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But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.

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Better and Fear

The scale does punish. As I continue to consume, to allow myself the pleasure of cookies, cakes, and candies my body rebels.

Up another 1.1 pounds in three days. It will never stop. Looking in the mirror I want to sob. What have I done to myself? What have I let them do to me? Why do I stay here?

I feel that I do not deserve to be here, that I am selfish for being here. That I am just too cowardly to continue my path of self destruction. A wretched being, I was too weak to handle the pain. So I put myself into treatment.

They say I am doing well. That I am making progress. But what is progress? Yes, I am talking more. I am eating all my meals, and I am not hurting myself.

But really, is there any need to punish myself? Seeing my body change is torture almost enough. Flames licking wounds on my body would not hurt as bad. Because this body is only a vessel for my soul, nothing else. Physical pain does nothing. But allowing the vessel to take up more space, this hideous body, is an outrage.

They must see this. How can they not? And earlier today I actually felt okay about this. Now I need to punish myself for this feeling.

Walking down the hall, a black shadow follows. I try to walk quickly, run, I musn't look back.

I make it in the room. I feel the cold eyes staring down at me. I am suffocated, I can no longer breathe. Far off someone asks what is wrong. Darkness swallows light. I am now one with the shadow. The words recede dead in my mouth.

Who is there to talk to anyway?

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Slowly but surely I am getting better. And sometimes I question if I am truly the epitome of all evil. Is it me, or is it the Ativan? The fact that I do not know frightens me almost as much as my being.

So am I getting better, or is it all an illusion, a dream, something that could be, something never to be seen?

9:32 p.m. - 2004-06-10
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