Diary of a Schizophrenic (Maddening Series: Book 1)

January 19, 2011: Wednesday

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January 19, 2011: Wednesday

1:03 AM

Dear diary,

I can’t sleep again. I have my first appointment with my counselor tomorrow. It’s quiet in here. Anorexia, Bulimia, and Depression are probably asleep. I can hear b r e a t h i n g. It’s Hope.

It’ll be okay, she told me. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want to wake Depression up. When was it ever okay? How come I can’t feel comfortable in my own skin? Why am I never ever good enough for anyone?

I was good enough for her, she says. She told me she loved me. She asked me why I was trying so hard.

THIN means beauty.

Beauty means good.

Good means w.a.n.t.e.d.

I wanted to be w.a.n.t.e.d. I could be w.a.n.t.e.d. she tells me. If I was myself. I don’t have an identity anymore. My identity is what Anorexia, Bulimia, and Depression makes it to be.

What about me? she asks. Don’t I get a say?

No. You don’t. Because I hate what you’ve let me become. You should have tried harder to save me... but you didn’t. But what is there to save? I need these thoughts to vanish.

Anorexia, Bulimia, and Depression saved me from becoming a fat, no good monster. I will forever be in DEBT to them. My stomach gurgled. Bulimia woke up. Together, we went downstairs to get me a SnAcK. Two giant ChOcOlAtE bArS, a bag of ChIps, and a sandwich. I cried when I ate them.

What if Anorexia wakes up? We’ll get rid of it by then. I sat and waited for fifteen minutes at the table, my hand in Bulimia’s hand. I love Bulimia. She let me taste.

Off to the bathroom. -insert another bingetastic moment-

Bulimia offered for me to get on the scale. I was afraid. I did. Back to 114 pounds. Crap.

Don’t tell Anorexia.

Love, Fattie