COMPETITIVE

Today's word is competitive.

Don't believe me? Follow the rules I post below and join me in a new game I created for the mentally conflicted non-eaters of my ana realm. It's a monetary fight for the slimmest body, a fight to the death. In a world where money is as seductive as food (I'd choose the former over the latter any day) this game is highly appropriate. Highly high stakes.

The breakdown.

5 dollars: throw away any tempting food; 15 minute walk

10 dollars: walk the dog; no food before 6 pm

20 dollars: not finishing all of dinner; 500 situps

50 dollars: less than 500 calories consumed (in one day); 1 hour cardio

100 dollars: fast for 24 hours straight; 1 lb lost

TAXES

- 5 dollars: food before 12 pm

- 10 dollars: eating before checking calories

- 20 dollars: food after 8 pm

- 50 dollars: no sit-ups

- 100 dollars: consumption of over 1000 calories (in one day)

- 500 dollars: purging

Every day you tally up the amount of "ana dollars" you earn.

At the end of the week the loser has to pay.






THE.
ULTIMATE.
PUNISHMENT.

The loser has to post a photo of her stomach on my pro-ana site for everyone to see.

I will win.
I must.

No one can see my fat belly, especially not in the state I'm in today. This competition is the motivation I need to shed that perpetual stomach that clings on to me no matter how hard I try to shake it off. Hangs there like a ghost, tied down with heavy stones and broken promises.

I will not lie.

But I lied.
I can't get better.
Not now.
I'll wait till I'm REALLY thin. Then I'll get help.
Then I'll be worthy of getting help.

Today I lack willpower. Today I lack substance.
Tomorrow I will be worthy enough to post the grievances of my day, drawn out in melodramatic poetries, sadly (or perhaps not) not embellished. The double negative scares you, like I am scared of my double chin. Haunting. Haunting, creeping when I lie in bed, head drooping towards the sheets. Inch inch inch further. And then it's there. A horror movie flash. The violins attack. Close up on my trembling failure.

I lie in the most full and lonely bed there is. I rely not on the comfort of another human being or even a stuffed animal. I lie among textbooks, backpacks, novels, old laundry, hidden food wrappers, crumpled homework, flashcards, quarters and nickels, and power cords. I fill my metaphorical emptiness with very physical and very real substitutions.

My room is an extension of my mind. Chaotic.
I am my own metaphor.
I am both a person and a representation.
Some days I am present. Other days I am lost in the roomy chaos of my mind, a portrait of my other self, one less tired and worn-out. A portrait of my ideal self.

I am thin.

I hang on the wall by the tinniest thread. One more day like this, one more day of failure, and I will fall. I will crash on the floor and lie next to myself. Next to the textbooks and shameful food wrappers. I scrape the surface of my reality. It's heavy and mountainous.
I am an arduous climb.
But the journey will be worth it.

Tomorrow the competition begins.
And I WILL win.

I MUST.