because just what I've been through is nothing like where I'm going to...

...give me some sign to pursue a promise. And you're unhappy - this is only a guess. Do you know what it's like to hate when it's way down deep inside? Oh God, I hate what's been done to my life. I could rule the pain, I could rule the night, or would I ruin my salvation?

It's some ungodly hour of the morning and I've done some unknown hours of transcription. I can't really remember the last time I slept properly, I can't remember the last person I talked to, I can't remember what the hell I've just transcribed. But I know exactly when I ate, I know when I took the laxies and I know that they should be working soon.

With the Violent Femmes playing softly along with the howling wind and my howling dog, I can't help but think about how I got to here.

I don't really remember a time when I was happy. I don't think I really understand what that means. That doesn't really bother me. But sometimes it's hard to see how I got from a high achieving, scholarship winning, perfectly content girl to how I am now: severely depressed, suicidal, self harming, personality and eating disordered, intellectually challenged person who swings wildly from restricting to binging to taking 4 doses of laxies in 24 hours.

What happened? I thought I was in control. I thought I had it all under control. I said that I wouldn't cut myself again. Now I can't sleep until I've cut myself. I said that I would never starve myself but of course I started restricting and fasting. Then I said I would never binge or purge and I've been doing nothing but binging and purging for the past few days. I said I would never use laxatives. I've taken 8 of them in the past 24 hours, one dose after each meal. I said I would only use them if I needed to. Now I have to take some each time solid food passes my lips.

I'm not in control at all.

...you know that I want your loving but my logic tells me that it ain't never gonna happen. And my defenses say that I didn't want it anyway. But you know sometimes I'm a liar...

The Violent Femmes continue to croon to me. Every now and then the music will speak straight to my soul. And this song is doing that... Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?...

My alarm sounds, that annoying bell. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. It's 3am. That means that I should go to sleep now in order to get up in 3 hours time. But I can't sleep. I haven't cut anything into myself yet... it always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer...

I give up, I reach for my little box of love and pic out a blade and etch a little heart below my left clavicle. The angle is so strange that it makes me cross eyed. Gently, very gently, I sway to the music. Who told me to listen to the Violent Femmes anyway? Oh yes, of course, it was the professor.

The professor. In theatre, a nurse walked by and said "I don't do love". He laughed at her and turned to me and said "that's something you'd say because you're wedded to success and ophthalmology". I don't make any reply. I don't need to. He already knows the words that I can't allow myself to say. But that's okay. It has to be.

Laxatives. I look at my little red purse. It's full of laxatives. I never have any coins to put in it anyway. All I need are laxatives. I know this is a one way track to tolerance. Then I will have to teach myself to throw up. But that's later. For now I still have hope that I will go back to restricting.

I wash the little heart under my clavicle with alcohol. It burns. I'm tired. My thoughts float around the place. I can't think straight. I have work to do. I have people to please. I have scars to create. I have misery to wallow in. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

As usual, thank you to aliceana and strive4perfection and fat piggy for your lovely comments.