I can't seem to find my way out. Surrounded by black, so dark, damp, bleak. Not even a twinkle of light to be seen. The air is still, sharp, shivers skimming over dry, delicate skin. I am freezing, kissed by death and waiting, so cold. Lips iced shut, unable to let a call or even the faintest whisper escape.

I cut myself, and i can't even remember the last time i did that. It must have been atleast a year ago. I watched it bleed, a gentle comfort, silent, scarlet screams. A thorned rose opening through white lilies, life. I needed to know that there is still a heart beating inside this rotting shell. I was crying, i was alone and numb, I was hurting, and i wanted to hurt that little bit more. A blemish of tinted red left upon my three bladed razor. Tissues spoiled with crimson dashes, held against burning wounds. The next morning i awoke to peeling platers and a sore, stinging grip across my thigh.

I've been taking laxatives again, another habit i thought i'd left behind. I stole a tub of 100, discreetely dropped them into my shoulder bag while pretending to browse greeting cards. I was too worried to buy them, in fear of the cashiers possible comments or questions. I have used them for the past four nights, a handful or two swallowed down without a pause. The cramps and stomach twists a familiar reminder of before.

The hyperthyroidism test came back clear. I am relieved, relieved that i won't have to take medication that would make me gain. My weight hasn't changed. It drifts up and down between 72 and 74. I am constantly checking, frustration pushing self hate as the same numbers flash back.

My old school friends were all receiving their AS level results on Thursday. They all did well, i'm proud, they really deserve it. Meanwhile i was at the doctors yet again, trying to be as honest as i could. I took Mum in with me, incase i couldn't manage to talk, but i did, i spoke. I explained that although the anti-depressents havn't made me any worse, there's been no siginificant difference either. I also mentioned the anxiety, and how it's been preventing me from getting out, interacting socially, my reluctancy to see anyone. She didn't have any answers for that, which i expected, just advice. Unfortunately i've tried, and i've tried again and i've failed. How could i explain to her that i've just given up on myself? She upped the Prozac to 40mg, two tablets. I'm just hoping that perhaps if they start to work i might find it easier to leave the house, and feek less insecure.

At the end of the apointment, before i left, she asked me whether i've had suicidal thoughts. I said no, but seemed unsure, so she queried again. With honesty, i quietly said 'yes, sort of, but it's okay.' She told Mum to be careful, and to not leave anything dangerous around, just incase.

College is not too far along the line, Nobody has any faith in me, i see it in their eyes, least of all my family. I do not blame them, i am in the same spot as i was last year. I am not well, and i'm so scared that it is all going to crumble to pieces around me. How will i last? How will i keep myself glued together?

I don't lie down in the bath anymore. It takes too much effort to get back up again. Bones hitting the surface, shaky hands, a body struggling to function on low energy.

Wrappers under the bed, in the drawers. My room is such a state at the moment, and i can't even begin to pick up the clothes and hang them in the wardrobe. I just lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, wishing i could float away. Food constantly on my mind, all strength fed into binging and purging, knocking myself out from the strain.

I avoid the mirrors. I don't want to see, i can't handle it. It isn't worth it, a glance pushing me back underneath the bed covers or towards the fridge. Covered in layers, trapped in sadness, gloom and lonliness. Trying to hold the ugly truth inside.