Your title seems to suggest a diary entry -the date 'xx' out could mean its a day in the past. With this said, this poem could be reflecting on emotions, then and now? Either way, the title is intriguing, despite the weight reference, which screams out 'help!'
First stanza - Apologising for stabbing ribs brings a vivid, clever picture. Being severely underweight and being sorry for it shows how out of control the condition has become. "all I can say is sorry" "people just look and stare" Just don't point, help me!" It must be so hard having an illness that brings little sympathy and understanding. It is all too easy for a person to say, "they attention seeking", or, "that's not a proper illness" - this is narrow minded and must only exacerbate the situation. 'Empty fingers/ words', says it all.
Second stanza - 3 lines, here I see a statement. A survival statement. I keep contacts, but without being clingy/ needy. People are there for me, but at a distance and never really stepping into my inner sanctum.
Third stanza- Pain packaged into a seemingly 'okay' person. An act of sympathy, or perhaps friendship brings with it realisation of just how thin/ ill you are. It would feel just like entering a slaughterhouse. I would imagine a recoil wouldn't be unheard of.
I like the description of the illness as being 'lack of renovation' a person in an advance state of disrepair.
Forth stanza - Here enters the core, the heart of it. But, here the heart, like the rest, is failing. Your vivid descriptions of decomposition delivers a necessary image shock. This is a heart that has always been laid bare, so shows (probably) the worst stages of rot.
Fifth stanza - Reflecting on a loss, a lover, a moment when he was seen again, but his distance obvious, like he did not want to step inside the contamination zone. "why" is full of regrets - a longing for pretense, maybe another roll of the dice? But, its too late the player is using another table: the chance gone.
Final stanza - Here the title, the reflection of a past event comes home. The physical impact all consuming. Pain upon pain. Desperation crying out for help - why won't someone hear??
Saerelune, I am sorry for my rambling comment. I tend to read and write down the first thing that springs to mind. This poem has a loud voice: Your voice? It seems brutally honest and expresses clearly emotional trauma. Although difficult to read, it succeeds in bringing a flavour of understanding, and from me, sympathy. I can only imagine what this illness must be like. It repulses some people, and this is sad when it pushes love away too. Surely love is what we all need, what this illness needs, unconditional love. I do hope that someone close to you reads this and steps inside that circle and remains for the long haul.