It was a normal Thursday. I was coming home from work to my husband. We sat down to dinner as normal, watched television as normal, and even played a couple of board games. It was only as I was getting ready for bed that I noticed it.
I was going to wash my face as usual, when I saw something in the bathroom mirror. My face was deteriorating. Maybe that isn’t the right way to describe it, but that’s the best term I can use.
What I mean by “deteriorating” is that the lower right side of my face was gone. All you could see was the muscle in my face and my teeth. Of course, I freaked the fuck out. I screamed and called for my husband, Mark. He came into the bathroom as worried as can be.
“Are you okay, Beth? What’s going on?”
“There’s something wrong with my face! The skin on my cheek just isn’t there! Don’t you see it?”
“Are you joking? If so, it’s not very funny. Try a Halloween mask, then we’ll talk,” Mark said, laughing.
“Are you kidding me right now? How can you not see it?”
At this point, I was incredibly worried. Was I going insane?
Mark laughed it all off and went to bed.
I couldn’t help but keep staring at my zombie-ish looking face. I mean, what was I supposed to do; just pull a Mark and laugh about it? No, I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Maybe I felt crazy. But I did touch the “wound” and it felt real, so what did this all mean?
I eventually climbed into bed, but I couldn’t stop touching it; it was so surreal.
I ended up not getting very much sleep that night, not that it mattered, but still. The next morning I had made myself some coffee and toast, my “usual” as I had called it. Something didn’t feel right, though. I couldn’t seem to eat or drink anything. It felt disgusting. It felt wrong. Regardless, I powered through like the boss bitch I am.
Although I made it through breakfast, I still didn’t feel good about the whole thing. Not only was my stomach doing somersaults from the gross shit I ate and drank, but I was also feeling like I needed something of more… sustenance.
Me thinking about my breakfast fiasco had to be put on hold as I had to go to work. I can’t pay the bills if I’m sitting on my ass thinking all day, am I right?
Work went well despite my morning at home, which put a nice neutral tone on the whole day. I brought home the bacon and I had a pretty alright day!
When I got home, though, something felt off. I had realized it was the smell coming from the kitchen. It was putrid.
“Hey, honey! I made chili!” Mark said.
“Oh, okay. I’ll get some in a bit. I just need to go fix myself up really fast,” I remarked.
I hurried up the stairs and went to the bathroom. I wanted to check back in on my little zombie situation.
It had gotten worse.
I had to admit, despite all of the panic about last night, I was surprised that I wasn’t too worried about the facial deterioration during my whole day, and even now that I found out it was worse than before. I almost felt… reborn?
Again, I wasn’t too worried about the whole thing. I mean, I did look like I was on The Walking Dead, but who cares? Even if I am undead, no one can see it apparently. It’s not like it’s bothering anyone.
But then things started taking a turn for the worst.
Last Tuesday, I started craving flesh. Not animal flesh. Human flesh. It took me a while to realize it, but when I did, I was a bit worried. How could I eat other people? And how could I break the news to Mark?
I ended up starving myself. I thought,
“I can’t eat people! Who the fuck would do that to another human being?”
I believe the starvation made everything worse, though. It was as if I needed to eat human flesh in order to be more like a human. For example, my deterioration got worse. It was terrible. Even my limbs were starting to fall off. And, as the hunger grew, I got more aggressive. I would start to yell at my husband over the dumbest things. Like, one day my husband made a dad joke and I lost it on him; over a dad joke. Yeah, dad jokes aren’t funny, but what the hell, Beth?
The hunger made me spiral out of control. I couldn’t contain it any longer. Eating raw human flesh was the only thing on my mind. I couldn’t focus on anything at work, and I couldn’t even enjoy my time with Mark.
Yesterday was when it all happened.
Mark and I were having a regular evening of watching TV, when he started up a conversation.
“Hey, Beth. I know you’re starving yourself, and I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need anything. Eating disorders aren’t easy things to deal with and-“ I cut him off.
“What the fuck, Mark? You think I’m doing this because of some deep-seeded trauma or some shit? I’m doing it to protect your ass. But now, I think I’m changing my mind.”
The overwhelming hunger took over as I swung my body over his and bit off a chunk of his neck. He deserved it. He never cared about me. He just made fun of me when I was panicked and felt alone. He thought life was all about humor. Well, he got what was coming to him for his shitty attitude.
I ate the rest of him, and then I went to bed feeling full and satisfied.
He was the best meal I ever had.