But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Who Cares? Promising myself I won't, saying that I can't, trying to think of something else, it doesn't work. It is 10:00pm. The food churns in my stomach, making me feel ill, sending shots of acid up my throat. Finally I give in. I clear a space to hop out my window into the howling wind. I hop out and land in the mud. Quietly, I tiptoe behind the pool. No sooner are my fingers down my throat and my stomach clenched when a wave of chocolate and cheese come flying out. I repeat the process, jamming my fingers even lower. My deflates like a balloon. I shakily make it back to my window, step on the drain pipes, and pull myself back in. I walk to the bathroom to clean up. There is a mixture of chocolate and a red blob splattered on my foot. It is unmistakably blood. How? I wonder... I look at my throat. It seems fine. I spit what comes up. There are also specks of blood. What in the hell is going on? I slink back to bed, read, drink about ten cans of Diet Coke, and fall asleep. I am so exhausted. I fall in and out of sleep today, only to go to the bathroom and get something to drink. Too weak to purge, I binge and omit my insulin. The thought runs through my head over and over again, "Who cares, who cares, who cares?" Like a tune that never ends, it will not leave. My weight seems to not want to go down. I don't know how much I want to weigh, just that it must always be less. I deserve this. It is the perfect punishment. I am alone, I am tired, I am weak, I hate myself, I can't get food off my mind, and I am never good enough. Can you think of a better punishment? I shall never escape. Who cares, who cares, who cares? 1:11 p.m. - 2003-05-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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