The Journal of Andrea Colton

04/22/2011 06:12 a.m.
I feel like a tool bag.
I recently went on a writer's strike
(against myself...)
so I haven't logged on here all month.
I log on today and low and behold, one of my poems had
been spotlighted. My first one and I missed it.
Sorry Pathetic, I'm a D-Bag. Thank you for the spotlight.

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04/05/2011 06:17 a.m.
I want to melt.

Emaciated hope ED scratching at my mind It wants to make me bleed But I've bled myself dry. The end.

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Swallowing bulimia Entry #3
02/23/2011 05:34 a.m.
Writing on break at work. Yayyyyyyyy....HA. I'm really getting sick
of the nasty comments from old men. Ugh *GROSS*

...On another note, I'm freezing. I can barely hold the pen well enough
to write. I had a frozen coffee and am now sitting outside in the dead of a Chicago winter. Shivering burns calories though so...I'll tough it out.

All the people at work know I'm kooky. I'm the clown, all cracked out
not from drugs but from starving. But everyone loves me---aint that a bitch.
Does that mean if I ever get "better" that people won't like me anymore?

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Swallowing bulimia Entry #2
02/09/2011 05:06 a.m.
Ate. Purged. Ate again.
Food consumed = Me trying to unfuck myself.

I caught myself staring into the TV today. Yeah, not AT it but INTO it. I've been doing that a lot lately. Staring into things. The ceiling, the wall, the floor...thin air...
I feel like a fat.
My head hurts really bad. I'm having trouble focusing my eyes enough to even write this. I can feel my pulse in my stomach.

I heard a quote from Dr. Drew tonight. "Alcoholism is not defined by amount consumed or frequency of use, but by the consequences it brings about."
I guess I'm an alcoholic now. Aint that a bitch...

I let it slip out
the secrets inside.
They poured from my core
turned muscle into lies.
My body pleaded with me
-no more stains on her porcelain pride-
My bones took advantage
of the nerves in my eyes
so off go the lights
watch me die.

Bla. Word vomit. Not trying to be poetic, just trying to get these fucking thoughts out of my head.

Brain, brain, go away
Come again when I'm ready to play
Leave me silent, still and dumb,
flip the switch and leave me numb

Head. H.U.R.T.S

Stupid whore of a skull...

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Swallowing bulimia Entry #1
02/08/2011 06:09 a.m.
I miss it. Being sick. I forgot to relapse and dove instead straight back into the belly of the beast.I'm here again and... I love it. I fucking love it.

And I'm scared.

I'm teetering right now. If I'm going to do it again, it'll be for good. I already know that. I can't come out of this twice.

I've been looking at my journal entries from last year and I am so overwhelmingly confused right now. I want it. I want it all back. The protruding ribs and concave stomach, collar bones that stick out of sweaters, highs of drinking coffee on a perpetually empty stomach, loose jeans and cropped tops, and a whole, entirely lot more.

And I'm scared.

How can you want and not want something so badly at the same exact time?
So, I've decided to post on this journal some of my most horrific entries from last year, the year I almost died from this and the same year I stopped. I feel like if I get it out of my head, off my fingers...if someone else can read it...then maybe it will leave me alone. Excuse the language and grammatical errors...It's hard to write correctly and sensibly when your brain is purged of nutrients and in shambles. Other than that, I really have nothing else to say about it. So here goes.

Entry #1

Today I ate:
1 cup of yogurt
1/4 cup granola
1/4 cup of frozen fruit
6 toasted bagel chips
An English muffin with fat-free cream cheese
10 cashews
A fat free pudding cup

Not really feeling right now. I've come to the conclusion that "feeling" is something...well, something that doesn't exist for me anymore.
My thoughts on food have really changed lately. I used to have a love/hate relationship with it, now I utterly detest it and am done with it all together.
I loathe food. I hate the way it smells, tastes, looks. I hate feeling it travel down my esophagus only to sit in my I swallowed a damn bomb and it's just waiting to go off.
Food hurts. Hurts my stomach, hurts my ribs, hurts my mind. I would say it hurts my soul but, I question if I have one of those anymore.
I think I felt it know, my soul. I think I felt it run the fuck away.
I wish I could run away. But what am I, 12? No, I'm a big girl now. 20 years old and all growed up. So I guess that means buck up and take it like an..."adult".
Who am I? "I" am nothing except what they have created. A perception, a conversation piece...a show. I hope they thoroughly enjoy the entertainment.

Ugh. Jibberish. My mind is blank right now.

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Falling off the wagon
01/29/2011 06:19 a.m.
I'm slipping. I'm over the edge of the cliff now and I can't hold on anymore. E.D. is too strong, and I am too weak. If I fall again, I don't know if I'll be able to make it back alive this time.

I'm alone. And scared. And I have this unbelievable sense of dread over myself right now.

I am currently Alienated

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