Date: Wed, 17 May 2006 01:22:49 +0000
From: Violete Marut <violete001@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bulimia 10

warnings and such:

1.all rights belong to the author,don't copy without written permission
blahblahblah

2.This story involves bad bad bad language,sort of [I mean it's English so
I don't see what's the biggie but just warning you anyhow]

3.This story contains vivid descriptions of a person struggling with an
eating disorder.

4.Same sex relationship.

note from the author: sorry about the delay..was busy.Thank you for the
e-mails,they're heartwarming hahaha

oh btw please e-mail to this adress: burglary_yeras@yahoo.com


I've always compared life to a road.If you look forward, you might miss
something on the sidewalk you're walking on, then trip and stumble.If you
look at the sidewalk, you won't see the whole picture,and then you won't
know where you're going.I think I've always been looking at the
sidewalk.Living for the day.Looking at each step.It must be, because if I
would have been looking at the whole picture and seen where I would end up
few years, from when I first shoved my fist down my throat,I wouldn't have
done it.I would have said "fuck it".But I didn't.I was looking at the
sidewalk and trying not to trip.I wasn't looking at the whole picture.I
stumbled anyway.
Inspiration
Shit, I hated the way some people never ran out of things to say.It was a
constant problem for me.All I ever said was "fuck" ,"You got a ciggie?", &
my most famous one "excuse me I need a bathroom break".How did people find
the will to do something,to go on,to make great things?How did they find the
inspiration for life?In what?Where?For how much?I didn't even know where to
began to look.Things in my head could be compared to a storm.Thoughts that
couldn't be put together,that didn't fit like fucking puzzle pieces,no,they
didn't make any sense at all together.Group therapy,Family
therapy,Cognitive-behavioral therapy,Nutrition,Prozac,Hypnotherapy ..All
those words.Words that didn't mean a thing to me.They were all on my "to do"
list.Yet I couldn't bring myself to even think about them.They were
boring,fucking meaningless.The kind of rage I feel.Sometimes I'm afraid that
it will boil over and spill like milk.I do not know why or where it comes
from.

"Aiden sweetie"
I do nothing.I sit and pout.I pout and sit.I'm so young.So young and I'm
halfway in my grave already.
"Aiden talk...talk to me," and she breaks down.NEWS!
I sit.I sit and do nothing as always.I replay some old song in my
head.Words,that don't have any particular meaning to me right now,yet they
stick like gum.It's quite fascinating how sometimes you can't get shit out
of your mind.
I think about smoking.It doesn't make anything better anymore.It doesn't
signify any rebellion or romanticism anymore.
"I want to get a tattoo"
She looks at me with tears streaming down her face.I see something flicker
across her face,it's a recognition of talking to an insane person.She is
convinced I'm insane now.
"Are you out of your mind..?"
What did I say?Am I out of my mind,no..I believe she is though.Fucking
cunt,I hate her.
She snorts "no certainly not,you're not getting anything until you start
talking to me"
I roll my eyes and she does her best at not snapping at me.
"I want to get a tattoo," I repeat and get up.
"Where do you think you're going!?" she screams out.She's so pathetic.I walk
forward and she grabs me by the arm,quite painfully I might add.At the
instant of her touch I flinch and get her hand off of my arm.I run out of
the room.

The trees outside of the center are all dead.They do not look happy.They
look how I feel,if that makes any sense whatsoever.I think,but after a while
thinking starts hurting.I don't feel the same in these bones anymore.If the
next days will be like today,I will die soon.I know it.I think about it and
it hurts,and it scares me.I don't want to just stop being.It's so cruel,this
whole world.I would like to write of how I cry bitterly right about now,just
for the dramatic effect...but I don't.I look about,with tired eyes that can
barely see anything anymore.Despair.Despair.wasn't that a movie
title?Yeah..I think I remember.


Luc is talking to me,but I am so far off.I do not hear,or rather I do not
want to hear.I don't wanna know all about my situation and how they're gonna
help me get out of it.They're not.If I can't do it I won't let anyone else
do it for me.She is looking at me intently with her piercing brown eyes.I
would complement her on her pretty eyes,but I don't think she cares much for
my compliments.She is saying my name,but I don't acknowledge her.She is very
tiresome,just like Grace.I close my eyes and she asks me if I'm okay.I
somewhat nod.What kind of a fucking question is that anyway..nooone gives a
fuck if I'm okay.I don't give a fuck if I'm okay.I want to get it over
with,death.I want it done,over.Fuck.If I only had the guts to kill myself
everything would be so much simpler.I feel a hand on my shoulder.I wake up
from my one minute sleep.
"I think our session is over for today.It would be best if you went to sleep
now and we'll talk later"
I get up.I stop ,wanting to say something ,as it only seems appropriate.I
start walking again.I have nothing to say.I'm out of words.I go into my room
and it's freezingly cold.I get under the covers.It's still cold but better.I
squeeze the covers hard with my hands.Something wet slides down my face.It
leaves a track.A silent track.Wet.It gets warmer as I start remembering
everything nice that's ever happened to me.At first it's really hard because
I keep remembering all the bad shit and I can't focus on anything good.But I
regain control of my mind after a while and everything gets easier and..
warmer.I remember Cal.I remember him touching my bare shoulder.I remember
him tracing little paths on my arm and than kissing it.God knows why.I love
him.We're so different.I hate him.Yet we're in it together..so I'll love him
forever.