Sunday, Nov. 02, 2003/1:33 pm

so sorry

I've been back home again since yesterday evening, but i have to return to the hospital by tonight. I've been debating over whether to write here or not because i feel like such a traitor. A traitor to all those who are sending me words and wishes from the heart, willing me to get better. Yet, inside i know it's not working out in any way i expected. Infact i think i'm getting worse. I'm so, so sorry.

The ward isn't such a supportive place to be, i haven't even touched lightly, the spirit of a gust that can heal. I am a machiene that is told where to sit and what to swallow. What time to stand and when to go to sleep and wake up. I never thought it would be easy, expected a struggle, but i did think it would start to improve a little from day to day. I am so unhappy, the tears collecting under my skin and sometimes when i'm alone cracking through like water under settlement.

Aparently the corridors are emptier than they have been in years, but still filled with the screams of those who remain. Patients are leaving because they are finding it just too tramatic, the uncomfortable atmosphere lingering in every room. I have already made some good friends in there, and we all agree that the hospital just brings us down furthur. I've been told by those who have stayed longer, that it used to be so much more comfortable, even some of the nurses have agreed. The food may be keeping me alive, but i am dead in my own darkened mood. I hardly talk, and when i do it's to ask whether someone is okay or how they are. I am continously being told to stop worrying so much about everyone else and focus on myself. It's a reflux reaction that i cannot tape tight. To speak about me, the bearings of my hopes and fears just seems impossible.

I just want to come home. Even to try and do it here. It's not that i don't want to beat this disorder, but that i cannot do it in that place.

Mila, someone i have grown quite close to has left, she is being monitored alot and her bed is being kept just incase but she is free. She became so low, and fed up of being proded and poked, unable to breathe her own air or choose anything for herself. Like each of us. She came back from her weekend at home and was so upset with the program that she just said she wouldn't eat at all, didn't come into the dining room, said she would only co-opperate at home. They had to take notice, meetings were held, the plan refreshed. She came to collect a few of her belongings on Thursday and it was lovely to see her so much brighter and content. She told me how much happier she was, not having to focus solely on food all the time or follow a leaded routine, even going out to the cinema with a few people from her college, doing normal things and feeling normal. I really hope she can keep going and pull through, she deserves it so much.

Jessica keeps running away, overdosing, fleeing to London bridge, getting hold of 100 laxatives, trying to fit through the windows. She's 13 and thinks she's fine the way she is, was admitted ages ago and has gotten nowhere. Isabel is a compulsive liar who swears there is nothing wrong with her. Cordelia is such a sweetheart, new as of two weeks, was tube fed for 5 weeks and is petrified of even holding a cup of milk. They are having to give her replacements because she can't manage to take anything but fluids in yet. Then theres Kayleigh and Shabana, both been in a while and close to discharge dates and target weights. Shabana is being advised to accept anti depressent medication, this has never been a serious issue for her till now. She admitted to me that aside from being heavier she now feels just as bad as in the beginning.

Another girl called Claire, was allowed out for an afternoon and disapeared for a while. For ages she had been struggling with purging in her room, in the lockers, draws, in bags, everywhere. The extreme bulk of food being too much for her to handle, she was losing weight, being given extra drinks to compensate and in the end having to bring them up too. I felt so sorry for her when she had to clean up the vomit and explain each slip. Her Mum decided to take her out of the programme, and now Claire is trying hard at home. I spoke to her recently and she told me she's managing to eat 2,000 calories a day and not throw up.

Now i am the only purger there, and i have always been the only one who admits to binging alot. So much talk revolves around anorexia this, and anorexic that. None of the others could relate or see themselves in bulimia. I think that part of my problem, is being slightly overlooked. I've picked up frightening habits. A chill whenever i see or have to feel food, a routed obsession with calories. Before i wasn't too bothered because i always got rid of it all, so why not add more cheese, butter or ketchup? Now i know the contents of each digestive biscuit we get given at afternoon snack, the 200ml of nesquik, the yoghurts standing at 91, and brown bread at 78. I really scared myself yesterday when i realised i could no longer pick a sandwich up properly. I have to pull it into 7 pieces, then take the crusts off, nibble each piece, open the two sides and scrape out the filling before smoothing the butter away, leaving me with near dry wholemeal. I am constantly running past the allocated time, 30 minutes for main, 15 for desert, 45 for breakfast. Whereas when i first came in i was no way close to being that bad. I don't know why i have to do it but it's a must, a way of coping, dealing with the shame.

And, i have reacted, i am squirming and i have faltered. I am so sorry, i can't stop saying it because it's so true.

Friday night, after dinner, feeling so full and overloaded i wandered to my room and was sick in my bin. We were gutting out a pumpkin for halloween in the sitting room. I watched the insides being scooped out, and longed for that hollow space in my stomach. Afterwards i sat in nervous tears, knew theres no way i could have hidden it. Before then, i had thrown tissues out the window, which a member of staff later found, i pleaded innocence, but a rubbish bag wouldn't fit through the tiny gap. I had to tell a nurse, Faye, one who is actually quite understanding. She was okay about it, helped me sort it all out. I said that it was involentary. I didn't tell any of the others. They kept asking why i looked so sad.

Last weekend at home, i dropped right down to the weight i was previous to admission in just under 48 hours. When i went back i compensated with waterloading, evian mineral hidden in my bag.

I hate myself. I hate this. I hate this all so much.

I've got to go, rush to get ready. Back to my closed existance. I haven't even got a minute to check through this entry.

I'm so sorry.