******
My body deserves love and respect.
My body does not affect my lovability.
I am beautiful and deserving.
I am loved and needed.
I am enough.
My vision blurs as a tear drops, spilling onto the journal page, smearing the affirmations that are total bullshit anyway. Every last word is bullshit. None of what I wrote, I believe in the least.
After Jules left yesterday afternoon, I waited until Elias went up to his room, then snuck into the kitchen and grabbed an armful of chips and crackers and cookies and went to my room and ate my sorrows. Bite after bite, I ate until I couldn’t feel a single other thing than the uncomfortable full feeling in my stomach. I ate until I had no choice but to get rid of it all, with my head in the toilet.
So much for one and done.
So much for years of recovery, years of journaling and running and positive words of affirmation. None of it matters. None of it means anything because, under all of that, underneath the veil of lies I cover myself with, I’ll always be the fat kid who could never amount to anything. I’ll always be the one who gave up, the one who couldn’t take the whispers and the laughs and the shoves here or there.
No matter how much I try to convince myself that I’m Jamie, I’ll only ever be Bodhi, and that, unfortunately, will never be enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Bodhi King
Winter, Sophomore Year of High School
The hollow, empty feeling in my stomach after I puke quickly became addicting. It’s like everything in my life… my dad, my brother, the assholes at school… I have no control over any of it. But this? This I’ve learned I can control.
I can control what I eat.
I can control how much of it I consume.
I can even control when I eat.
And in moments like today when I’m weak and can’t seem to control any of that… well, I can purge it all out. It’s like a clean slate. Empty my stomach, and it never happened.
As I flush the toilet and turn to look at my reflection in the mirror, who’s staring back at me is almost haunting. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I reach into the front pouch of my backpack, pulling out my toothbrush and toothpaste. For a while, I avoided doing this at school altogether. It’s risky; anybody could walk in and find me, but I can’t stop myself.
Today’s been a bad day. Hell, if I’m being honest, this whole week’s been bad, but this morning was the icing on top of the cake. We had to run the mile during PE first period, and despite the weight I’ve dropped, I’m still nowhere near in shape. Running for me is damn near impossible—not because I can’t do it. I can, and do, run often, but only in the privacy of my own neighborhood. Running around kids who love to hate me is unbearable, and it’s like the teacher knows that and tries to humiliate me. Instead of running the usual laps around the track at the school, he decided to have us run a mile distance around the school.
About two blocks in, I was pulled into an empty alley way and shoved to the ground. Daryl, Clifton, and Brenton, the hot-shot football players in my class, surrounded me. Every time I tried to get up, they’d shove me back down. Their cruel words still echo inside my slightly fuzzy brain.
“You’re so fucking slow, King. We’ve been fucking waiting here for you for close to ten minutes. You’d think with all that weight you magically lost, you’d be a little quicker, but I guess once a fat ass, always a fat ass.”
That came from Daryl, head fucking douchebag. The others snickered along after him, only getting louder, like a pack of hyenas when he hocked a loogie, spitting it right on my face. They left after that, needing to catch up with the class, while I was left lying there, covered in his spit and humiliation. It’s not the first time they’ve done something like that, but it’s not something anyone could ever get used to.
From there, the spiral started. It was all I could think about the rest of the morning. By the time lunch hit, I snuck into the science building. The third floor has a handful of vending machines. It’s the one place I can usually buy food without anyone seeing me. I don’t know what it is, but the idea of people knowing I’m going to eat or seeing me eat makes me want to crawl out of my skin. After loading up my backpack with various kinds of chips and candy, I went to the stairwell and ate it all. Every last bag was gone.
It’s like I blackout and completely gorge myself, never stopping until I’ve finished everything in front of me. Then the shame sets in… because who honestly lets themselves get so full, their stomach feels like it could explode from the pressure? What kind of sick fucking person can’t stop themselves until they’re practically unable to move? It’s a never-ending cycle with me. I’ll tell myself it’s okay to eat Ritz crackers and drink water for days at a time, then something will happen, and I’ll break the cycle, eating until I’m physically sick, before going to the bathroom and shoving my finger down my throat.
When does it fucking end?
Putting my toothbrush back in the front pocket, I notice a text message on my phone. It’s from Ryan. My whole body warms as I pick it up with shaky fingers. I need to get some water in me fast. After puking, I’m always so dehydrated. I read online, it’s important to drink water to avoid fainting.
Ryan: Hey, wanna ditch the rest of the day and go to my house? It’s been a shitty morning.
This surprises me. He never wants to skip class. Missing too much puts him at risk of not being able to play during games. The season is almost over, so maybe he’s letting himself be more lax. Regardless, I’m not missing this opportunity to spend the afternoon with him away from this hellhole.
