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The Journal of Andrea Colton 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
Fuck.My.Life.
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 stomach...like 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 leave...you 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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