Diary 1992

October 22nd 1992.

Dear D,
I am still being sick, but it’s no good. I don’t think that it’s helping me. Mum spoke of a girl at the gym who is bulimic and how it can kill you. She doesn’t know what I do in the bathroom. I can’t let her know. All that’ll happen is that I’ll be made to eat and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t tell her that I’m being sick. She’ll think that I’m being childish. I am being childish. I’ve been being sick for 10 weeks now, but I’m still fat.
What am I doing wrong?

Am I going to die? I don't even think that I care.
x