Here i am. Standing alone, drowsy with emotion. Lost in a never-ending maze of mirrors, the drones of a funeral march playing in my head. My wrists lay infront of me, ready to be cut, and yet i back away. Run into the night and bury myself in reasurances. it will be okay, it will be okay, it will be okay.

Still surviving. That's what's important right?..i'm not so sure anymore. As long as i still exist, this stretch of pain continues. I will not give in, relentlesly stabbing another wound, sending my body to the limit, waiting for it to reach the edge. Suicide would be an end to this suffering, an ease, but i am too cowardly. I do not deserve it. I won't let myself out.

I feel unsettled, as if something bad is about to happen. I'm such a state. I can hardly walk without feeling like i need to find a chair or sofa. I'm having those electric shocks on a regular basis again and my heart won't stop hammering.

Today i've drunk atleast 3 litres of diet coke, 500ml of light lemonade, an entire carton of apple juice, a large cup of milkshake, several glasses of ribena, and nearly the whole bottle of sunny delight. I ran my sugar reading off the scale, 'HI' confirming the obvious. Scared by the strain of struggled gasps, i took a shot and now i'm left with this intense guilt.

Through yesterday and Saturday i pretty much made it till evening without alot of food. This morning was a different story. I started when i woke up, at 10.30. Boiled eggs and toasty soilders - just like i used to have when i was little. I haven't had a chance to slow myself since, haven't been allowed to breathe.

I've had to fish floating wine gums out of the toilet water and push them down the sink. I've thrown up around the side of our house and covered it over with leaves. I've curled up crying in my bedroom after finishing off another block of cadbury's chocolate. I've been to the supermarket, suggested items to add to the trolly, ice cream, cheeses, sandwiches..wincing inside as the words left my mouth, selfish sins that i must pay for later. Pain is the price of gluttony.

I noticed my reflection in a window, and for a moment i think i had a glimpse of what others might see. I looked awful, a mess, and not because i'm fat. Because i look half-dead. I look like a corpse, ugly and wilting.

Before getting in the bath tonight, i purged until my vision was blurred, and had to steady myself against the wall. After stepping on the scale, i realised i'd gained a pound. Tears started to well in my eyes, terrified i was going to pass out. But water or not, i had to rid myself of it. Shakily i returned to my teritory, stuck my hand down my throat for added effect, spluttered, gagged and spat out a few multicoloured sweets amongst shoots of salad. Once i'd made it into the water, i started to scrub myself. In an attempt to shed the smell of sick and filth, wishing i could wipe the surface away completely. Clawing at my arms, legs stomach, scraping roughly with the flannel, until they appeared red and sore. Like the usual response after a rape. Except i haven't been hurt or tricked into thinking i am dirty by someone else. I am dirty. I have always been and it will never change.

After getting out i sat exhausted on the floor. Looking down at my bulging stomach, i wanted to tear it apart. Pull away at the loose flesh, scratch and bleed, and bleed even more.

I just feel disgust. Absolute disgust.