i'll be here. waiting for you. far away from everyone.

i want to tell you that i'm not getting better; that even though i'm eat more i'm still losing weight, still obessing over ever calorie, still walking to burn the fat away, still lying through my teeth day on day.

but i can't tell you because then someone might try to stop me, might lock me away again but this time, throw away the key.

and i know it's not that i can't get better, it's that i won't.

i'm too distorted, i'm looking through a kaleidscope of fragmented colours and shape. i keep blurring, i keep dipping, below the horizon and into the swell.

i love you little world. i hope your twothousanthandeleventh year is wonderful and fine.

x xx

hope. happiness. hugs.

happy christmas little world x xx

swimming with stars and fishing for comets, someone hold me, never let me go.

dear universe,

please send some inspiration this way.

many thanks,

the girl who's paper heart is missing it's ink scrawls.

it's snowy outside and you leave footprints in your wake. you want me to step in them and fill your shoes like no one else could.

there are memories in me, this one clings to me, coats my insides. it is not raw, not anymore. 

she is standing balanced on a wooden stool, out of the window the leaves brush past and twirl. her teddy, a tiger, sits solemnly in front on her, its bean filled legs dangling over the worktop.

the little girl's hands are small and warm. they busy as she fusses over the tiger. it has never been washed but now she is scrubbing its fur tummy with a comb and soapy water. the suds lap over bowl beside them. 

"are you sure alex wouldn't prefer the washing machine? he'd really be sparkling clean..."

a horrified look crosses the little girl's face at her mother's words. she shakes her head, horrified turning to a stern, stubborn no. 

she doesn't want the tiger washed of all his history, his fuzzy smell, his black glass eyes. she hugs the tiger close, his soapy wet tummy soaking her tee shirt. 

she is safe. she was safe. she was me.

x xx

miss you, hug me, see you, leave me.

need. to. get. out. of. here.

...

voice dies, soliloquy ends, music fades out.

end of act one, scene two.

will the curtain fall?



x xx

i don't think anyone's normal. i don't think i'd want to be and i don't think anyone should try and be. normal is a waste of brilliance.

i don't know what to write. i've been sitting here, thinking of what to write but nothing comes to mind. i'm letting other people's lives and thoughts into my head so that i won't have to deal with my own.

i'd like to say, today was good, we saw an aunt and went into town and then we met a friend and finally mummy after sitting in the cafe drinking coffee and talking about stuff and then we went home and it was a good day. a good good day.

but, i guess you could say, i'd be lying.

so i have to say, today was a day just like any other day except the world was real and i had to live and breath in it. i had to survive and i don't do that very well. and to survive i just don't eat, i'm real and proper and fitting to the world that way. i had an apple and i'm still fat but that's not the point. the point is that it upset people and i lied. i lied a lot. cause it wasn't a good day and i didn't meet the friend i said i did (i did meet a friend just not who i planned to and it was only briefly) in fact, i didn't meet up with anyone at all. i went to the library and i read. yes, and i didn't drink coffee or sit in a cafe talking about stuff and i didn't go home and it wasn't all good. no, i went home and refused to eat anything except the apple and the house changed, like it always does when i listen to it, and mummy and papa looked sad and frustrated and murmurred the same mindless bullshit they do everytime i listen to it and so it wasn't good and now they won't really talk to me except if it's a must so i'm in my room writing this to all you and i started off by saying i didn't know what to write but it turns out i did, well i didn't but... and now you're reading this and probably wondering why and i can't tell you why. i'm just writing with knowledge that i feel bad about how i was today, about the things i did and the things i didn't do but also with the knowledge that if i stop i just might die and that also if i don't stop i might die anyway.

but i can't be fat anymore. i can't live this horrible lie and belong in a story which isn't mine to act. this is no fairytale. this is my life and i want to live it my way.

i'm so terribly sorry that i break your heart with each mouthful i don't eat. i'm so terribly sorry i'm not the daughter or friend or stranger you want me to be. i'm so terribly sorry you live with a girl who has a friend called ana with one n.

you deserved better mummy. you deserved better papa.

i loveyou.
i love you.
i. love. you.

x xx