Sweet Cherry and Cigarettes

I felt autumn creeping in early yesterday, and I pined for days long passed. There were walks for hours, wine under a bridge and hot tea in dark cafes with the best people. My friends. Long gone. I've started to take my medication again, in the hope of resuming some balance in my life and lighting a candle in the cavernous gloom. I miss my friends, sometimes. They have lots, I have only them.

I'm on another diet again, yay. -_-
So far I've eaten a lot of ice-cream, chocolate, cake and jerky. Erm. Yeah, I don't know what happened either? PMS much... But I've been two days without alcohol, and over the last four days have not been drunk. It could be due to the tonsillitis (which has only been made worse by smoking far too much), but let's just call it progress for now.

I want to go for a long dark walk through the concrete woods, two A.M chill and shadows. Echoes in the streets   that entice you to walk deeper, deeper still and find new places to be calm. Walking at night, no need for makeup. The shadows will play new features across your face. Tricksy light, always shifting, never still.

I've decided I'm going to restart my creativity drive, and actually do something in my free time. Hopefully scans to follow. Too much free time, too much intensity, not enough outlet (or sex. More sex too please. Lots more.) I might even scan in some of my old stuff, I only wish my computer was good enough to support Photoshop without seizing and bluescreening on me. Eh, can't have everything.

Sugar

People seem to be under the deluded impression that there are no fat bulimics. My BMI is 26.7, and it's definitely fat and not muscle. So, there you go. We're out there. Don't get me wrong, bulimia works. It's the crippling alcohol problem that pushes me up into the lofty heights of borderline obesity.


You want to know the best thing about bulimia?




Nothing.


I have eaten an entire jar of peanut butter in one sitting.


I have eaten a whole large pizza.


I have eaten my entire birthday cake, when no one turned up.


I have eaten way too many trays of Chinese food.


And several share bags of cookies.


I have eaten family sized buckets of ice cream in the dark.


I have eaten a whole chicken.


I have washed it down with coffee. With warm water. Cold water. Soda. Tea. Beer. Wine. Guilt. Shame. So much guilt and shame.


I've done it in the dark, in the park, on my own and with my friends. I've done it in fast food slums and fancy restaurants. I've even done it in someone's back garden, and in an airplane.  


I have thrown up things that taste foul. I have thrown up a firestorm of spicy curries that burn and sting. I have thrown up sour, acidic, vile, watery, lumpy ... matter. I have almost suffocated throwing up a thick lump of condensed bread. I have thrown up curdled milk. I have thrown up rice so hard that it gets stuck in my nasal passages. Which fucking sucks. I've thrown up hot sauce, mustard, horseradish and wasabi. 


My teeth are eroded. My hair falls out. My face is dry from having to wash sick off it ten times a day. I've got cuts in the back off my throat from accidentally clawing at it as I shove my fingers too far down. My nails are chipped. My knuckles are always scarred from digging in teeth. Bite down.

Be angry. Punish. Destroy. Purge. Panic. Is everything out? It can't be. Dry heaving. Downing three pints of water to try and wash out every last little crumb and grain.More pain, more guilt, more shame. A filthy little secret that you hide away from everyone forever as you attempt to grapple control.


Not me. I'm sick of pretending every meal is fine. It's a race to see who gets to the bathroom first. Rational Khloe, or panic stricken anxious fearful nauseous Khloe, the fat little girl who feels dirty and ashamed and needs to be back in the driving seat.


And then blood sugar drops and the cravings return with gusto. Scroll back up. Repeat ad nauseum.

Caffeine

Yesterday was supposed to go well. I was supposed to walk into Chelsea and have my meeting. I was supposed to calmly explain why I didn't want to fill out another 40+ page form. I wasn't supposed to sleep through my alarm, have an anxiety attack and drink vodka for breakfast. But these days happen. Even the right words seem wrong on these days.
I ran out of medication. Again. I got so caught up hearing voices that I ended up pouring a pan of hot oil over myself. I almost cut my thumb off chopping things for dinner. I think I'll stay out of the kitchen until I'm medicated again...


Today I have my one-to-one with my substance abuse lady. I get to tell her I've managed to neck back however many units this week. It's actually pretty low for me. I might also get the results of my liver test back. Liver damage before I hit twenty? That'd be some feat.


Well, no results as it turns out. But I had some coffee and put my life into perspective a little. Perspective is always good.


Doctor doctor doctor. Must do. Ergh.


My porcelain queen with her long slender neck, forever keeping my life in check. I bow at the altar and hold my breath. One of these days, she'll be my death. My beautiful porcelain queen.

Candy

You pull an ugly face.

It's a face flare. A contorted toothsome retching. You twitch and buckle and dribble as I stare on in sick fascination. You sleep like a starfish, dribble on the sheets and break wind far too frequently. You always need a shower. Everything about you would make her scream NO. No way, no how, no thanks.
But there's eyes that make me melt like forgotten pocket candy, kisses that barely grace the edges of my skin. There's always a good argument to chew out too, and I was never one to back down from a fight. And who am I to be hypocritical, you've seen my sleep face, my orgasm face and my twelve cans of alcohol about to puke face.
You make me happy.

Dreamy :D

Hello. I'm glad you came. Please take a seat and tick the boxes that apply to you.

Taller than me
Overweight
Geeky
No, painfully geeky
MMO player
At the very least hard-core gamer
Spend way too much time on the internet
Like Marmite
Heavy drinker
Fuck like a machine