Prompt: Write about an invisible condition or malady. An example is of something that qualifies is cancer. An example of something that does not count is an amputated leg.
Time: 10 minutes
I seriously fucking hate him. I know you're not supposed to say that about your dad, but it's true. He thinks he's helping, but he's not. "Just eat a candy bar." How does he not see that the candy bar is the whole problem?
I don't even like candy. I mean, obviously I do, or I wouldn't eat four bags of it in a row, but I'd rather have a milkshake or a Rice Krispy treat. Those things are hard, though. Hard to get, hard to get rid of. Discreetly, anyway. Chocolate looks like poop, so even if there's any left in the toilet afterward, no one ever knows.
At least the nutritionist doesn't want me to eat a candy bar like my moron dad. "You need more protein. You're losing muscle mass. And stop skipping breakfast."
Like it's that easy. She's such a prissy bitch, with her cheap pink lipstick and growing-out dye job. I don't know why she things anyone would follow her food advice, the fat cow. At least she's the easiest to handle. I just write what she wants me to eat in that dumb-ass food diary and tell her I have a fast metabolism. She would just about shit her pants if I wrote down what I really eat. Well, eat and then un-eat. You can't eat two bags of Lays, a half gallon of ice cream, twenty Chips Ahoy cookies, and a frozen pizza and keep a figure like mine.