Forty - seven | Can't Imagine

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
I knew from day one that recovery wasn't going to be easy. I knew that this shit was going to make me want to rip off all my limps. I knew that simple foods like this half-eaten sandwich Indra bought for lunch was going to be a challenge. She's trying to help me and I appreciate it a lot and I know damn right god put her in my life to help me with this. I've never been so in love with someone. Never.
She's gone right now to get something, leaving me alone in her apartment with this sandwich. It's day... I lost track. All I know is that today was weigh day. 
I've gained weight, it's quite visible to me, and weigh day just makes it worse. It always makes it harder to eat after weight gain because my brain tells me that I am undeserving of food. Even though I know deep down that it's not true, it still bothers me. 
I just count each calorie and even though I try to stop myself, I can't. I keep telling myself that they're just a number however, I know it's not just a number. It's something that makes me want to just end it all. 
I pick up the sandwich, splitting it into two. I place one half back onto the plate and I take the other half over to the trash. I stare at it for a second as that voice in the back of my head screams at me to throw it away. 
Throw it away and you won't gain more weight. Throw it away and she'll never know.
"Nope! Nope! I'm in recovery!" I tell myself as I shut the trash can and walk back over to the couch. 
Holy fricking hell! I just said no to my eating disorder voice. That's another step, right?
Just then, Indra waltzes into her apartment, a smile on her face. "Look what I got!" She lifts my high school yearbook above her head. 
"God no," I grumble under my breath, running my hands down my face. "How did you find that? No, how did you get into my apartment? I took the spare key away and Ethan doesn't live there anymore." I ask her as she plops down beside me.
Ethan moved out a little over a month ago after he got a job in Lower Manhattan even though we signed a lease.
We still contact each other to check up on each other and not too long ago we went to get coffee together. 
"I made a copy of your key." She pats my thigh and I narrow my eyes at her. She then wiggles excitedly. "I thought we could look at lil' baby Luke to distract you while you eat." She smiles, opening the book.
"Oh, who's this MILF?" She wonders aloud, making me look at the book. It was the principal back when I was there. The fifty-year-old principal.
"You guys went to a private school right?" She asks as I watch her green eyes travel over each page. "It was an international school," I say as I lean forward, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. This tastes so good!
She looks over to me with a smile and I give her a slight nod. "You probably had one of those preppy accents." She laughs trying to talk in a British accent, but she just sounds like a sick squirrel. "It was a French school." She glances at me before trying to change her voice to a French accent.