I feel so close to tears, my eyes are already red but i still feel so hopeless. Like a gasp could send me over the edge, prompting a stream of gentle despair, I have just returned home after walking to and from the supermarket. I wasn't allowed a lift and i need my fix. My arms ache from holding the heavy bags and i have a awful headache, my legs are itchy and dry.

You could cut the atmosphere here with a knife. This has been the second major argument of the week. The first was with Jack, i snapped and screamed at him, i sobbed and ran to my room. Or is it my room? Or is nothing mine anymore? His house. His belongings. His rules. I cut myself again, a strong gash across my stomach and a few cuts to my upper arm.

Tonight it was just me and Mum. Everytime she talks to me now i can hear the disappointment in her voice, the disgust, the question of where her sweet daughter dissolved to. I would never blame her for hating me. I don't even remember how it started now. She said 'your obsessed with food!' Called me 'idle' and 'lazy'. I started shouting before i could even think, i just want her to understand, that i am not doing it on purpose. That my upset it by cause of guilt and not confrontation. She went on to the subject of money, how much she has been spending on groceries, groceries that seem to move from the fridge like lightening. I feel so ashamed and all i can say is sorry. I am throwing so much money away, down the toilet. My own as well, running into debt on my credit cards. I try to deny that it is happening, tell myself it will all work out and be okay, but how can i keep pretending when the figures are staring at me in black and white from my statements. A list of supermarkets, fast food places and take away.

But it makes no difference. I left in pursuit of more. On the way there i saw a college friend, and hoped she didn't see what i mess i was in. She looked so pretty and was smiling, a radient glow across her face. I must have looked terrible. Once at the supermarket, I started filling up my grocery basket, wandering around like a deer in headlights, picking up items i do not even need, then moving onto the checkout, the final stage of my repetitive routine. Chocolate and pastries, junk, passing through the conveyor belt, along with cottage cheese and salad bits, which will ultimately be thrown up too. Pacing back with ideas of meal concoctions dancing in my head, i closed my eyes for a second or two, and wished to dissapear. To dissolve into thin air, so that nobody could see me. A girl with messy hair, my pajama top still underneath my coat, downward focus, caught in her own twisted world. I noticed my black shadow on the ground ahead of me, and for a moment was suprised my my matchstick legs. I'm sure they are bigger than that, it must be a trick. And then the regret - How could you even concider that for a moment? You are nothing but fat. Huge, ugly, fat.

I had been doing better, the binging had subsided a little but now it is back. I had run out of my prozac and have only just got a new prescription. Another absence for today, another waste of hours and time. My sugar levels are all over the place, i woke up having a hypo with a sugar of 1.2 this afternoon, after slipping under the covers of exhaustion, i should be unconscious by that number.

It's all so sad. So utterly sad. Sad that i cannot fight this anymore, sad that there is no point, I cannot do it. I am so lost. Tied to the eating disorder like nothing else, my reliant, my friend. Coloured in a light blue. Everyday i wake to feed the monster within, pushing this miserable pain and destruction wirh all my effort and strength. It is all i know, i cannot breathe properly without a gun to my back.