I can't see, the window is too blurred and my eyes are buried beneath water.

I've just spent another £30 on binge food. Scurrying around the supermarket with my trolly, legs like jelly, constantly on alert for familiar faces that might cause me to flee. Shameful doesn't even begin to explain it.

I haven't been taking alot of insulin. Blood sugars were very high during the night, ketones flaring. I woke up at 6am with my lips literally stuck together. I could only pull them apart after drinking diet coke using a straw. My last hba1c came back as 10.3, better but still not good, not acceptable. Jackie wasn't too pleased.

The possibility of going back to college part time seems more hopeful. As usual, being my feeble and pathetic self, Mum rang them for me. Even at at age of 17, with a confidence of zero my phone skills are appalling. To cut the story short, she basically argued that it would be discrimination to deprive me from learning just because i am restricted because of illness. After which they suddenly changed opinions and decided accomidating me wouldn't be a problem after all, hmm. I should go ahead and send the acceptance form back. This is good, it is, although anxious, i am actually looking forward to it. I'll be studying English Literature and Media Studies. My old tutor from last year apparently said i was capable of A grades! I don't quite know what to think of that, maybe she got me mixed up with someone else.

Cassie was supposed to contact me on Monday to arrange something, she hasn't yet. It's Thursday. What did i expect? As if she'd want to spend time with me.

I missed another apointment this week, i've visited my first buffet, and purged so often they've all merged into one. I bought some new pretty nail varnishes as an incentive to stop picking the skin on my hands. I've thought about cutting myself but the suicidal feelings have subsided a little. I know the pills are still hidden away in my drawer but i have been thinking about them less.

I love this song, it is my favourite ever. 'Mary Jane' by Alanis Morissette.

My writing seems so flat. I used to be proud of it sometimes, just sometimes. My poetry at least. But now it just dis-pleases me, bores me. It is nothing special, and neither am I.

I want to be magical and sparkling, i want to be elegant, glamourous and beautiful. I want a prince to slip the glass slipper on my foot and turn me into a princess.

This cold, grey truth is so far from that.