But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fucked Up I could cry right now. I could cry until I flooded the earth, until I dried up into a pile of dust and blew away into the wind...And then my mom would request to have the kitchen floor swept. I don't know what went wrong. I fell asleep for an hour, maybe less. I had eaten. I was satisfied, damnit! Then I woke up. I had had some terrible nightmare about complete blackness that turned into my death, and I was dead, yet I seemed to wake up in my death. When I did wake up I had to stifle a scream. I rushed out to the kitchen, immediately threw a piece of chicken in the microwave, devoured a cereal bar, and then grabbed the biggest bowl of cereal you have ever seen. I managed to dump that out but couldn't handle it. I grabbed about 15, maybe 20 Oreos, and large glass of chocolate milk. Mmmm... comfort. But how long will it last? At the same time I am screaming at myself. I try and shut out the screaming, the sadness, the hate. I grabbed a plate of leftover enchiladas. I dump tons of guacomole and sour cream on it. Eat eat! I have to get rid of the feeling. Shit. It only intesifies. Now what? Well I have to take an injection. I have to! No one believes I can do it. No one believes I can handle the real world. I have to prove them wrong. I stare at the insulin. I start crying. Silent, big tears. No. I can't do it. I just can't. I crawl onto the couch. My brain screams, "You fucking bitch! Do you realize what you just did? That if you don't take your insulin you have to go back to residential? That no one believes you can do it? That you are about to be sent because alot of people believe that therapy isn't working? YOU COULD BE COMMITED FOR LIFE BITCH! TAKE THE SHOT!" and then the other part of me, the part I want to kill says, "No, you don't deserve it. Throw it up. No one will know the difference." So I lay there and I still haven't done anything, like time has stopped, when, on the contrary, each second is dire to my blood sugar. What the hell am I supposed to do? Arrrrrrgggggggggghhhhh! I am sorry. So so so sorry! I'm sorry world, for whatever I do, whatever stupid fucked up decision I make. *Dimstar 9:15 p.m. - 2003-01-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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