I need to say something, but bare with me this may take a while. I'm finding it difficult to write, to talk, to let each breath escape.

I'm still pulling myself along. Fully aware of these heavy steps, the steps that prove i am still here, that i weigh something, unwanted bulk that should be gone. Each minute is difficult. Each new day had turned old and stale by night, i just do what i have to, to make it through on the other side. Eat, purge, lie, smile, step on the scale, avoid the mirror. While the insults churn around inside my head, telling me that i'm useless, a complete waste of space. I have no purpose but to wait, and wait for what? I just don't know.

I don't know anything, what i want, where i'm going, or why. The course never shifts and yet i am sinking. Sinking beneath this relentless tide.

This morning was a bit better. Better meaning i can atleast function. I had a warm bath with lots of bubbles, washed my hair and shaved my legs. I held that razor in my hand and thought about cutting, turning the water a gruesome colour red, illustrating torture across my skin. But i resisted. It's no use, it won't heal or help, i'd rather keep it all inside, numbing my sences cold but keeping me safe. I used my Kheil's cream, for dry skin, and now i smell like vanilla custard :)

There are so many emotions running through my head and i can't catch up. They race ahead of me and lock me tight before i can get away. I never know how i am going to feel next.

Lost.

Lonely

Losing faith.

I am taking my insulin but only after i've shot up too high. I rarely take the long acting and i never prepare in advance. I need to feel my heart struggling and thirst scorching before i give in. Sometimes i take more than i should, just because, yesterday i took 33 units at once. I woke up at 4am with a reading of 1.4. One point below and it would have just said LO. I can't remember alot of it and i checked my meter this morning to make sure i hadn't been dreaming, but i somehow managed to get some lucozade and creep back to bed. Only to be disturbed at 5.15, low again. I'm scared of plunging the whole vial in oneday, knowing that it would be plently enough to send me into a coma, and even serve as that final push toward death. It could take weeks, as i laid unconscious, tubes keeping me alive, but soon enough, i would drift out. Drift out and away from all of this.

My mouth hurts from all the purging, sores dotted around my lips. My hands are shaking and i'm thinking about food again. How i can get it, sneak a few more custard cream biscuits out of the tin or a packet of crisps from the cupboard without being seen.

I am screaming inside.

Sorry for this selfish, rambling entry. I seem to be apologising for alot recently. I feel i should apologise for simply existing.