But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.
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Its Getting Harder
The digital numbers registered 4:12 in the morning. I got up, grabbed the box of cereal bars, and lay in my bed. I unwrapped the first one, eating it slowly. I reached into the box for another one, shaking and sweating from low blood sugar. Then another. I ate the last one, emptying the box. I walked back into the kitchen, making sure to step quietly as not to wake my roommate up. I pulled out a box of low-fat ice cream sandwiches. I lay back in bed, and quickly ate the whole package.
"No one will know," I thought, "Just go purge. You will feel so much better." I drank a few cans of Diet Cherry Coke, and headed down the hall. I looked into the porcelain bowl where so much of my life has been thrown up and flushed away. I walked away.
Back in my room I took eighteen units of insulin and fell asleep. When I woke up at noon my blood sugar was 107. I felt depressed and bloated. My weight was up two pounds. I think I need to incorporate some fat into my diet, but I am scared. I don't know why, but I am. Logically I know it isn't fat that makes you gain weight, but still, it is the condensation of nine calories in one gram that scares me. But I think it is going to be much harder not to binge if I don't start eating more fat. I have dreams of peanut butter, avacodo, salmon... I even want mayonaisse, and I hate mayonaisse. Some habits are so difficult to let go of, but I am determined to do this. I am stubborn, and I have made up my mind to recover.
I am so lonely. I really don't know many people here. I tend to be quiet and keep to myself. As soon as class lets out I run on home, and if someone looks in my direction I look down. I keep people at a distance. I turn down invitations to go places, to do things. I am afraid. Afraid of everything, and I don't know why. I isolate, but I want friends. And I miss people, I truly do. I miss the days when my phone rang incessantly, when I was never bored, when I always had somewhere to be or somewhere to go...
The sky is so beautiful tonight. It reminds me of when I lived in San Fransisco, and I would go running at night. I would sometimes run down to the beach, which was desolate. The whole sea would be roaring beyond the fog. You couldn't see it, but you could hear the roar of the waves. And the sky would be covered in grey, so not a single star would shine through. You couldn't see them, but you knew they were there. And everything seemed so beautiful and peaceful that if the world became anymore wonderful it would cease to exist.
I guess that is how recovery is. It seems so wonderful, so far away, that I feel half there, and at the same time not at all. Part of me wants to give up because I fear it doesn't exist, and I don't want to dream of something impossible.
And they tell me I am chronic. That I will die from this, or I have to learn to live with it. What if they are right? What if now is only temporary? And what if there is nothing better than this battle every day?
If so, I don't want to exist at all.
9:24 PM - Saturday, Dec. 11, 2004
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dying - living
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