Tuesday, May. 20, 2003/10:38 pm

always with me

I feel like an old woman, crouched, aching. Gripping with claw like tendencies against the table so not to double over. I do not feel sixteen, time has speeded up way too far. My health is poor, and decreasing day by day. I don't have periods, my heart is struggling, sensitive to pressure and shock. I shy away from socialising. I just stay at home and waver these precious seconds away. Someone else deserves them, not me.

I don't do things by halves. Alot of effort goes into full self destruction. Reducing myself to a ruin of emotional turmoil. I always have to push myself furthur, furthur in, furthur down. Thinking that if i'm going to do it i may as well do it at full force until i collapse.

I couldn't just be slightly quiet, i had to be passivly, extremely, unavoidabley quiet. Blushing at touch and tensing up at admirable words. I've become muted now.

I listened into the receiever on the telephone. BT Answerphone 1571, you have one new message I concentrate as the voice booms through louder than it should do, like it's playing right into me, digging at my skin. It's a woman from the eating disorders clinic, wanting to set up at apointment. Press 3 to delete, 2 to save. Deletesavedeletesave..Messages will be saved for 28 days...

I breathe.

It could be the decision that saves my life. Could be. Could not. Atleast it's something. Think positively.

I hope so, i hope i make it. My mum rang her back, i am penciled in for the 24th of June at 10.30.

I am going to try. I really am. I just...don't know how long i have. I lack belief in myself yet i know i can't afford to fail. If i keep failing i won't be here to fail myself anymore.

I stumble to the kitchen for my cereal. Grab the box and hold it over the bowl to pour. Nothing comes out, it is empty. I ask everyone else where it is, whether they've had it but they say no, they don't even like it. The only option remaining is under my name, yet i cannot recall consuming it.

I am so far from being sorted out.

Being normal.

To be honest i don't think i will ever be able to act placid around food. Not think about it, not care, not wonder about calories, or bathroom facilities. I can't just wipe it away when it's managed to reduce me to this. I've been clutching it for too long.

The police service phoned back and said they are not going to persue the shoplifting matter afterall. I am off the hook but the reason disturbs me as well as relieves me. They said that they 'don't think it would be in the best interests of the public, or Claire, relating to her illness' Not understanding any of it, i asked my Mum what she had infact said to them. Apparently when the security guard talked to her on the phone just after i'd been arrested he asked her if i had an eating disorder. She said yes. Add the diabetes and hospital visit into the pot and here you have an unstable character, who managed to mess up.

I hate how he could tell. Just by looking at me. At my fragile posture. White, blank expression. Visible bones and outlines. Shivering under layers of clothes. Limp hair.

It faces me, the stark obvious reality of what i've done but i look away because it's just to harsh.

I am really sick?

Really?

Yes, the signs are there, glowingly noticable but no.

I Can't be.

They're are worse inderviduals, much worse. Beautiful creatures, mermaids swimming in tanks of red water, wasting away.

I see the thin girls, the pretty thin girls. They may often than not weigh more but they are thinner.

I am not thin enough. How can i still think like this? WHY can't i see what they see? what you see? The child like fading figure. I feel frumpy, and fat, like i'm wheezing through fat not chest strains. I set my eyes over the sagging clothes but i try to convinve myself it's some kind of magical coincidence.

I just don't think i'm skinny enough Gaunt enough, tubed to machienes or bed ridden. I haven't killed whats inside me yet, my personality, my ways, myself. Not just yet, because i'm not emaciated as much as i could be My pulse still rises and beats, behind the shudders. Even if i'm dying i still have to drop a few more pounds at least, to be illegible in my list. I am not making much sence here. Ignore me. Skip this useless text.

I have shrunk, i have, i see a glimmer of rationalisation now and then. For a split moment i become mesmorised by the new frame i fit into. It is shaken away and forgotten in a click.

My stomach feels huge. Knowing of all the food i cram into it. Forcing it outwards. I cannot attempt my daily situps anymore. The carpet rubs against my spine and hips, leaving me red and sore after ten or twenty lifts. I continue to punch the flesh, wanting to hammer it from view.

When will i be able to sit and steal the calm?

Cool under rays of sun, be able to withstand all conditions without losing it. Collecting, valuing, peacefuly, gracefuly making my way through. Not having to pause to throw up in public restrooms. Or buy a new pair of scissors, packets of razors and bulks of smartie tubes.

I want to shut of my mind, and pull the rubbish out.

Switch it back on and be clean.

Yet it is still here now,

it will be tommorrow. As soon as i wake up.

When i'm sitting in my morning english literature exam. Trying to make sence of the questions whilst also wondering what i'll eat later on.

It won't leave.

Not at present, because it is my past and my future.

I can waver,

i can attempt to climb,

but,

my hand will always be pressed over poison.