Then * Now

22.02.06/7:23 am

forgive me

Forgive me if this inevitably becomes a weary mis-match of words. It is gone 6am and I have not yet slept, Matt has just left for work and everyone else will be getting up soon. I have spent the entire night eating and throwing up, like clockwork again and again, Making my way through the great amount of food I spent precious money on today yesterday. I switch my light off and crawl into bed, desperately trying to ignore the thoughts in my mind, dim down the sound so I can escape, and yet I find myself rummaging through the drawer beneath, a hand searching for crisps and sweets, with the crackle and crunch of bursting wrappers and packets.

I am feeling so inadequate, comparing myself to everyone around me. I am not witty, nor smart, not clever or intelligent like they are. I am placid, dull, nothing. No strong intent or opinion, just passive, weak. I want so much to be able to speak, have some sort of impact, and yet I fear the sound of my own voice so very much. I won�t let myself be heard, I do not matter.

I am so far from optimistic, but it is hard to be that way when you can�t see a future for yourself. When all your memories are tainted by reflections of the inside, an underlying presence even through happy times telling you that you�re just not good enough.

I think a lot about everyone who reads this diary. I worry about what you might think, the silent frustrations and expressions of anger. I wonder why some of you don�t leave messages, especially the one off visitors that find themselves here through a search engine. I have considered shutting it off completely, locking it away from public eyes, sometimes I question why I haven�t already. It does scare me to think of someone in the real world stumbling across it; all they would need to do is enter my e-mail address into Google to find this secret little space.

This is the real me, completely. I am perhaps too honest here, stripped down to the core. Maybe I shouldn�t be, maybe it would be easier to pretend. Protection for those who care and worry, those who I feel I owe so much to, so many apologies, for being like this, for still being sick and useless. I have become so repetitive, I know that, I want to be content and upbeat just to make people smile but that would be such a lie.

When will this diary end? I am so contained within this online bubble, I would be at loss without it. I am too attached, but it is my only means of truth, every other part of my life is built with fabrications and pretence. Even if people can see right through me I will never admit they are right.

This existence is cold, it is nasty, dirty and degrading. It hurts to imagine what my Mum or my brother may be thinking as I scurry off for another binge, returning from my room with smudges of chocolate around my mouth. I will eat a huge lunch and then a huge dinner, with a meal sized snack in-between. I sit there and swallow down mouthful after mouthful. I do not look at them, and if they glance towards me I will become immediately uncomfortable. I buy bags of groceries that seemingly disappear within twenty four hours. It is so, so shameful. So wrong, and yet so normal to me, and to them as witnesses to such a mess. A subject left alone, addressed before and now pushed back, there is no use anymore.

I can try to excuse myself. I could say it was because of this or that, my upbringing, my parents divorce, the diabetes or strained friendships. I could blame failed recovery on the NHS or my GP, but when it comes down to it, this is my fault. Yes it is an illness, a disorder, but other people can get better, so why can�t I? Because I am pathetic, needy and lazy. It is just too easy to curl up in a ball and give in.

I wish I could have realised how bad this was going to get, with self hatred growing and breeding under the shadow of self destruction. I didn�t want to be myself then, yet now I have been blocked and boxed into such distant territory I can�t even face myself. I found a passage to scramble through in order to avoid the issue. I am limp, unresponsive, dead and gone. I gave in so long ago, left with a tiny cry whispering 'sorry'.