But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Diseased Mind Recovery... the concept of it seems so easy, yet putting it into action is almost impossible. Every day I wake up, promising that I will make this a better day, a new beginning, but as night falls another day has gone by where I have not made it a better day. Rather, I have killed off a bit more of myself. My ID is strong. Freud would say that I do not take it out on others, but rather on myself. Torturing myself, punishing my body, finding the slowest, most terrible way to die... And yet I want so desparately to live. To be there for my family and friends. To be someone in this world, to help the human race in some way. I missed my brother's recital today. He only has two a year. I couldn't crawl out of bed for it, much less get dressed or take a shower to prepare. And I lay in bed trying to will my body to get up, but the limbs would not move, and my chest hurt. My mom wants to find me another treatment center. Another attempt to help me recover. She says that I am dying again. And I am. But I must stay strong. Hold on to the last thread of life, dangling by a piece of floss, and try to crawl up before the string snaps and I fall into darkness. Consumed by what I do not know... Failing to live, too strong to die... Drowning in food that is empty love... So I rid myself of it all... And consequently the body suffers, controlled by a diseased mind that is too far gone to control itself. 10:06 p.m. - 2004-02-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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