Fairy Tale

When I was young, I harbored this fantasy that my mother had stolen me and raised me as her child. I imagined I belonged to a loving aristocratic, or even royal family who would never dare punish me, raise their voice, or make me cry.

I thought I was the only one who questioned my parentage until I started taking psychology, when I realized we're all greatly influenced by Hans Christian-Anderson and Walt Disney... as well as some deep seated loathing against parental authority. I was no longer alone in my paranoia. It made me feel a little less unique.

---

I felt like I've eaten a lot today. It's amounted to about 425 total... but it feels like at least 1500. All of it was forced on me by my kidnapper.

Really, I did try to choke down the late snack, then the dinner... but when it came down to the second dinner, it was just too much. A fight ensued. I tried to bargain that I would eat if I could go out afterwards, like a princess locked up in a tower.

She tells me if I don't start eating more food (aka more than 500 a day, I forgot that she's counting) I'll have to live somewhere else until I go to London. This was almost in the same breath as, "You might as well be up in your room snorting cocaine."

I don't even think anyone who knows what this is like has to dignify that with a response. But I'll try anyway. Hmmm... I wish it was a choice. I wish I woke up one day and said, "Today, I'm going to vow to whiddle myself down to 14% body fat (ugh still seems too high), risk osteopenia and organ problems. Get stares from my friends and family who will glance from afar and say 'Is that Savory? No that girl is too thin to be Savory.' Oh, and probably ruin my fertility forever."

The later of which, I have to say I'm not terribly sorry about. A little evolutionary part of me is screaming to have kids, but the fucked-up selfish part of me knows that's not a good idea and that this isn't the worst side effect.

---

Don't worry Mommy Dearest, I won't land myself into the hospital again and send you into a fury about medical bills. Though, if euthanasia was legal, I could just step into some kind of suicide-toll booth and save me, you, and everybody else a whole lot of trouble... side stepping even the death panels.

I sobbed in my room until I sleepily began to stop caring. Then I asked myself, "Do you burn calories when you cry? Or do you just make yourself bloated?"

Yeah, there's no escape.