Wednesday, Oct. 08, 2003/2:14 am

Sunday 5th October

9.15pm

What the hell am i doing? I am so incredibly drained. When i stood up a minute ago i thought i was about to faint, watch a distorted vision of myself fall, body parts flung in different directions, head against the hard floor.

This morning i didn't even eat breakfast. I flushed it away without any detours through my system. Just straight from cereal bowl to toilet water. Cornflakes float, i had to fish a few rebellious pieces out because they just wouldn't budge. I'm going to use this same strategy with lunch. They have been trying to pull me together but the puppet strings have snapped. I have no other means to function, and this isolated environment lays down the dead roses in my entrance.

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9.15pm

I'm listening to the delicate sounds from Dido's new album and sitting under orange light. Thinking and debating over the steps to come. Whether IP will be to my advantage or just plain excruciating. I know i have to wait, wait and see how each fold turn of 24 hours maps out. I won't let myself push it away before I've even tried pulling it in. My opinions keep switching.

Today's been tiring. I did avoid lunch like i planned. The tomato and mushroom lasagne never even made it past my lips. I purged dinner, salad again. Plastic cheese salad as i call it. Hardly gourmet. Hardly worth it. However, i required that relief in some form.

They say they're proud, i'm doing well. Spirits high, improved interaction. Although reserved, better eye contact and clearing my plates like a model patient. Look for the sting in the tail. I do feel stable. A far stride from the emotional mess i succumbed to at the start of the week, mainly Tuesday. Though these praises are not deserved. I'm gliding through the lures of a disaster. Building the frame for a catastrophe. I'm hoping that my potassium hasn't taken another dive or that they won't take another blood test anytime soon. They seem to have stopped them along with the unpleasant supplements i was given to nurse my electrolytes.

I've just been brought a slice of white bread with a sheen of butter. I can smell the golden layer of taste that will skim across my tongue. It looks like wet gold dust. I am going to eat this at slow pace, fascinated by the presence of food. Then I'll tie back my pitiful strands of hair and fit right back into my screwed up mould. The rise and surge, replaced by nothing but a loss of humanity.