Words to Choke Upon

Today was a nice day.

I got things done, I didn't do much work, I've managed to maintain my high-B average. I had apples and biscuits for lunch.

I was glad that things work for I was determined to make sure everything went wrong. I woke up and my mouth was almost too dry. I haven't purged for a week, and I felt like a fake. A fake, with plastic nails and tape-recorded laugh that rang and rang and never got anywhere, like an unending echo. It wouldn't go away, so just before I left I drank two swigs of Jamaican rum. This worked in two ways: the shimmering pain on my left leg disappeared almost completely and I could run for the bus. Also, I could disassociate from the masses on the train journey. A bunch of heads, floating, monster, tactile, unassuming heads. They'd pass over my head, no problem. And I could carry on reading the Bell Jar. It's my own rabbit hole, and I'm tumbling further down into it, so I won't have to think for myself anymore.

I had cried last night, but I was just too exhausted to do anything about it, so I simply cried to sleep. Being drunk was a lot scarier. For one thing, vomit did not seem far away. Something must be known: if you do refrain from purging after you get you used to whatever binge/purge cycle you may have, which for god-sakes, do it! then your stomach is full, all the time, it does not leave. In fact, it's like gastric/tummy contstipation - the food is building up and up and up, and refuses to leave. It doesn't even decompose. The lumps crawl at my mouth: they want out they want out they want out. And it tickles you, your throat, your gums and desperately bellows at you that if you just unclench your jaw, your frustration would just ease out, and a waterfall of disgust and self-hate that had overflowed, unmowed - ExPeLLed. And you can't stand it anymore cos you're scared that if you laugh too extravagantly they'll a bit of sick in your mouth, and the shame forces you to unclench your jaw. And its not that easy, but a little work, a little strain, then a little more, a bit more. You're there, and you can't stop, even when you think "I can't breathe, I'll surely die!" And you're finished - almost literally. It's been hours since you unclenched your jaw. Your arm shakes a bit. You worry your parents or your brother has heard you. You frantically think of excuses before you are lost to sleep. You wipe the mess from your mouth. An for a milisecond you ask: Was it worth it? And on instinct-back to instinct - a grin comes up unplowed and undeterred.

Of Course!

I guess thats explains bulumia a bit better.

I came in today, hoping in my slight drunkeness for people to see through everything. Of course they didn't. I was a bit grumbly about my weight, and a bit louder and chattier, but they appreciated it, rather than saw right through it. I feel horrid, and I'm not sure why I do, cos I was feeling really great for once and I hoped to carry it over. But now it's flopped, plopped, down in the valleys, happiness on its last legs, running far, far away from me and I don't know when I'm going to see it again for a longer stay than 6 bloody hours.