I think I’ve wrapped myself so deeply in this idea of being perfect. I was on the phone with my best friend last night and we talked about my eating disorder. Again, he told me to that I should seek professional help but I caught myself saying “I don’t think I want it to go away.” Its like my glue; it keeps me together and it keeps me occupied. I don’t mind being alone or having little friends because I have it to worry about. I have it to focus on. Sometimes I catch myself doing silly things and remind myself that I’m not allowed to do them. I’ve told myself that I’m a work of art and that people are watching; I can’t change my composition as soon as my audience takes notice. I don’t think I’d be the same person without my idiosyncrasies, even though I know they’re making me insane. Marilyn Monroe was such a tragedy but no one seems to remember her as one. 

I suppose I hope that I’ll be remembered as put together, beautiful and talented and no one will find out how sick I was until my best friend decides to write a book about me.

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