In My Father's Shadow-Chapter Six

The refrigerator is a disaster area… but dad will thank me when he sees how much is gone. I sit in front of it with the door open with a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants on; I’ve been getting cold really easily lately. Once the assortments of leftovers, ranging from Chinese takeout to Pizza Hut are shoved into the trash bag beside me, it’s just a matter of sorting out what’s still good and what isn’t. 1

Three old cartons of milk are way in the back, the sour smell making me gag instantly. I don’t even bother dumping it out; I just throw it into the trash bag trying not to get any of it on me. The curdled parts would probably clog the sink. After the third carton of spoiled milk, I actually have to stop to throw up in the trash. The smell is so overwhelming that I just can’t ignore it anymore. The smell of used bile mixed with old milk hits my nose and I vomit again. When I know that I’m finished, I tie up the trash bag and shove it away from me grabbing a fresh one. 2

It amazes me how my dad can be such a perfectionist, but he refuses to clean out the fridge. Of course, he probably doesn’t want to tempt himself with the food. 3

By the time I’m done, the only things left in the fridge are the fruits, veggies, bottled water and diet soda. Pride fills my chest, now, there’s no way that I can be tempted with junk food or bad calories. The two trash bags from cleaning out the refrigerator are outside and now, it’s time to tackle the freezer. 4

If I had thought that the refrigerator was bad… the freezer was even worse. Dad had stuffed it full of boxed pizza, ice cream, hot pockets, French fries and chicken pot pies. That’s when I realized just how fat the hypocrite was trying to make me. After looking at the Nutritional Facts, I was disgusted at the calories that he was trying to feed me. The pizza had 1267 calories, ice cream, 240, hot pockets, 310, French fries, 1319, and the chicken pot pies all had 484 calories. 5

“Fucking hell…” I whisper under my breath and throw every box into the trash bag clutched in my left hand completely disgusted with my father. 6

I decide to leave the things in the cupboards alone… at least then when The Hypocrite gets home, he can’t tell me I completely emptied the house of bad foods. Plus, the cupboards are mostly just full of cereals and boxes of tea. Those are more munchies that my dad snacks on… in moderation of course. You know, ten Cheerios a morning, that kind of shit. 7

I need a shower… my face feels greasy just from being around all of those foods.8

In less than two minutes, I’ve already raced up the stairs, undressed and climbed into the shower after making sure the water was okay. The second I stepped under the water, I immediately felt the greasy feeling leave my skin. Quickly grabbing my tube of Apricot Face Scrub, I squirted a small amount about the size of a pea onto my palm and spread it along my face. As soon as my face was completely covered, I used the mound of my palm to scrub the grainy solution into my face as violently as I could. 9

Imagine washing your face with a piece of steel wool and you can get a pretty good idea on how this feels.10

When I can’t stand that sensation anymore, I duck my face under the water and wash off the face wash, more gently this time. My stomach growls so loudly that I can hear it over the sound of the water beating down on my skin and the floor of the bathtub. Immediately, I start humming and singing every single song that pops into my mind. Girl Anachronism by The Dresden Dolls, Commercial For Levis by Placebo, Untouchable Face by Ani DiFranco… anything to keep my mind off of the monster growling and clawing at my insides. 11

The agonizing hunger in my stomach just keeps getting worse and worse… in order to keep my mind off of it, I grab the shampoo and lather it into my hair, now singing every Blink 182 song that I can think of at the top of my lungs, scrubbing viciously at my scalp with my nails that stopped growing a week ago. A few strands of hair fall loose and I wash the shampoo out, using a lot more conditioner than I normally would. It’s been so dry lately, it’s disgusting. 12

The soap stings the back of my hands. My knuckles have tiny cuts on them from trying to make myself throw up every time The Hypocrite forces me to eat. It never works… no matter how much I scratch at the back of my throat, no matter how many times my teeth bite into the back of my hand, no matter how many tears spill into the cold, white basin of the toilet… I still can’t throw up. 13

Before I get dressed once I’m out of the shower, I wrap my robe around my body and inch down the stairs, digging under the couch once again and pulling out the scale. It’s a long haul up the stairs and my hands shake with anticipation the second the door is closed. Again, I’m waiting for the damned thing to center at zero and drop my robe stepping onto it. A few days ago, I was down to 113. 14

The scale only reads 111. 15

I’ve only dropped two pounds. 16

In a sudden wave of frustration, I kick the scale a few feet away from me and glare at my reflection in the mirror. All of the running… all of the water that I’ve drank. All of the gum I’ve chewed to stave off the hunger and I only lose two fucking pounds. Beautiful. I may as well just carve the word FATASS onto my forehead and let the entire world see it, it’s not like it isn’t obvious anyway. 17

I’m huge. 18

Every time I look into the mirror, a monster stares back at me. Every single day when I look into that cursed mirror, the only thing I see is this blimp with six chins and dull ass eyes glares back at me. 19

I shiver and pull my robe back around myself… the house is so damned cold lately. My dad always cranks the heat up when he gets home from work and now I can see why. I’ve never realized how cold my house was until I started losing weight. Now, I can’t believe that I’ve never noticed it before. The robe doesn’t help at all, I mean, sure, it warms me up a little… but not enough. My hands and feet are sensitive and almost feel brittle from the cold, so instead of just wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans… I layer the shit. A spaghetti strap shirt, a short sleeved shirt and a hooded sweater on my top half, and leggings, slipper socks, track pants and baggy jeans on my bottom half. 20

It’s warm enough for now.21

Curling up on my bed, my stomach growls again and I whimper. Then the scale pops into my mind. Shit! I forgot to put it back! Moving quickly, I grab the scale from the bathroom and run down the stairs, stuffing it back under the couch and bolt into the kitchen, grabbing the box of Cheerios from the cupboard and running back into my room. 22

I perch myself on my bed and open the box quickly, grabbing a handful of the cereal and emptying it into my mouth. Handful after handful is shoveled into my mouth until the box that was already half gone is empty, and my stomach feels like it’s about to explode. Nausea overwhelms me and I hate myself for having so little self control. 23

So it’s back into the bathroom. After sticking my head under the faucet in the sink and drinking down a few gulps of water, I drop down onto my knees and without a moment’s hesitation, I plunge my finger down my throat, scratching at the back of it desperately willing the cereal to make its way up. I gag, my throat closes around my finger and it only causes me to scratch harder, feeling the soft tissue grow sticky with spit and blood. The bitter, coppery taste of the crimson liquid flowing from the wound in the back of my throat fills my mouth and I force my finger down a little farther. Continuously flushing the toilet to drown out the sound of my gagging, I don’t know how much more of this sensation I can stand. 24

Tears of pain and effort roll down my face and I’m gasping hoarsely between each retch. My heart pounds furiously inside my chest as though it’s trying to pummel its way out of my body and onto the floor. The hand that isn’t nearly crammed down my throat is beating the side of the toilet with an open palm, trying to muster up the strength to keep this up just a little longer. 25

Just as I start to feel a little movement in my stomach, I shove another finger down my throat and beat the side of the toilet more harshly as though I’m taking out every ounce of aggression on that porcelain object. Every frustration that I’ve carried with me for my entire life is being beaten into the toilet. From my mother’s death, to my father’s hypocrisy, to my inability to make those damned Cheerios come back up. 26

Finally, after an eternity of having my pointer and middle fingers shoved down my throat… something comes up. I withdraw my hand from my mouth to empty the cheerios and water into the toilet bowl and immediately thrust my fingers back into my mouth, pushing them even deeper as my accomplishment overweighs the pain. 27

As soon as my stomach is empty, I rest my head against the seat of the toilet panting with my finger still covered in puke. My other palm is burning hot with pain and I rest it against the side of the toilet hoping that it might cool down that feeling a little bit. I spit one last time into the toilet and it comes out red from scratching my throat so violently. My cheeks are wet with tears, but I can’t get the smile off of my face. I’ve just done what I could never do before. Just like when I ran in the basement for the first time, I pushed myself through the pain and kept going, even when I was convinced that I couldn’t take anymore. I forced myself beyond my threshold of pain until I was able to completely empty my stomach of all the food that I had just consumed. 28

My body was weak and shaking so badly that I didn’t trust myself to stand up. With my mouth full of the taste of bile and the smell of that same bile so strong on my finger, I simply rolled my head over so that I was facing the bottom of the bowl again and dry heaved. All that I was able to vomit up this time was just a little bit of bile and that was it. My nose and throat burned from the stomach acids that had just puked up and I lay flay on my stomach on the bathroom floor, pressing my cheeks against the cold tile, sweat dripping from my pores freely. 29

This isn’t about self destruction. This is about redemption.30

It was twenty-seven minutes later when I finally trusted myself to stand in order to brush my teeth and wash my hands. I flushed the toilet one last time to make sure that all of the evidence was gone and walked back into my room, stashing the empty box of Cheerios in my closet underneath some of the clothes that had fallen from their hangers. My muscles spasm slightly, body tense and weak. Without having the energy to do anything else, I curl up on my bed, wrapping my blanket tightly around my body and close my eyes, welcoming the sleep that comes openly. 31

~~32

The phone rings…33

I groan and reach over to my nightstand grabbing the phone and hitting the CALL button, holding it to my ear groggily. “Hullo?”34

“Did I wake you up?” It’s Aislin.35

“Yeah.”36

“Oh, shit girl… I’m sorry!” She apologizes frantically. “Did you finish cleaning the house or something?”37

I rub my eyes, not able to snap out of my half-asleep daze. My mind is like a fog and I sigh, “Yeah… I didn’t sleep so well last night… so, I figured I’d take a little cat nap.” I glance at my watch; it’s five twenty-three PM. I’ve been sleeping for about three and a half hours.38

“Your dad’s not home yet?”39

“I dunno, I just woke up, I haven’t even climbed out of my bed yet.”40

“Oh…”41

“Yeah, I can go check if you want.” It’s only slightly sarcastic.42

She snorts, “Nah, that’s okay. I was just asking. So how long did I take you to clean the house?”43

I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my face and scratch the back of my head absently, “Few hours. Took me about two hours after that to clean out the fridge and freezer though. After that, I just took a shower and went to bed.” I explain. She doesn’t need to know about the Cheerios or how much stuff is missing from the refrigerator. It’s not like she looks around in my kitchen anyway. Not when we’ve got so much healthy stuff in my house. 44

“Cool cool,” she says, and I can practically see her nodding, that damned beret still on her head. “So you’re all squeaky clean and stuff now, huh?”45

I laugh, “Yeah… I’ve been acting like a total grunge for the last two days, so I figured it was about time I threw my mangy ass in the shower and cleaned off all the grossness, and now I’m just all… blah and tired.”46

She snorts, “Drink something caffeinated that will knock the blah right out of you.”47

“Coffee is your answer to everything isn’t it you little maniac?” 48

“I’ve had two pots today,” she replies giggling quietly. 49

I roll my eyes, “Let’s hang out tomorrow… I’m tired of being in the house. Wanna go see a movie or something?”50

“Nah, it’s too much sitting. We could go to the gym or something.”51

The gym… that’s a great idea, Aislin, you are a genius.52

“Sure! The gym would be awesome, but I’m gonna go and find something to munch on. So I’ll see you tomorrow around… two-ish?”53

“Sure thing, talk to you later, bye!”54

I hang up and sigh, according to my health teacher; you can burn sixty calories every hour from just sitting around. If there are 3,500 calories in one pound, 3,500 divided by sixty is about fifty-eight. So if I burn forty-two more calories before the night is over, then I’ll have lost another pound. My feet are freezing… I pull on a pair of socks and my sneakers, grabbing my mp3 player and walking into the basement.55