46
Alina
I can’t do this anymore.
“Have @SlaterJenkins standards fallen so low?”
“Who is @AlinaCassidy?”
“Is @AlinaCassidy worthy of @SickenUnion’s frontman?”
“Why @AlinaCassidy? Why her?”
My eyes read tweet after tweet.
I hone in on the comments that bash me, confirming once again all the things I’ve always known, things my mother and aunt tried to convince me were true. They were right all along. After almost two years in recovery, I still feel the same…
You’ll never be enough…
I can’t stop thinking about that reporter, my mother, my father, and Lucky. I can’t stop thinking that if I hadn’t been selfish and convinced myself I belonged here on this tour, in the spotlight, then my past wouldn’t matter. I can’t stop thinking of the implications, and how my actions have fucked things up for Slater, the tour, the girls, and—worst of all—for Lucky. The last thing he needs for his own recovery is another one of my fuckups that he has to pick me up from. I can’t stop the sobs from escaping my throat or the tears from falling once again. I really did it this time.
How I ended up looking at Twitter posts tonight, I couldn’t say. All I know is that I stared at Slater’s name popping up in my text message alerts over and over until I couldn’t take it anymore. And, instead of talking to him, I took to Twitter instead, to let the nasty words wash over me, giving the bully’s voice inside my head more gumption to fuel Her fire.
Once back in my room, I dumped the three bags of groceries I’d bought on my way back to the hotel on the desk. I shut and locked the adjourning door—keeping the girls out, and ignoring the many knocks and callings of my name that soon followed. Curling myself into a ball in the middle of my bed, I ignored everyone and everything except for the familiar voice I’ve been struggling with for so long. My bully is here, and I’m so close to giving in. Her voice is too strong right now to be ignored. It’s getting easier to think about just giving in, to admit defeat rather than continue to fight a battle I’ll never win.
You’re too weak, too pathetic to fight.
There will always be something, so maybe it’s just easier to give up now, and let my bully have Her way.
Sitting up in the middle of the bed, my vision is still blurry from my tears. I squint, and my fingers tremble closing out Twitter. I decide to try to text Lucky again. He hasn’t picked up after what has to be my hundredth attempt to contact him. Where is he?
Me: Luck. SOS. Please.
Bypassing the many calls and text messages from Slater and the girls once again, I decide to call my last lifeline before She takes me completely under.
I try Kristie. I need her. I need Lucky. Her voice is too strong.
You’re useless…
Look at what you’ve done. What kind of a friend and sister are you?
Beep.
“Kris, please. I—I, I’m losing…” I barely get out, before I hang up and throw my phone across the room, pissed off that I’ve had to call her again. “Fuck you’re a waste of space, Ali! Like she cares? She gets paid to listen and to spew her bullshit. She’s not your fucking friend. You’re such an idiot,” I tell myself, the anger festering. “And fuck Lucky! Where is he? Isn’t he supposed to be my fucking hero? Oh wait, a girl like me doesn’t deserve one.” I laugh bitterly to myself.
You stupid, inconsiderate bitch.
Eat, Alina. Take back control. You need me, not them… Eat the cake; eat the ice cream.
She won’t stop.
Dump out those grocery bags. It will feel so good…
…it will feel like home.
“No, no, no!” I yell, placing my hands over my ears trying to shut Her out. I can’t regulate my breathing. My heart is palpitating so hard that I worry there’s something really wrong with me. My body is almost convulsing, I’m shaking so badly from the adrenaline of Her words, and the truth that lingers behind them. She is my home.
Why won’t She just leave me alone?
Trying to resist the urge to cave, I struggle to remind myself of the strategies I’ve learned when fighting bingeing and purging.
“Deep breaths. Just take deep breaths. You can beat this. It will pass.”
You can’t ever beat me.
Looking at the clock, I note the time and clock twenty minutes like Elijah suggested trying in group one day.
“Sometimes giving yourself a threshold of time to wait before giving in makes it go away,” he’d said.
“Remember bingeing and purging won’t take away the reason you feel like doing it,” Kristie told me once, and I try to remind myself of this now.
But it will feel so good…
“Call a friend you trust,” someone in group suggested.
Neither are responding. They don’t want to deal with any more of your whiny bullshit.
“Read. Try to take your mind off of it,” another had added to the growing list.
I can’t see through my tears.
Fuck reading, fuck my friends, fuck waiting, fuck everything!
“Fuuuccckkk!” I scream, pulling at the ends of my hair on each side of my head. “I hate this. I hate you! I. Fucking. Hate. This. You’re so fucking stupid. You’re a fucking joke. You aren’t worth it, you’re fucking useless. Just eat, you fat bitch. Fuck it all, fuck you, and fuck them, and most of all, fuck Her!”
I snarl at my reflection in the mirror before grabbing the three beige plastic bags off the desk. Moving back to the foot of the bed, I pour the contents across the blanket, the food scattering this way and that.
It looks like heaven, but it’s my hell.
Breyers vanilla ice cream.
Hostess chocolate cakes.
Double-stuffed Oreo cookies.
Strawberries.
Lay’s ketchup chips.
Marshmallows.
Peanut butter.
Pretzels.
Water.
Water.
Orange juice.
And more water.
Reaching for a two-pack of Hostess chocolate cupcakes, I tear open the crinkly plastic, pull out the first, and devour it in two bites. I eat one, two, then reach for more…three, four…
I can feel myself starting to calm down.
Good girl, I’m all you ever need. Welcome back…