Debbie's Story Bulimia Nervosa

Thief in the Night

Walking slowly, ready to satisfy unmentionable desires Knowing, as always, which disappointments this will lead to, but does it matter? Actually nothing matters anymore.

Knowing very well that a false step could be fatal- you are skillfully experienced by now. Practice makes perfect here, as with other challenges. Nobody has ever seen you, and it will not happen this time either.

Hands are ice cold Blood pulsing with enormous thrust as you fill with anticipation, Ready for the last time.

The door into your room where you have been waiting impatiently for an hour makes a little noise as it opens. You hold your breath but nothing happens.

Climbing stairs in the dark is only a bit of trouble avoid the creaking ones it is easy enough to do it in absolute silence just take your time. That does not matter when you have the whole night.

The stairs are conquered without trouble. you stand in the kitchen. It seems strange in the dark but you have also become strange, not just in the dark, but everywhere.

You know that your better self exists somewhere inside it is just hidden. It has seen its light before, and shall again come into sight of the others.

The refrigerator creaks while being opened but you know the right way to do it. Professionals know that pulling fingers along the edge of the door will break the sealing. The only things you are braking are fragile promises.

How many times have you promised yourself that it was the last time? There does not exists a number high enough. But the moment at hand is symbolic the forthcoming orgy will be the last.

In the restricted light you assess the available, goods that nobody will miss. Leftover pizza, apple pie, chocolate - ice creams always tastes well in return and bread - even though you know it will hurt afterwards.

the kitchen-chair creaks as you sit down, but no use in holding your breath. You know that they know, but they will not do anything anyway.

Actually the chair did not creak before, when you had control. Maybe it was in another life, it seems like ages ago.

The feeling of guilt is coming at once but as usual you can not stop the humiliating passion. It doesn't matter anyway. When young you learned that what goes up must fall down. The truth is that what goes down, must come up.

You do not always do it in the bathroom. When parents know what you are doing, you can feel them hold their breath every time you shut the door. You have learned to be sly doing it now more than ever before. Practice makes, as said, perfect.

The nausea increases so you wipe off the table. Destroy the evidence. The stairs do not make noise this time, pretty ironic considering how heavy you have become.

No sounds in the house except distant snoring and breathing, Nobody will hear you anyway, so you can use the bathroom. That is more hygienic. But hygiene or not, it is painful and hard.

You curse the bread While your tears are dripping into the toilet, because you know you can not give up yet. The battle is not over until the tears give way to acid, which may take some time.

Before going to bed, the rituals must be done. Toilet paper in the toilet to cover possible residue. (it is not wise to flush more than twice now) Knee-bends while you brush your teeth, your fatty muscles need to get stronger. Lotion on the right hand, hoping that the marks will vanish faster.

Afterwards you fall asleep at once. Restless dreams contain images of being raped by the thief betrayed by your own mind, violated by your own hand.