Super Man: Warning Signs of Mental Illness (Dear Cookie Monster)

Super Man: Warning Signs of Mental Illness

Dear Ana (25), Twenty (20), and Twenty-Three (23),


I (15) can’t really comment on what you guys are all talking about.

Everything happened 8 years in the future and there was not even the tiniest hint that something like that was going to happen. That thing was really an eight-wheeler truck barreling out of no where and turning us into a streak of goo smeared all over the road.

Yes, I have a lot of trouble sleeping. Yes, my moods go up and down. But nothing like that.

Mine are like gently rolling hills, like a sine wave. That are anything but gentle. What happened to you guys was like the Super Man ride at Six Flags where they shoot you straight up and then plummet you down. And then up. And then down.

Except instead of the ride being 60 meters tall, this was more like going to the tip of Mount Everest and then down into the Mariana oceanic trench.

Super fun, right?

But again, I can’t really comment on it.

What’s going on with me could be taken as the first signs, but it could also mean nothing at all. Some people said we were bipolar, other said that was a one-time psychotic episode that will never occur again. The only way to figure out who was right is if a second episode happens, or we die from old age without ever having another episode. So basically, that terrible thing is either going to happen again, or we are going to spend the rest of our life living in terror that it will happen again.

Again, super fun, right?

Let’s just skip over to something that I can talk about.

I see this as a filler because we want a letter from Twenty-Three (23) and we are going in order. Ana (25) is going to write the next letter after this one. If I write this afternoon and Ana writes this evening, then maybe we can get a letter from Twenty-Three.

Twenty-Two (22) doesn’t know anything. Twenty-Two Point Five (22.5) is on another planet and completely inaccessible. Only Twenty-Three is down in the swamp, and the very bottom of it, and can tell us more. She was there when the debris settled, burying her underneath it all.

So, what can I talk about? Food and weight, which is the opposite of talking about something.

All of this was never about the food or the weight. But I guess my reaction to this could be useful since it could be the doorway into figuring what’s actually going on.

So, how is all of that going? Interesting. The bingeing for the most part has tailored off. Now we’re just eating what we feel like eating. It still feels like bingeing sometimes because what we eat sometimes are “bad” foods, and sometimes we get a bit carried away and eat more than what would satiate us.

As a tiny bit of this volume has gone, the mad urges to get rid of it all have started.

Mostly from me, I think. Before, I could blame our volume on bingeing – our stomach was really full and we were just bloated. Now, I can’t write it off. This volume is here to stay, at least for a long time. It might slowly trickle away while I keep on not bingeing, but it’s going to be a slow process. Especially if I’m eating “bad” foods in “wrong” amounts.

I just want it all gone ASAP.

I feel trapped by it, smothered by it. A stomach full of binge food and a bit of bloating will be gone in a day or so. A body padded with extra padding is going to take months. Even if I did what I normally would do in this situation (eat only “good” foods in significantly lower than “right” amounts), it would probably take at least 3-4 weeks for most of it to go away.

So I’m freaking out.

I’m screaming at you to get rid of it and in the process and telling you what a disgusting fat pig you are and crying hysterically and asking you how could you have let this happen?

I’m trying to hold my tongue, but it’s really hard. This is what I’ve always done.

And what has been the result? Sometimes it’s gone according to plan, but most times, the bingeing starts back up. When I was purging, that was not really a “problem” (it was a huge problem) because the food wouldn’t stick. But now, everything sticks. EVERYTHING. And it’s EVERYWHERE.

In my face, neck, arms, back, abdomen, hips, butt (I don’t mind so much anymore since that’s now fashionable), thighs, feet. Yes, feet. Or maybe that’s just swelling from having to heft around such a large load. My shoes don’t fit. I have to wear flip flops everywhere and wrap my toes in paper tape so the skin doesn’t rip off when I have to wear real shoes.

It. is. everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

So, yes, I’m screaming. But I’m also seeing how the volume is slowly leaking out and how pleasant this is to just eat. If I want a sandwich, I eat one. M&Ms, ditto. If someone at work offers me something, I take it and actually eat it rather than “saving it for later” and then throwing it out. It’s kind of nice.

I know at some point we’re going to reach a place where the leakage stops because the food we’re eating sustains the volume that we have.

At that point, no more volume will leave unless we eat less or exercise more. I hate exercising in the first place and I don’t like drawing attention to myself by exercising. So that leaves eating.

It’s happened before. Like when Twenty (20) “woke up” and realized how “large” she was. She started restricting her intake and when she broke down and binged, she would get rid of it.

If we cut down at that future point, the bingeing might return. No, it will return. I know it will.

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself and think about that.

For right now, we are just going to eat food that we want, when we want. Even if that means doing things that would normally horrify me.

Please put up with me and ignore me in the meantime.

Happy eating.


Fifteen (15)


Thank you for getting rid of the P.S.’s. They were super annoying. Yes, I just used one. Deal with it.


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