Saturday, Dec. 06, 2003/11:05 pm

defeated

I'm crazed with compulsion, a compulsion to seek out food. I cannot stop eating, a raging force driving me on. 4 muffins, pasta, three quarters of a quiche, numerous sandwiches, a split bagel smothered in cream cheese, bowls of cereal with an excess of milk, butter poured over everything, washed down with diet coke and apple juice. The flashbacks humiliate me, i am usually in a daze, just rooting through the fridge trying to find anything satisfying. Sometimes afterwards i'll notice that half a loaf of bread has disappeared or another 6 pack carton of yoghurts. I'll stare at the open space for a while, the packaging left alone, and wonder if i'm imagining things, of whether i really have lost my mind.

In hospital all they ever addressed was anorexia. Your-anorexia-this, your-anorexia-that. They never mentioned the other side of me, the added detail on my diagnosis, binge-purge type. Most of the other girls were terrified of biting into anything, even holding a cup in their hands. I felt ashamed and dirty. The one who had sinned, taken the forbidden fruit. I will always feel that.

I stand and stare into the long mirror in my Mum's room. Everyone is out and i am just wearing my underwear. I brave to look, let my eyes decend over lumpy flesh, bones buried beneath thickness. Fatfatfat-fatfatfat-fatfatfat, ringing around in my head. A belt fastened tight, where it used to gape loose. Shallow values that to me, mean everything. I turn my body in a circle, stopping slightly at different positions, critisizing every fault, every inch of skin, every fold that sticks out too far. I am hovering around 89 pounds at the moment. I reached 72, my lowest. It seems so unreal, an amount to small to match up to how i felt. I despise every ounce, especially what has been added. I was so close to the illusive 70. So near, two pounds off. Inside i realise it will never be enough, not 72, 70, 65, 60, 55. Maybe the aim is to shrink down to nothing, a slip of skeleton that lingers between life and death. I just don't know anymore.

I was supposed to be going shopping with Frances and Cassie today but i just couldn't face it. I made up yet another excuse, another slip of reliability, another jump to avoid the awkward. I haven't spoken or seen any of my friends properly, not properly for weeks. I have talked to some in passing, or met for an hour or two at the most, but i always have to leave. Flee to my safety, where they don't have be around me, my clumsy steps and words that always come out the wrong way. Tonight was Nikki's birthday, i was invited to a meal at a restaraunt but of corse that is out of the question. Everyone would probably keel over in shock if they saw me eat. Allowing them to watch nutrition pass through my gluttonous lips showers me in guilt and panic.

I'm keeping little down,

and i haven't been taking much insulin.

& I'm slowly decreasing the numbers. Keeping in mind i will have to waterload next time i'm checked.

I've been looking through catalogs and on the internet for some ankle and wrist weights. I know that when i'm switched into outpatients they won't weigh me in a gown. It will just be normal clothes, so easy to conceal those hidden extras.

Only i know the truth, Only i know of the plans coiled up in my head, the judging voice, tears that cannot be freed. I've always had that sting of sickness lingering beneath the frosting. Even when i have been positive, felt hope or wished a future, i always knew deep down that i wasn't committed. I was trying, i have been, especially with my diabetes but the sky has cracked apart. I see my horrifying image, i want to scribble over the features and turn away. Forget what is happening, scurry into the dark.

Why can't i stop it? I'm so weak to this disorder, so fucking weak. I deserve to be hated because i am a failure, a complete failure.

I can't have my pages read, the folds of my cover unearthed.

I can't move from here.

Can't.Can't.Can't. Get up, get up, get out No No No Get up NOW, quit being so pathetic. [you are worth no better, worth no more, bleed, drown, hurt.]

Heaped over on the ground. Silence disturbed by a heavy heartbeat, nails scratching the floorboards. Numb and captured. Defeated and sorry.