Filling the Void

leafylee

The door to her one room bachelor apartment was unlocked. Crammed inside was everything she needed to be a successful young adult. A small kitchen, a desk, a computer, TV, DVD player and a bed. The computer was turned off, but there was a orange crumbly residue on some of the keys. There were bowls with traces of chocolate chip mint ice cream dried on them, and glasses with droplets of soda staining the rims. There were 17 chocolate bar wrappers in total, running the gamut from Reece’s Pieces and Fruit and Nut to Coffee Crisp and Kit Kat. There were potato chip crumbs strewn on the floor in front of her favourite chair, which was perfectly positioned right in front of the TV. 3 or 4 chip bags had been completely ravaged, and at one point, the crumbs at the very bottom were licked out with a damp finger. 2 large pizza boxes with 8 containers of ranch dipping sauce were on the coffee table. All the remained was one crust and half a container of sauce.

There were lolli-pop sticks stuck to the carpet, a spilled container of olives and the carnage from one hamburger that was not fully consumed. There was a pile of unwashed clothing, with heaps of t-shirts, all of which had been stained on the chest at one point or anther; damaged by food which was intended for her mouth, but slipped on the way in. There were 4 2litre bottles of half drank Coke perched on the end table next to her chair, and cartons of chocolate milk were going sour on the kitchen counter. The kitchen sink was empty, save for the remains of vomit which clung to the side of the stainless steel vessel.

Her bed was a small twin size, which was barely big enough to hold her. It creaked and moaned with the pressure of her body, and she echoed the sounds when she attempted to change positions in the middle of the night. Her foot hung over the edge, and one of her arms dangled lifelessly over the side. Her large main of curls covered her face, and a large blanket covered her monstrous body in vain, as it was only big enough to cover part of it. A small pool of spittle stained her pillow, and the intermittent gasps for air interrupted the dead silence of the room.

She had been in this comatose state for nearly 16 hours, and was just starting to rouse. It was 4pm on Saturday, and she needed to get down to business. She pulled the covers off of her, and tried 3 times to sit up in bed before she was successful. As she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she belched and breathed a sigh of relieve for the release of pressure immediately made her feel better. As she stood up, the stress of her 330lbs made her knees creak and she got instant pains in her lower back and ankles. She looked around at the carnage in astonishment, not realizing the full extent of her binge. She waddled over to the sink, shocked by finding the remnants of her last meal, and vowed then and there to “never eat again.”

She spent the next 3 hours cleaning the house, trying to purge it of anything that would remind her of what she did last night. She sat in the chair, holding the empty pizza boxes and cried with guilt about what she was doing to her body. It was always the same pattern: eat really well throughout the week, binge on Friday and Saturday, and on Sunday vow that Monday would somehow be different. Tomorrow was a new day, and she would start all over.

“Not this time,” she said, throwing the boxes into the garbage. With fierce determination, she cleaned the rest of the room and tried to scrub away any urge to binge. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day and she was not going to let binging get the better of her. She looked around the room, proud of what she had accomplished, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to binge. Her mind immediately flowed to wanting to reward her for doing such a good job of cleaning the house. She wanted to reward herself for trying to make a commitment to eat healthier, exercise and get her life on track. She turned on the TV to see if she could find something positive to watch but it seemed like everywhere she turned there were images of cheeseburgers, fries, shakes, donuts, and pizza calling her to come back to them. These were her friends, her confidants, the only people who have been there for her through everything she had been through in her life.

“No! Not this time. I won’t do it!” She shook her head and walked over to her full length mirror. She sighed as she stared at her figure. She hated her body, the way her stomach sagged, the way her breasts looked like deflated balloons, the way her face looked much older than her 30 years.

She put on her coat without even thinking and grabbed her wallet and keys. She reached for the doorknob and took one last look at her face in the small mirror beside the door. This was not her. This was not her life. Who was this person with no control, no memory and no recollection of even opening the door? She didn’t recognize her own face. It was a stranger, someone foreign to her. Her eyes were glossed over and as she opened the door to the outside world, all of her memory and desire to eat healthy disappeared. She was a robot, merely going through the motions of a binge.

The door to her one room bachelor apartment was unlocked. Crammed inside was everything she needed to be a successful young adult. A small kitchen, a desk, a computer, TV, DVD player and a bed. The computer was turned off, but there was a greasy residue on some of the keys. There were 10 cheeseburger wrappers in total, the small ones that you get from McDonalds. There were half-eaten chicken nuggets, 2 empty milk-shake cups, and 3 empty boxes of French fries. There was a bowl of cheesies overturned on the floor, and it was obvious that she had stepped on them, for the puffs were flattened and ground into the carpet. There was an empty box of chicken wings, save for the mangled remains of the bones and the sticky sweet mess of sauce.

There were 2 empty bottles of Sprite perched on the end table next to her chair, and a half eaten ring of garlic sausage was drying up beside it. The kitchen sink was empty, save for the remains of vomit which clung to the side of the stainless steel vessel.

She lay on her back in bed with her hands covering her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, swung her legs around the edge of the bed and stood up. As her knees creaked and she looked around at the mess she closed her eyes and cried.

for more stories, poems, etc. visit my website at www.justplainlindsay.ca

leafylee

The door to her one room bachelor apartment was unlocked. Crammed inside was everything she needed to be a successful young adult. A small kitchen, a desk, a computer, TV, DVD player and a bed. The computer was turned off, but there was a orange crumbly residue on some of the keys. There were bowls with traces of chocolate chip mint ice cream dried on them, and glasses with droplets of soda staining the rims. There were 17 chocolate bar wrappers in total, running the gamut from Reece’s Pieces and Fruit and Nut to Coffee Crisp and Kit Kat. There were potato chip crumbs strewn on the floor in front of her favourite chair, which was perfectly positioned right in front of the TV. 3 or 4 chip bags had been completely ravaged, and at one point, the crumbs at the very bottom were licked out with a damp finger. 2 large pizza boxes with 8 containers of ranch dipping sauce were on the coffee table. All the remained was one crust and half a container of sauce.

There were lolli-pop sticks stuck to the carpet, a spilled container of olives and the carnage from one hamburger that was not fully consumed. There was a pile of unwashed clothing, with heaps of t-shirts, all of which had been stained on the chest at one point or anther; damaged by food which was intended for her mouth, but slipped on the way in. There were 4 2litre bottles of half drank Coke perched on the end table next to her chair, and cartons of chocolate milk were going sour on the kitchen counter. The kitchen sink was empty, save for the remains of vomit which clung to the side of the stainless steel vessel.

Her bed was a small twin size, which was barely big enough to hold her. It creaked and moaned with the pressure of her body, and she echoed the sounds when she attempted to change positions in the middle of the night. Her foot hung over the edge, and one of her arms dangled lifelessly over the side. Her large main of curls covered her face, and a large blanket covered her monstrous body in vain, as it was only big enough to cover part of it. A small pool of spittle stained her pillow, and the intermittent gasps for air interrupted the dead silence of the room.

She had been in this comatose state for nearly 16 hours, and was just starting to rouse. It was 4pm on Saturday, and she needed to get down to business. She pulled the covers off of her, and tried 3 times to sit up in bed before she was successful. As she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she belched and breathed a sigh of relieve for the release of pressure immediately made her feel better. As she stood up, the stress of her 330lbs made her knees creak and she got instant pains in her lower back and ankles. She looked around at the carnage in astonishment, not realizing the full extent of her binge. She waddled over to the sink, shocked by finding the remnants of her last meal, and vowed then and there to “never eat again.”

She spent the next 3 hours cleaning the house, trying to purge it of anything that would remind her of what she did last night. She sat in the chair, holding the empty pizza boxes and cried with guilt about what she was doing to her body. It was always the same pattern: eat really well throughout the week, binge on Friday and Saturday, and on Sunday vow that Monday would somehow be different. Tomorrow was a new day, and she would start all over.

“Not this time,” she said, throwing the boxes into the garbage. With fierce determination, she cleaned the rest of the room and tried to scrub away any urge to binge. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day and she was not going to let binging get the better of her. She looked around the room, proud of what she had accomplished, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to binge. Her mind immediately flowed to wanting to reward her for doing such a good job of cleaning the house. She wanted to reward herself for trying to make a commitment to eat healthier, exercise and get her life on track. She turned on the TV to see if she could find something positive to watch but it seemed like everywhere she turned there were images of cheeseburgers, fries, shakes, donuts, and pizza calling her to come back to them. These were her friends, her confidants, the only people who have been there for her through everything she had been through in her life.

“No! Not this time. I won’t do it!” She shook her head and walked over to her full length mirror. She sighed as she stared at her figure. She hated her body, the way her stomach sagged, the way her breasts looked like deflated balloons, the way her face looked much older than her 30 years.

She put on her coat without even thinking and grabbed her wallet and keys. She reached for the doorknob and took one last look at her face in the small mirror beside the door. This was not her. This was not her life. Who was this person with no control, no memory and no recollection of even opening the door? She didn’t recognize her own face. It was a stranger, someone foreign to her. Her eyes were glossed over and as she opened the door to the outside world, all of her memory and desire to eat healthy disappeared. She was a robot, merely going through the motions of a binge.

The door to her one room bachelor apartment was unlocked. Crammed inside was everything she needed to be a successful young adult. A small kitchen, a desk, a computer, TV, DVD player and a bed. The computer was turned off, but there was a greasy residue on some of the keys. There were 10 cheeseburger wrappers in total, the small ones that you get from McDonalds. There were half-eaten chicken nuggets, 2 empty milk-shake cups, and 3 empty boxes of French fries. There was a bowl of cheesies overturned on the floor, and it was obvious that she had stepped on them, for the puffs were flattened and ground into the carpet. There was an empty box of chicken wings, save for the mangled remains of the bones and the sticky sweet mess of sauce.

There were 2 empty bottles of Sprite perched on the end table next to her chair, and a half eaten ring of garlic sausage was drying up beside it. The kitchen sink was empty, save for the remains of vomit which clung to the side of the stainless steel vessel.

She lay on her back in bed with her hands covering her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, swung her legs around the edge of the bed and stood up. As her knees creaked and she looked around at the mess she closed her eyes and cried.

for more stories, poems, etc. visit my website at www.justplainlindsay.ca

leafylee

bump