back and forth, up and down, side to side, pause. again. back and forth, up and down, side to side, stop. i watch the noodles as they dance with the fork, a mere puppet, my hand controlling its every move. i can't answer the questions they ask, "what's wrong?" "aren't you hungry?" "is it not good?" "why won't you eat?" it's too much, too much, too much, so i stand and i leave. run away. like always.

i can't speak, only stare. i watch the burrito as it sits on my bed as if it will attack at any moment. i wonder what's wrong with me, why i won't eat it, why i've left it to sit there for hours. the ache in my stomach grows stronger, louder, more powerful every moment, and the ticking of the clock's hands become deafening, and i cannot stand it. and as i tear off the wrapper like it's the last thing i ever do and i force myself to bring it to my jaw and i bite and i swallow, the bottomless gap i feel is suddenly filled. "see?" i think, "it was so easy. what's wrong with you?" i don't know, i don't know.

i sit on my bed and i stare at my room, empty chip bags scattered around, at least thirty cans of coke lying under my bed, multiple plates with crumbs filling them on my desk and my floor, cups on my desk and my nightstand, emptied jars of nutella next to my bed and behind my pillows. it all makes me want to scream and punch a wall, but i only sit and i scrunch my face and i sob into my blanket in the dead of the night. why am i so disgusting, why am i like this, what have i done, how am i so disappointing, when will it end, why, how, when, what, STOP. shut up, shut up, shut up.

it's funny. the one thing i need to survive is gonna be the death of me.