Tuesday, Feb. 10, 2004/5:03 pm

no reply

I've been thinking about death alot recently.

Imagining what it would feel like to feel the blood on my hands, stained scarlet fingers, a ring blessed red. Or perhaps the settling of medicated powder in my stomach, capsules seperating, toxic levels of sedative taking a strong grasp over a weak body. An overdose of insulin, 2 or three vials. sending my sugars so low that no amount of glucogen could repair, even if i suddenly had a change of mind. The dizzy, shaky, flustering advance of a severe hypo, knowing there would be no return.

Playing my rib bones like a harp, a soft hand sweeping over distinct, flaring ridges. So thin, so frail. that existing in itself, hurts. Waiting for the end, the ultimate end, certain that soon the tragic picture would be reduced to just shattered specks of grey paint.

A photo of me placed above the mantlepiece, smiling false truths. Limp flowers placed by my graveside, scrolled with 1987-2003. An obituary in the newspaper, just a few sentences, unknowing quite what to write about me.

I've been close, i'm trying so hard to accept that. So close that the rasp of black engulfed my lungs, and i just didn't care anymore. I stood on the cliff top, wind wisping through straggling hair, and begged to either be saved, or taken. I got neither, i am still somewhere in the middle.

I feel everyone around me, my family, would be so much better off without me here. I am just in the way of everyone, a parasite that needs to be removed, ruining other peoples happiness. Causing them to stop and stare and wonder what my place is amongst them.

All i seem to be doing is sitting here. In the same damp spot, drenched, rain dripping off my bottom lip. Shivering with my head held low. Enduring the sharp freeze, unable to stand, handicapped without the use of limbs.

I've been so cold through yesterday and again today. This morning i started out with a long sleeved top and a zip-up, then added a jumper, and eventually a duvet, to which i've been dragging around the house with me. Last night my lips were so purple, it looked like i'd been sucking laces of licorice. My mum told me to go to bed because i looked so ill, i felt it too.

I am attempting nothing worthwhile. From the moment i wake till i eventually fall into sleep. Each hour is a hurdle, from four to six pm is the worst, a long stretch of emptiness. Watching endless amounts of television, i know the shedule off my heart, how sad. First Trisha, then This morning, the news for 30 minutes, Des and Mel, Neighbours and Doctors - the highlight of Friday because it featured a 13 year old with an eating disorder.

I need to get out of this. A never-ending loop where energy and any available enthusiasm disappears, lost through a bleak hole of exhausting rituals and depression. I don't know why i can't, can't just shake myself and take notice. Instead of looking for an escape that won't be seen. There will be no magic answer or fallen angel, i have to find my way out.

If only i could.

These thoughts get me nowhere.

The lights are switched on, but knock, and there will be no reply.