Wednesday, Oct. 08, 2003/2:10 am

Wednesday 1st October

10.15am

My stars today talk about facing up to things. The truth in that struck me. I have to accept this. I have no choice.

I am angered by the way in which i am being treated here. My privacy has been invaded forcefully. Since yesterday afternoon a woman has been situated outside the separate cubicle room i have now been moved to.

It is supposed to be for my protection. Incase i hurt myself, as I've been so distraught. I feel like such a freak but Mum supports me in trying to change this, in getting rid of the observer. I thought that i had a right to be upset yesterday. With being told of the move to London. So many nurses and doctors crowding around me. Then in the evening, a warning that if i won't eat half portions from then on a feeding tube will be shoved up my nose. The thought of that makes me want to retch. I have no way of answering aside from shrugs and nods. Initially i was told to only do as best as i can, incase the need to purge takes over. Now that reassurance has been wiped, i find out it was just another slippery lie.

This morning they brought my cereal with a carton of whole milk. I refused it and eat it dry instead. I also purged, purged every last drop. I went into the toilet and shut the door as the watcher followed me. I just explained that i was having a wash. I can deceive them this way because lets be honest, I'm good at being sick discreetly. My blood sugars were high again this morning so it won't have a dramatic affect. I really don't think they have a clue what they are doing. The skill hasn't left me at all.

I have also taken to choosing a limited amount from the daily menus. No desert or even juice now. I have my diet coke. No slice of bread and butter. So really, I'm not having half portions. I hope they don't realise. I might be losing weight but i don't think I'm gaining.

This is the backlash. I've been trying so hard but the glare that observes me constantly has moved me into deeper gloom. I need space, quiet space and privacy. The door even has to be left open when i have phone calls or visitors. I need something safe to hold onto. Of course, my eating disorder is here to lean on.

I've been listening to a lot of Silverchair on my discman. Not sleeping much. Daniel Johns voice soothes my tears and aches. Let me fly into the wind and wash every scent and medical trace from existence.

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2.40pm

I've negotiated over the privacy situation. The woman siting outside now just wanders around, checking on me every 15 minutes or so. It's a policy associated with the eating disorder unit. Where by they provide their patients with a trained mental health nurse to help out the regular nurses. I'm still upset about it. I'm a very quiet person and i need to be able to think and create, play with imagination and listen to my music, without someone peering over my shoulder. I think there's more of a chance I'll hurt this supposedly trained, afro haired nurse instead of myself! I might have to throw a book at her.

When lunch arrived today my tray contained the salad I'd ordered plus two more puddings, crackers, cheese and butter. They'd changed my options. I raised the issue, and found out it was a mistake from kitchen staff, they try to assist diabetics with possible food combinations. I was so worried they were going to make me eat it all. I'm supposed to be having half portions not doubles. Fortunately, the extra items were removed. I succeeded in purging, in the en-suite joined to my cubicle. Knowing i can trick them gives me such a sense of calm. In and out, lean over, sounding innocent. Handing over a urine sample as evidence for my episode in the bathroom. I'm so quick, it doesn't figure to be suspect. Concealing the truth, salad shoots and potato rushing through the pipes, leaving the chaos behind.

I'm less tearful today. Frances and Cassie visited. I asserted my voice this morning in frustration over the rotweiller observing. I actually became quite heated. Even though it's not entirely cleared up I'm glad it's all out in the open. I just don't understand why, when they say they want to make me feel better, they don't query that this set up is just making me feel worse.

I hate the doctors. I hate them. Especially my pediatrician. They're all so fake.

I'm going to go read for a while.

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Night, 11.40pm

I have only kept down a biscuit today. 45 calories. The rest has been sent swirling down the toilet along with the control everyone is trying to gain over me. I feel a twinge of regret, but if they are all so blind and oblivious what's happening, I'm not going to slow or halt it. I need the release. Maybe they've never heard of of a hands free purger � the ultimate expert at chucking up.

My admission date for ****** ward had been set. Next Wednesday, a week. I have to stay in here until then. My care plan was introduced to me and briefly explained.

I'm worn down and out tonight, better turn the lamp out.

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11.55pm

I couldn't keep the biscuit in. My sugar levels are nearing high so it won't do any harm.

Will it?