Bill the Bully.

by Olivia

Bill The Bully.

I am going to tell you about Bill; Bill is a bully who never has a kind word to say, well not to me anyway. He lives in a very busy, noisy and overcrowded place. I will tell you more about that place later. I want you to learn more about Bill first. He is constantly telling me what to do. I can`t seem to fight him off. Whatever he says is right and whatever he tells me to do, I do it.

Let`s start with a typical day: he starts his nagging before I wake, being the impatient type that he is (That would be a man!). He will be whispering to me, telling me if today is going to be a good day or a bad day. He is clever like that you see he knows these things long before I do, and before the day even gets started. We have a lot of bad days, Bill and I, or `Black days` as we call them. Today is a black day; we have a lot of grey days too. I would like some white ones every now and again. Bill doesn`t allow many of these. A white day for me would be a Bill-free day.

Bill will do anything to break the rules. If I have to be up at 8am he will want me to lie in until 9am. Today he is telling me I shouldn`t get out of bed. He wants it to be a black day today. `You better stay in bed today so no-one can see you; just look at the state of you,` he says. `You can`t show your ugly face to anyone, look at the state of your skin.` Here we go. So, I want to get up: he wants me to hide away in my bed, lying there all day doing nothing. Sure we all want that, not to have to bother getting dressed, or even washed. Just because he doesn`t work, he thinks we can all do the same: whatever we like. In Bills case this would be spending his days following me around, checking up on me, telling me what to think or even how to feel.

No, I`m going to get up and face the day, turn it grey at least. I don`t want another black day.

I get up out of bed; of course Bill is still nagging at me. He follows me everywhere. `Go and weigh yourself fatty,` he says. `Go on, now! Weigh yourself now!` OK, OK, no need to shout, I`m going. I step on to the scales. `My Goodness, look at the state of you, be careful not to break them scales, if they could they would be laughing at you. Careful they are cracking under the strain of your weight you fat cow!`

I have stepped on to the scales; I know I shouldn`t because my counsellor tells me not to weigh myself. I can hear her voice in my head, telling me not to get on the scales. Bill overpowers her voice. The numbers are still going up and up. Finally, after what seems like a long time of anticipation, those numbers come to a stop. Oops they have gone up 2 1b since last night. As much as I will the numbers to go back down again, they stay put. This will be a process repeated many times throughout the day. I have to weigh myself regulary, Bill tells me when. It is usually before and after I have anything to eat or drink, and often in between just to keep a check, make sure I am not gaining weight during the day. The 2 1b weight gain means trouble; Bill isn`t happy about it at all. He gives me the whole `Eat less, exercise more` lecture that I have heard a million times before.

Off the scales I get, with Bill still nag, nag, nagging me. I think I will go and have a shower now. Urgh, why do I even bother? I don`t think I can face anyone today. I didn`t wake up in the best of moods to start with, thanks to Bill nagging at me first thing. Now I have put on another 2 1b it has only made things worse. I don`t fancy talking to anyone; I would like to be on my own today. I`m sure nobody would be too bothered if I didn`t turn up for work today. Maybe I should ring in sick. I`m not sick though, just really fed up. Does that count, I wonder? Some of my collegues are going out for dinner after work. I`m not going; I`ve already told them that. They know by now anyway that I never go out with them. It`s nothing personal to them. It`s Bill; he doesn`t allow me to go out. If I do, he has to come with me, and again is constantly nagging at me.

I don`t even get peace in the shower, in he comes, watching me, telling me how disgusting I look, how fat I am. He doesn`t rest but picks on everything: how bad my skin has got, how awful my hair is, how ugly I am, how stupid I am. He has got a point though; that`s why I listen to him I suppose, because he is right.

Out of the shower and time to get dressed. This could be an all morning mission. Think I`ll wait, have breakfast first. Well I would if only Bill would allow it. I am waiting for him to make a decision. Am I allowed breakfast today or am I too fat? I decide I won`t wait; I will have breakfast. Then, just as I have eaten it, he comes back guilt tripping me. Here we go again. `How can you expect to look half decent, if you are eating that rubbish? Just look at the state of you, who would want anything to do with you looking like that?` Blah, blah, blah.

Now I feel really awful, guilty for having eaten healthy cereal. Bill says whenever I feel this way to just get rid of it, take the guilt away. So that`s what I do. I am used to doing it now, I have done it for so long; over 20 years in fact. I go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet, and mission de-breakfast begins. I vomit until I am sure I have got rid of it all. I know when this is because my throat or my stomach bleeds. Not always. Sometimes I have to just keep on vomiting until there is nothing left.

I really should get dressed now. I got my clothes out last night ready to wear today. I can`t wear them though, as I have just put them on and they look horrid, Make me look so fat. I don`t` understand it because they looked perfectly fine just 3 days ago, this exact same outfit. In fact, that is why I chose this one for today, because I liked it. I don`t like it anymore; it really does make me look too fat. Bill agrees; he said I remind him of ten ton Tessy. It was the Michelin man I reminded him of earlier, when I was in the shower. He can`t seem to make up his mind who I look like.

I try on another outfit anyway and it still doesn`t look right so, I try on another and another, nothing seems to fit me. It must be that extra 2 1b I`ve put on. I have to find something, so I try them all on again. Eventually, I have been through the whole of my wardrobe at least 3 times. I think I best stay in today. I feel fine in my pyjamas. I need to go vomit again too, make sure I did get rid of every last scrap of that breakfast.

I can`t stay in though; I have lots to do. Places to go and people to see. Just put anything on, they all look ridiculous. I am looking in the mirror and the reflection disgusts me. No wonder Bill nags me so much. It has now taken me ages to get dressed. Sometimes it can take me all morning to get dressed. I am only going to the shops; it isn`t as though I have to get dressed up or anything. I`m not going to bother with makeup, maybe later when I go to work; I will see what Bill thinks. If I put makeup on now to go out, people will look at me and stare, thinking that I am so ugly I have to hide myself in makeup. Or they might think I actually like myself, and that I shouldn`t bother to wear makeup, it doesn`t take away my ugliness.

I think I best make sure I have no food left in me before I go out. Just in case it is attaching itself to my insides. Bill says that what it does. The food we eat attaches to our insides and makes us fat. `You can tell a greedy bitch just by looking at her,` he says. That is what people will be thinking of me, that I sit around all day doing nothing but eat. I go out anyway; Bill comes with me, as usual. People are looking, He doesn`t defend me or anything, and he tends to agree with what they say, or tells me what they think. He can read minds you see, he tells me what people think of me all the time. It is rarely anything good though. He points out everyone who is thinking I look so fat. `That one thinks you look like a right bloater,` he says. `That lady over there thinks you are the ugliest thing she has ever seen. The lady next you is looking you up and down because she thinks a girl your size shouldn`t be seen in public, she is wondering how you actually manage to get through the door.`

I don`t want to be at the shops anymore. There are too many people around, staring at me because I am so fat and ugly. I have to get home. Well maybe one more shop. If I am so fat anyway, I may as well eat what I like. I can`t decide exactly what to get though so I get a lot of cakes, biscuits, sweets, crisps. Anything I fancy really, I will decide when I get home what I shall have as a snack.

Well I would, if I hadn`t just eaten most of it on the way home. Yes, that`s right, I have worked my way through dozens of packets of crisps on the way home and as soon as I got in the door, I polished off the rest. That was enough food to feed a family for a week and I have eaten the whole lot in less than an hour. Bill saw me, he always sees me but never stops me. He doesn`t mind, he encourages me to `binge` as long as I get rid of it afterwards.

It is a strange feeling, because I felt so fat and horrible, yet went and munched my way through the supermarket. The guilt doesn`t set in until it is all gone and I am surrounded by crisp wrappers, cake boxes and biscuit packets. I have to get rid of it within the hour of eating it. Bill taught me that, he said that your body starts digesting it so you have to make sure you get rid of it all straight away.

This time mission de-binge begins. It is the exact same process as mission de-breakfast. These missions happen whenever I have a meal, or eat something I shouldn`t have eaten. A piece of fruit or something light is fine, Bill allows me to keep hold of those. After all I have to digest some things to keep my body in working order. I can`t eat in public either, not unless I manage to stand up to Bill, but that isn`t too often. He reminds me how people will be watching what I eat, how I eat, and how much of it I eat. Then I feel really guilty for eating anything when really a girl my size should be starving her body, not feeding it.

Wow, all of this has been rather time consuming. It is surprising how quickly the day goes by when I am on and off the scales so often, binging, vomiting, trying on clothes, going out to pay the bills or get some shopping in. I need to get ready for work. I have already got my clothes out ready, but because today is a grey day, those clothes will probably be changed over and over again, just like this morning when I was going out to the shops.

I will put a little bit of make-up on to go to work. That was my New Year`s resolution: to wear makeup for work. A good one I think, seeing as we have to look smart in our office wear. I don`t feel very smart though, and the make-up doesn`t look very nice. If only I could hide behind the make-up. It still shows off how ugly I am, and I can feel very conscious of wearing it too.

I will take some soup to work with me for my dinner. The hospital says I should eat something 5 times a day. 5 times a day! That is madness isn`t it. The reason behind it is to get my body used to eating regular food. I do try, but Bill doesn`t like it. He talks me out if it often, or encourages me to get rid of it. Mission de-breakfast went on to mission de-anything a couple of times over, to mission de-binge, mission de-anything again and so on. I never vomit less than five times a day.

Bill takes me to work. He doesn`t leave me there; he hangs around to keep an eye on me, telling me what to do, what people are thinking, how I look.

My work is done; I had the soup in work for my dinner because I can have a meal in a mug then. It doesn`t look like I am eating, more like I am having a drink. Bill says drinks are fine. People don`t mind if you drink, they don`t affect your weight as much as food does.

Bill accompanies me home. He is nagging at me all the way home, about different things, my weight again (he never rests about that) how stupid I am; how no-one would like to come and see me; how I get on people nerves. All of those negative kind of things.

By bedtime I am exhausted. Bill hardly sleeps; he comes to bed with me, talking non-stop so that now I can`t even get to sleep.

I should send him home to his busy overcrowded place where he lives so that I can get some peace and quiet. I`m not scared of him, as much of a bully as he is, he doesn`t scare me at all. The reason I can`t send him home to that place is because he has been there all along. That place where he lives, well, it`s in my head, a head busy and overcrowded with thoughts.

Bill the bully? He`s the voice in my head.

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