should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne*

well happy new year, may two thousand and twelve be far more marvellous in the happy times and surrounded by comfort in the hard times for you all. x xx

we share our misery, that's what a relationship is.

"turn that down!" says mummy as she frets over jumpers in the spare room. i do, of course. but these boxsets of "house" are really the only thing keeping me sane at home. for everything is difficult in my little northern hometown; a little darker, a hint of temptation with a bitter after taste. because home feels grubby and tainted, all the streets lined with faces - tesco is the new social gathering spot for people i know, by unfriendly aquaintance, to hang'. papa gave me the car keys and i fled to hide behind the neighbouring land drover. 

christmas day itself was lovely. i cuddled baby all afternoon and played monster chases with a five & six year old. i ate the meal, all of it, the salmon, the soup, the turkey, the dessert. then i spent half an hour coaxing the five year old to eat hers. ironic how the roles reverse.

and there were many presents and a little stress, lots of smiles and hugs goodbye. and beneath it all was remembering our God, his gift to us and the sacrafices everyone must make. 

so that was christmas day. and it was lovely.

but home is still, unhomely. everytime we drive past my old school, the one from before, i shudder. it looks grim. and inside it there is a strange equilibrium being swayed between bleak and hope. there is in fact, monsieur t if you're reading, a lovely new anorexic case wandering the halls - i don't know her name but she must be fourth year (maybe fifth but less likely), tall, long blonde hair and well, skinny, but i needn't point that out. it was unsettling to see her manically scanning m&s soups' calories the night before christmas.

but i digress. i started writing because here, town home sweet home, it feels like i don't exist. maybe i don't exist except to myself; perhaps the existance of everything is only real to itself. 

solipsism to be exact. 

"Solipsism is the philosophical idea that only one's own mind is sure to exist. The term comes from Latin solus (alone) and ipse (self). Solipsism as an epistemological position holds that knowledge of anything outside one's own mind is unsure. The external world and other minds cannot be known, and might not exist outside the mind. As a metaphysical position, solipsism goes further to the conclusion that the world and other minds do not exist."

do any of us really know of any existance but our own? i try sometimes to imagine myself as another person, to think of their experiences and actions but i fail. i can't tell for certain their thoughts and ideas just as they can't be sure of mine. ever seen a real good poker face? mine is just playing a smokey game.

x xx

december the twenty fifth thousand and eleven.

what else is there left to say but happy christmas our little world, inifinate hopes and prayers to you all. with love always, quinn x xx

tempted to sin in the form of starvation, each choice in opposition frightens the devil.

c.s.lewis wrote in the screwtape letters, "it was just about time he had some lunch. the Enemy presumably made the counter-suggestion . . . that this was more important than lunch."

i have never considered the concept of evil particularly. the idea of the devil makes me uncomfortable; that we are made in the image of God yet have such potential for darkness. 

we talked about it last night, huddled around mugs of coffee, filled with homemade pudding and passages from ephisian.

but to shy from evil might mean that we must not make war with the world but peace with ourselves and with a calm acceptance that evades arrogance and eludes greed. difficult, huh?

today as we remember someone we lost, we also welcome someone we are yet to know. one day can change your perception of darkness and light, incredibly. in the most horrid of circumstances the world goes on; a girl lost, a little boy born.

will the equilibrium keep going forever? does God counter each of the devil's pawns?

x xx

two sets of words in just a few days, we call that progress somewhere out there.

the bus smells bad, stale and clingy. i think that my duffle coat will smell the same when i get off. we're at ferrytoll, the end of the earth. it really should be; there is nothing here but a park 'n' ride used for dumping and migrating elsewhere. crossing the bridge into my city, dreich and full of decadence and squalor. sometimes i think that i'll be killed here; back alley stabbing on the fringe of suberbia - because i live in a nice area that borders a not so nice area and at night, the moon calls wolves. other times i can see myself soaring, lifted with a power ready to spill over like cloud's tears, raining down. i feel whole. i feel whole until i hear, a whisper from the corner, of parties and futures. even today, with someone who is like my twin, i could not tell who she was becoming. fear isn't leaving me, and neither is the hypocrisy i spout - i've come far but apparently it's not far enough. x xx

we are at one with the world around us but at war with the world within us.

i should check in more often but since failing is art, i like to do it to the best of my abilities.

i have a link for you, it's a selfish link at that but hopefully you won't hold it against me.

amongst all the puffs of normality that now ebb into my life (babies, God, chocolate fondue, mentally berating myself for not having written a personal statement yet) there has come an idea.

i want to save others, that has always been a constant since i could not really save myself. but now, now we have a plan. i say we because thankfully i am not the only one embarking on this naive adventure.

it's not like i am a secret anymore so here i am sharing my secret whereabouts and name...

welcome to edinburgh. here we want set up a charity for people in the same situation that we found ourselves, a place that holds onto their hope even while they can't, something i always needed done for me.

the fully story will be explained shortly a la "this link"

love and dreams x xx

how did man learn to talk with such stagnant thought and stale tongue?

i need to get back to words. books have been good but now i must do the writing.

when i didn't eat, i use fill my time with writing and now i'm so busy with the business of "trying" to eat that i don't write. which is ridiculous.

i guess, no matter what, i use to find the depression inspired whirls and turns of ideas. now it's fading into a drug induced clouding.

they say we have twenty one grams of soul and also a book within us all. i like the myths and legends, our folklore and fables. i want to write something that goes down in history but who am i to decide what is worth making history?

just now i'm storyless, i'm still holding out for an epiphany of inspiration and clinging to the stars. i think sometimes i forget that you have to go searching for the unwritten tales so that you can know them, so that you can give them voice like never before.

x xx

the words are wandering and the sights are searing blindly amongst their foray of memories

it's been too long but i've also had toofew words and too much to say.

there are three of us in that curtained cubicle even though it only looks like two. we are talking awkwardly about the mondane amidst your crisis. and we live in strange times.

all night these thoughts keep haunting me; all these thoughts of the afterwards and the point of it all and our twenty one grams of soul. i'm so tired, it's this physical exhaustion that comes from deep within the heart strings and values. it's my muscles ached and bones hurt. i wonder if it is the weight of my person, my ghost, my soul as it grows heavier as it falls further from my grasp. 

things are good and bad and up and down. everything is better than it once was, i am thankful for that, but i miss papa and the cat and old familar knowledge of why i feel upset.

x xx

men don't cry, woman multitask, girl stab backs and boys break hearts

there is a wave of sickness spreading through my body, it started as my heart fell to the pit of my stomach when i saw the photo of them together. i hate him.

how dare he tell me for months that he wants us to be more, he wants us to be together, and then, when i finally start to trust him CRACK goes my vile of trust as he spills it from my hands. i hate him.

it lying in pools, dripping from my fingertips; trust glistens like the tear tracks on my cheeks. why do we bother? why why why? back when i was horribly ill, even just a few months ago, i didn't care about school or boys or the future ...all the mattered was surviving the present and refused to let myself trust anyone. i never got hurt that way, i never got hurt by anyone but myself.

and i think that was better because at least i knew what direction the blows were coming from. i hate him.

for the first time in three months i cut myself. a red seeping line drawing over the scar tissue of a previous distress. and then the anger moves to my stomach, it seems fat suddenly, even though i haven't gained any of the weight i'm meant to have. if i cut over the word fat that it already reads there then perhaps some of the contents of my stomach will bleed out too. it doesn't work, just leaves sharp, angry lines which spot blood that runs down my stomach.

then yesterday and today i skipped meals for the first time in three months too. the twisting pain in my tummy, crying for food, was a better pain than the one in my heart and head. those both dulled as i walked and didn't eat.

i haven't come this close to fucking up in a long time and it's frightening.

but what frightens me is not the fact that i might sink below the water level to that deep dark world again. it's the fact that even though i hate him ...all i want to do forgive him and be hugged close again.

x xx

sick. sick. sick. sick. is it any wonder that the world's next generation is ill so young?...

there are many things out there in our world which are wrong; we fight each other, we steal and riot, we kill animals for pleasure and destroy the earth we were given.

but these things are global, there is only so much one person alone can do.

and what i write next is not in any way comparable with the destruction of our world but it shows where the potential for self-destructing ourselves can come from.

for i come across an article like THIS and i am outraged that anyone could come up with a brain washing idea quite like it for our next generation. this comes from an educated adult in a continent which prides itself as being at the fore front of "right against wrong".

what is worse is that Aloha Publishing, the self publishing agency this author used, has not even begun to think of removing the book. just type in the title, "Maggie Goes On A Diet" and you can see disgust sweeping across the internet. among the upset there are tragic stories of girls dying from eating disorders that started as "simple diets".

i should have been one of those girls. it scares. this self hatred must stop.

i know obesity is an growing problem, especially in developed countries, but this, aimed at those as young as SIX, is not the way to solve such a deep routed problem.

i want to do something. i want it to STOP.

and i am out of ideas except that perhaps if we ALL click HERE just once and write to Aloha that we think their decision to publish this book is unacceptable then maybe, just maybe, someone might stand up and take notice.

i have no idea how many people read my scatterings of words but please, all it takes is a few hundred voices from accross the globe.

with love and prayers,

quinn

x xx

he likes me. he like me not. he likes me. he likes me not...

when he holds my hand my stomach quivers like a thousans butterflies. when we go out together it's funny and sweet and i don't want it to end. we talk about books and argue about god and drugs then kiss before we part. 

i like him. but for the record, i know nothing about love.

i'm just winging it, sure that i must know when i feel such a beast.

i hope he trusts me but i know he finds it hard. and i don't mind that, how can i when i barely trust myself?

the only thing that scares me is what if he stops liking me? i'm terrified of being unliked, unloved, unwanted. what if i get my heart broken? i mean, how can you know? how can you know what another person thinks or feels? 

you just, can't.

he's seen me in fits of giggles, with tear stained cheeks, cut up arms, starving limbs. he's pushed that awful chair when i could not even walk, played songs to me written from the heart. he use take the cheese of my pasta when no one was looking because it scared me so and tell me i was pretty even in weigh in clothes. 

i want him know i'm sorry for not realising sooner that he means such a lot to me. and i don't want anyone's fairytale to end.

love quinn

x xx

the great fire of london burned and burned, how long will the flame go on they asked?

papa lost his wallet in the woods. a week later it was handed in at a tiny polise station thirty miles away.

three europian tourists had found it behind a bench in the woods. inside they wrote papa a note.

the reason it took a week to get handed in was because they walked all those miles to find a police station.

i know london is a mess and that the riots are spreading but moments like lost wallets and kind strangers sometimes restores my faith in humanity.

madness isn't catching but it's something i've seen you learn. don't waste a life on gaining control when loosing it is all you know.

i can feel my anxiety displacing. i use to corner it off in the little area of my brain traffic lighted, "appetite" but now i'm not meant to do that.

it's difficult. sometimes far more difficult that i previously allowed myself to imagine.

all those thoughts of dying keep infiltrating my head. not myself dying but others. the whole world collapsing in on itself; family upon friends upon colleagues upon acquaintances upon strangers. i try and keep everything out by making up stories of my own death instead.

i sound so macabre but it makes me feel like i have some sort of control over my life. even though that's nonsense in reality.

i think about the accident; how frightening the world seemed, the whole prospect of being was, in that that instant. even now i shake at the thought of the route he took, it had nothing to do with me but i still feel responsible. i pace back and fourth, legs quivering, heart a quell of senseless emotion; please let him be okay, please let them all be okay.

i know loss is part of human existence, to be human is to live and to die but i feel unprepared for the prospect. i suppose most people do. i feel young and old at the same time, horribly cliched but true - you so long with the fear of a child but the body of someone aged and fragile soon your mind is fucked up even more than it was before.

x xx

without us would the world be better or is that just a hope unfounded?

most of the time i do not understand the world, it's cruelty and desperation. but sometimes, it still amazes me how beautiful it was made before we came.

x xx

watch the world go, see it swim and dive.

in cities we are anonymous; we slip through subways, onto double deckers, into starbucks for a skinny-extra-hot-no-foam-latte-with-caramel-syrup all with the bleepbleep of plastic credit and elderly bus passes.

some hate it. some love it. some just accept it; obvious choice, convient, pays better than ploughing beetroots. (i must confess here i don't know what the average beet farmer earns) the city just swallows you up, often from your birth till the birth of your own child.

i like the way i can dissolve in cities. the way i can exist and learn to sit with my existance, my need for air and space, but not be overly reminded that i am parked in the only space beside the first corner shop in fifty miles.

then there is the way characters form in the city; the crazy lady with a thousand piercings, the homeless man with a pregnant mutt, the private school girl who loves charity shops and the business man, the student, the nurse, anyone, everyone all filing past each other. there is an acknowledgement of difference, of the lines that divide each into their area of society but judhement subsides. you see so many lives in cities, so many strange sights, it becomes normal. you accept humanities difference.

i grew up in a small town, really more like a village bursting at the seems. maybe it was a good place to start, but a good place to end. i love it, in a strange way, but it is nosey and chatters and self contained. it has no need to look further afield, that worries me. 

i like where i was. i love where i will grow up.

x xx

going home to see them leave, i wonder if anyone realise the price some pay?

seven days, a hundred and sixty eight hours, ten thousands and eighty minutes.

it has been a week.

in that time i have not lost or gained. my heart is stable, almost good for the wreckage it is in.

it all seems so small in the grand wake of the world, i get frightened that family and friend's will think such small success is trivial; forget how long it took to get here.

but it's not trivial in the scale of my life, dominated by illness, my own and others, that i failed to acknowledge and other did not understand.

i've breathed each of those ten thousand and eight minutes, felt my heart beat fifty odd times in those sixty seconds, blinked inconsistently, slept fitfully, needed to pee far more than any normal person should. is this what it is to live?

i still struggle to convey how i am getting; when asked i reply with a breakdown of what i have done rather than how it made me feel. my feelings always come out as fine. i do not understand them any other way. but i guess some understanding of how i don't understand is better than nothing.

as i grow up, a little more each day, as i get better, a little more each day, i realise that are different things in me that anorexia hid.

there is the fact that i like chocolate and sitting still but there is more.

in high functioning adolescent girls symptoms of autistic spectrum disorders can manifest as anorexia nervosa. an inability to cope with change, the need for structure, organisation and planning, an intense interest in one very specific subject, a lack of insight into the emotions and feelings of both themselves and others, severe anxiety in social situations and a persistent misunderstanding of humour are all symptoms.

of course that is not to say you can jump to sudden conclusions if you fit a few diagnostic point.

but what about those who slip through the cracks; ever wondering why they are different, why cbt didn't work for them?

for in five cbt won't work because of underlying autistic spectrum traits. cbt didn't work for me; i can be as rational and logic as i like in words but transferring to actions and emotions is another thing all together.

i'm left wondering, is there a reason or an excuse why so many women go undiagnosed or have to fight to be heard? is that the health system is merely unequipped or is it rather that their intelligence is too good at allowing them to pretend in a world they do not understand?

just a thought...

love quinn

x xx

these are a few of our favourite things...

faith

knitting

my best friend

words

alfred the rabbit

green tea

my iphone

edinburgh

recovery

paris

daisy chains

warmth

posibility

starbucks

the westie puppy i will have

the beach

now there's question with no simple answer, mine would blurr to a thousand darkened polaroids.

describe me your life like i have to you. se vous plait mes cheries.

mine would be worn at the edges, thumbed like the case notes i've been. no date on the back because time has lost it's place. it's taken under water, for the depths are dark like the scars covering me. but the sun flicks through the ripples, and we are swimming to the surface. and are we ready for the sun to burn our skin and the air to rasp our lungs? who knows. but i think we've tested endurance, our bodies to brink and suffocating it's below the water. no more trending water, we are ready to swim.

with love,
quinn 

x xx

just before church and there's angles in the sky, they're the people who've shaped your life.

i will miss social and having a year book, freshers week, advanced higher exams, the things that make up one of most exciting years of your life. 

sometimes i wish i could have all those things, but i think i want them purely for the purpose of having a reason to fit in, a topic to discuss; to moan about prefect incompentance and worry over failing bio and laughing at the winner of "most likely to end up in prison."

i imagine being called mummy (if damages reverse) and i realise i won't have a last year of school to tell of, nor a first year of uni at this rate.

i want only the best for those friends moving on, but am i jealous them? 

sometimes.

but to say always would be a lie. there are times when i realise i owe this past year a lot. i know private school friend's going to oxford and cambridge, other who have been hurt and abused. i know fifteen year old's from the worst estates who've been stabbed, they're memories as fragmented as their scarred backs. i know people who take drugs for "fun" and those who take them to forget. i can see now how everyone is human; that the middle aged lady opposite me in combined assessment was still an alcoholic because of a health system that ignores her rather than by her own making. i can stand up to people, i can scream and shout. not yet very loudly but that will come i believe. before i was sheltered, i went to a middle-class school where neither poles of society were defined. we sat in the middle, most of the people i grew up with still do.

there are connections upon connections all tangled in my head. like the friend who committed suicide who left behind someone so fragile i'm scared to let her go. ki, pinkfluff needs you. why'd you have to go?

or the ones who text: "how are you?"; "love you sweetheart"; "i made myself sick"; "dr is a knob"; "i was going to take an overdose"; "we're moving to the place where IT happened"; "take care of yourself"; "how are you really?".

i can't cope with your problems but i love you all so i do. here, i am needed.

yes, i wish i had a social, to go for one evening and feeling like a seventeen year old should. 

but without this last year, i would still be the anorexic girl. granted, i am that too even now but at least i don't feel quite as paper thin. i don't cry myself to sleep anymore, i take that as a positive.

i'm not saying i know people or understand them, to be perfectly honest people as a collective scare me half to death and i haven't the foggiest how to talk to them. but if you spend sixth year not ina school but an acute psychiatric ward with psychosis and depresion, personality disorders and anorexia, self-harm and bipolar you kinda get to know a little more about humanity i think.

not a lot but enough to suffice the losses you created around yourself in your madness.

i might not have a final dance or last day of school but i'm not quite as naive as i once was.

and would i change it?

no. i've met some of the most interesting people you'd know.

x xx

why does it always end with a section, chair rest and a nasogastric feeding tube?

"You begin to forget what it means to live. You forget things. You forget that you used to feel all right. You forget what it means to feel all right because you feel like shit all the time, and you can't remember what it was like before. People take the feeling of full for granted. They take for granted the feeling of steadiness, of hands that do not shake, heads that do not ache, throats not raw with bile and small rips of fingernails forced to haste to the gag spot. Stomachs that do not begin to wake up in the night, calves and thighs knotting in muscles that are beginning to eat away at themselves. they may or may not be awakened at night by their own inexplicable sobs." - marya hornbacher

i'm walking a tight rope again.

x xx

stop counting time and lives and numbers and passing people. the universe already has its place.

dearest irrational quinn,

do you think we're all trying to save somebody?

if you think about it, late at night in the midst of sleepless dreams, you see that we all kind of are: there is the boy you secretly love who smokes weed inbetween classes in order to forget; there is your mother working too hard for too little in return, much the same as your father is also doing; there is your little brother or big sister who don't fit in at school or who's boyfriend is quite good enough for them; there is your best friend who's hell bent on perfect grades or loosing weight or athletics.

in the end you're there, seruptisiously trying to edge your way into all there lives. often without even realising it and hopefully, if your any good, without them noticing at all.

you are the girl who persaudes the boy to come in the park instead of hiding behind smoke clouds. you are the girl who has the fire on, the dinner made, a fresh bar of salted almond chocolate on the table for your parents when they come in. you are the girl who's got the listening ears, the kind smile, the rubbish jokes and warm hugs for everyone.

everyone but herself.

and it's such a cliche. but it's true, we're all trying to save each other but sometimes we aren't very good at saving ourselves.

stare down the barrel of your gun, flick the light switch up, look in the mirror and stop being the hypocrite you are. start saving yourself cause everyone else is done picking up your pieces.

sincerely and with love, rational quinn

x xx

it's been so very long, i lost my voice but now i speak because perhaps i can.

i read words today which were, in some respects, a well summised view of the world i create and inhabit for myself. that's not to say i agree with everything written, i don't think the words i saw totally understand the extent of the illness i write about. but even so, i won't lie and say all i saw was untrue.

sometimes i start to write about days and they seem trivial, their intentions unprompted and pointless. we make war in this world so why should i write about love? but that's cynical and despite my cynasism, i don't like it. 

anorexia nervosa, let's give it it's full title, is collective, cynical, consuming, corrective, controlling, chaos.  it's not i didn't have other interests or feeling before it ...it's not i don't have them anymore, it's just that they're buried. 

i haven't known what to write for so long, i've lost my voice. the air in my lungs squeezed out. i've been left to scream in small white rooms, cut deep to tendons, purge till blood, starve and eat and cry and run. it's not just my body i tried to destroy, i wanted to forget, to be numbed and held. you return to this infantile state, utterly dependant on those around, vunerable. 

at times i've lost all sense of myself, i don't know where i start or end, where my emotions are real or just overreactions to a world i do not understand. i'm scared, i've always been scared. but what of, i have knly the faintest idea.

but this place, these words, were never meant to be solely about anorexia and what it entails.  this place was meant to be about me, these words are mine. i think the problem that arrose is that sometimes anorexia is all i am, it becomes an identity that i rely on and a safe place to cower. 

but not everything is bad, it's just the bad things sometimes stick out for me.

i've screamed and cried but i have also been held and hugged. i've made friends i hope to never ever lose and walked by sunny canals, sat and sung in church, lay and knitted in the grass and daisies, been tranfixed by simple things like cloudless skies, a cat called cino, the feel of new clothes, being able to run. 

the other day i walked five miles just to see two friends. it was tiring, i dragged my feet that felt too hot in boots under spring sun, but it was real and worth it. 

yes, i don't eat enough. i hurt the body i have and ultimately perhaps it will cost me somewhat. but that is not all i am. i am a person who's awkward and quiet. who loves so many others back ...both those she should and those she shouldn't. i am cared for, i am frustrating, i have potential that i don't care to use. i spend money to easily, give too much away. i believe in god and heaven and that stars are souls. i talk to myself, i'm usually the last to get jokes and i hate telephone calls and talking to strangers. i miss horse riding and dancing and deep down there is a part of me which believes in life. it's finding it abouts the rumble and shredded paper of my heart.

so there you go.

i love sitting on train, rolling past cars and factories, country and woods with the sun misting through.

with love,

quinn x xx

so, emm, i might have, you know, kinda just a little bit, have discharged myself.

that place made so fucking fat it's unreal.

but it's okay because now i get to manage on my own and it is going to be okay and i am going to be thin and happy and well.

pretty sure that's an oxymoron right above.

x xx

some people you love but you hurt them still. some people you hate but you hug them close.

no worries instead, i'll find someone to love. i'll take life from me and give it to you; pull it from bone, grind it from rib. make an envelope of my heart and tuck you in. we are singing and dancing, laughing and crying, in summer rains with hop scotch games. in time you will grow, fill the space that i craved. a memory in dust, behind a glsss frame. we are so far away, growing up under their furtive gaze.

what can i exactly say that you don't know? maybe you hear, maybe you don't.

i hate how they all think they know where i stand, what i want, what i'm running from. but they don't. how could they?... i don't even know myself.

sometimes i don't want to go home. partly because i don't really have one but also 'cause home is where mummy cries and throws up, papa get angry, won't let me go, moans and grumps. home is where they sneak extra butter into my food and where the bathroom is that i use to throw up in. home has blood stained clothes hidden in drawers and packets and pills, razers and claws.

i took an overdose last week, ended up transfered to general hospital from the psych unit. 

the big hospital took me in and swallowed me up, filled me with lines antidotes and various injections. as i sat shaking and throwing up the pills i'd taken i swore i'd never do it again. but now... now i'm not so sure. i want to, i need to. but, but, but.

please don't tell me i can do this. please don't fib and say it's gonna be okay. i think we know there is no fairytale ending.

i love you all. 

x xx

p.s. thank you so much for the award charr :) xo

it comes and goes, in waves and drifts, my feeling of powerlessness.

it's been six months and sometimes i feel no further forward than the last step i took backwards.

i want to be positive and happy and to tell everyone i'm managing and that i'm not scared and food is fuel i will always need. but i can't. it would be yet another lie.

the damage i've done to my heart probably should have started to right itself by now. it hasn't. sometimes i wonder if perhaps it's permanent. and so my weight rises with all the food i have eat to restore my weight and i want to die within the new layers of fat that envelope me. 

but i know i can't. i have others to look out for, people who need someone to tell them it's gonna be okay. i want to be her. i want to be the girl everyone talks about.

but i'm so scared of the big bad world that i'm stuck in here. my lovely doctor said he was concerned because i could just to bounce back and fourth between hospitals for the rest of my life, always ill. 

limbo doesn't second too great.
and i want a life.
but i'm just so scared.

want to what i'm scared?

i hate phone calls and talking to strangers. meeting friends and not knowing what to say. asking questions in shops and having to  answer them in school. of having to buy food and inadvertedly showing my weakness; i am human, i need nutrition. i'm scared of being places that are dirty, unclean, well used. of being situations i do not understand. of arguing and being hated. seeming innocent, naive and young. i'm just frightened of being judged by anyone and everyone.

it's suffocating. like this bubble world i'm trapped in, my fear is suffocating. i barely know anything of the world. japan and it's trembling heart at the moment calls the world concern and i want to help there and meet people and love the unlovable.

you are loved, i promise x xx

i think you forget that it can kill. quiet, silent. still.

i want to write something worthy of how magical you are rts. words are floundering at the moment for me but...

i cried when i read your message. 

sweetheart, you can't die. you can't, you won't. my facebook shows you as a sister and that's a pack that i won't have broken. anorexia can go fuck right off, she isn't taking you away.

i can't believe how poorly you got, how they didn't notice you slip before them. i hate how i cannot give you a hug and talk in code about calories and getting better.

when we were trapped here you were the closest friend i had, i fitted in for the first time i can remember. i owe you so much rts. (i know you hate that nickname, sorry love).

i'm praying for you. my adopted wee sis, one of my best friends, a teapot with a handle just now but not forever. 

loveyou r. everyone does.

x xx


even though you don't know her, please pray for her. i just want her to get better.

it's eating disorder awareness week and i need you better butterfly

we don't tend to think about anything but the present, perhaps stretching to immediate future at the very best. we're not good at imaging how our actions implicate on our future, how we alter amd shape everything through the moments that came before.

i know i certainly don't.
i know my illness certainly doesn't.

and there it is again, that pronoun "my" ...illness isn't a concept or reality most people cling to and yet i do, heading all my sentences, excuses, lies with my illness, my illness, my identity.

but it's killing me. and for once i can barely argue against that fact. all the sustained abuse, starvation, purging, chaotic rituals and pills i put my body through is finally catching up with me.

...when i first bought laxatives, i read the side affects of prolonged use and it said, "may cause weight loss due to muscle wastage." brilliant darling it said to me, more horror for your insides.

i forgot my heart was a muscle. 
i forgot as you lose weight from an alreadh underweight frame your internal organs start to fail.

now i'm seventeen and in the danger zone for collapsing and cardiac arrest. the doctor told mummy it's the worst case he's ever seen. i never thought i'd suffer any of those potentally fatal conditions through statving, but look what ...i did.

you think it won't happen to you, that you are untouchable. but you're not, you're really really not.

love and prayers, x xx

two hundred porcelain puppets, that's you my lovelies, you folk right there.

thank you for following my dears, it means a strange amount that you should care about my life.

i'm still suffocating in thee place. 

now i have chest pains and tingling arms, strange black spots before my eyes and a chair instead of legs. i have the symptoms of cardiac arrest and i'm seventeen.

when did the world stop making sense?

did it ever?

i am all or nothing; ultimate power or utter vunerability. if i eat anything then i'll eat everything so i must eat nothing at all. it's been said before but it's so true and i'd rather starve than spit blood and acid.

i act out my life like it is not really my own but as if i am pretending to be me, to be someone else, or just to be anything. i watch my life unfold before my eyes and i feel powerless to change it's direction. and so, i feel directionless.

i want so much. everything i feel is so intense. i am too much for my own body and self to handle. here it is, my renunciation; i cannot cope. 

"it hurts that my best friend may die. you'll end up deciding when it's too late. your eighteen in seven months. you need to eat." - you are the reason i am trying because you are right, this ends two ways ...either dead or trying to building something resembling a life.

hugs and prayers and falling stars.

x xx

where to start when the beginning is the end?

i lock the door, lean over and take two fingers and force them to the back of my throat. i can taste the fifteen grams of bran flakes, the zero fat actimel and sugar free orange juice rise up in my throat. i gag, my stomach lurches. ninetyfourcaloriesgone. i spit blood.

in the mirror my eyes and nose run. this is the only time i cry now. my face is bloachy and the knuckles of my right hand show small calases where flesh and teeth have colided. my body trembles, both hands quivering as my newly imbalanced electrolytes play havok with my already failing heart.

i was re-admitted to hospital today. to be stabalised.

i love you. i'm sorry.

x xx

go away and plan your life, tick off the checklist you have made.

no worries instead, i'll find someone to love. i'll take life from me and give it to you; pull it from bone, grind it from rib. make an envelope of my heart and tuck you in. we are singing and dancing, laughing and crying, in summer rains with hop scotch games. in time you will grow, fill the space that i craved. a memory in dust, behind a glsss frame. we are still growing up beneath their furtive gaze.

x xx

thank you for not abandoning me in the chaos. will you ever know how being alone scares me, even though it's all i seem to strive for.

relapse

1. to fall or slide back into a former state.

2. to regress after partial recovery from illness.

3. to slide back into bad ways; backslide.

i don't want to go back there.

you know, where it was dark and wired. like electricity and split personalities and cake mix and vomit and deep black hunger.

i especially don't want to go back there ^^ but the thing is...i

x xx

the big bad world huffed puffed but did not tear her paper heart down.

i have survived four days out of my lego brick prison.

in other words, i'm discharged. no longer detained at her majesty's pleasure. free to do what i please ...well, not really the latter but still.

i'll take bets on how long it'll last if you like?

i ramble. i've missed this place. but somehow i doubt anyone reads here anymore. why would they? for so long now i've lacked the words to say, the words to some up the whirlwind in my head.

and now?...

...now i'm frightened incase they capture me again 'cause they read here and they know my secret hiding place. i don't ever want to be locked in the tower again, with liquid food, arms locked by bears.

love always,

quinn x xx

don't tell me that you love, just don't lie to me. don't tell that it's better, just don't lie me.

it's a strange, somewhat cynical flaw but a fundemental one nonetheless; the problem with psychiatry (and one which will no doubt remain) is that people lie.





we change the truth, our own truth and others. and we tell little white lies and mother's shaking voice, "don't tell me porky pies."

yes, it's so easy. yet it's sad because the only one who gets hurt is you and me, everyone who's ever lied, "i'm better."



x xx

follow the link; down the rabbit hole, through the tunnels, into the maddening dark.

follow this girl. she is magical, perhaps a little crazy and the coolest butterfly i know.

http://pissirrintating.blogspot.com/

x xx