Vignettes of an Eating Disorder, Part 8

I don’t have a problem.

Just to prove to them that they didn’t have to call the hospital, I ate an entire turkey submarine sandwich. Mayonnaise included.

See, I’m fine.

I spent the next forty-five minutes locked in a bathroom stall, stifling powerful sobs and willing myself to be sick so I wouldn’t have to feel nausea and guilt dig their little talons all over my insides.

I didn’t have the guts to make myself throw up. I hated throwing up, anyway.

I am a spineless son of a bitch.

I consumed nothing but water for the next 36 hours. My penance.

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