Categories > Original > Drama
Self Control
1 reviewI've been told time and time again that I have no self control. You have no idea how much I seek to change that.
1Insightful
I've been told time and time again that I have no self control. You have no idea how much I seek to change that. Hearing those words spill out of my so-called parent's mouths time and time again cut me past the bone, to my very soul. It's been said that time heals all wounds.
Whoever said that was either blissfully ignorant, lying, or both. Time did not heal the wounds left behind by thier words. All time did was allow those wounds to rot and fester.
Eventually, they would poison my soul.
I started to starve myself down to nothing. I controlled the size of my body. Every mark left on it. Every morsel passing my lips. It was, effectively, the best exercise in self-control ever devised. Slowly, I shrank, inch by inch, until I was barely 70 pounds, an absolutely skeletal height on my 5 foot 10 inch frame. I looked like the walking dead. But I had enough willpower to get me there.
I thought that they would be proud of me for once. I was certainly proud of myself. I had proven them wrong. I had self-control. It had taken immense amounts of self control to get me to this point. Refusing food, exercising until the wee hours of the morning, carefully measuring and weighing the little that I did eat. Would someone without control have been able to follow that regime?
Instead of being proud, they screamed at me that I was insane, and that I was out of control. I could only laugh at them. Didn't they see? Couldn't they taste the irony? I did all of this to prove to them that they were wrong. To prove that I could control myself as much as I wanted. Their comments started all of this. But yet when I did my best to prove them wrong, and succeeded, they played the same old refrain, like a broken record.
There was no winning, was there?
Whoever said that was either blissfully ignorant, lying, or both. Time did not heal the wounds left behind by thier words. All time did was allow those wounds to rot and fester.
Eventually, they would poison my soul.
I started to starve myself down to nothing. I controlled the size of my body. Every mark left on it. Every morsel passing my lips. It was, effectively, the best exercise in self-control ever devised. Slowly, I shrank, inch by inch, until I was barely 70 pounds, an absolutely skeletal height on my 5 foot 10 inch frame. I looked like the walking dead. But I had enough willpower to get me there.
I thought that they would be proud of me for once. I was certainly proud of myself. I had proven them wrong. I had self-control. It had taken immense amounts of self control to get me to this point. Refusing food, exercising until the wee hours of the morning, carefully measuring and weighing the little that I did eat. Would someone without control have been able to follow that regime?
Instead of being proud, they screamed at me that I was insane, and that I was out of control. I could only laugh at them. Didn't they see? Couldn't they taste the irony? I did all of this to prove to them that they were wrong. To prove that I could control myself as much as I wanted. Their comments started all of this. But yet when I did my best to prove them wrong, and succeeded, they played the same old refrain, like a broken record.
There was no winning, was there?
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