I want to die. My insides feel like they are ready to explode, my throat constricts, my heart tightens. Yet I shove the spoonful of peanut butter down my throat yet again, force myself to swallow past the sticky paste that coats my tongue and slides slowly, tortuously down my esophagus. "Just one more spoonful," I think to myself, "You need this, you need to gain weight. Think: those gross pictures from prom where your bones stuck at all odd angles. Think: the looks you get down the hall when you wear short shorts because your knees are too knobby. Think: Do you want to be like this forever? Do you want to die?"
So I shove another down, and then another. Tears pour down my face as the spoon comes up again, and again. I scrape one peanut butter jar empty and swallow slowly the last bite. Victoriously, I place the empty jar next to a sequence of other empty jars that had, at the beginning of the hour, been full. "Three jars, that should be enough…" I think to myself as I bend over with cramps as my stomach revolts. It's not used to being stretched so tight.
I check the calories on the back of the containers again: One serving is two tablespoons. Two tablespoons equal 190 calories. Servings per container: thirty-five. I do the math. Round up the calories to two hundred, multiply by thirty-five. Nine-thousand calories. Multiply that by three. Twenty-seven thousand calories. One pound equals 3600 calories. Total pounds gained: over eight.
I bend over as my stomach realizes this fact. It tries to purge, but only air comes out. The peanut butter has been trapped inside, sticking to the lining of my tissues, unable to be removed. I repeat to myself over and over, "I need this, I need this, I need this…" But my traitorous mind rebels suddenly and begins panic-mode.
"Oh my God… I just ate eight pounds…" Suddenly I run to the bathroom and force my face to stare into my porcelain throne, willing myself to puke. My finger is tempted to trail down my throat, tempted to force myself to give up the calories, but I repeat to myself over and over, "I need this, I need this, I need this…" I am torn between to the two sides. The two sides of my brain.
Instead, I lean over the side of the bowl and begin to scream. I can't handle this anymore. My stomach is murdering my body; my heart is pounding so fast I can feel my entire body shake.
Welcome to my life. The life of a half-anorexic…