But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bloody Porcelain Last night my mom and I got into a terrible argument. I ended up throwing my bowl of brownies across the room, shattering it everywhere. "Dim, you better clean that up!" So I did. I got down on my hands and knees, trying to beat Widget to the pieces of brownie that were mixed with porcelain. I picked up the pieces, and as she yelled at me from the next room, I squeezed them tight. Little shards bit into my flesh. Then I ran a piece across my wrist, and, while I cleaned up the rest, let the blood drip on the floor. No one told me that hands hurt like the devil when you cut them so deep. No one told me they take forever to quit bleeding. I am so sick of everything. I have been having these gargantuan binges that are only to be purged. And I am so tired. I am so tired and I cannot breathe properly. This, of course, is due to lack of insulin. I found out today that I can't go back into treatment. My mom can't afford it, and I am out of IP coverage. So it is up to me to keep myself alive. Jori moved back in with me. For this I am grateful. My mom acts kind while she is here, and doesn't pick at me about everything under the sun. I feel safe when she is here. I know that while I sleep I will not die while she is in the same room as me. I don't know how I know this, but I do. Watch the colors swirl in front of my face. They would be beautiful, they would be safe... They would be admired... If they weren't in a porcelain bowl... Known as the toilet. Flushing my life away, I am really scared, I never meant to go this far, I never meant to be this way. 11:17 p.m. - 2003-10-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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