Wednesday, Oct. 08, 2003/2:09 am

Tuesday 30th September

11.10am

I want to die. I want to die. Please, no, no, no. These tears stream and stream. I'm shaking and drenched in devastation. A headache raw and throbbing. I just want to be left, left alone. I want death. I'm so sick of lies, they said it would be the weekend. I eat three spoonfuls of cornflakes and about a tenth of a dry roll for breakfast. Some of which i chewed and spat back out.

I'm hungry. It's intense and crippling. Before when i was keeping nothing down the pain was ignorable but now I'm picking at food the hunger has started to strange me. I can't figure out whether i like it or not.

More of an explanation later. I can't write further.

It's killing me and i want to let it.

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11.45pm

My pediatrician described my condition as 'teetering on a knife point'. Doctors around me shout 'Danger! Danger!' Harsh voices chanting over and over. My, liver function results have been over 100, now down to 60 plus but still unsafe. Apparently I'm stuck between more life threatening thorns than i could ever have realised.

The thing is, they won't let me go. Won't let me leave, even for an hour or two at home. The advance once again of IP very much apparent. They are going to transfer me straight to London and if i refuse I'll automatically be sectioned.

You can probably tell by the last entry that I've been pretty hysterical, and actually still am to an extent. I've never felt so scared and lonely. Like they're taking everything that comforts me right away without any warning. It's so hard to take in.

I haven't felt the urge to cut for months but now i want a blade so badly. I want to watch the blood pour like a waterfall. Clear, scarlet and beautiful. I purged last night, some of my salad. But it's only the second time since arriving so I'm not going to beat myself up over it.

The in-patients insistency has come from my diabetic nurse, doctor and the eating disorder clinical specialist from Frimley that i saw last week. They've all been here this morning, telling me of my mistakes and how they can be repaired.

At first i protested with all my might but the notion 'sectioned' hit me hard. The madness, insanity of that route bars my runaway impulses. I had to step down, surrender. Otherwise it would be glued to my records forever.

This doesn't mean i feel better. Everyone else may be relieved that I've agreed but i am not. I feel so terrible. I've been staring at the bright notices and pictures around me through blurry eyes and it's all joined into one great pool of nauseating terror. I'm still going to be here for a while, but from then on i have no idea of what will commence. Stemming from my trust issues with ****** ward the clinical specialist said she may look into another London unit. The full care plan will be sent through at a later date.

I want to curl up and sleep the exhaustion and overwhelming feelings from possession. But lunch is on it's way soon, another worry to cram. I feel like ripping my skin and desperately searching for healthiness.