Another year lost to faint white scars that cover my arms in an intricate, lace pattern. Lying to myself, crying when my parents tell me they're celebrating my year of sobriety. Looking upon the sleeping form of the man I love with guilt, feeling as though he never would have walked this path again if it wasn't for me. Searching, poking and bleeding for hours as I wonder if I will hit my target. Feeling both revolt and relief when I hand my 120 of hard earned cash over to make sure we're well another day. These are my days, one crashing in to another until they piled on top of me to form another year lost to my addictions.
Everything else is so normal and perfect. Family love, work, movies and Sunday dinner. The money I make is so good that our lives should be better; I made 2500 last week because I act as a decoy to a gay man who lives in a conservative world. He takes me shopping in between his dinner engagements where I wear pretty clothes and hang on his arm. Last week was a luncheon where I caught a buzz on fine champagne followed by a shopping spree he treated me to to get a dress for the evening convention as well as work clothes at Victoria's Secret and whatever else he thought looked good on me. He sent me home with 2000 for bills (my silence and time), a bottle of fine champagne and wine and bags full of assorted goodies as I left him to meet his young boyfriend in secret. I have been longing for the days where I could afford things, where shopping and feminine finery is in my reach once again but nothing hit so hard as the moment he handed me that money and I knew most of it was going to keep me well another day. I followed that day with a 500 dollar/600/300 dollar spread at work and it made me want to throw up. I got my nails done for the first time since Austin, went shopping and paid our bills. Bought my man things he wanted. This is the way it should be. Not orange caps, dark lady heroin and blown out veins. My mind longs for knowledge, my desire to become a vet and business woman so clear now that I see them in my dreams. Our beautiful California only one road block away.
And yet, I am so scared of the sickness, of losing out when my best customers text me to let me know they're coming to the club. Beyond those layers, I am just so afraid that I am not strong enough. Me, with my verging on perfect 119 pounds, with my ideal diet (fruit, veggies, lean protein and complex carbs), a girl who spends her days perfecting her dance and makeup, making homemade natural skin care that leads others to ask me why I have no lines why my skin glows. And it shouldn't, with my awful habits... Me, the girl who is so stubborn and hard that I hardly have any fear left, a girl on the verge of true womanhood who has been crushed and trampled by life so much only to reemerge from the broken body that once was to push on. So why is this so hard to me? I know that I am so close to all my dreams, if I can just let go and for the first time ever I can honestly say I want this to be the end, for my dangerous love affair to be OVER. I am in the best shape of my life, true athletic shape no wasting away anorexic hell and I'm so passionate about women's rights, volunteering at a woman's shelter, marketing, veterinary medicine, business and modeling but this one thing stands in my way. Womanhood is here, knocking on my door, whispering in my ear the sweet nothing's I need to escape my abusive five and a half year lover.
I try tomorrow, god help me.