at your enemies

Yesterday I purged everything and downed 10 laxatives. Maybe the last 5 times I took lax, it was my usual dose of 10, and it... Scared me each of those 5 times. I got really weak and shaky and my heart would hammer away in my chest, in an irregular rhythm. It happened yesterday, too, but not as bad as the first time when I thought I was going to die.


I'm scared to keep taking lax, but I'm equally as scared to not take them. I plan on keeping them stocked anyway. Because I'm stupid and desperate. I'm also tired and cold - isn't this what I wanted? This secret world of a cold bone cage, where I could shrink as I pleased? I'm angry and frustrated and self loathing when I eat and sad and lonely and split down the middle when I don't. I don't know where to find balance. I don't know if I even want to find that balance - right now, anyway. Maybe in the future I'll seek it out and I'll be happy. As much as I hate starving and puking, I love it. I crave it. It's self imposed torture.


Going to purge now.

we are nowhere and its now

Fat fat fat fat fucking fat, fucking stupid, fucking disgusting. I don't even know what to do about this. I just... It came on so suddenly today. Like I got hit by a mack truck of self loathing, bam, here I am stuck with these feelings. Yesterday it was just, "Don't eat, and if you do, puke". Now it's "you should fucking die because you're so fat". 

I'm going to curl up in the shower and figure out what to eat today, if anything.

unholy confessions.

I remember how it started, when we tied our arms together with searing hot chains. I was upset because of a binge and you asked me how I was doing. Initially, I gave the canned response that normally just floats out of every one of us - Fine. But then, I took it back. You know what? No. I'm not fucking fine. I just binged and I couldn't get rid of it and I'm fucking fat. The real details of the conversation are fuzzy, but I remember you saying, I'm not the best one to talk about this, all right? And it clicked for me. All the evidence was there, splayed out in front of me, and I never really connected the dots.


You gave me laxatives. I taught you the wonders of purging. We shrank, binged, grew, purged, cut, cried, screamed, froze, chipped away at our sanity bit by bit. Curled into ourselves and our microcosm of melancholy. We were simultaneously hungry for sustenance and emptiness. You were always stronger than me. You ran longer, cut deeper, restricted more, shrank further. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't harbor any jealousy for you. It's a sick sort of jealous admiration. Then when you flipped 180 degrees and started getting better... It was the same thing. I was buried up to my chest and you were freeing yourself. I remember seeing you for the first time since you had really started to recover, when things were beginning to look brighter. You were always beautiful in a sadbrokengirl sort of way, but this was just... Radiance. I hadn't seen a smile like that on you before in quite some time. 


Sad and sick as it is to say, I miss when we would huddle together in your room and confess. But I like the healthy you much more. You never deserved that madness and hurt. I hope you stay happy. I love you.