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But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.

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Fading Hope

Each day my binges increase in size. I check my sugars less often, skip more doses of insulin, and purge more often and more violently than any person ever should. I feel the life fading away from me. I blank out for long periods of time. I don't feel as if I am in my body. I am a spectator on the sidelines, watching myself.

It is so scary. I fear that I am dying. I wait for the night when I slip into an osmolar coma, when my heart gives out, when I inhale my last breath.

Each day suicide seems more and more appealing. I keep saying I won't do it, but I fear that I will.

I am not myself. I have no control over my actions.

I feel like I am in a room screaming, but no one hears me. I jump in front of them, but they do not see. How easy it is to forget me.

My mom forgets about me all the time. Forgets to pick me up, forgets my appointments, forgets her promises, forgets things we have done together...

Forgets I exist.

And if people forget me, what point is there to existing?

Maybe it is because I am so consumed by bulimia. Maybe it is because I have hardly been around for the past six years. Maybe it is because I taught myself to walk so lightly that I do not make a sound, or because I am so quiet.

My mom says it is because I am so quiet.

I used to be loud. When I was in elementary school I was always told I was too much of a chatter box. I was the student who recieved straight As, but had the blotch on their report card that read, "Needs to stop talking in class."

Parched mouth, cracked lips, bloody knuckles, watery eyes...

Dry skin, fast heart, exhausted muscles, blurry vision, cut up arms...

Crying soul, broken determination, knocking on death's door...

Maybe suicide would be best.

Maybe I should go to Del Amo like they are pleading...

Maybe I should wait and see...

5:41 p.m. - 2003-10-12
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