Who Am I?

I wake up to horns being blown outside on the busy street. I sit up and look over at my phone that is lying on the floor next to my mattress. I check the time to see that it’s 7:45. I’m sure I’ll be up for the next 48 hours or so, at least it wasn’t too bad of a night’s sleep last night.

I haven’t eaten much since last time I hung out with Nate when we went to the restaurant. I’ve been picking over that salad from that night for four days. The lettuce has gotten soft and limp, but I might as well eat it now before it becomes inedible.

I climb up out of bed, stretch and head to my kitchen. I grab the Styrofoam box from the fridge and grab one of the four forks I have. I open the box and look it over, just how I thought it would look, soggy. I pick up some limp lettuce with my fork and pop slide it into my mouth. It takes me about forty minutes to eat all of it, which wasn’t very much. I look over the living and I envision Nathaniel standing near my door, judging me. . .

I turn away in disgust and then I end up getting back into bed, because I don’t feel like exercising right now. What a fat ass I am.

It’s been six hours of me lying in bed, staring at the wall, getting up for water, pissing and then repeat. It’s one in the afternoon, so I get up and begin my ritual.

I’ve done sit ups and jumping jacks, but when I begin my little run through the house my left side begins to hurt when I inhale. I stop and lean against the wall next to my bedroom door. I whimper in pain and hold my side, massaging it, but nothing is working. I slide down the wall and sit on the floor. I close my eyes and slowly breathe in and out, I hold on to my side and then after awhile I crumple onto the floor and wait for the pain to pass.

I waited for an hour and then ended up filling up a cup with tap water and four ice cubes. After gulping that down I slowly made my way to my room and lied on the floor. Twenty minutes go by and then my stomach starts feeling weird. I sit up slowly, and then I feel it come up. I hurry to the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. Green mush comes up and out, it's disgusting.

I heave, vomit and cough until my stomach settles. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, reach up to flush and then lift myself up to the sink. I rinse my mouth, brush my teeth and gargle some water.
I stand up straight and I feel a lot better, there's more relief than I expected. I rub my muffin top of a stomach and then stare in my mirror, staring at my teeth.

People think that if someone has an eating disorder then they are just constantly vomiting their brains out. I do not puke; I’m actually . . . I’m too much of a punk to do so I’ve always wondered if vomiting would be a good choice, but too afraid to find out. I don’t like how they’ve gotten already. My teeth have a yellowish tint to them. Staring at my teeth makes me just want to brush them again.

I get my toothbrush, squeeze the Colgate toothpaste on top of the damp bristles and begin brushing.
It’s sad because the most expensive thing in this place that I own is my toothbrush.