I can relate.
It is 12:15, and I am in the shower. I stand singing, washing my hair. The heat feels like a warm, gooey film as I squeeze out the soap, letting the water touch and fall through my long, thick hair. How is it that it can just pass through like my hair is nothing? Why can't everything be that way, why? I am stupid and I do not have the will power, I think to myself. I promise tomorrow will be different, just get out of the house and back to the dorm, and tomorrow will be different. But I know that it has nothing to do with the setting; it has everything to do with gaining control over the monster inside of me. The monster that makes me hungry, makes me eat when I am screaming "no, no no, NO," that at the same time makes me myself for eating, makes me hate the way I look. The shower head lets loose a torrential downpoar, stirring up the aching, the longing inside me. I scrub my body with a bar of soap, feeling the slickness. I wash away the dirt. I imagine that I am washing away the pain until my ideal self stands underneath the flowing water.
i did not write this.
i did not write this.