Isolation.

A chilling shadow that follows me, covers me whole, in a dark coat of sharp comfort, blocking out the sounds of normality.

Keeping myself inside. My voice, my truth, a heart bound with tape. Singing along to the continous roll of self loathing.

They don't know me. I wonder if they ever did. When did i start to fade? When did i become camouflaged beneath this disorder?

There are two sides. One half that smiles and tries to laugh. She's okay, she's surviving, she's quiet but it's no problem, right? It's an illusion, i am not there, i am sitting behind that, desperatley wanting to get out, run, get home, get away, slip back into my other existance. Where my thoughts can thrive with the stab of hunger, i can bleed when i need to, and hide. Curl up and blot out the world, because the world is too scary. Out there i am heard and i am seen and it is so hard. I just want to lock myself away, so to not humiliate myself. Protect them from this hideous infection i can stupidity.

I didn't even make it into college today. I woke up, still sleep deprived, reached for my alarm and immediatley switched it off, threw it on my bedroom floor and turned over. I then fell back to sleep for another hour and a half, by then it was too late to get a bus. I can't be bothered to care.

In my Media Studies class there are two boys who keep making jokes and laughing about me. Along with two girls who snigger and giggle about it all. Saying they wouldn't go out with me even for money, and making sarcastic proposes and gestures. It's nothing big, harmless perhaps, but as usual i can never let it pass. It's upsetting simply because this always seems to happen to me, no one else. Is it that i am so ugly that people just can't stop themselves from commenting? They even passed me a note across the table in our last lesson and sent me a message via the college e-mail system.

I used to expect this at school, it happened regularly, at times it could have been my paranoia but definately not always. I just thought it wouldn't arise here, i guess they just can't resist. I'm such an easy target. I must have a sign printed on my back that reads 'freak.' I don't argue back, i just look away, look down, look anywhere but towards anyone. I feel so small and i want to be physically tiny, so to dissolve between the carpet fibres. If i wasn't disgusting, and my face and body weren't such a mess, they wouldn't react like that. There is no other explanation.

I feel particularly big today. My hands look fatter, fingers chubbier. I am a waste of air and space.

I have alot of work this weekend, and i just don't know how i'm going to do it. Any ordinary person would say, it's obvious, you prepare and you think and you write. But what if your head is already crammed full of clouds? Food, scales, numbers and death. Excusesexcusesexcuses.

I have become so absorbed in this torture that i have no idea of who i really am. Who i used to be, how i ever existed outside of this sickness. Because that is all i am left as, sickness. Illness, decay and rotting remains of a distant past.