Wednesday, Oct. 08, 2003/2:15 am

Monday 6th October

Early, 4am.

I can't sleep. A mixture of thought tending to my yawns. Propping me up with disturbances. I'm freezing, wrapping the bed covers tighter and higher to try and aid my chilled insides. Hardly protected by sufficient insulation. I have to ask somebody else to pinch up the skin on my arm to inject there, otherwise I'd plunge it into bones. A sickening scrape of my frail skeleton.

I yearn to escape from this hellish restriction of goals. I want to say I'm just-fine without sarcasm. But I'm tipped with the temptation to carry on drawing pins in stretched across myself. Scores of injury. Dimming the shame in punishment.

The whole point is to find new ways of dealing. Like discarding a skill. Unlearning how to ride a bike or play the flute. Adjusting and diluting, something that has brought thrill and reassurance. Kicking the cloaked character out of the drivers seat. Leaving a shock of panic. Either the car steers off the road, or the passenger in alert takes responsibility.

If only this could all be over with instantly. Wave a magic wand added with glittered mutterings. But it can't and won't happen like that. It's going to take so, so much to do this. I need to make some use of what i have left. I have to make it. I hope a fresh morning will be able to rise again, someday, somewhere, somehow.

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5.20pm

My bulimic tendencies are fully charged and ready to attack. Imagining penne and carbonara dishes, macaroni, spaghetti and cannelloni smothered in suculent sauce. Cheddar cheese wrapped in salted bacon rashers. Doughnuts iced, glazed, jam filled, smothered in cream and sprinkles. Cornish pasties, fries and sizzling mushrooms with onion. Banoffee and cheesecake, blueberry gateau and fudge cake. Testing an element i know i will lose against.

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9.20pm

Tomorrow afternoon i am able to leave here for an overnight stay at home before heading to London by train and northern line on Wednesday. It's been a tough fight to persuade the doctors i won't back out of my promise. My pediatrician was completely against it. Pouring over his concerns and repeating warnings of the death card i dealt myself. How close i became to a burnt out flame.

In the end it was my Mum who stood up for me. It's practically impossible to organise the journey from hospital to hospital. Involving a haul of my luggage everywhere, buses, trains and stretches on foot. So much simpler and less tedious to set off from home as they are expecting us for 11am Wednesday morning.

I was told a few days back that this arrangement would be too risky. Too close along the course of danger. I begged, i wouldn't give up. A yearning to pack my own belongings, see my dearly missed cats, and a desire to binge and purge. I cried for the first time in quite a while when i was told they weren't keen on the idea. But later on the nurses associated with ****** ward came through for me and overruled my pediatrician. Along with a battering conversation from my Mum who argued on my behalf. Staying that to withhold me anymore air would just lapse my commitment and contentment backwards. The stature fronted in the dislikable Dr Ryalls was floored. He even apoligised for upsetting me. I really don't like him at all. I find him creepy.

I don't truly trust any of the highly posted 'professionals' Each one has let me down or disheartened me in one form or another. Too many blank sorry's sent into my path, just to fly past and bounce straight back.

At least i can now get out, for a glimpse of the light and probably a sleepless night. I am cunningly devising, planning and obsessing over the last supper. I won't make do with bread though. The connotation final feast is more appropriate. The last gluttonous feed, or two, or three. I don't even know if i can be bothered to be careful. I need it so desperately.

I'm.

Utterly.

Pathetic.

My throat and mouth are sore again.

My heart beat a bumpy train along jagged tracks.

I don't know how I've been so successful in deceit but I'm purging regularly. More snacks of toast and treats I've requested to be brought in after complaining about the meals. Without anyone else's knowledge. Even grapes have been disposed of. Harmless, but claiming vacant room.

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10.51pm

I hate what i just did. It's degrading. I went into the staff kitchen to pour some of my juice from the carton in the fridge. Ended up reducing myself to inner humiliation. I immediately swiped two packaged portions of cheese, that usually accompany crackers. Also, a half nibbled slice of carrot cake. Whilst back in my room i sat and gorged my treasures in a flurry. Hiding the wrappers and avidly scanning the door panels for anyone passing by. Then the aftermath.

It's moments like these that show me i need difference. The embarrassment traps my sanity between wires.

But how can i ever talk?

Talk about how i got here. 'It' and 'Me' If both are not universal, rather than just entwined. Occupying my soul.

I've got to concentrate on getting on with it otherwise I'll have nothing to stay here for. No other options or attainable dreams. No other choice, apart from a bullet in the head.

Please, just tell me it will be all right.

I'm thinking about food again.