But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.

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Life isn't Perfect. (even when things are better)

On Saturday night my roommate's bedroom caught on fire. She had a candle lit on top of a cardboard box she decorated, and fell asleep. She woke because of the smoke and picked up the box to move it into the bathroom. There was also a lighter on the box and while she was carrying it it exploded in her hands. I woke up to the explosion and ran into the room. The box, was on fire, so I put it out with her blanket and poured water on it. She was screaming something in Japanese, and at the time I didn't know what. I ran next door to our neighbors and pounded on the door. No one answered. Then she showed me her hands. They were covered in black, with wax on them and pieces of plastic stuck in them. My neighbor came over and we convinced her to run them under cold water. Finally, my other roommate woke up, and I talked her into taking Shiko* to the ER. (They don't get along, so she was hesitant to.) In the morning, Shiko* came back with her hands wrapped up so big that she couldn't get a sweater off. She was complaining of pain all day, and I filled her prescriptions for her. Later, I found out why; the blisters on her hand ranged from the size of a nickel to a bit bigger than a bouncy ball. I drained them, cleaned her hands, and rebandaged them. I feel so bad for her.
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I hate to complain, I really do...
But this morning I passed out. There is no explanation that I can think of for this. My heart seems to be racing all the time, and I am having night sweats again. I am shaky as well. This isn't supposed to be happening. I am doing so well. I am eating 1,500 to 1,900 calories a day, taking thirty units of Lantus at night, taking all my Novalog with meals, controlling my blood sugars, not purging... I am doing everything right.
I like feeling this way. I like feeling healthy the majority of the time, and knowing that I am doing well. But I also feel so guilty for doing well, when so many others are struggling. Like my dearest friend who lived with me, and developed an eating disorder later. Now she is starving herself and purging, and for this I am at fault.
It makes me bitter, it makes me insane. It makes me want to scream, to rebel, but I must smile and do nothing but walk away, because there is nothing the former will accomplish.

9:13 a.m. - 2004-12-06
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dying - living