But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captive Today I feel shaky, cold, sweaty... sick. My heart is racing and beating oddly. Another typical day... Yesterday I decided I was going to lose weight. I spent the morning between kitchen and bathroom, outside myself, only a spectator to the atrocities I was bestowing on my body, not caring, because it wasn't me. Eat. Toaster pastries, chicken sandwiches, chocolate pudding, shrimp... Lean over the toilet. Stick to fingers down the throat, spew. Wash the hands, flush the toilet, walk back to the kitchen. Feed the mouth. More. Nothing is enough. Consume. Gulp Diet Coke, follow it with chicken, tamales, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, head back to the bathroom... purge. Dizzy, shaky, when will it end? Act like everything is alright, when you just want to scream... But you cannot, because you don't even know who you are anymore. When I thought I might die, I was happy in a way. Happy because I am so tired of fighting, trying to decide every second what to do. Fighting not to binge, fighting to take my insulin, breaking down because who I see in the mirror is who I hate... Because nothing is ever good enough for my mom. I bring home an honor roll certificate, a 4.0 GPA, and it is worthless. I earned 43 credits, but it means nothing. Instead she yells at me because I smoke. I was happy because right now I feel like I am fighting a losing battle an excruciatingly slow death, a lonely existence, and I cannot keep it up. But I am back. And today is another day, another struggle. Yesterday I only took three units of insulin, and drank gallons of water. My sugars must have been around 1,200, but something compelled me to not give in, even though I was scared. And I woke up this morning. I woke up to Mom complaining, Alex swearing because he had to go to school, the endless shouting that never ceases... So I pretended to be asleep. After they left I went in the bathroom, stepped on the scale, and waited for the beast to calculate my worth for the day. Down three pounds, but is it worth it? Am I happier? Or am I more afraid? It is not enough. I must lose more, to be worth more. They rant and they rave, they rage, but it is empty, a nothing, a void, an open wound, that will never be filled with anything but sorrow. 7:31 p.m. - 2004-01-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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