Just a bit of a ramble really (prose)

I break into another packet. The rustle of the paper sounds like temptation, but the scent of the contents screams a betrayal. A sordid secret of which I could not be more ashamed.
And that first sticky bite doesn't feel like I remembered. The tastes are confused with the guilt of gluttony, or maybe I just don't like chocolate anymore. Regardless, my mouth moves mechanically, chomping but never tasting, or perhaps I'm not really chewing. It's hard to tell through the cloud of needy desperation that obscures my vision as piece after piece of mouthwatering artery clogging saturated calories finds it's way into my hungry babybird mouth and down into my shrivelled stomach, where it takes up residence between the two lovers they say should never be together; my skin and bone.
And almost as quickly as it began, the storm of insatiable appetite has passed, and all that's left is the aching heavy feeling of fullness and the suffocating fear of failure and fat.

A hurried analysis of the house; I am the spy on a top secret mission. Checking out the perimeter fences for intruders into my secret world of weightloss and weightgain, weightless and refrain (from eating, from loving, from crying, from smiling)

Quiet tiptoe up the stairs, ears alert and mind bewares. Turn the key in the lock and the fingers in the throat. It still feels like a knife in the back; but the Judas is me.
Then the heart wrenching, gut twisting, horror movie, dirty pretty cool glamour supermodel thin vomit. It doesn't look like the sequin stories any longer. A toilet bowl coated with glitter because they're clean inside, clean and new and sparkly and pretty.
It's no longer a fantasy of 'I could just throw it up it would be so easy why don't I just DO IT you're not strong if you won't even try where is your control you fat whore why won't you just purge and you'll be pure.'
This isn't purity. This is burst blood vessel faces and acid throat. This is bleeding knuckles and rotting teeth. Heartburn and palpitations, when all you should be feeling is teenage heartbreak.

Bloodied fingers now withdrawn against dry sobs. Empty again.
I say again... how misleading. Full with food I still feel empty, nothing can fill the chasm left by something missing. Though I don't know quite what.
Maybe I'm just a ragdoll made and tossed aside. Not quite fitting the mold and yet not imperfect enough to legitimately have a problem. Maybe I just crave the attention I shy away from. Or maybe my body's just too big for the shrinkwrap surrender I desire.

But nevermind. At least now my hands and trembling and my head is pounding with the burn of failure in my throat. I've been punished for a mistake I never knew I made, so I feel better. For now.