The Boyfriend

My boyfriend¹ came up from San Diego this last weekend and I am still sorta reeling from the experience.

Question Numero Uno: Why the fuck does he love me so much?

We have been dating for over a year and a half, and he has stuck with me through my last hard-core relapse. He stayed with me when I was a complete shriveled up wreck unable to form coherent sentences unless they were about food. When I was sent away from school, he cried and squeezed my emaciated body to himself like he wanted to permanently imprint us together. He called me in treatment and listened to me rant about not wanting to give up my eating disorder and how I hated it there and didn’t want to do anything those bastards wanted me to do. Fuck them they’re making me fat. And he was frustrated, but he stuck with me. He has told his very deepest thoughts and fears. He says when he looks into the future, the only thing he is sure he wants to see in it is me. Fucked-up, crazy, fatty old me.

Why the hell would I ever deserve that kind of love? And the natural question to follow the first is:

Question Numero Dos: Do I love him as much as he loves me?

That question makes my insides curl and I sorta break into a sweat. Because of course I love him. I am bat-shit crazy over this guy. Who wouldn’t be? But the real question that this brings up is:

Question Numero Dos Punto Uno: Do I love him more than I love my eating disorder?

Well slap my ass and call me Nancy, but I cannot answer that question right now. And that bothers me. Like, HELLA² bothers me. I do know that it is the only thing that would ever make us break up. And part of me wants to break up just so I can go sink into my eating disorder. And that really, really disgusts me. It’s sad. Pathetic. And I don’t want that to happen. But I also don’t want to give up my eating disorder. Which leaves me with quite the dilemma. Because something I learned this weekend³ is that he’s not gonna let me get away with doing the same things. And I will eat for him. God damnit fuckity fuck shit cockfucking mother blower. Why why WHY can’t I just have him and just eat cereal and be skinny? Rah. Me frustrated.

Footnotes⁴

1: For the sake of privacy, we shall refer to him as The Boyfriend, or if that gets really annoying, he shall humbly go by J. Which, yes, is his first initial. Go try to guess his name. Go.

2: Yes, I use hella, because yes, I am born-and-raised in San Francisco, and yes, I HELLA love SF and its slang. Fo sho.

3: Another fun thing I learned this weekend is that having an intense orgasm can make you go cross-eyed for a minute! Whee!!

4: I am a nerd.