But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Underserving of Such Attention I only have a few moments. My time is now ruled by a strict schedule which I must adhere to. I do not have to think for myself. I do not have to control how much I eat. Everything is done for me, as if I were an infant unable to even do the simplest tasks... And I can't even feed myself properly. At meals my anxiety is so high that I nearly choke on the food. I push the tears and allow a big lump to swell. The voice in my head screams at me. "You should not be eating! You fucking bitch! You do not deserve to eat. You shouldn't be here. You are not like them. You deserve the worst possible death. You should rot." It whispers these things in the back of my mind. Millions of dollars, all spent on me. I am selfish. My mother is right. Other people die hideous deaths while I continue to survive. I do not deserve what I am being given. Yet out of my selfishness I decide to take it. I will do anything to get better. To become a doctor... Except gain space. And while I increase in volume I do just that. I take up more space. I consume, yet I do not rid myself of what I am unworthy of. And because I love it so much I want more. And because I want more I beg for less. My body rebels. Mind against body. Mind against spirit. Ten pounds gained in ten days. And I still want more. I ate spaghetti last night. I kept it down for the first time in years. Spaghetti and ice cream were the first things that opened the door to bulimia for me. And I hated it. I could only imagine the noodles swimming in my stomach acid, like worms above the soil on a rainy day, flopping and dying on the flooded grasses of drenched lawns. I couldn't face the toilet. I had to back up backwards, my urge to vomit up the horridness inside me was so strong. Rid myself of the worms. Of the evil. Of what will become me, make me bigger, make me healthy. I want to live, I want to die. I want to laugh, yet I want to cry. I want to binge, to starve and die. To waste away, to rot in the ground, to become a spirit, not make a sound. To have no emotion, to have no voice, to be Eva Peron, powerful, rich, looked up to, strong, and nice. Yet in the end I know not what I want, and that makes me hang between the lines, yet I know I must get better, there have been signs, I cannot live, I cannot die, until I am well, I will just survive. Next week I will have to go grocery shopping for a "challenge food" for snacks. I came up with a list of my average binge and it was 12,000 calories. In one sitting. I am unworthy.... So undeserving. 10:03 p.m. - 2004-05-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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