Friday, Jul. 25, 2003/10:05 pm

piggy in the middle

I can't stand under the stars, i might burst beneath their rays.

I'd rather walk lightly over nails than heavily over soft feathers.

I can still see my ribs, the soft curve of bones, but my stomach is too round, too apparent, struggling, squirming under the hold of my body.

I feel like i'm being trapped under layers of thick flesh, distended from my inner self.

I was supposed to be going to a party tonight but i backed out at the last minute. I can't let myself be seen, especially like this, i haven't been out properly in days. Nor have i washed or brushed my hair, cleansed my skin or taken a second glance at my appearance. I just can't bare to look at the moment. I'm expecting a monster, that i have created in my head, what i feel i have become.

I haven't even got around to buying laxatives yet, i am a failure, i couldn't get hold of any money. Tommorrow i will try again, search within the pockets of my mothers purse. I keep dissolving into tears, unable to cope with the torture of breathing through my own skin. I have repaired some of the damage, but i have so much lower to fall. Placed over excessive ground, i don't want to leave grooves in the soil.

The letter arrived. This morning. The apointment is next week. Thursday, in London at a child and adolecence eating disorder clinic. I will be assessed and discussed once more. I also have another questionare to fill in by hand and take along with me. I'm putting off the scribble of my soul down on paper, shoved the printed sheets between a pile of books in my chaotic bedroom. They will stay there a while. The apointment is only for looking around the place, i will not be admitted that day thankfuly.

I keep changing my mind and skipping from one foot to the other. Determined not to let them cage me one minute then willing to try the next. I don't know what i want or if this is the way to find it. Freedom comes at the price of unease. I might not be able to accept myself living well, because it's branded into my mind that i am not worthy. That i never will be. To eat and not purge doesn't follow the plan. It doesn't run across the bumby lines of my routine. It sends everything i've ever told myself right off the track. I don't know how i'll cope, self acceptance is so far away, and so out of reach it seems completely unattainable.

How can i rearrange all i have done? all i have reached, seen, fought and given in to. The times i've laid down and shut my eyes, hoping silence could erase memories. I have come so far in the wrong direction that the crumbs across the trail have run out, the way back looks bleak. I want to fleet furthur forward into the depths of darkness, where i find my solace, die down to a stub of soot. I am captive by my own teachings.

I know this isn't right, i just avoid thinking about it. If i think about it i might see that i'm really, truly sick. Yet at the moment i can still surf under my illusions, cloudy dreams, that it will all work out okay in the end, and i won't need to touch recovery whatsoever. Under the cover i know that really isn't true. Half in and half out.

Will i slip forwards or back? Only time will tell.