| You hate what you do to yourself. You hate your reflection. You hate that you can never feel whole again. At dinner, you stuff your face like there's no tomorrow. You're so hungry. Appetizers? You have a few. Main Course? You order the fajitas for two. Desert? You have two pieces of triple chocolate cake and a scoop of ice cream. A few glasses of Dr. Pepper and one margarita help wash it all down. You're stomach is full halfway through dinner, but you stuff it anyway. The people in your party wonder how you could eat so much and stay so skinny. A fast metabolism, they say, but you know the truth. It's not staying inside you very long. Lance looks worried as you run your finger across the desert plate to get the leftover chocolate frosting. You smile at him and explain that you missed lunch today. He buys it because he's willing to grab at any excuse. You remind yourself to eat by yourself tomorrow. Everyone's ready to leave. You stand up and feel nauseous after all the food you've consumed. You're eyes search for the nearest restroom. When you find it, you see someone going in. You know you can't go in now. No one can hear you when you clean your system. On the car ride home, you can't focus on anything but your stomach. You feel disgusted because all the food you've eaten has been inside you for longer than a second. You can almost feel yourself getting fatter as you sit there. Your stomach is growing; you can see it as you look down. You start moving your legs up and down; even this little exercise will help until you can rid your body of the disgusting food attacking your body. No one questions what you're doing. The relief you feel when you arrive at the hotel is enormous. You decide to take the stairs because in your mind, you need the exercise. They look at you strangely but wish you 'goodnight'. You couldn't climb the four flights of stairs any quicker. For a moment, you think of climbing all the flights just for the exercise, but that nasty food is still inside you. You have to get it out this instance. When you get inside your hotel room, it's to find that Justin's already inside. He says something to you, but you can't hear him. You can't focus on anything but getting inside the restroom. You excuse yourself and try to act casual as you rush to your sanctuary. Inside, you waste no time before leaning your body over the toilet. You're in such a rush that you forget to grab a towel so that you don't touch the toilet seat. The coldness stings when lay your arms on the porcelain seat. You forget about how uncomfortable you feel as you jam your finger into your mouth. Even after so many months of doing this, it still hurts. You wait for the gag reflex, but nothing happens. Jamming your finger farther down your throat, you close your eyes against the tears threatening to fall. Finally, you feel the bile rising in your throat. Your throat burns as you vomit. You feel disgusted and dirty, but on some level, you're happy. You cough out the last of your dinner into the toilet. When it's all over, you flush the toilet without looking at what you've done. You can't bear to see what you've done to yourself. After a few minutes of composing yourself, you get up and walk to the sink. You wash off the vomit crusted to your face; the water mixes with the salty tears staining your cheeks. Drying your face, you look up into the mirror. You stand still. The reflection you see can't be you. That sickening human being is not you. That person's fat. Lifting up your shirt, you feel around you abdomen. Your stomach is caving in, but you still see a nasty pouch mocking you. You pinch all around your body, looking for the tiniest bit of loose skin. You won't stop until you find some. Finally, you can pinch a piece of flab the size of a penny, but in your mind, it's too much. Softly, so Justin can't hear, you curse yourself and your overweight body. You say to yourself, "You're a lard ass." "Have you ever seen your picture in the magazines? You look like a damn hippo. It's disgusting. Look at Justin he's perfect, and you're gross. How dare you even stand next to someone like him? You're fat," you sneer. You lean over the toilet again, hoping to get any fat that may be left in your body, but nothing comes out. God, you'd be so happy if you could look into the mirror and see what you wanted, but you don't even know what you want. You just know that what you see isn't it. Justin knocks on the door, asking if you're ever coming out. After making sure that you've cleaned any mess that could give him a clue, you exit the restroom. Justin's looking at you weird, but you try your best to act normal. He starts talking to you about the day he had. He's getting ready for bed as he talks to you. As the shirt comes over his head, you're gaze focuses on the tight muscles on his body. Every movement flexes some thick cord. The cut of his body is magnificent. You find yourself staring at his perfect abs. It's amazing that someone so young could look have a body like this. You know why millions of girls love him and would die to be even near him. You know why at photo shoots he's asked to be in the center. You know why he's a pop culture icon. You know why he's linked with beautiful women. It's because of his glorious body. You finally turn away after a final glance. You can't take it anymore. The jealousy in you is choking the life out of you. You reach for the phone and dial up room service. You're suddenly hungry again. You can feel Justin's gaze at your back as you order, but you ignore it. He doesn't understand. No one does; sometimes you don't even understand. In your heart, you know you shouldn't do this to yourself, but you can't help it. You have to do this. It's makes you happy in some distorted way. You'll head to the hotel gym in the late hours of the night, you haven't been able to sleep in months, and work out until your body shuts down. You'll stuff your face and throw up again. It's a horrible way to live, but it's the way you live. You're happy hating yourself, and you hate that about yourself. It's a sadistic cycle. Whoever said being JC Chasez was a bowl of cherries? |
| Sadistic Cycle |