Tuesday, May. 06, 2003/12:52 pm

my addiction

Salt, Crunchy, Sweet, sour, dripping with undiscovered taste.

Doghnuts glazed thickly with pink icing.

Frothy mouth watering banana milkshake, standing proudly in a tall glass with a stripy straw.

Melted cheese, just melted. A huge chunk heated to turn all gooey, seasoned with pepper and tomato ketchup.

Hard candy. Bright coloured rounds and cubes of sugar. Jelly beans, speckled and inticing. Roll dolly mixtures and licorich between your fingers.

Then chocolate. Tempting, smooth, delicious, milk, dark, white, soothing chocolate. Brownies, sundaes, mouses, ice cream, cadberys dairy buttons. 500g, 600g maybe even 700. One more piece slides down your throat, tackling your sences.

I always want something more, something different, something new. A change, another flavour to roll under my tongue. I am never satisfied. Never satisfied with what i continue to gorge myself in. That is because i cannot really appreciate it anymore. Not as it should be. It is gupled down, with diet coke or tons of water. Between other foods and rushed, not enjoyed, not taken time over, just used. Useless lumps needed to fill up the stomach. It serves it's purpose. To then be flushed away, emptied out, to keep walking into this trap day after day. None of it will ever be enough to stop me from shovelling more into myself. i will never be able to stop, place my knife and fork down and say 'that was lovely but plenty for now.' I don't underdstand the concept of being full anymore. Theres a line somewhere, they're must be. I cannot see it at all anymore though, it's faded under the rain. I either havn't eaten enough yet or am at the point where i am ready to purge or even near bursting the seams. There is no middle grey area.

I just cannot stop eating. I can't, i'm addicted to food. I am addicted to the feeling it gives me. I am addicted to the smell and the process of making it. I am stuck in the routine. The thoughts. What shall i eat? when? where? how much? Then afterwards my fear of weight gain and knee jerk reaction swerves me like a zombie to the bathroom. Food is all i think about, it takes up so much of my minds energy. I consume myself under it's preperation, and the ritual of devouring the creation. I am spending so much time, so much time and money on this obsession. I am bucking underneath it.

Food.Food.Food.

Every minute it makes its way back in.

Cuboards. Fridge. Bread container. Freezer. Remember to look in the saucepans in various hidden places to see whether anythings been rationed.

Seek it out. Pushing myself. Into the tuperware of pasta and box of cereal.

It is an addiction.

When i was in hospital i laid there thinking about what would be for dinner or breakfast, or lunch. I won't lie and say it wasn't the highlight of the day because it was. It was what i relied on, it was a focus, the only thing i could draw myself into. The little menu came round and i tried to wait 5 minutes, maybe ten before i glanced over it. Crossing with the pen, as accuratly as i could with the trip attached to my wrist. Little swipes of ink showing what my choices were. Macaroni cheese one day, with pees, maybe turkey sandwiches the next. Plum crumble for desert or maybe just a yoghurt or piece of fruit. I wanted to finish the platefuls, i did, whether i would purge or not. I just wanted to eat, and be involved in the process of eating it. Scrape the knife and fork against the china. I needed that retreat. I needed the full feeling, as uncomfotable as it may be sometimes i needed it. I resisted finishing most of it off because i was scared i would gain the pounds back on, not because i didn't want to eat. Of corse, i have times where i don't want to even see food but when i was in there with only three small meals a day i was frantic. It was like being put on cold turkey. So much i even sneaked binges in, by the time i'd figured out i could throw up easily and they couldn't do anything about it.

I am even thinking about it now. Tuna and pasta bake, spagehetti hoops, cheesecheesecheese. I am wondering whether i could binge with Kayleigh home. I will. She didn't go to work, she is ill apparently. She ate the last two crumpets this morning which i was secretly mad about because i'd been dreaming about them.

Lately i havn't even been overly concerned about expelling food from my insides. Not as bothered as usual. I feel sick and disgusting but i am transfixed in fast mode. Bingebingebinge. Quick. Run. Snatch your load and run. Sit in your room and pour sickly puddings and toast down your throat. Yesterday i even had my own sad personal picnic. I found a spot of grass, i asked my mum for �5. I went shopping, bought a trifle, two cream cones, 4 bounty ice creams, 4 twix ice creams, 1 apple pie. I hovered over my bags, trying to block passers by from the contents of them, and got on with what i was there to do. Then i went in search of public toilets. That was the high point of my day.

I have gained weight, it has crept on me but i am not shocked. A snake slithering up my thighs and over my stomach rippling me with fat grams. I am not going to say how much, the number depresses me. I will reduce it, i will, i gaurentee it. I always do somehow, somewhen, no matter how long it will take. I want to be thin for the prom. No actually i want to be too thin for the prom. I don't care if i look sick, i want to push myself.

I have two friends coming round after school today. Gwen and Bryan. They actually want to help me with my history revision which i guess is caring of them. I wish i didn't suspect them of alternative motives. I am so paranoid, i keep pondering over what they really want from me. My room is a tip, i tried to tidy it yesterday. Had a burst of motivation which sunk away after half an hour. There are currently piles of books and magazines on the floor you have to dodge over. The last thing i want to do is see people, and i knew it would be that way but what am i suposed to say when they ask? 'Oh yeah, sorry you can't come i am completly depressed and want to spend my day in bed please' So i am making the effort. I now have 3 hours to sort everything out. My room, the house, and of corse i have to eat and puke. As if i forgot, trying to fool you by putting it at the end of the list. It is still very much on my mind.

So now i move on to the microwave buttons.

The bleeps and the beeps.

The cooking times and instructions.

When will this ever leave me?

Will it?

I am diseased by the swamp of self destruction.

One more step down, one more kick in the ribs.

Drips of blood falling from my hands, a lightening bolt up through my chest. Hanging my heart through strings.

And the continous call of deprivation in my ears.

Come on claire, you know you want to, your hungry, just a little bite won't hurt.

It will though, and it won't just be one bite.

I want to shrink so small then be able to slip through the gaps in the floor.

I know what will happen though,

i am know where i am going,

Chains and locks. Attached to my body.

A prisoner under my own sentence.