Then * Now

28.01.06/4:52 pm

vision

There is a blanket wrapped around me, smothering me with thick fibres. Covering my face, my mouth, heavily clogging my senses, knocking me out limp. I cannot shout, i cannot even whisper.

This last week has been so draining. Anxiety ridden, my hands are ripped to shreds with the constant picking at pulling at loose skin, sore and weeping with infection.

Wednesday was good, a high. I won the poetry competition with 'Muddy Knees', i came first, and it is taking a while to sink in. I was so shocked i didn't know what to do or say when they read my name out. I became detatched, numb, as it occured to me that it might have actually been down to more than sheer luck. Like an intake of breath, i waited for the fall, and of course it came. 24 hours later and i crashed, with a fierce and raw intensity, red hot guilt with no reason.

& i am just eating, and eating and eating and throwing up. I spent my �50 win on food, and several pounds more. I finish a bag of cheese puffs or dolly mixtures and panic because it's all gone and have to buy more. Even though there is other food, i must stock up right then, scared of running out, scared to stop and think about it all. Scared to look at the receipts, terrified to look in the mirror.

The drinking is no better. Cup after cup of Diet Coke and juice which brings my sugars even higher. I know i need my insulin, and i will take some, later, later, definately later. I will be fine.

I keep thinking about university, and how on earth i will manage to cope there. After visiting Chester a few weeks back that is the place i want to go. It is so pretty, perfect, a really great atmosphere. They have the most beautiful old chapel as base for the English department. The course i am hoping for is journalism with creative writing. Yet, i can imagine it now. I am worried that it will be all too easy to cut myself off, shut myself inside my little room with my en suit bathroom and mini fridge. They said that they would provide one for my insulin, but there is no doubt that i will end up filling it with soda and snacks. Everyone there seems so friendly but as usual i am frightened of exposing myself, to interaction, to life. Independence seems like a foreign concept. I am nearly nineteen and it is ridiculous.

All i want to do is write. Put it all down, the insane ramblings in my head, the voices, the rhymes. I imagine being blind, and not being able to see, not being able to describe the world around me. A line that i am always balancing upon with the poor control of my diabetes. How long before the blurring turns to black? I wouldn't be able to live like that. I couldn't tell someone else my thoughts and ask them to type it out, they are too private. Mine. You'd think a threat like that would stop me, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

I have so many letters i need to write, parcles to send, e-mails to respond to. I am constantly scorning myself, for not being there enough. For not telling those that i love just that. I feel like i am neglecting everyone i care about. I am sorry. I am so selfish sometimes. Containing myself within this little cocoon of self destriction and hatred.

My eyes have almost given in. I am exhausted, with so many trips to the bathroom, the drawer under my bed crammed with doghnuts, cookies and cakes, the kitchen, and of course the toilet - my saviour, my relief. I am going to sleep, hoping to forget for an hour or so until i wake to the aroma of strawberry milkshake and chocolate buttons that lingers throughout my bedroom. I need another drink.