But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All Too Far I lie in bed, sweating, sweetness permeating off of my body, my own fruity perfume, barely concious, even caring less than most days. I can not tell what I have dreamed and what is reality. I would have thought my mom's kind words were a dream had she not left me a note saying she loves me this morning. But by night it was all a dream as she screamed at me because I forgot to pick up my Protonix. Sometimes I wish that she did not love me, and that I did not love her, because being loved hurts more than being hated. Loving someone who hates you hurts more than being indifferent. So I let my sugars run "HI" until I can barely breathe. How high are they? 1,200? 1,800? I do not know. All I know is that each breath is harder to take in, that sweat is pouring off my body like a waterfall over a ledge in the spring, and that I am thirsty and parched. I am weak. I am scared. So I give in. I take ten units, which does nothing. So I take another ten. The meter still cannot read my sugars, but at least I know they are lower. I gorge. I gorge until I cannot breathe. Until I am sure that I will vomit if I move an inch. But I do not vomit because there is nowhere to throw up that I will not be caught. So once again my sugars are behond comprehension of any machine, and I am scared. But I will make it. I always do. The only thing I have to fear is the scale. It breaks my world apart. It is my other mother... 1:35 a.m. - 2004-04-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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