But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Broken and Mended... I only have a few moments. It is a rare opportunity that we get to check our e-mail, twice a week. I am adjusting to the program, though slowly. I pray I find what I am looking for. I pray I find what I need. I feel so selfish. Like I am wasting millions of dollars. I have recieved no phone calls from my family, except my grandmother, who yelled at me. I seem to anger them all. And I want to binge. Visions of candy bars and cookies being consumed, devoured, gorged on mercilessly continue to eat at me, and as they do this my body continues to grow in mass from the controlled calories that I am on. In myself I want control. I want perfection. To be everyone's friend. To help them. If I cannot be there for someone else I do not want to exist. And I fear that I will not do it this time. This fear drives me to the point of insanity on the inside, but on the outside I smile, converse, and try to act normal. I feel a sense of guilt for existing. I hear what my mother would say to me, and it becomes me... "You bitch! You are so God damned selfish! You don't care about anyone but yourself. What is your problem? Shut the fuck up!" And here I feel that way. I have to ask for everything. I have to sleep in the reading room. I am on 24-hour observation. They have to get my insulin (7 injections a day, 4 blood sugars) meds, take me outside, even keep track of my fluids. I have cried a few times. I have lost some of my strength. I rarely cry in front of others. Even being pulled out of a meal for a simple question sprung tears to my eyes. The worst was finding out that I won't be able to do partial. (Where you go for the day and somewhere else for the night) I assumed I could do that with a friend, but the head doctor said absolutely not, that no two people with eating disorders can live together. I figured a transition from hospital to home would be the most helpful thing to me, but now it seems like I will have to face the same thing I always do; hospital to home. The mirago round. Do I ever get off? Staying strong, falling apart. Put together with glue again. The cracks are showing. The glass is fragile. How much longer can it be broken? How much more can it stand? How many times can the pieces be picked up again until they are too broken to be fixed? Only time will tell. Drop it again, see if you can fix it. But it is too cracked to be perfect, too cracked to be beautiful or normal again... Its name is Gwen. But it will be okay. It is always okay.... 9:42 p.m. - 2004-05-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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