But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Slut of Gluttony My therapist warns me that I am heading back into that direction. That I am falling back. I smile. Impossible. I am nowhere near as bad as I was. Some people say that you can't allow a few slip-ups. I disagree. You cannot expect perfection. Tonight, stuffed on salmon, bread, a mocha, oreos, and cornbread, I could no longer stand it. "Where's Mom?" "She went out to Rite Aid to get me cough drops," replied Alex. Perfect. I close the door, consider running some water, then decide that would be too obvious. I turn on the ceiling fan. I lean over, constrict my stomach muscles, shove my hand down my throat, and heave. I repeat the process. Finally, empty and content, I step out of the bathroom. I know he heard. I do not care. Later, as I sit here and research a paper, I hear my brother say, "Mom, look at this." "Look. See? There is more on the side of the tub." They whisper about it. I do not care. None of it matters. They can do nothing. She has already hurt me more than I ever thought possible. She can call me disgusting, call me a bitch, tell me I am selfish, that I do nothing right...etc... none of that hurts as much as being called... Slut. The most painful word to me. Yesterday I tossed a glass into the sink and let it shatter. I do not care. I hope that I die. Starlight, starbright, please let me die tonight. 11:21 p.m. - 2003-09-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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