Welcome to the Maxipad

College feels like an institution. I guess to be fair, it is one of sorts. I live with all girls. We have a curfew. We go to spin class together and take community baths. We have alliances and enemies. There are at least two bulimics, one compulsive  overeater, and 3-7 skanks. 

I kind of like thinking of my time here in Knoxville as a stint in inpatient therapy. I get up in the morning at 9. I take my previously laid out pills, which is up to 12 right now.  I have diet cereal and low fat soy milk because I am a weak, weak woman. I mimic those around me. I do laundry. I read my little stories. I take my little notes. I write my stupid little fucking letters. I smoke like a goddamn chimney, and to be fair, I guess I am one of sorts. My loved ones shovel fuel- money, time, good intentions, and all their faith that I'll be recovered- and I, in turn, produce enough heat to keep those who are special and close to my hearth warm. To myself, I collect scum and ash, and spew a black poison miasma into the atmosphere.

The biggest center of my eating disorder was the firm belief that I and my body are separate things. It's not I am a body it's I have a body. That mentality is what keeps me from moving on I think. I look in the mirror: I think of where I come from and how fucking small I am in the universe, and how lucky I am that people even talk to me. Why would I transfer to a batter school? Why wouldn't I marry the first boy who asked?  I think the biggest blessing in my life would be a big ol' frontal lobotomy, which I guess to be fair, Knoxville is- of sorts.