Tuesday, Feb. 11, 2003/11:38 pm

weak

Guilt and shame are painted on my insides.

The print runs through my skin and tarnishes everything i hold.

I'm so revolting, hideous, it's all my fault, and i can't stop it.

I can't do anything, i can't fight bulimia, can't battle the pain. I'm wounded, crippled my this despair, unable to move.

It's how i cope.

Theres a lump in my throat, and tears are slowly making the way down my face. I'm hastily wiping them away, i don't want my mum to know she's made me cry, again.

She kept calling me a 'dirty cow' She breathed down my neck and said "from now on you'll only eat what and when i say you can eat!" Then repeated over and over in my ear "Did you hear that?" Getting loader and loader as I just stared ahead. I didn't mutter a word.

I hate it here so much. If i wasn't here they wouldn't have to deal with me, it would make things so much easier for everyone, i just mess things up.

I feel so weak at the moment, theres a phsycial feeling of numbness running throughout my body, i can't focus, i don't even know what i'm writing but i'll carry on. I hope this makes some sence.

Theres food in my stomach, I can't stand it. I just tried to purge but couldn't, i'm so scared of someone hearing me. I can't keep this in, i just can't, i don't know what to do.

I'm shaky and can't stop scratching at my skin in a desperate attempt to wake droplets of blood.

I'm not thinking straight.

I need to bleed so hard i blackout, i don't want to face this anymore, i want out

I want to crawl into my black shelter and finally close the door behind me.

So sick of myself.