library books

stopped at a traffic light last night in an unusually dark part of covington, i suddenly reminded myself to return my library books and to lock my van doors. the midnight undertones of the color of my van no longer felt like camouflage, as my lit cigarette seemed to spotlight my van's small-statured, female driver. i haven't felt afraid in the city in a while. library books and fear were a welcome relief of distraction from the incessant need to vomit....and from the nagging, muscle-stretching pain in my left calf.

the reluctant journey to deliver my kids to their daddy is always bittersweet. a very successful dinner left us full, warm, and snuggly, and the innocence that only children can posses kept my mind on them rather than the fullness in my tummy. as they drove away with their daddy, the melancholy of a mother without her children washed over me. thus commenced the battles....

i feel like hell.

just vomit.

gawd, no!

you know you want toooooo.

maybe i'll sneak some laxatives, instead.

or maybe just do both.

shit amy! no laxatives!

maybe just one.

fuck, my tummy hurts.

i drove straight home. no stops. no purchases. no vomiting. no laxatives. oops, one stop: to return my library books...

it may not sound like the grandest of vanquishments. i'm sure the average human avoids vomiting and laxatives like the fucking plague. unfortunately i am no average human, and overthrowing the demonic omnipotence that has haunted me for too many decades is a touchstone acquisition each and every single, god damned time.

my defensive proclivity is a formidable force as it commands my instincts, as it imposes fiction over facts resulting in my helplessly believing in its innateness. subhuman habits mistaken as innate, instinctive intuition- the raping of my soul. but there is nothing innate about refusing food. no matter how natural it feels to me, it is not instinctive to starve oneself.

eat.

i can't.

i beg you.

i hate it.

i'll make you eat.

i'll vomit.

i'll make you eat again.

i need laxatives.

food is life-giving.

fullness feels like the swollen bloating of death.

eat.

no.

sisyphus.

every day is a new beginning, a chance to roll the stone for perhaps the FINAL time.... willingness, unwillingness, battles, choices, illness. again, unfortunately i am no average human, and my cerebellum echoes with the vexatious barking of the demon. i am thankful, however, for the timely return of my library books.