But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Silent Screams Wake up. You must wake up. Get the fuck up you lazy bitch! I wake up. I try to draw a breath. I feel as if I cannot. I stand up. My pulse races. I feel as if I am going to fall through the floor. Insulin. Take an injection. You need it. You are going to die if you don't take it. I stumble to the fridge, pull out a vial of Novalog, grab a needle, draw up four units, and inject. I dare not check my sugars. I know the meter's answer. HI Take another shot. Four units is not enough. Add another four. Grudgingly I do as my brain commands. Guilt takes hold of my soul, my heart. I want to sink down on the floor and cry. The voice. It never stops. "You lazy bitch! Can't you handle a bit of pain? Of weakness? You don't deserve to live! You deserve to die. You are the epitome of all evil. You have had this epiphany! Yet you take a shot? You need to waste away. No one who truly knows you wants you around." I go back to the couch, too weak to make it to my room. My mouth tastes of cotton. Water. Diet Coke. I am so thirsty. 36 Diet Cokes in three hours. About 20 glasses of water. A trip to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. Urine that smells rank with glucose. This is no way to live. "Fuck you eating disorder!" I think this. I vow not to binge and purge today. To take my insulin. To take care of myself. I step on the scale. Relief floods over me, yet so does fear. I had gotten to be 14 pounds above my goal weight. I am now back down to it. "If I eat today I will gain weight. I will get very bad rebound edema," I mumble under my breath. I must take care of myself. Just one more day.... The scale, the epitome of all things bad in my life, the messenger of my worth. Can I stay away today? Please, give me strength. I beg of you, save me from myself. Or I may perish underneath you. And as the day that my life shattered like fragile glass on concrete nears, I wonder if I will survive, and if it is even worth the struggle. A plethora of reasons to live, an infanant number to die. Screaming, do you hear me? 5:16 a.m. - 2003-10-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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