Flying and Lying

Reds, yellows, orange. Crackle. Pop. Flames lick, dance, and desperately cling to the faux log, begging for life. Mother sits flipping through channels on the couch, absentminded. Nothing is on.
Wait.
You want to watch this? What is it?
Intervention.
She looks at me, accepts and puts the clicker down. Satisfaction. It's the tail end, right before he woman is to be intervened. She is an alcoholic and a bulimic. I look at her and the first thing that I think is that she isn't even skinny.
You would never do that to yourself would you?
What?
Make yourself throw up.
No. Of course not.
Good. It's so pathetic.
Flashback to me with fingers down my throat with the water running a couple of rooms down while she was asleep. Taking a break, I hear a knock. Panic. What are you doing? I reply pooping. That I like the water running in case I make embarrassing noises. She believed. She always believes.

I am a liar. Worse yet, I felt no shame. It's the same as when I smoke. Sure, it's against the law, but it is not a law that I believe in. I am not above laws, but I give myself little invincibility complexes. Nothing can hurt me, I don't need anyone, food is only necessary for some. I fool myself into believing that I am moral, that I am good, but I am just a shell.

Today I flew. I stood on top of the world and I spit in it's face. Alright, it was blue slopes in a mountain in Canada. Thankfully, I had an instructor since I haven't been in ages and he was great. Embodiment of Australian blasé attitude. I one day wish to have that nonchalance but clearly am a bit of a dweller. The wind was nearly blowing me away, but it was an amazing feeling. Normally I am torn apart by myself; being flung about by something natural was a rather nice change of pace. And the speed. O, the speed. Nothing compares to seeing the world fly past with absolutely nothing separating you.