I've been having a couple of rough days, fasting always leaves me torn between the feeling of hunger and the longing to succeed. Also, my addiction to the glorious release of purging screams at me from the depths of my guts.

I go out, I try to distract myself. I wander through the supermarket aisles. Laxatives. Diet pills. Diet shakes. And the endless, sickly, enchanting rows of food, the chocolate, the carbohydrates in their many alluring forms, and oh god, oh god the cakes, the pizza, the deli counter. The vegetables don't even catch my eye. They stay in their rank section of cabbage-smelling stands, and I hate everything that enters my body, which is nothing but smells and sights. I want to stuff senna down my throat until I empty too violently to remain alive. I want to stuff all the evil simple carbs into myself, and then tear it back out with my own fingers.

This is my life. This is my day-to-day armada. To eat is to purge, but purging is dying slowly. I'm no anorexic, even when i try. Nature within me is food that gets ejected post-ingestion. If only I could be stronger, and say no altogether, forever. But the sickness is a drug. First, a satieting binge on everything I've ever dreamed of, which is everything that lives in my waking nightmares. Then, the bloated, crying, whimpering crawl to the bathroom, and freedom. Clean. Rinsed of everything that was within.

I'm telling myself that this, what I am writing, is not right. I'm telling myself that this blog was for helping others, better tips to make as healthy a lifestyle as possible out of this hell.

But I am going cold turkey on my absolute favourite thing, which is also the trident in the hand of the devil that tortures me. It is all I think of. It is all I want. I am the bile, longing to find its way up, and out of this acidic chamber.

Can you feel my desperation? can you feel it?

I cannot win. Eat or die.

But if I eat, I will want that relief, I will want to feed my hurling addiction.

And if I purge, like I'll want to

the blood that comes out of me will surely run thicker, and if it runs thicker

game. over.

This is a bad day. This is a cutting day. This is a day in which i will be unreachable. Not love, not friendship, not anything gets to me. Nothing but the urge.

and I think only of myself, and the others in the world that curl up, in the same ball as I do

and cry over the fat

and cry over the food

and cry over the hunger

and hurl themselves around the tomb of their withering bodies

and I love you all

xxx

egac sti ni staeb traeh eht
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