#oh man. this is more depressing than chubformers really.

[withoutalice]

max eats so much it unbelievable to anyone watching. he can't help it and it makes him sick.

whether it's buying out all the sugar cookies or all the caramel popcorn or stacks of frozen pizzas; pastries on sale and boxes of donuts, as much pasta that can be made in a 4 gallon pot; huge bottles of condiments like mayo and ranch, it's probably only going to last him a couple days

(tw for health complications, using the bathroom and sui-ideation)

he wakes up and his brain is already trying to kill him. he doesn't get good sleep from nightmares anyway, but the waking moments are worse. his thoughts are so loud and he has to distract himself or he's scared he'll do something bad. he can't be a threat again.

He grabs the bag of donuts and starts shoveling them in, mouth thick with dough, roof of his mouth burning from the gluten and sugar. it lessens the intrusive thoughts. he eats quietly, sitting on the floor. once they're all gone he grabs his next snack, possibly energon soda, thick and syrupy. he attempts to sit as his table, but the chair crumbles. it shocks him into sobbing, so he silences himself with the drink. (this is the third chair he's broken, he swore he'd never let it happen again but it did and he wants to die over it)

that's only his breakfast. lunch is another box of cookies. but he cant just have something sweet, he needs savory. he chooses a frozen ready-bake lasagna. he snacks on a large bag salty chips while he waits in front of the oven. the snacks all gone even before the oven beeps, and he rubs his belly anxiously. once it beeps he pulls it out of the oven, waits a minute for it to cools, then eats it wetly and loudly on the tile floor infront of the oven. he won't risk breaking more furniture.

he's happy that he gets into a food coma until dinner, when he's asleep because his body can't adjust to the sugars its all better. [____] can't get him here, its like heaven.

If only waking up felt good. he wakes up ravenous, body shaking and cramping because of the sugar dropping. he whimpers and whines when he quickly pours juice down his intake. he feels like pizza for dinner. maybe some ramen noodles as well. he starts with boiling the water and heating the pizza just like he did for the lasagna. it'll take longer for these items to cook so max runs a system check.

max realizes that he has to go back to his washracks, his oil pan full from the liquids and sodas. he steps in there to void really quickly, struggling with aim due to his size. he decides to step under some solvent really quickly and wash up. when he exits he finds himself face to face with his dreaded mirror.

he can barely recognize himself and wants to extinguish his own spark because of his weight. close to dropping dead from my habits anyways, he thinks to himself. no point in making a mess, his brain whispers when he looks at his gun. looking at his self inflicted and war scars, the thoughts of the prison come flooding back. he shatters the mirror in reflex and sobs, moving back to the kitchen as fast as he can.

He knows he's eating himself to death; and the food is welcomed even more now than ever.