But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast.
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Im A Fucking Loser
Happy Fourth of July. My mom tells me I must go to a potluck with everyone her age or older. I can't. I won't. Our fourth of July celebration used to consist of barbeques and fireworks. Now it doesn't. Part of me is hurt because I haven't been home for the summer since... Forever. Since middle school. Every other fourth was in a hospital. She doesn't care though. But I also feel guilty. I ruined it. I stayed in bed all day and found myself wide awake at night, just what I didn't want. So I took one of her sleeping pills a little guiltily. Past midnight I woke up, coughing, frothing at the mouth, surely from high blood sugar and thirst. My mom rushed in. "You really need inpatient sweetie."
"No, no I do not. I'm fine." That is all I say anymore. "I'm okay, I'm fine. Because I am."
She had brought home an apple crumb pie. I ate the whole thing. Awful, stupid, selfish bitch. I followed this by two yogurts, baked beans, and a liter of chocolate soy and cup of milk. My brother was in the living room and I didn't feel like eating eating in my room. He said, "Can't you eat the vanilla ones?"
"I don't like them," I replied.
"No one does but mom thinks someone does," he said.
A silence elapsed before I said, "You're right, I'm just going to throw it all up anyway so I should eat the vanilla ones." I was so angry. Angry at the day, angry at what I was doing, angry that I ate the whole pie and tomorrow I knew I would recieve hell for it.
"Don't tell me this. I don't want to hear it."
"Why? You know it."
"Because you seem to think its normal or something. And it really isn't Gwen."
Fine, just fine. Of course it isn't. If I thought it was normal I wouldn't puke in secret. I would go out with friends. I would call people.
I went outside and stepped behind one of the bushes. Our backyard is a jungle, a sort of confused garden oasis. I was loud. I didn't care. So much food to vomit. As I did this I knew my brother knew, that my mom would find it in the morning, but I was too nauseous to care.
I didn't want to. I hate doing it. I keep trying to stop believing in God so the fear of Hell will be taken from me so I can end it all but no matter how hard I try I can't stop believing.
Its so easy to say you will never do it again when you are nauseous from consuming tens of thousands of calories, when you reak of vomit, but this only lasts until that terrible craving sets in again.
4:36 AM - Tuesday, Jul. 05, 2005
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dying - living
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