But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sweep Me Away I have, in the past, been referred to as an invalid, someone who will perish from this eating disorder which I loathe so much. I am beginning to wonder if there is truth in that. I have been to numerous programs, all adding up to over 800 days of inpatient treatment. And I tried... The scary part is that I tried so hard to recover. I listened. I let them put me on their promising medications, followed their meal plans, their programs, looked at all the negative parts of my eating disorder... And I sit here and eat. I wait until my stomach resembles that of an expecting mother, than I silently sneak out the back door, into the jungle known as a backyard, and I vomit. I don't feel as if it is unnatural. I feel like I should be doing this. I don't feel like I am me. Am I me? Or am I a paper doll, trying to fill in all the hopes and thoughts of what I should be? Or of what people expect? A part of me knows that no one who is at all logical would find it normal to vomit at 2:00am, and then head off for a bike ride across town to buy cigarettes without the least bit of remorse. My hair is thinning. My best friend commented on it. I don't understand. I am maintaining my weight, purging much less, and yet I seem to harbor the same ailments, though not as severe, as I did before I went back into treatment. I found the cause for my tachycardia and chest pains. I was right. It was due to my Lipitor. The irony. A medication meant to lower my cholesterol and save me from further damage to my heart seems to aggravate the condition. I stare at the screen. The black font in front of a blinding background makes me cringe. It is 3:29am. I need to binge. I need to purge. I need none of it. Yet I need all of it. I really need to start reading "Christy." To be swept off into 1912, into the Appalachian Mountains, where times were hard, where the people still thought the Civil War was taking place, where children ran in the cold, along the ice covered paths without a pair of shoes to be seen... Where bulimia did not exist. 3:18 a.m. - 2003-09-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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