But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Sick Obsession It is 2:11 in the afternoon. How much sleep I got I do not know. What I do know is that I am tired. I am tired and I am scared. My heart is racing, my vision is blurry, and I am weak. I know I need to take a shot. Yet I cannot. I gained weight. I cannot allow insulin to let more calories into my cells, to make me gain even more weight. Maybe... Maybe if I drink some coffee, take my Lipitor and Prevacid I will be ok. Why is it so hard. I want to scream, beat the walls, let the tears stream down my face in mourning to how I have failed myself and everyone who cares. My mom and brother went grocery shopping last night. My mom said they were only going to pick up what they needed for dinner. They came back with six bags of food. "You said you were only going for dinner! You didn't get me anything." "Well, you seem to have no problem eating what is here!" That hurt. Fine, I will just eat my old foods. My mom purchased three boxes of Cocoa Pebbles, two Hot Pockets, five boxes of Mac N' Cheese, a loaf of potato bread, coffee cake, chips, ham, and swiss cheese. Things I will never touch. Why is it, that despite so much treatment, my mom thinks that if my weight is fine I am fine? I am not. So I stand in the kitchen, look around, look for my next victim, my next meal, possibly my last. I am so tired. Physically. Mentally. All the energy has been drained. I can barely crawl off of the couch. Sweat runs down my neck. My heart races. In my dreams I dream that I am in treatment, recovering. It is when I wake I wake up in relapse. 2:11 p.m. - 2003-09-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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