Head on toilet. Arms hugging its dull exterior. Eyes crusted shut. One ,two, three,
more dry heaving. I needed to eat something, or else this aching in my stomach would never go away.

It’s three in the morning; everyone is sleeping. It’s only been an hour. I crawl my way into the media room, moaning with every slithering inch.
One,
two,
three, weak taps on the wooden door. I cry out until she wakes up and finds me passed out in my own vomit. I apologize again and again but it only sounds like grunts and moans. She tries not to be too rough dragging me back to the bathroom. She wakes up the other girls thinking I’m completely clueless to my surroundings, but I’m fully aware of the situation. My puke encrusted SMU sweatshirt, navy blue. Only wearing boy shorts. Hair up in bun, small pieces falling in my face.

“She went too far this time, I’m really scared, says my friend.”
One,
two,
three, and my heart stops. I gasp for breath and black spots take over my vision.

I wake up with new clothes, a blanket, a glass of tap water, and Ritz crackers. I guess everyone had fallen back asleep, I wasn’t surprised, it wasn’t the first time pills had put me in this downward hell hole. I throw my head to the right soaking in every detail; it’s the purple room, abandoned. The white iron bed is blanketed with pink and brown polka dots, pushed dead in the center against the wall. Something is lurking underneath the shadows. I adjust my eyes to the darkness, but it’s still there coming closer. It’s the grungy girl from the ring. Stringy black hair that grips her hips, white tattered dress, she’s always glowing in a sepia color. She always haunts me around this time of my bad trips.
One,
two,
three, the panic attack begins; everything hits me at full force. I gasp for air. Slamming my fist on the toilet, praying someone wakes up. Thoughts of suicide and my own death run twirl through my mind. I clench my eyes tight and feel death circling around me like a hawk. It slowly daces up my spine and around my waist, it then pinches my skin. I open my eyes, the lights are on and everyone is standing there. I guess I had been screaming the whole time. I am brought food and water, but that doesn’t stop the terror that continues for six more hours. My friend’s mom takes me home thinking that I “ate bad steak” it’s the same excuse I always use. The windows are rolled down, limp body flung halfway out; the turns aren’t helping the situation. I arrive at the front porch dropping down into a lifeless body.
One,
two,
three, doorbell rings. Mom answers completely out of it, she doesn’t notice I’m half dead. She goes back to her bed. I struggle to the bathroom, where I pass out until three in the afternoon. I awake, feeling somewhat human. Everything’s better now.

Before, mom had no idea what went on, how I coped with it all, but now she does. Things are better now, I’ve changed, haven’t gone back to my old ways. But, every once and a while I take a short visit back to this place, just to see if it’s changed, and it hasn’t. It’s the same death encrusted hole it’s always been.