Looking forward to reading more!