Fester

“Eventually, you’re going to die.”

The words, they come from my mouth, but their severity isn’t something that my being could produce. My hands shake with the beat of aftershocks. When did my cheek become so hollow, so amazingly lifeless.

“Isn’t that what you want?” I interrogated the woman in the mirror. Yes it is what I want. But it isn’t. Simply put, I want to disappear.

“Shut up,” I muttered, peering downwards into the calmness of the shiny porcelain sink. It was there I found relief from the speaking ghost in the unforgiving honesty of the pane of glass lying in its ornate gilded frame. Nearly skeletal, the vibrating bony structures that were my nimble fingers crept around the silver faucet. Water began to flood into the basin.

“So… Big,” I recalled, catching a glimpse of my exposed thighs peeking from my cotton shorts. The doctor tells me I’m underweight, but the doctor also supplies me with the remarkable little white pills. In addition, I don’t believe a paper, excuse me, cardstock, degree automatically crowns a person with the title ‘Fount of all Knowledge.’

As the water seeps into the bowl, I pump several globs of concentrated facial cleanser into the once pure substance. A chemical odor tickles my nostrils as a thin layer of bubbles spread thinly across the surface of the water.

I smile, the cool draftiness fronting the exposed of my teeth, I prefer everything to be thin.

Dipping a terrycloth rag into the water, the crispness of the liquid drenches my face. It trickles down my neck, seeping through the matching towel I keep tied so it will not fall off, the moisture even reaches the roots of my hair, a few pieces breaking off to only float in the sink. Scrubbing away the oil and dirt, I long to have the ability to scrub away every imperfection, like the millions of fat cells around the grotesque thickness of my midsection. Ninety-eight pounds is what I aim for nowadays, and even then, I know it will not be enough to feed my appetite for bones.

Through my frustration, I caked my face with more of the harsh acids and peroxide. Why can’t I get there, it’s five flimsy pounds for Christ’s sake! I chant harsh obscenities against my body within the walls of my corrupted mind. The fabric begins to rinse away the delicateness of the skin loosely hanging onto my cheekbones.

“Why?” I scream, crumbling down, back against the expensive wood vanity. I was blessed with these riches, but not with the stable mind. In fact, I remind myself of the one reality I couldn’t forget, I’m losing these riches soon. “Why?” I continue, beginning to hack away more so at my face.

The friction of the rag felt so nice, the stinging sensations the chemical formulas brought my exposed skin was terrific. I never wanted this pain to end.

But it did, once the blood began the fester in the wounds I had caused. Crimson trails tingled, running down the course of my face with nowhere else to go but the corners of my mouth. This is when the fiery harshness of salt entered the raw, bleeding areas of damaged skin.

My fragile heart beats with intensity, the tears relentless. All I could feel was my internal, indescribable disgust for my lack of self control.

“Really, how many calories can you consume? You pig.”