Saturday, Jul. 19, 2003/10:05 pm

a reason

I've been trying to scrub away the smell of vomit but it won't leave. Lingering over my skin like a vile perfume past it's sell by date. I want to slit open my stomach to make sure i'm empty, scoop away any matter that remains. I feel so dirty, so infested, insects crawling through my veins.

After hardly eating for days due to feeling so ill i've regained my appetite. My unfillable appetite, more and more unrecognised tastes, numb to justice. I won't even attempt to add up the amount of purges for today, it must be well over ten.

I haven't been out since my friends birthday. It never occured to me that i wasn't exactly in the best state for ice skating. I only stayed on the rink about half an hour. I kept feeling really clumsy and out of control, fell over once. My hands kept cramping really severely and reacting to the low temperature, i turned blue. Since then I've shut myself away. I've gained weight, which has brought me down. No longer 79, i better lose it all again soon. I feel way to much to handle.

I couldn't stop crying last night. After a steaming argument with my Mum about these warped eating habits. I was suprised by my reaction but i couldn't take it. I sobbed into my pillow and tasted the tears falling down into the dip of my mouth. I kept thinking to myself 'i'm never going to forget any of this' It is going to be with me, always, wherever i am. I cannot run from that that which runs through me. All the places i've found to thrown up, the ways i've managed to do it. The sick achievements, the supermodel envy, staring through cookbooks and cutting out recipes that i never use. It's all stored back in my mermory, blocked in the corner but leaking fumes throughout.

The letter about ip hasn't arrived yet. I look for it every morning, as soon as the flood of assorted letters dive from the flap. I'm still waiting.

Waiding through this river of uncertainty.

Bare feet stabbing over sharp rocks, struggling against the waves.

Fresh petals in my hair, eyes that wander, a watch that has stopped, strung round a wrist so sharp.

Forever paused between one step and another. One dimention and the next, not quite reaching either but watching with temptation. Maybe a shot will cut me down, sether the fine string i'm holding onto.

Give me a reason to be here.