Thursday, Nov. 27, 2003/11:03 pm

thorns and nettles

I'm sitting here thinking of food, obsessing over the two slices of toast that will be slowly absorbing into my body. One with peanut butter, the other with a thin sheen of darilyea. I'm worried about the cup of tea i had before that, with seven teaspoons of sugar, a response to lagging glucose after i puked up my dinner. I told myself that i would keep it down, i had to keep it down. Took my shot of insulin, added extra condiments because thats what normal people do, not just because i knew it wouldn't be staying in for long, right? yeah, right. I don't want this bread inside me, stodgy carbohydrate creeping into my waistline. I'm panicing because i know that i put it into my mouth, i chewed and i swallowed, and i know that i have to stick it out this time. I can't give myself the reasurance that 'it's not my decision' like i could in the hospital. They were forcing me, there were limited other options. Whearas now i have to choose. It scares me, because i still don't think i deserve any better, but i have to keep myself out of too much danger.

Today i have binged, alot. Seems like i'm making up for lost time. Always looking around me, terrified of being caught in the act, with my greedy hands in the fridge or standing in another supermarket que. Smuggling chocolate fudge cake, mini rolls, crisps, up to my room, secretly consuming everything with such shame. Blocking out the feelings, never really tasting anything but pain.

My top cupboard is filled with wrappers that i will need to dispose of as soon as i can.

I've been searching the house for the last half an hour, trying to find the battery my Mum removed from the scales. With no luck.

I have a throbbing headache, and just pulled out my ponytail band along with a great clump of hair.

Recovery complete. Heh. I hate that i'm doing this, i hate that i've hardly moved forward at all. I feel like i've wasted the use of treatment. I wanted something more than this, i think i still do. It's just so hard to keep sight of that, stop it from dissolving under tension and whispered ideas. The ward surroundings have been so difficult, blemishing hope and banishing dreams. For just seven weeks there are many memories. Some that might remain untalked about forever, too upsetting to replay.

I'm supposed to be thinking of how i can improve from now on, ready for the meeting on Tuesday. All i know is i don't want to go back to the hospital. I can't bear it.

My diabetes has been so unsettled in there, and it makes me feel unsafe. Hypos were frequent last week, and they never quite know how to deal with it. At one point i was crying and shaking, begging for some sugar, but the nurse just told me to wait for dinner which was 20 minutes later. I protested and said i didn't think i could actually manage to eat in the state i was in, but they wouldn't listen. I was so embarrassed during the meal, kept having to pause and put my knife and fork down because my hands wouldn't keep still. I fell low again that evening but i was too frightened to tell anyone at first, until it got worse.

I don't know what i'm going to do. I'm so hopeless, helpless. So weak.

I.

Just.

Need a way out/of this/all of this.

Stuck between thorns and nettles.