But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.
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Truth
Sugars coat my tongue. My vision is blurred. Too many sweets have made my blood a thick red syrup. When will it stop? Every second I say I will not do it. I do it the next second.
I took my insulin. I stopped purging. I just stopped. I stopped taking the diet pills.
Just
Like
That.
But it was too much. I gained 12 pounds in three days. Seven the first, one the next, five after that... Then fear took over. I was retaining too much water to function. My skin hurt. My stomach was sticking so far out I could barely breathe. And I still would not stop gorging myself. Cheesecake after cheesecake, brownies frosted with German frosting, pastries, apple pie, donut sticks... And then I stopped. I stopped taking my insulin and I vomited again.
Last night my brother brought home pills he bought from "a friend." He gave them to my mom who just thanked him. I was beyond pissed. I yelled at her for having him do her dirty work. "Gwen, I have a prescription, but I ran out!"
If he got busted... If she did. She would lose her job. I can't believe the insanity of it all. I threatened to tell on her in a fit of rage and she said, "Tell anyone missy and you won't have a place to live!"
The pills are more loved than me. A hard lump drifted between my throat and stomach. I honestly contemplated taking the bottle of morphine she left in my room, thinking it would perhaphs send some sort of message... Even in my emotional state I realized it would do no good. We deny everything in this house. The truth is hidden behind lies. Later she came in and said, "I never told anyone when you did meth. Why would you tell on me? I am doing nothing wrong." Her eyes betrayed that she believed what she was saying.
I wouldn't tell. I just lost all respect, the last grain for my mother, at that moment.
Today went back to normal. I cleaned the house and cooked dinner while Alex played video games. Mom came home with bags of useless things to sort through and put away from the store, such as ten pinweels and a bag of scrubbing gloves.
Perhaphs my eating disorder, in all its danger, is salvation from this insane reality.
4:51 AM - Friday, Jun. 24, 2005
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dying - living
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