hey guys, sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a troublesome couple of months.
you see way back in July, my friend passed away. Her name was Lucia and she had long, long blonde hair and was super lovely. Her smile seemed to light up the room, and words can't describe how much she meant to me.
She was happy, right up to the last day.
Lucia had cysctic fibrosis.
But that never got her down. She kept her head up and prayed she'd live long enough to have a fulfilling life. I told her of my eating habits and my cutting habits. She was responsible and told a trusting adult. She helped me, even thought i resented her for telling. I never really told her the extent of my eating habits so she kept quiet about that.
Whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on she'd be there. The horrible thing now is looking back and realising that I was never there for her, well, at least not to the extremes she was for me. All of her pain and sorrow she kept inside of herself. i hate myself for not seeing this sooner. How could i have been so blind?
Anyway, a few Weeks before her death, she was told it was terminal. i can't imagine the shock and horror she must've felt. All the dreams and ambitions never fulfilled, all now lost. She never had a first kiss, a trip overseas, to feel the satisfaction of completing school, the joy of seeing her stomach swell with life. All that crushed.
When she did 'pass', I was in my room studying my calorie count, that I keep in a diary. I didn't sleep that night. I walled myself up in a fictional cave and cried. not, the kind of crying were you lie pathetically on the floor. No, i cried as though every tear would tear me apart. I threw everything within my grasp. That I couldn't throw or move made me madder at myself. i smashed my window, china doll, my bed and desk was overturned. i ripped duvets, sheets, bean bags, books. I've never felt like that ever. It's an emotion that now, months later, I still can not describe.
weeks following, I stopped eating. Each morning I woke up, my pillow case was still wet from my tears and I was horrified that it was her dead and not me. of course, i had to have some form of nourishment, so i ate a stick of celery and half a carrot. It tasted bland in my mouth. I was no longer not eating because i desired to be thin, it just didn't interest me anymore.
It was as if i was empty. I was a blank in everybody's lives. I just did nothing.
Finally, about two moths ago my mother, worried sick with my wasted frame, decided to send me to rehab. Well, as she couldn't find a 'rehabilitation center' in New Zealand that she could afford, I was sent to the hospital for my recovery. let me tell you, it did nothing. They just shoveled food down my throat everyday, and monitored my rips to the bathroom to check that i wasn't purging. It was my room mate, Valerie, who helped me the most. She had been there for months. The room mate before me had died from this 'disease'. We went through the grieving process together.
last week I was 'released'. But I still must attend regular check ups and weigh ins, plus two counselling sessions a week. So, that's it. that's why I've been away. I'm not particularly any better off, but I now have a friend. Valerie's still in hospital. They won't let her out until she reaches a 'healthy weight' of 156lbs. Fat chance. (excuse the pun). I visit her more often than I should, but it's wonderful having someone who understands me, finally.
I still think about Lucia. Everyday. I miss her, a whole lot. But it's fading, though i wish it won't. Soon, certain details will be gone and the full image of her won't be there. But this is something I just have to accept.