Monday, Feb. 24, 2003/11:52 pm

Bulimic shopping experience

The automatic doors open in front of me and i am greeted by the smells of fresh meat and vegetables, the sounds of chatting shoppers and tills ringing up their goods. I am wearing jeans that hang below my waist just touching my underwear waistband, a v-neck grey top which reveals the slight points and juts at the top of my chest. I hide myself with a long black coat which is far two big for me, but that doesn't matter, i just wrap it around me and concentrate upon the tiles on the floor. I look up over the rims of my glasses. Anxiously stare forth at the people wandering slowly forth the aisles and standing reading magazines at the front of the store, hoping not to be caught by staff who will ask them if they are planning on buying. A voice turns over in my head, my conscience screaming high-pitched like a broken record. It's telling me to stop, to turn around and go home but something inside me isn't listening. My body is being directed by a force i cannot explain, it's sits on my shoulders and it pushes my forwards, tells me where to go and what to do.

I walk in a trance like state, detached, my eyes fazy and face drawn. A heroin addict venturing out for my next fix. I pick up a basket, which heavily weighs down upon my arm as i start to load it with illicit food. I stare at the possible purchases that wink at me from shelves packed with anything and everything i desire. I keep looking around me in fear, checking that nobody i know is watching me, following my sight and the picking up and putting down of multipack bars of chocolate and packets of biscuits. I find myself just lingering over the images that flash from packaging, trying to decide what to leave and what to take. I want everything and i want nothing. I can't halt the possessive hold that controls me, that drives me to reach out for more and more, scared to look over the calorie and fat content at the back of the labels. I note the presence of a woman with her children, they are arguing over what breakfast cereal to choose, he wants Coco-pops and she wants Honey-nut loops. The woman is sighing and telling them both to calm down. They seem so innocent. I wish to disappear.

I count the money i have in my pocket to the exact penny. Guilt owns me as i ponder over the amount i am about to throw away, for a moment i think of turning back but it's too late, I've given in, my stomach is rumbling and there is no way out. I notice the emergency exit at the end of the building, i want to run and not stop running until i get home but i can't. I'm glued to the floor, my footprints melting into the plastic surface. There's only one way forward and it leads to the checkout to pay for my sins.

I stand in the queue, avoiding anyones gaze. Convinced people are watching me, and tutting over the contents of junk food i proceed to lay onto the conveyor belt. I clutch rough coins in my palm, ready to hand over to the the cashier, a man who looks as if he is in his twenties. After paying i frantically start to load plastic bags up with what i have bought. Panicking, and dropping things, embarrassed, i feel like they know what i am up to. I am transparent, glutton spreading a red light around my outline. Once i am packed i leave as soon as i can. Hurrying along the walk back ready to do what i know best. Fully aware of where it leads, retching into the porcelain bowl and collapsing afterwards in weakness and shame that infects my every pore. I long for a stop-sign or a leaping lapse of belief but there is none. I am captured, trapped in my own thoughts and i cannot escape. Owned by bulimia.