The Redhead, and The Dreamer.

I resorted to starting to sit with my stoner friends at lunch and hanging out with them pretty much nightly to keep myself busy. I swear, I’d honestly hadn’t smoked as much pot in my whole life as I did just the first week I started hanging around with them, but I was okay with it. I needed something to buzz away the constant reminders of how fucked up my life had actually become. For about a month, smoking was enough to keep me busy, but then one night, as a group of us were hanging around some random’s house, Maya said it looked like I had put on a few pounds.

I shrieked loudly and rushed into the bathroom, examining myself. I had noticed my jeans getting tighter in the past couple weeks, but I hadn’t really ever taken the time to really think about it before just then. Suddenly, I felt huge, like I if I didn’t figure out a way to make my size seven jeans fit properly again as soon as humanly possible, no one was ever going to want to talk to me ever again. I felt ugly too, a feeling that I’d been having for years, finally creeping out of the darkest corners of my mind, hitting me full force all at once.

I leaned down over the toilet and emptied my stomach quickly, just to make sure I didn’t take in any more calories I didn’t need right then. I hated puking and knew I couldn’t resort to it every time I thought I fucked up when it came to eating, so I closed my eyes, tried to relax my tensed muscles a little bit, and simply decided that meant I was going to have to just stop eating then.

So, I did