She sits on the couch, music blasting in her ears and pain, both physical and mental attacking her body. It was as if her mind and stomach were mortal enemies forced to live in the same two bedroom apartment. Her stomach was screaming, begging for food as it it were a homeless man outside the back of a restaurant begging, but her brain was the stingy owner who wouldn't give a scrap that wasn't growing mold on it. Her eyes started to well up with tears, how much longer was this going to be? A month, a day? or was it going to be longer, a year? maybe two? She has already lost four pant sizes, what else? Will her friends abandon her, will her parents stop trying to understand? Will she start growing out her nails again just so she can dig them into her skin for a momentary taste of satisfaction? Have the drugs she's been put on stopped working? is that why she is like this? or are they, and things would be so much worse if she didn't have them at her bedside? Could things get worse?

The pain of hunger stabbed at her insides one more time, "okay" she told herself "It's only a waffle, your body likes waffles, just eat the waffle"
One bite, two bites, three bites, she is surviving, maybe one more. Four bites, five bites, six bites, she's almost done. A minute or two the waffle is devoured with nothing but a plate with a drop or two of melting butter on it as a reminder what she did, and survived.

She still isn't sure if she's happy or not, but then again, maybe she never will be. She just has to take life one bite at a time.