I know you probably don’t understand why I started to cry when I told you that I binged on peanut butter, yet again.
I said, “I’m not going to make peanut butter anymore.”
“Because I ate a lot of it just now. I just stood there and ate it with a spoon.”
“So? We all do that sometimes.”
“And I ate chocolate.”
“See, whenever you talk about this your eyes get red.”
Then I started crying.
Do you understand, mom? I’m crying because I love control. I’ve told you that this is all about control. But I don’t think you quite understand how much I care about this control.
I know you get angry at me. I know you’re just concerned. But frankly, mom, I really don’t give a shit about my period or if I plan to have any children in the future. Because I don’t know the “joy” of having children, and I’ve never experienced anything called “womanhood” and I don’t think I ever want to. You say I’ll regret it, but if I’m dead then I can’t regret anything, can I? I’ll just slowly kill myself and I’d like you to turn the other cheek, thank you very much.
I’m perfectly fine for you to turn away and leave me to rot as I am. Honestly, I’ll do whatever I want to my body. I don’t care about the consequences. I can’t even imagine the consequences. I don’t even think I’ll be here for the consequences. Why do you have to be so emotional? Why are you still attached to me? I’m your child, and you’ve given up so much for me. Why? I’m not a particularly good person. I haven’t returned the favour. Stop talking about motherly love; I can’t comprehend it. I can’t comprehend loving somebody just because they came out of my vajayjay. In fact, I’d imagine I’d pretty much hate them. What pain I’ve caused you. You had to be sliced open for me. You had to make a living for me. I’m sure you’ve cried countless tears, sweated countless salt-water droplets, and worried endlessly. Why do you still love me?
I just want you to leave me alone. Why can’t you leave me alone? Why can’t you just stop loving me and let me die? I want to do it, it’ll make me happy. Isn’t that what you want? For me to be happy? Fine, I’ll be happy when I’m skinny. Are you happy? I’ll be happy when I’m controlled and under control, and oblivious to the fact that I’m hurting myself. Ignorance is bliss. I choose to turn the other cheek. Why can’t you?
I can’t comprehend what I’m doing to myself. I don’t notice the lethargy, or when I do I can brush it off. No big deal. People live, no matter how tired they are. I can do that too. I probably already know by now that binging is bad for me. Especially on fat-laden foods like peanut butter. It makes my tummy ache. But I choose to ignore that feeling and go on binging, because I choose to and because it tastes good. I’ve stopped listening to my body. Why would you care?
I’m eating, just for you. If you weren’t watching I’d subsist on peanut butter, if it didn’t make my tummy ache.
But it does, so it doesn’t. I don’t care. Why should you? Just leave me alone.
Not “love”, because I don’t know what love is,