it's ok. i'll be ok.

I skipped breakfast this morning. After skipping dinner last night. Then I skipped lunch.

I climb the steps to my front door, shaky and light. Twenty-eight hours without a morsel of food later and I'm finally feeling good about myself.

"You're so bright and cheerful all the time." My boss told me this morning. I laughed, but it felt as hollow as a plastic doll.

I put down my purse and look at the quiet kitchen. I creep inside even though no one else is home. I slowly open the drawer, take out a spoon, and get a spoonful of peanut butter. To get the shakiness to go away. I tell myself. I need it. I put the spoonful in my mouth and swallow, feeling the familiar grief at losing the emptiness. My hand shakes. Ok. It's ok. I'm ok.

"You are very attractive." A boy told me today as I was walking on my lunch break. Walking instead of eating. I glanced over at where he sat in his car at a red light. He grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I grinned back and kept walking, feeling pretty damn good.

The Mr. comes home with jalapeno Cheetos. I am flying high now. Food is my addiction, and that spoonful of peanut butter was my relapse. I eat a small handful. Then another. There's drama with our water line. The joys of owning a house. I eat another handful.

The water line drama gets sorted out, and I've eaten two servings of Cheetos. My stomach doesn't feel flat anymore. I feel like a barge. I should have my own atmosphere. I am enormous.

I slink up to my room, furious at myself. I get in a fight with the Mr. He leaves for band practice, and I sulk. Then I stomp back downstairs and grab a bottle of spiced rum.

I turn the music up. The buzz sweeps over me.

Ok. It's ok. I'll be ok. I'll just skip breakfast again tomorrow. And maybe lunch.