there was a bulimic in supermarket's queue. it can seems ridiculous, but i -knew- she was a bulimic. she wasn't pretty for my type. she wasn't fat but thin neither. she was near the point. the bones of her chest were strongly visible. meanwhile her meat enough to her pants.
she had a guilty look, the silent but boiling attitude of that sickness. she carried few things. she only had two bags. chips and fried sweet corn. those things you eat without thinking. salt and sugar. that stuff.
she put her left hand without rings inside her pocket. a lot of money. and i noticed her hands were red and her face was white. except her nose and eyes. i looked at her bags again. and every glance got her more nervious.
i could, uh, smell it, i sensed all. i said nothing. i paid, i took my strawberries and my orange juice and left.
and i know that girl without name knew i knew.
mind says. yes although it isn't all. they're happy when they don't feed their barking bodies. that feeling is horrible. happy but tired, hungry. so glad if you can keep the food away of your inside. and if you don't do it, impressionable people shouldn't see it. haemorrhages. i've split water, blood and semi-digest food too. that stab in the back. besides  in silence. the pain is nothing if you're pretty. suffering is a friend. a close one. you aren't afraid and your body is your pride. after you must take an aspirin because the headache is killing you. blurry and red eyes.  nobody knows, nobody can know. better. alone. take a knife and cut your veins and nobody'd say anything. oh well who'd understand?  the smile on the face under the nasty mask. loneliness surrounds you and your effort is your satisfaction. sad. a pact with the devil. keep my 38 size and i'll stop to eat.
pityful lifes.
freefall is the life.
an ill girl. the sick need of pattern, to be like anothers. weigh. food is a drug to them. their obsession. but they can't forget, there where vomit is an habit.
epidemic blues. despite of all don't blame fashion. don't blame mass-media. they aren't more than our wishes and illusions. viruses haven't got any fault. something is wrong but i don't know what and why... don't say xx are often found as the cause of  addiction and self-destruction. you didn't live it. leave. 
today i deny with my head...
i'm free or at least i try.
free of that insanity in the shape of a model.
i'm not in a cold. and i can be nice without real purpose.
i sqeezing some red hair. this time is a real mental hospital where getting out is very hard and difficult. i've gone too far to lose myself for four pounds. think about it. i did it.