This.
November 2004
This
Slowly, creeping, it consumes me
Blindly waiting for some chance
To take my every living thought
And turn it into this.
Something’s dwelling in my heart
Feasting, living, on my flesh
This monstrous illness bred in me
To tear my very breast apart
Why do I enjoy this pain?
This hunger in my weary mind
This yearn for something less than sane
This thing that eats away inside
This thing that I’ve become
This.
Spring 2003
June 2004
August 2004
September 2004
November 2004
September 2004
"Dear Diary,
I've been avoiding writing because I couldn't admit something. I'm really scared and I need help desperately. This is destroying me. Semi-starvation and purging has been a way of life for me for a couple of months now. I can't remember when it started or the last time I was eating or thinking about food normally. I was trying to help myself, but I realized that part of me doesn't want help. A large part of me still wants to be thinner, and it scares me. How far would I go? Would I really stop somewhere and be happy with it? I never set myself a goal weight... just, '5 pounds, 5 more pounds... and then I'll be happy'. When I started Lindora I never thought I'd lose it. I thought I'd be fat forever. I never imagined it was possible for me to be thin. Everyone keeps telling me I'm "perfect", I'm "thin" or that I'm "too thin"... but I don't see it. Why can't I see it? Why do I still think I'm overweight? What am I not seeing? My period stopped months ago. I'm too weak to do many physical activities, I get dizzy, and I'm irritable... snapping at my friends and my dad. I'm so torn. I just want this to stop. And yet, I want it so badly, so badly to be thin, it's what I feed off of. I want people to look at me and feel guilty for having eaten while I stand there so weak and starved and emaciated. It's easy to see why I'm scared, isn't it? There are times when I've wished that is would just kill me. It doesn't leave me alone. It's all that I think about. Food, that is. I day dream about it, and I'm fascinated with encouraging other people to eat more... My friends have joked about me trying to fatten them up so that I look better in comparison. But it's so much sicker than that. I do it because when they eat too much, I get a pleasure out of it... it makes me feel better than them. I don't know what the fuck to do. My friends can't help me and my dad would never understand. I feel incredibly alone."
October 2004
"Dear Diary,
Death. It's a strange thing. Stranger than it is frightening. Looking in the mirror I thought about how I was dying. I could see it in my dull eyes, my hair that's falling out, and in my pasty skin... I'm finally getting help, professional help, because it's all gotten a little too real now. I've discovered a certain lack of both rationality and reality in my thoughts. Thinking that I don't need food, and that it won't hurt me. I could never die. But then, looking in the mirror, I noticed the downy hair on my chest, between my breasts, and over my stomach... and I realized that my body is dying. It's trying to keep me alive because there's not enough fat to keep me warm. And then there's the hair on my head. This morning I saw that it was all over my bathroom sink... all over the ground... all over my shower. I cleaned handfuls of it out of my hairbrush. My eyes seem dull and sunken a bit. My body is slowly shutting down. Just turning off the switches one by one. I now realize that I can die. I am fragile. All life is fragile. I'm losing myself, losing my life. The one thing I know is real, the one thing I truly know... I am destroying it, and I'm scared. And for what? I don't want to be thinner anymore... I've got to be thinner. I have to. It's not even clear why anymore. It's not 'to be attractive' anymore. I've lost my ability to be attracted to anyone. Looking at someone, I don't feel anything. And anyway, who could love what I've become? This heap of flesh and bone, all angles. I'm sick. To love me, you'd have to love my disease, because it is part of me. It is me. I am my illness."
December 2006
"Dear Diary,
I haven't written in this journal for two years... I was a different person, who was consumed with obsession painfully ... Maybe that's why I want to see him again. I want to see what drove me into torturing myself and physically damaging my body through starvation, having hope shot down so many times in a self-perpetuated self-loathing and devastating cycle. What was worth all of that?"