But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Falling Deeper Nausea overpowers me. Nothing can drive it away. Why do I insist on eating even when I feel this ill? I have finished off three two liter bottles of Diet Sprite, a twelve pack of Diet Sprite, a six pack of Seltzer water, and a six pack of Diet Orange soda. All today. I had to take my insulin yesterday. I couldn't breathe. I remember my endocrinologists mentioning that as a symptom of DKA. My mom put a paper bag over my head, fearing that I was hyperventalating. I was not. I scared her so much. Food. My only comfort. I have not answered the phone in days, I have kept my cell phone off, I have not pulled myself out of bed for more than a few hours at a time. Each breath, each step, each word spoken is a struggle. Why do I continue to exist? I keep on waiting for the sickness to overpower me, to give me a heart attack, to suddenly make all my organs seize to keep working. Yet, like the sun which rises every day, I continue to go on. Raisin cookies, pizza, cereal, hot dogs, pop tarts, soup, they all make me feel so ill. I devour them, each calorie begging to stay, begging to not be wasted. I do not listen. "Mom, where is the vegetable soup? Are we out?" "We shouldn't be. I just bought sixteen cans two days ago." I think this over. Yes, we are out. I am the only person who eats it. I have consumed two gallons of ice cream, 70 cookies, sixteen cans of soup, eight hot dogs, five pop tarts, a loaf of bread, five pieces of pizza, two boxes of Golden Grahams, 2 liters of milk, five waffles, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, four chicken salads, six tacos, eight cups of pudding... all in the past three days. I know there is more. I cannot remember it all. My mom, she tries so hard to please me lately. She bought me the movie "Amelie," "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," "Goldmember," "AI," and "The Shining." I have become so reclusive. She took me shopping and bought me a pair of capris and two shirts. She no longer looks at prices because it is so hard for me to find anything that fits. I am such a horrible daughter. The lighter and razor scream at me, begging for me to unleash the pent up blood in my wrists. I will not. I cannot. 91 pounds. So much, yet so little. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 5:11 a.m. - 2003-04-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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