But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My Proclivity My thirst amazes me and it frightens me. I sit here, three soda cans in front of me, drained, and I am still parched, as if I had nothing at all. Why? Why can I not control my body? My mind? I should be able to. I should have the power. Yet I am weak. And my behaviors make me even weaker as the days go by, though I tell myself tomorrow I will be stronger. I will survive... Today was more proof of the damage I have done to my body. How I have stunted my growth. My mom took my brother and me to the base to get our military ID cards re-issued because we had both lost them. The man at the gate asked how old my brother was. My mom told him he was sixteen. I was sitting in the front, and he didn't even ask my age. They said we needed an escort. We went through three people, all of whom asked my brother's age, and never glanced at me. It was comical, yet also sad in a sense. I am going to be nineteen in a few months and everyone assumes that I am fourteen, fifteen at most. I suppose this could work to my advantage, and I try to look at it that way, but it still upsets me, makes thoughts swirl in my mind, no wonder people make jokes about me, calling me the child prodigee of my ethics class, scrawny, and remark that I look like I haven't gone through puberty. It all hurts. It eats away at me a little bit more with each comment, though I try to laugh it off. Ironically it makes me want to prove them right, to become sicker, to become nothing at all... So I come home and I gorge. Thoughts of the day run through my head, and I eat. I eat and eat and eat. I do not stop until I cannot eat any more. Then I fall into bed with a terrible migraine, high sugars, parched, and sleep for less than an hour. I awake, grab a towel, walk outside, bring a soda, drink, purge, walk back in, wash my face, repeat... The moon is so bright. It casts my shadow across the grass. I can see my figure, leaned over, hand in mouth, and it seems to shine my secret in its bright light to all of the world. I feel eyes drilling into my back, but no one is there. Scared, I jam my whole hand down my throat, scratching it, tasting the metallic blood, and decide to stop. The high sugars will take care of the rest. But I am scared. Tomorrow I leaving for San Diego with my aunt and cousin for spring break. Where will I pull the energy from? My aunt told my mom she doesn't think I am well enough for this trip. I will be well enough... I will. So I think of the insulin. I should take some. Just a bit more. Four units above my eight that I took wouldn't kill me... Not taking it might. But I feel like it will. Why am I so afraid? I wish this was all a nightmare. That I would wake up tomorrow and everthing would be okay. But it is not. It is me. It is my life. My mom's cousin asked what it would take for me to get better. I replied, "Only God can save me now." 12:06 a.m. - 2004-04-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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