Saturday, Aug. 02, 2003/4:32 pm

overflow

I haven't had a proper night sleep for days. I've been laying on the sofa this afternoon for hours, head propped against two cushions, eyes dipping between half closed and shut tight, pulled down with such lethargy. I was supposed to go around my friends house at three, she only lives down the road, and by that i mean literally a few doors from me. I couldn't bare it, i can't stand to be around her, as lovely as she is, i can't stand trying to cover the truth, trying to replace the sadness with a shine. I didn't even ring with an excuse, the telephone receiver seeming miles away. I don't want to hear a voice full of lies, i am awful. I don't have enough stamina to make a short walk but i can just about manage to binge and purge on various foods.

It's warm and sunny outside, but i am freezing and it's really disturbing me. This morning i had a skirt and t-shirt on but had to change to jeans and a jumper. I look so perculiar, a ghost visiting during holiday season. My Mum keeps asking why i'm gasping so much. I won't answer her but it's because my sugar levels are so high, my heart beat is hammering. I gave myself 10 units of my act rapid insulin a while ago but it hasn't made any difference yet.

I am thinking too much. A over flow of worries, fears, denials stemming from this in patients possibility. I keep saying i won't go, that it's going to interfere with my life too much, college, getting a job, any excuses i can conjure up. I am going to tell them all this on Wednesday. I am a coward and i want out. I have to admit this. I know that by saying this i am disapointing alot of people, and i hate that, but this diary is an outlet, to empty out my hidden pockets, and i need to tell is how it really is. People have left notes saying i am brave but i am not. I am not at all, i'm trying my best to back away from recovery, loyal passivity by my side. I don't know what is going to happen, i am awaiting Wednesday with such aprehension.

I had a nightmare last night that i shoplifted again and some girls from my school saw me do it. I keep dreaming about stealing, about that dreaded experience. Scenes of just sitting in that white box in the basement of debenhams. It's left a deep scar, haunting me with guilt and the memories of being utterly terrified. I just want to forget about it, leave it behind but somehow i can't. This is the ultimate punishment, worse than the arrest in itself.

I feel like i'm tripping on imaginary stones. Jumping through invisible walls and falling down on missing glass. Nothing seems real and everthing seems wrong. The colours won't neutralise. Dissocaiated from normal life and it's keepings.

Wrapped between blankets, nobody can rip through the wool, i pull them tighter, won't let any fresh air past.

Years of dust can't just be swept away.

Energy, nowhere to be found.