I was scurrying around the supermarket this afternoon, dodging between the aisles, trying to avoid the path of cashiers that had been working yesterday or the day before. Mum was walking around doing the shopping, but i'd split off from her to wonder around on my own. Gazing over the rows of inviting food, deli counters lit with mounds of cheese, shelves packed with chocolate and biscuits, ice cream standing proud in the freezer, calling you deep into marshmellow and vanilla puddles.

Suddenly, i saw her. A frail, gaunt woman, on her way to the check-out, wearing a pale blue t-shirt. Tortured eyes and frail arms, pushing a large, lonely trolly, filled with only a block of cheese and small tub of butter. Unsettled, anxiously aware of her surroundings. I'm as sure as i can be that she was eating-disordered. She noticed me too, we both stared openly at each other, a obvious stare. There was a passing, a connection, an understanding of 'you too?'.

I'm never going to be small enough. I am not thin, i have never been thin. There are so many others that have been further across the water, nearer to the bone. I feel i have gotten nowhere. I was reading an article in a magazine about a set of anorexic twins who both died, there was a picture of them, and they were the most emaciated figures i've ever seen. It's sick and it's twisted, but i am jealous. Do i want to perish because of this? I do not know anymore, i really don't. The idea is becoming ever more welcoming.

There's been something stopping me from losing more, a fear, a strangled voice telling me to hold on, for my friends, family. But i feel myself tipping, towards the other side, challenging myself, numbers swirling around in my head like a lottery machiene. Underweight is just a classification, and it does not reflect the ugly vision i see in the mirror.

If only i could starve without being watched. In isolation, without doctors or parents, without squashing care and love.

I'm still purging alot. On occasion it slows down but it never stops. My sugar levels have been terrible, every drop of insulin gives health and energy to my body, and i am not worthy of that. It is nectar that clears through my poisoned blood, nectar i will never deserve. My insides are swimming with glucose and ketones, washing away wayward calories. I know what i should do, i know what i need to do, it's just so difficult to justify.

I want an eraser to dust over my skin, blot out the knicks and blemishes, skim over the edges.

I am broken beyond repair.

How much longer?