Torn

Oh Hazel, they say. Oh how lovely it is to see you looking healthy again. You aren't the bag of bones you used to be. Your eyes are now full of life instead of sunken circles. Your face is fuller now, you look so much better they cry.

I know this is a good thing. My body is better. I make myself eat. I try not to worry when I eat.

But my mind is torn. In the back of my head I still tell myself I should be punished for eating. I still feel I need to excercise like mad. But I don't. Because I know that if I do, she will start winning again.

And as much as I want to be thin, I don't want to fall victim to the disease. It's been a month or so since I threw up, longer since I've used laxatives.

I'm at a crossroads, but I want to take the right path. I have to.

Oh.

I like it when I'm feeling like the clouds are made of cotton and like the wind is helping me to fly with the breeze. When I see his face and smile and know everything is fine. I'm marrying him soon. Just trying to break the news to my mum somehow. She won't approve. But he makes me happy, like my BMI being near 20 doesn't matter, and the fact that my size 8s don't always fit me doesn't matter when he puts his arms around me and whispers I love you.

Then it switches. I feel like I want to scream, like there's a voice inside that can't get out. My head's yelling at me not to, telling me I'm wrong. I feel
torn.

I feel torn. I know what's right and what's wrong. But the thing is, that choices like these aren't as clear cut as whether or not I need to butter my bread.

It's not as easy as deciding whether or not I'm going to eat today.

I'm tearing
               right down
the middle

I'm Done.

Making the effort.
Caring.
Hating my dad.
Loving my dad.
Eating.
Purging.
Starving.
Sleeping.
Nightmares.
Being Awake All The Time.
Being A Good Person.
Not Knowing What I Want.
Blogging.
Not Blogging.


Being Confused.


... I wish I wasn't so confused.
I'm still here, I've just lost myself.
I'll comment on you all soon, I promise. Sorry for being such a shit blogger.
Thank you to those who still love me.

Fuck yourself.

Anonymous said...


Just cos you're mentally ill does not mean you can blame a faith you clearly do no believe and at the same time abuse a faith to justify you mentally sick and disgusting actions.

You need help. Like seriously, go see a doctor.

4 September 2011 01:27

Twigs Can Fly said...

Yo anon,

Stop being a pussy. I'm cleary not falsifying the idea of faith, I just think that the way religion portrays God to be is bullshit.

So fuck off, go educate yourself, and maybe try studying philosophy.

Safe.
~Twigs.

P.S. Go fuck yourself. Zero tolerance to people who have no academic abilities what so ever.




LOLOLOL. I don't care about people anymore.

Starving? Never.

I haven't purged since Monday or so. But I haven't pooed either, so I need to go get some laxatives.

I'm not purposely starving myself all the time. A lot of the time I just don't feel the hunger anymore.

I'll weigh on Friday. Though I already know I'm lower than the 135lbs by my birthday goal. I wonder if I'll be at 130lbs...

It's getting harder now. Samir knows I'm being sick and keeps doing things like going straight into the bathroom after dinner. But it makes me all the more determined. I need to be perfect for him. I need to be perfect for me.

Tits and Banter say I've become more womanly in my  figure. I've actually lost over half a stone in two weeks. Hooded jumpers make a welcome return.

I'm playing the game. But am I winning or losing?


Dear me, get it out quicker.
Let's lie again... You loved your dinner.

Bump In The Night

Can't sleep. Won't sleep. Minutes tick by and hours pass by, but all
I can feel is the violent clawing of something within me. But there can't be
anything within me. I'm empty.

Boyfriend is awake and asks what's wrong,
Nothing's wrong, can't you see? Nothing's wrong.
Drink some water to dull the pain. But this sort of pain never leaves you.
She never leaves you.

You embody her, know her. Now you are her.
When you purge, you are her.
When you pick at food to paint a false picture, you are her.
When you've lost all hope,
but she's in the back of your mind, telling you to carry on,
You've lost yourself.

I've lost myself. Within the numbers, the negatives, the lies and deceit,
I've lost myself.
I'm losing you. Within the numbers, the negatives, the lies and deceit,
I've lost you.

We used to count on eachother, remember? Through thick and thin,
through tears and smiles.

But I'm not me anymore.
I'm sorry.

Grr, who is anon!

Anon please just reveal your name, I can't keep doing this! Tell me who you are and I'll come to you, but you can't come to me because I don't live in the same place anymore. I moved to near the Tescos in Heath.



I purged yesterday. Leyla was downstairs with my mum, and my mum's fiance. It's like I've taken a million steps backwards. But secretly I'm thrilled. Secretly knowing what I'm doing to myself makes adrenalin rush through my body.

Physically I'm not ill. Mentally I'm not ill.

Maybe if I repeat those enough they'll come true. Now 9 stone 4lbs.

Anon, who are you?

Ring ring, the telephone goes. I won't answer it because I know
what's waiting for me on the end of the line.
My partner is looking for excuses not to be mine.

Waves wash through and cause decay, when did my emotions
become this way? I'm devoid of everything. Can't feel a thing.
All I know is that something is missing.
But there are no metal hangers at this new house,
and the prospect of knives scares me to hell.

What is this that I've become? A trickster of my own right.
Painting a picture for all to see.
On facebook I put the older fatter pictures of me
But don't say a word, or else they'll all know.
The Hazel they know died a long time ago.

Suffocation

Hazel. You need help, coz this ain't right. Ana is not a person, it is a figament of your mind that impairs your visual outlook your on body. You've been like this for years, I thought you were getting better and moved on from this. for Leyla's sake. But cleary not give her 2 more years before she starts sicking down the toilet if she already hasn't now. Well done on your journey to come a skeleton. Well Eventually you'll be 6 feet under. and 4 stone and dead. So maybe your sister might be saved from this horrible mental diseased., Unless by some miracle you see that your lifestyle is not healthy and you get a reality check. Coz this ain't living.


By Anonymous
 
Anonymous, you brought me to tears. Who are you? You're one of two people, this much I know. Leyla can't end up like me, I won't let her. Yet sometimes I see glimpses of what she could become. I don't want this, I don't want to be ill. The prospect of dying, though sometimes welcomed, is scary. I don't know how to change. The weight drops, some comes back, more drops, then a little more comes back. It's like my mind is playing a game over and over again.
 
It's not about a reality check, I know this is wrong and I know this isn't healthy. But I can't live any other way.
 
Please tell me who you are.
 
Hazel.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I feel suffocated. This isn't living. My BMI is in the 18s now, and I have ready access to scales, and a gym around the corner. I can't keep doing this, but I can't stop.
 
One friend, two friend, three friends four,
How many more will you throw out the door?
You don't need them, you only need me
I'll show you how many lbs lighter you will be.

Tick Tock.

Tick tock. Tick tock. You're wasting your life. Run down the stairs, one at a time.
You fat bitch, look what you've done.

Feel your ribs, your lungs expand. How empowering it is to run your hand
along each one...
Keep up the pretense, you know you don't need to eat.
Let me do the talking, they won't be able to tell.
See I've taken over and the lies start to spill.

"I'm happy. I love you. I can't wait to break fast." Why're you squirming?
We're beating them at last.

Don't you remember what I told you before? You can't run and hide anymore
 because now I've got you back
And I won't let go. So smile and dance and put on a show - who're you fooling with that shit sharade?

Put some effort into it.

One potato, two potato, three potato, four.
Let's hide dinner in the drawer.
One retch, maybe two or three.
"I love your dinner" says the toilet to me.

Can't escape, won't escape.
I'm lost in the tunnel.
My soul died a while ago.