I ate a cheeseburger today.

I sunk my teeth into the fucking thing, mystery juice oozing out the bottom. I dunk it in ketchup and took a second bite. A few slow minutes and a side of fries later, it was gone —

And I didn’t even cry once.

I always get sick after I eat.

The bruises running down my arms and legs have been pleading with me for weeks. I tried to sustain them with carbs that were easy-to-digest — emotionally, and physically.

Okay —
So I teared up once, next to the microwave.

I was just out of breath.

“The Candy Diet” was my date to the high school prom.

The week before, I walked to that candy hell where my best friend was working. I remember specifically that, after careful deliberation, I treated myself to a handful of “large” gummy sharks. One gummy shark was a meal.

There were enough to last a few days.

I think she gave me a discount.

I was afraid that I would faint. I would faint, even though I hadn’t (and haven’t) fainted since I was six years old. My mom had been changing my earrings, standing behind me.

I’ve never really liked having anybody, or anything, stand behind me.

I ate a cheeseburger today.

And I didn’t even cry once.