This is from my paper journal -

'I can't sleep. I have no idea of what time it is. It seems like i've been laying here, staring into the pitch black for hours. I keep thinking about what i'll eat tommorrow, how i'll savour my last convinient b/p day before the half term holidays. Every so often i stumble back and forth to the bathroom, to pee, and step on the scales. Just to check i haven't suddenly gained ten pounds, white dots cascade into my vision as i stand. My insides beg for fluid, rinsed through with cup-fuls of diet coke.

I am at the lowest weight i've been since leaving the hospital, and all i want to do is lose more. This obsession is keeping me alive at the moment, something to live to the next day for.

I wanted to write, i needed to, but for some reason it's not to easy now...

These screams from within are scraping bones, sharpening edges, leaving skin raw. Echoing through a stark, empty space. Whitewashed, stripped out with bleach.

I feel so sick, pale with naseau, eyes half shut.

It just hurts.

How are these pins and bolts still holding together? Peeled with rust and grime, gradually disintergrating.

I am not here...am i? This is not me. These hands are too fragile, tiny, to be my own.'

*

Everything is so hard at the moment, the smallest of tasks require motivation i do not posess.

I feel like i'm being held down, by a force i cannot fight. I can't do or say anything, i am numb, composure sullen, words stung to silence.

Too far gone.