But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An Appeal for Death I wish I would die. I wish that my heart would give out. I wish I was good and that I could be set free of this cage that holds me. Free to dance with the angels on moon beams and sun rays. To tread lightly on the clouds. To have not a single worry. Wake up. i slept for an hour and a half. Sinister nightmares plague my few hours of sleep. It is hard to decide which is worse, reality or my dreams. It is probably for the best that I do not have good dreams. If I woke up here from a good dream I would surely die of melancholia. I see his face more and more lately. I fear I shall run into him somewhere. In this fear I am not alone, which breeds an even greater fear. There is something seriously wrong with my heart. It wakes me up during the night. A heavy pressure, like a boulder, sits on my chest. My chest hurts. My pulse races at odd times. I often want to press my hand firmly over my heart to make the pounding lessen, to make the pain dissappear. I do not understand this. I am above my ideal weight. M* said that I looked ready to pass out yesterday, that my lips were white. I felt like it, too. My night consisted of bingeing, spitting out food, longing for protein, eating more food, my stomach swelling, convincing myself not to purge...etc. It was last night that I realized how pathetic I am, that I have truly relapsed. I was standing over the trashcan eating a pop-tart, chewing, swallowing, spitting some, when I contemplated purging right in the trash. The fact that this seemed so natural to me at first made me realize five minutes later that I have relapsed into some odd form of an eating disorder. I refused to eat for three years of my life. I would go to the hospital and get tube fed. They would send me home to starve, just so I could return 15-30 pounds lighter in a matter of weeks. You would think that I would still have an ounce of this willpower left, but I do not. I am your classic dichotimist. Now I binge as often as I can. No food is safe around me. It cowars in my presence. Each morsel knows its' fate in my house is my mouth. Honestly, each day I feel more sad, more hopeless, more guilty for taking up space on this earth. It is as if every inch of this house screams at me, "You are not welcome. We hate you. You have ruined us! Get out." I want to die. I have never really felt so suicidal before. Don't worry. I will be fine. 7:47 a.m. - 2003-09-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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