But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Unquentiable Thirst, I Drink All I am doing okay... I am trying to keep my energy for the holidays, the hardest time of the year. My time is consumed with books, books for school, so that I can graduate. I then take a break to smoke, write a few paragraphs of worthless words that teachers lavish me with praise about.. And yet it all means nothing. The one thing that means something is the struggle for survival. Glaring at a syringe, debating, should I take a few units of insulin? The racing heart screams, "Yes!" The scale screams, "No!" So I compromise. I walk outside in the cold, pray that no one can hear me, and vomit the food that I ate seven hours before. Why do I do this? I am petrified with fear. I do not want to die, yet I do not really want to live. I am so afraid of what life may hold. The fragile bobble that dictates everything I do. I do not feel that I control myself. Does fate? Does destiny? My sugars are so high. My mouth is drier than the Sahara, wrinkled with a thin, sticky film of glucose covering it. I drink gallons and gallons of anything sugar free and cold, wishing only for a few seconds of quenched thirst. Yet it does not come. Like all else, it teases me, saying everything will soon be all right, just drink some more water, Diet Coke, but it only lasts for a splinter of time, almost too short to capture the memory of it. Just like the glimpse in the mirror, when you see yourself out of the corner of your eye, and for that split second you aren't the loathsome atrocity you are for the other 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 59 and 7/8 seconds. But it was there, and like I hunger for everything else, like I thirst for everything I can drink in, I hunger and thirst for it again. 3:42 p.m. - 2003-12-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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