But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Frigid My heart has been hurting so bad. I put my index finger to it and feel it pulsate. Everything seems normal. I can barely pull myself out of bed. My legs are once again jelly, and I am not even below 90 pounds yet. This isn't supposed to happen until I am thin. I have an orthodontist appointment tomorrow. I skipped my last one because you have to lie in those horrible chairs with all your flesh spread out and every saggy part mashed down across them. I can feel all of the orthodontists eyes looking me up and down, scrutinizing me, judges of my body, not missing a thing because of the damn chair. The evil chair. They whisper around me. In my chart in big letters it says, "Warning: Bulimia Alert." I said before that I didn't want that there, the tech ignored me and took my chart away. They have seen me at all weights, between 126 and 90. Any lower weight I was in the hospital, safe from the leering stares that know the truth, thinking, "You puke up your food. You starve yourself. You are gross." My friend called me up in tears. Her boyfriend is being an asshole. If only I could make her see that he isn't worth it. She has nowhere to go so she stays. I said she can live with me. She feels like she will impose. Even my mother agreed that she should move in here. I quit speaking to my brother. It is such a relief, yet my mom is getting rather annoyed with me. My mom's husband and I believe that he is selling her Vicaden and Morphine at school, though we can't prove it. He is constantly stealing them, depriving my mom of her much needed medication, she knows it, but takes it out on me and laughs with him. She is cruel to me, yells, and then replies, "I am in pain Gwen!" Like it is all my fault. Everything is these days. I am an A student, quit smoking, (going on week two) stay out of the way, try not to impose, it means nothing. Every minute the temptation to slice open my flesh and drain all the blood that makes me one of them increases. I know how easy it would be. As I hold a knife to open a package I stare at the silver blade and wonder why I haven't yet done it. The answer is obvious. If my mom finds out she will worry, cry, scream, call the police, try to have me admitted to a psych ward, and give my brother even more love and money. My brother musn't be rewarded because of me. I hate him. I never thought I could truly hate anyone. My animosity has grown to an immesurable level. I am such an awful person. My bitterness has made my soul cold. Why is my flesh still warm? Why does it not contain the iciness of my heart? Why am I still here? 12:22 a.m. - 2003-05-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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