Calories

Chapter Twenty Three

A/N: This chapter is pretty short, less than 700 words. The other chapters were at least 1000 words, but with this chapter I had trouble making it longer.

Time goes on and although I feel physically weaker, I look a lot better. Not good enough, but still better.

On this particular morning, I have trouble getting up due to the overwhelming feeling of weakness throughout my body. Even my thinking process is a little fuzzy. I should probably drink some water. I manage to sit up. I stumble a little upon standing, but now I'm up.

I decide to get some water before waking up Mikey. It just means another trip up the stairs which means more calories burned for me.

On my way to the stairs I decide to weigh myself. 100 pounds exactly. Yes! I'm so close to the double digits. Just one more pound. I almost lose my balance while stepping off the scale, but I catch myself and go down the stairs.

The railing along the stairs has become my best friend. I've grown accustomed to using it for support while moving up or down the stairs.

I make it to the kitchen and my stomach growls, a reminder that my body thinks it needs food. I haven't eaten anything in three days and both Ana and myself are proud. When I first decided I wanted to lose weight I never thought I'd be able to go just one day without food. I've gone three in a row!

I find a water bottle in the fridge and attempt to open it, but it's a bit of a struggle. With the weight I've lost, I've lost some muscle too. I don't mind too much. Muscle weighs more than fat so that just means I lost even more weight than I would have if I only lost fat.

I physically cannot open the fucking water bottle and that pisses me off to no end. If I had woken up Mikey first I could have had him open the water bottle for me, and I don't want to go up and down the stairs too many times. I get a headache if I do this, and the headache is not worth the calories that I would burn.

I resort to stabbing the top of the water bottle with a knife since I literally have no other means of getting to the water trapped inside the plastic. Water has helped me lose most of the weight that I've gotten rid of. When I'm hungry, I drink water. It keeps me content.

I manage to get a hole in the top of the bottle, next to the cap, and it's good enough for me to get the water out. I drink half the bottle before going back to the stairs to wake up Mikey.

Going up the stairs is always worse than going down them. Going down is the easy part. Getting back up tends to seem more difficult. But it's nothing I can't handle. I can make it, I know it.

After the first three steps I need a break. I sit down and look at the steps that I still have to climb. 13 more. I live in a house with 16 fucking stairs. This is not fair for me. Why can't there just be 10 stairs or something.

I pull myself back up and go up five more steps bringing me to a total of eight steps climbed. I need another break. My legs feel so weak and my breathing is sort of strained from the physical activity.

This is when I sit down. For the last time. I can't go any further. I lay down my head on the stair ahead of me and close my eyes.

Maybe I should have listened to Frank every single one of those times that he urged me and even begged me to eat. I should have eaten even when he didn't tell me. He was right. This isn't the way to control your weight. Not the right way.

Of all the things I regret the most, I regret not listening to him. I wish I could take back everything that I've done to myself. I was stupid. I shouldn't have forced him away like a forced away the food. I wish I could see him one last time. Hug him. Tell him he was right. 

But I can't. You can't do those things when you're dead.