Up to 243 again! I’m feeling desperate. I’m going crazy. I’m going to die. I can’t be seen in public. I’m a disgusting, despicable example of womanhood. I cannot go on living. I do not want to go on living, not like this. It’s not real living, anyway. I must either quit eating like a maniac or find a way to end it all. Suicide! There… I said it; I said the ugly word, at last. I admit it; I do think about it. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me from suicide is the thought of someone trying to lift me into a coffin. And what if I couldn’t fit? I do not write one word of this entry with a smile on my face. I am deadly serious. I have a critical decision to make. Is food more important to me than life itself? I don’t think it is, but I live as if it is. Oh, the aching, almost painful longing I have to be in control of me. I do not want to play this game anymore.