But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Struggle I sit here, gorging myself on sweets, debating, "Should I go outside and throw up? Or should I let my sugars run off the meter, dehydrate myself, let it all turn to glucose, and spill in my urine?" It is too cold. I am a lazy fat bitch who silently screams, holds back buckets of tears that will not flow, like the rain that won't fall on the parched earth of the Sahara. Panick. I ate 10 mini Butterfingers, a yogurt, and some soup. My blood sugar is already too high for the meter to comprehend. Drink up. 52 cans of Diet Coke in the past 36 hours. Lots of water. Lots of chocolate soy. Anything to quench the thirst. Back to old habits. Habits I vowed yesterday I would drop. Almost died Thursday, the ER doc said if I had come in the next morning I would have. Oxygen, IVs, heart monitor, me, in a daze, to weak to sit up or speak. Bi-Carb of 5, Potassium of 2.1, ketones too high to read. All I could think was, "Where has my breath gone?" The doctor, thinking I cannot understand what is going on, but I tried. I don't remember too much of the first few days. It is so simple, yet so hard. Take your insulin. Eat healthy. Check your sugars. Don't starve, don't binge, and don't purge... Yet it is untouchable. You cannot gain weight. Try.... Yet you cannot. Cry, scream, but be quiet. You do not deserve to live. You cannot take care of yourself. You are an invalid. Stuffed to the gills, thirsty, have to go to the bathroom, purge... maybe... die? Not tonight. 3:45 p.m. - 2004-01-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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