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Janeene’s Journal.

Day one,
I can’t believe i am doing this because some girls called me fat today. So, sprawled across the cool tile floor, my face is covered in disgust of what I have to go through. Perfection seems to come at a very high price these days and I guess i am just another girl who has fallen subject to the plastic manicans in the store windows. I guess my friends were right about anorexicia being a slower form of suicide.

Day 4,
I am starting to see such beauty found in pointy hip bones and such glamour shown from collar bones as well. I love how my wrists look like they are about to snap in half. But when I look in the mirror I still am fat faced and hideous waiting for her next stomach flu to come so I can reach my next goal weight. I was supposed to be beautiful, every part stunning, now I am thin haired and hideous.
Fat faced and hideous.

Week 1 and a half, Day 9
Something is soothing about the cold on my face again. The chilling porcelain bowl beneath my face is full of my guilt. Gross. I roll over and lay down again. But i guess this beats the fiery glances I get from all the other girls at shool. It’s like they know... know my secret, i didn’t think that this was going to work so well. They're just jealous that I look better than them. But if they knew what i was foinng through tehy wouldn’t be so jelouse. With cheek bones sticking out and skin pulled tight like plastic wrap I some how am feeling tortured by my appearance. I just want to be pretty, photoshoped, gorgeous. Everything looks easier from the looking glass I guess, though because no one knows why I wear clothes so loose that I look like I could get sucked into them. No one knows, No one knows... that secretly I am hiding myself from the world because it is embarrassing what is truly underneath of these mamath clothes. I know this is wrong, but it will be better if I do this anyways. Gorging should be something a little child in Africa does not me. But it doesn't matter after all that my waist line is a dying fashion. And no matter how many times I try to tear the seams of my head’s ideas apart they are still stuck together in a body that has made my nightmares a reality,
Every mirror draped,
Every reflection broken.

Week 2, Day 14,
The lights cast shadows of what isn’t there anymore. The room’s walls are bigger then I remembered. Everything won’t stop spinning and it’s odd that i get dissy so easy now. Why not stop this reckless weight lose path? Why not remember the fat girl in disguise as a skinny girl, because there was never something better then coming home and knowing that I could eat something. Have a piece of fruit or better a pizza. Now I am starting to worrie about how many calories a glass of water contains. Stupid, stupid, stupid.


Week 2 and a half, Day 19
I can’t Stand this sight of myself anymore and i have stopped loosing weight. I wish i could get my body to listen to my wishes. I wish i could be me but I don’t think sitting in the tub slipping bone chilling metal through and across my skin and it feels amazing. Watching the plastic wrap stretch and become something human again is simply refreshing. I never knew something as remedial as slitting your skin could feel so intoxicating. I watch as the dripping redemption crawls from my veins and flows into formulated crystal-like patterns across my saran rap arms. Slit after slit into the pulled tight skin, now loosening. I can’t feel her disappearing thighs anymore but that means that things are getting better. Pooling at the edge of my feet my DNA is trying to run away from me. My anatomy is made up of no heart anymore, no brain, no defined skeletal structure but that doesn’t matter to me, for in these actions...
I can feel free.

Month 1 day... I lost count.
Imprisoned I lay screaming in my own head so no will hear my agony. Nothing has made me feel as alien as the feeling of her skinless body. Well there is skin but there isn’t any to pull at, primp or preen. Not one ounce of fat to be seen but it is all hidden underneath. Even though I can’t see it, I know it’s still there. I must be flawless...
...
Imperfectly... flawless. Even though i am going insain,

I feel imperfectly flawless in this self mutilated perfection.