Tuesday, May. 20, 2003/1:13 am

faded photograph

Pursed lips pulled free from their frosted clamp, head held back to gulp down the savouring drink. Harsh heartbeat, racing faster, adrenaline pumping. Waves of fluid pouring down my parched throat. After swigging half a bottle in one go, charge it down upon the kitchen surface and wait for the flavour to sink in. Apple fizz or pure orange juice, maybe diet coke with or without lemon, but never vanilla. Then, a minute or two later the familiar tight sensation starts to set right back in. Thirst clenching, tight, tense. I reach for the milk carton.

Holding a hot mug of coffee to my cheek, trying to warm icy skin. Hands shaking, slippery fingers looped through the handle. Tendons severly sharp, along with visible deep blue veins. This type of cold lays beneath the flesh. Not like sleet on a gravel road, not to be averted with a rise of heating. It is always there, shards dipped through the skin.

I am struggling to see at this very moment. Shapes twitch and disappear. It's like wearing someone elses glasses, or contact lenses under the wrong prescription. My feet are cracked and covered in dry skin. White lines, sore and itchy, dehydration affecting me in every way it can.

I am being so clumsy. Dropping, knocking, misplacing objects. I was hopeless at work the other day. I trip, fall. I am a zombie with no sence of ballance. Fumbling to get change out of my bag, hanging it to a cashier to pay for doghnuts and more chocolate to hide in my room until i need it which is never long.

I'm really not doing very well.

Atleast, I havn't stolen since i was caught. I can't. Not yet anyway. I hope i don't ever again, not even small items, not even food. I staggered into it and started to run, run barefoot, stuck in a frenzy without any sence of where i was going. Then I hit a black wall and it all came crashing down on me. Lights shut down and everything went quiet. It's over, it has to be, please let it be.

I keep being told i look ill. Sick, tiny, terrible My Mum's friend, Frances's parents, people at work. I never know how to react. I was cornered in the supermarket by someone i hardly know who proceeded to be dismayed by the state i was in. Screwing up her face and announcing how i'd lost so much weight, what happened? I just stared, not a clue how to answer. People keep mistaking me for a much younger teenager. Puzzled and amazed that i could actually be sixteen because apparently, i don't look it, this which they never attempt to hold back. Around Christmas, a matron at work thought i was "12, 13?" as she put it. Confused as to why i wasn't just out playing with my friends. I thought it would just be a one off, but it keeps happening. It's become embarrasing.

I studied my face earlier. I came to the conclusion that it does look different. Longer, more defined, more hard areas than soft. I couldn't make out if that was good or not. I noticed how dark, dreary my eyes have become. They look so desperate, sad and dull. A river of tears doesn't seem enough to lighten or wash away the blue.

Sew me up,

so i don't have to speak words that shatter.

Little pinpricks, needle skits and tucks.

Attatch lashes to lashes.

Fade me out.

Crosses to my cheeks.

Diagramed wrists handcuffed together.

Just another girl,

who lost herself.