Relapse // 28.12.2023
you hesitate. you sit there, waiting, teetering on the edge for a few long, long, seconds.
then you say “fuck it” and take the plunge, let your feet slip and your body fall and tumble tumble down and it's so easy.
the motions, it all comes back to you:
chug the water. tie back your hair. close the door. shut the window. turn on the tap. open the lid. kneel down and stare into the porcelain, breathe and think
“am I doing this?”
you find the way instantly, shove two fingers and push that spot at the back of your throat, feel your teeth dig into your knuckles, your stomach clench and heave - the wet, thick, grainy clumps like wads of clay climbing up your throat - move your fingers quickly out the way and watch it splat into the water. then again, fingers back, over and over and over. and you remember the first few times, years and lifetimes ago, how loud it had been, how much you gagged and coughed and spluttered around the clumps of regurgitated mush. you’re quiet now, practiced and methodical.
it’s almost too easy.
it’s scary, how your body has adapted to the action, how it just seems to know what to do and doesn’t even protest anymore.
it’s terrifying, and it’s exhilarating.
