Since that binge-free day last Thursday all i've been doing is making up for it. Despite more arguments, despite feeling so selfish and so repulsed by myself, i have eaten and eaten and eaten. Words can't describe how much i hate myself at the moment. I tell myself that i will stop, that i'll slow down, but it never works. My promises are faulty, full of holes and cracks, there's no point in trying to believe them.

How can i be so inconciderate? So utterly self involved?

Mum even asked me to start paying her some money each week towards the groceries. It was so humilating.

I don't understand why she contunues to cover for me. She shocked me today. I said i didn't want to go to the apointment tommorrow with Yvonne, she agreed that she didn't really want to either and rang up to cancel. I listened to her on the phone, the lies like a continous stream. She said i've put on weight, she said i'm doing great, making 'a real effort.' I thought she might be unaware of exactally what she was doing, but after hanging up she said to me 'lied for you again.' Yet, i didn't ask her too, she didn't have to. She even spilled out a story about how the meetings seem to be holding me back from getting better, and managed to negotiate that they will now be optional. Nobody is going to make me go. Although that doesn't count for my diabetic check-ups unfortunately.

I found out that i'm now officially discharged from the place in London, no longer on their records. The path is open for me to sink like a rock into the water, down to the murky bed of settled sand. I feel like i have alot more power.

All the way along i have been creeping silently and pushing everyone out. I never imagined they would let me go so easily. The ties are being cut one by one and as they drop away i want to run even furthur.

I've been losing weight, somehow, not alot but enough to obsess over. Setting goals and writing down numbers, hiding myself in layers of clothes.

My hands are so sore, i've been picking at the skin again. I had been growing my nails but last night i faltered, found myself peeling and pulling the loose flesh, until my fingers were swollen and covered in blood.

I was thinking about how it's been over a year now since i had that heart attack, and nothing is different. What is it going to take for it to happen all over again? Or will those pills lure me in first? I'm still pre-occupied with the idea of suicide. I've always said i wouldn't do it, but i can't rule anything out at the moment.

I haven't arranged anything with my friends for atleast a month. Aside from bumping into Katie last week i'm sure it was around the end of April that i saw any of them.

I'm worried that Gwen wouldn't have recieved my last letter. I miss her so much, she sounds so sad in her diary.

I thought i wasn't going to be able to write this entry, but i'm glad i have. Sorry it's been such a mis-match of everything, a scattered trail of emotions. It all means nothing really, i don't know what i'm on about.

I feel so desperate.