Thursday, 29 April 2010

Laxatives.

Every time, I vow never again. I don't know if I'm getting better or worse, I took 40 a day until I went into hospital and then I stopped cold turkey. I've taken 30 each day since Monday. I'm barely conscious, and I'm sorry this is disjointed- I haven't slept at all and I've more than likely just shat out my brain. I wish I could shit out my thighs. I am a stereotype right now, a pathetic one at that, curled up on my bathroom floor typing on my phone, as a distraction. It hurts. It hurts so much, that any more and I know from experience I'll pass out. I feel sick, but I haven't the energy. I am cold and shakey and I need to move, but I haven't the energy. I need to sleep, but I haven't the energy for that, either.

This is pathetic. Get it together, Condron. I'm so far over this crap, it's unreal and I don't have any pretty words or even any half way relevant metaphors to describe it. No witticisms. A touch of irony perhaps- the antibiotics I'm taking for Quasimodo Eye had given me the shits, anyway.

I really can't do this again- I sacrificed my sanity by taking laxatives instead of my meds last night and I am so embarrassed and ashamed of that. I'm too fragile to fuck around, my sanity is too fragile, and maybe I'm worth more. You know what? I'd choose anything over an eating disorder. I need to put my money where my mouth is.

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