On Not Advocating Shit

I’m pretty sure my shit smells worse than yours.

My friend said she didn’t want to be that girl. I told her not to worry, I had been that girl undercover for years. A few days later, I decided to try bulimia out again for shit’s sake (literally). I only tried it a couple of times before, gagging myself with nothing to show for it but the aching aftermath of dry heaving. But it’s years later and I realize I never gave bulimia a fair shake (make that shit).

It’s a matter of developing a balanced diet of disease. I’ve always been able to binge. Although I haven’t been doing it of late. I say purging is better for strict weight loss; otherwise, you are just neutralizing the Burger King.

It’s okay: tell me how wrong it is, but know that no other thought seemed as brilliant as taking two laxatives in the late afternoon and then two more later, before bed, and swigging it down with pure acid (Coke Zero).

In hindsight (do the puns ever stop?), running (another one!!) to the bathroom at 10, 3, and 5 during sleep time is not exactly fun. My stomach gurgled for hours. It sounded like Charlotte’s Montezuma’s Revenge that caused her to shat on herself in the Sex in the City movie. It didn’t end up being that bad, but it was not pleasant.

Am I really advocating an eating disorder and giving how-to’s? Give me a break. My epiphany: It’s always better to hug it out than shit it out.