Killing Purple

I looked at myself in the mirror, fatfatfatfatfat. How could anyone stand to look at me? How could they watch my growing stomach and thighs? How could they not be completely disgusted?
Because they're normal.
I slid off my clothes and pulled out the white scale. 102.3 pounds of self-loathing. 102.3 pounds of insanity. 102.3 pounds of fat. That was unacceptable. No. No more.
I knelt over the toilet and let the food flow. If it was this easy to un-eat, why did I need to eat at all? What was the purpose? It was all just superficial, just another thing that would end up rotting in the ground after I was dead.
Death. It was always on the tip of my tongue. Just take those pills. Just one more. Maybe another. Don't be stingy, share. Mixed emotions about everything was normal- my normal.
102.3 pounds at 5'10".
All I wanted was to be under 100.
Under 100 and I'd feel good emotion. Under 100 and I'd be perfect.
I walked over to Colin's.
"Dylan, eat something." He whispered. I smiled wide, knowing he could plead all he wanted, I wasn't budging. My waist-line wasn't budging. My pants weren't budging.
"No." His eyes were dull. They looked scarred over. Any ounce of affection he'd once held in them had long since vacated. It was probably because he had to look at my fat. He chose to look at it, actually.
"You're killing yourself." Color was rising to his cheeks, he was angry.
"Good."
And that was that. He was gone, probably forever. Humans are so fascinating.