Wednesday, 29 April 2009

That evil, possessive, bitch

Sometimes, I feel like I have two friends: Ana and Mia.
Ana and Mia are constantly fighting over me because they both want to be my best friend - but obviously, I can only be friends with one at a time. When I spend too much time with Ana, Mia comes along and pushes her aside, and no matter how much I try to go back to Ana, I still like Mia too much to leave her straight away.

Well, I decided last year, that Mia was a possessive bitch who only wanted to be friends with me in order to destroy me. Ana is my guardian angel - she wants the best for me.

But despite this, Mia is still always hanging around outside...knocking on the door, begging me to let her back in...

(and no I'm not hallucinatory, I don't really think they are real people :p )


I'd say the biggest threat to perfection and thinness is the big BINGE - that trance-like state where you just eat... and everything you stand for is forgotten...

I don't really get why people enjoy being bulimic. It doesn't get you thin. If anything, it makes you fat, I should know. And 'the binge' - the ultimate destroyer of your day, your goals, your happiness - even if you throw up afterwards, it's pointless - the damage is reversible.

So, ladies, I would like to introduce you to this site:

Now I know what your thinking - RECOVERY?!?!?!
Well, yes. Recovery. Recovery from that evil bitch Mia.

It's like I said, you just can't be friends with both Ana AND Mia... Mia is always gonna set you back. Binging is always gonna screw you up. You have to get rid of Mia and learn to eliminate any desire to binge before you can fully commit to Ana (well this is in my experience anyway!)

The "Binge Buster" section is great for learning to control and stop binges. There's also an online food journal where you can record everything you eat, and a part called "Body Awareness" which teaches you to eat properly so that you savour your food which I find especially useful when I am restricting. It basically teaches you a long procedure to carry out whenever you eat anything which makes you feel really full, and you sort of draw on this chart thing, letting you eat a tiny amount and still feel full and happy!

Of course there's all the usual propaganda about how diets don't work etc etc, but other than that I think the site is really useful for controlling binging!

I don't know if any of you will find it useful, but thought I ought to share it :) I'll do anything to rid our world of binges!

Thanks for the love in the recent comments
Stay with thin x x x

Tuesday, 28 April 2009

It hurts

Being away from home is not good for the soul. I feel like I've missed so much!
Just spent the last few hours catching up with your blogs, you are such strong and inspirational ladies.
So, Monday-Thursday in Paris and Friday-Sunday at some sports tournament in Surrey. So much to write.
I suppose, I should start with the last post. It was a bit of a shock coming online and reading it because in my drunken state I had forgotten all about posting it!
So Max...well, let's just say this is the last time I will ever be writing about him in a post as the whole thing was over almost as soon as it began. Like I said before, he had liked me since we met, but being the bitch that I am, I didn't consider him good enough for me, and rejected his advances back in September, soon after which he started going out with another girl and I began to regret my decision because he treated her like gold. They broke up two or three weeks ago. To cut a long story short, I went out that night with all the mates I was going to Paris with (Max being one of them) and erm ...spent most of the night kissing him...
for fucks sake...
The next day I found out that that same night he had tried it on with one of my best friends and while we were in France he sealed the deal with her.
What on earth was I thinking.
All his friends defend him: "He's just really fucked up after breaking up with his girlfriend" etc etc - which is fair enough; he's in the fucked up re-bound/shag everything stage.
But this makes me feel like shit because the only guy to ever say such amazing stuff to me (as he was saying that Sunday night) was saying it because he's fucked up, drunk and desperate to make his ex jealous.
(For the record he was telling me that he admired me for taking so much shit off people about being insecure and that he thought I was beautiful inside and out and that I was too good to be treated badly etc etc - hence why I came back that night in such a tizz).

Final night in Paris, we all go to this posh restaurant and drink disgusting amounts of free wine. I don't really know what to say about this night other than it was a disaster. All week I'd been scrutinised by my friends watching every single thing I ate. Fuck off. "You must eat breakfast, you must eat, you must eat." Like a fucking record going round and round. In Paris Max was there, my stupid friend who got with him was there, not to mention Oli and a parade of pretty girls in his arms and me fat fat fat fat fat fat me. I started my period during the trip and because I'd been fucking myself up so much, it was really late, and really heavy and so I was bloated like a fucking balloon to the extent that I looked 6 months pregnant. Not to mention that my skin broke out in spots as well. I mean, there's hideous and then there's DISGUSTINGLY HIDEOUS.
If I hadn't been in Paris and I hadn't had to go out with my friends, there is absolutely no way that I would have shown my face in public. I have locked myself in my room for looking far less worse before.

Anyway, in this fucking restaurant I had really reached the final straw. I was not eating this shit. (The night before I had drunk a bottle of wine on an empty stomach and of course gotten so drunk, made a fool of myself talking to Max, stuck my fingers down my throat in front of my friends - oops - and spewed as much as I could. Whatever. I put the glass of wine to my lips in this restaurant, take a sip, and my body cries out "poison!" - I couldn't even bare the smell of alcohol. So I spend the meal sitting in the toilets talking to my Mum back in England on the phone.
It ends up with my friend shouting at me for being selfish and lecturing me on a whole load of shit about how I choose to be miserable and that I was stupid, blah blah blah. And all the anger and self-hate that I had been holding in just burst out. Jesus I haven't cried like that in a long time. It was such a relief. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn't stop them. I went back to the hotel.

God I wanted you guys so badly.

My friends had never really seen me in that bad a state before. Like I said, when I get really depressed and cannot face being seen by people I will stay in my flat and won't go out becuase I know I will only break down or come across as a miserable bitch. But during the trip, hiding away just wasn't possible. I had no excuses. I had to try my best to act normal.
My 'friends' are friends with the fake me. The love the girl who is happy and bubbly and outgoing. They love the fun girl who enjoys a laugh. They like to spend time with the person that I create, the fake smile, the character that I put on to hide the truth.
When they see the cracks in the mask, they don't want to know.
When I can't keep up the pretence anymore, they get angry.
She called me fucking SELFISH.
She called me selfish because I refused to eat, because was hurting so much that I couldn't pretend to laugh anymore, because I had let my sadness come through.
Fuck it, I don't even want to write about the whole thing anymore.

Seriously, it hammered it home. My friends will never know or accept the truth. If they ever did, they would hate me for it.
I know what people say about me behind my back.
And I don't care. I hate them more than they hate me.

Maybe I am selfish - because I will be thin at all costs - I am doing this for MY SELF - for my gain. I'm not going to put on a smile and eat just because it makes someone else happy. I am going to be selfish and put my happiness first - my happiness is from starving.

You guys are the only people who have ever understood why I hate myself and can support me in it.

One guy on the trip said to me: "You always have a frown. It's not right; stop it. You are a beautiful, young, intelligent girl with so much going for you, you shouldn't always be so sad. Stop it ok."
I just sighed.
What can you say to that?
Why do people think it's a choice? When I can't face the world, I can't face it - I crumble. I don't choose to be sad - my reflection chooses for me.
I'm sorry my friends don't understand. Happiness comes with beauty. Really, I struggle to think of anything else.

Monday, 20 April 2009

It's nearly 3am and I have to be on the coach at 7am to go to Paris. Argh. And yeah I'm a little bit drunk - typing is really hard in this state.
I drank and I ate today. Loads. Worthless piece of shit. I looked fucking huge in my dress tonight.

Anyway. I pulled this guy, Max. He's lovely, lovely, really. I know he's liked me for ages, and then he decided to go out with this girl, and they've just broken up. And oh! I don't know, am I using him? Am I gonna change my mind and be heartless towards him? But goodness, he is so... I dunno, just so... he says things I've never heard a guy say to me before... makes me feel incredible...
and I feel like...why?

Does he know? Would he care? What am I doing? Why.
He is such a lovely guy. The boyfriend type of guy. and honestly, I think I'd just fuck him up. Im not a girlfriend kind of girl.

Fuck mah pff

Ok so this is the last time I'm gonna be online for like 4 days. I'm gonna miss you guys. I'm afraid. Max is coming to Paris too, what, why...shit

This isn't what I want. I want Ana. Thin.

Friday, 17 April 2009

Curvy is Beautiful...?

I'm currently sitting in Starbucks at London St Pancras station, waiting for my train back to uni (and an empty kitchen! joy!!) I've been here at the station for about two hours... and still another hour to go before my train actually departs. I decided it would be better to leave home before dinner just so I could avoid another fiasco (seriously staying at home these last two weeks has been living hell! Closets full of food, taking out rubbish bags every other day in secret. Not to mention constantly being surrounded by tons and tons of food screaming out "Binge On Me!"

To amuse myself I bought a copy of the American Edition of Vogue here at the station's WHSmith. Beyonce on the cover: "Real women have curves". Looking at these pictures even now, the first thing that strikes me is, bloody hell, she has massive thighs and arse. Like...really...I'd hate to have her figure...and yet...everyone always goes on about how great it is. I have this issue with Marylin Monroe as well...I mean...she was a big girl. Do I need a slap round the face for saying these things about Monroe and Beyonce????
Argh, I dunno, maybe curves look good if you're famous enough...but for me, yuck yuck yuck, curves are something that I just find hideous on my own body.
Also, I can't help but notice that most of the models in American Vogue are definitely shapelier than those in my usual UK Vogue - is this just me? I scrutinise figures carefully and I'm sure these waists are at least a couple of inches bigger - stumbling across a picture of Victoria Beckham in the middle of the magazine and suddenly she looks deadly thin in comparison rather than looking normal size next to the models in UK magazines. ?!?!?
Maybe I've had too much coffee and my head is shakey.
But still in this same edition there is an article praising "voluptuous" Adele - ummm what.
And another article about Monica Seles overcoming her obsessions with weight...

Ok...I'm not imagining this...I need a magazine with tiny waif like waists before my head gets completely screwed up!

Why do I hate myself so much for looking like a Monroe or Beyonce?
Maybe curvy is beautiful...but to me, curvy is natural, uncontrolled, normal.
I want to be out-of-this-world, controlled and exceptional.

I suppose this whole episode has made me realise that this desire for perfection and thinness is about more than just food and mirrors... it's about me. It's about becoming something more by proving that I can become something less. Mentally, this is important to me. It's a challenge that I judge my life success by.
Some people challenge success by money, power, love. For me I judge success by control and weight...

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Watering-down Paris

No calories.
In the right mind set it is extraordinarily filling.

I'm drowning in it. Drowning is the glamorous way to go don't you know.
I think I made that up.

I want to thank you all for all your comments. You are the best support system a girl could ask for and I am so incredibly grateful.
You have to forgive me for my lack of posting and commenting recently. I come on here everyday, numerous times a day, to read all your posts - I don't know why I can't write. I think sometimes it's because I feel so... unworthy? I will make up for it!

This blog is the only place in the world where I don't have to lie. I lie to everyone else: my friends, my mum, my university lecturers. I even lie to strangers. Except I don't call it lying, I call it 'hiding the truth'.
But why do I feel the need to hide the truth?
It's simple, I don't want to hurt my mum, I don't want be labelled a freak, I don't want to be misunderstood, I don't want to be judged. Because, tell someone you have an eating disorder, and you become nothing more than a vain, white, middle class girl who wants attention.

Anyway, this is the only place where I can write the truth. I never want to keep the truth from you. And that is incredibly liberating.
The unedited, uncensored version that the people who know me can only get snippets of.
Those idiots who think it would be big and clever to shut down anything on the internet with a whiff of 'pro-ana' would be killing off the only real part of me.
Jesus, how sad does that sound.
I never was an 'internet geek' -in fact, ask any of my friends and they would tell you I am the exact opposite. I am the crazy, party-loving one, who gets all the guys. As if I sit at home writing and commenting on blogs!

So I am starving on. And no one has a clue, expect you.

This time last year I was in therapy for my eating disorder. It was just humiliating; every part of it, every single kind, understanding face humiliated me. I would sit meekly at a sterile table looking across at the most logical woman in the world. She would shoot down everything I said, but it made no difference.
There was one simple principle that she didn't understand. I will have an eating disorder until I look in the mirror and think I am beautiful. None of your 'meal plans' and 'working out triggers' are going to stop that. When she handed me the pie chart of 'a balanced diet' I looked at her as if she were crazy. (seriously have you seen those things!)
I am telling you all now. Don't go there. Don't get caught. Don't give yourselves in. If you decide you want to recover, do it on your own. Stop at your goal weight. Don't let people see the scars. Don't let people get even the slightest worry. Remember, this is YOUR control, and other people only want to interfere.

I'm going to Paris on Monday with a large group of friends - for four days.

Oli is one of these 'friends'. (This is what happens when you are part of a stupidly big social group). I hate that I have friends who are friends with him. It just aggravates my wounds even more. I know he'll spend the trip flirting with the pretty girls, they love him. Maybe I should make an effort to get along with him. I'm just such a proud bitch. Boy-wise, however, I believe he is the only one I will have issues with on the trip, which is not bad!

I will be fasting until the trip. I will be fasting during the trip. And I will be fasting after the trip!
Can't really be bothered with my friends getting worried about me not eating. I'm an amazing liar, it won't be an issue. The only big issue is the drinking. Yeah I am a little bit of a crazy party girl... but only with the help of my friend Mr Binge Drinking. And ALL my friends drink themselves silly on nights out. I mean, it's university...there's not much else to do...(other than have sex...)
To give you an idea of what I face, a direct quote from a message inviting me to the "Pre-Paris Piss Up":
"The best way to guarantee a long journey goes quickly is to be drunk/hungover and/or get naked*. A massive piss up on Sunday should help achieve both. (*remembering of course that getting naked is wrong and unbecoming). Meet at 8pm, and drink till we bleed, before heading to somewhere horrible."
Anyway, I know alcohol is one of the most calorific things in the world... but how on earth can I go out partying in Paris, sober, and with the most alcoholic maniacs in my university? I think it would be one of the most miserable experiences of my life.
So. I am going to let myself drink while I'm in Paris. Only one glass or one bottle though. If I'm not eating then I should get drunk really quick and it should hit me hard for a whole night.
I know it's bad of me... but... it's Paris... :s

Sending you lots of skinny love

x x x x

Thursday, 9 April 2009

A Hand Full of Beauty

It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It doesn't matter how pretty your friends think you are. It doesn't matter how many guys praise your figure.

What's keeping you from being happy?
What's stopping you from living the life you want?
What is the cause of all your misery?
Like I even need to reply...
The answer is sitting on your thighs...The problem is hanging on your hips...

Most people go through their lives being "average", "mediocre", "ok". Is that what you want? To be a "normal-sized" girl at a "healthy-weight" with "natural curves"?
Or a STUNNING girl, the HEAD-TURNER, the PERFECT one?

Most people accept themselves as God made them. Most people are happy with being average and ok. And do you know why? Because they are too weak, too lazy and too happy to sit on their over-sized arses to try to change.
You, me, us. We look upon them with pity, because they will never be any better, they will never know what it is like to be envied and adored. They will never be able to wear the beautiful clothes we can. They will never be noticed by the hottest guys. They will never be a part of our secret world and our secret strength.

I'm not under any illusions about my lifestyle choice. I chose the fucking hard way to live. I could have sat back and accepted my ugly reflection.
But I chose this. I chose to live a fucked up, secret life, scarred mentally and physically, obsessed and frantic. I chose to have an eating disorder. I have said it before and I will say it again: It is not an illness, it's a way of life - a glorious way of life. I have ultimate and absolute control over my future. I am unwritten. I am a blank canvas. I scrubbed out the fat outline and I'm sketching a new figure. I hold the pen, I hold control of it.

Beauty was held in my it's in my hands.

You, me, us. We are the mentally creative geniuses, the artists of our beauty...and that power, that control is in our hands. Don't ever let it go.

Love to you all, my tiny angels xxx

Tuesday, 7 April 2009


Well I'm back from my weekend in the Lake District...can't say it was as much fun as I had hoped, but still, better than sitting around feeling crap.
The weather was appalling, but I got a fantastic work-out going all out up the tallest peak in England - but God my legs ached like hell! Really wasn't impressed with the rain and hail which was periodically whipping across my face - hurt more than my legs! I swear everywhere else in the UK was sunny this weekend and suddenly we entered some micro climate in the Lake District where it became mid-winter.
Well, anyway, like I said, I went with a bunch of hardcore military guys and two of my best girlfriends, and we all went out clubbing in the local town of Ambleside - I say clubbing but it was more like an old village pub that had a dungeon-like cellar with a dancefloor. (I'm a London girl, born and bred so I just don't really have a taste for rural England life.) Well anyway, this little place clearly hadn't seen the likes of party-lovers like us and it took about an hour before we were chucked out. So back to the campsite (eugh camping!) Me and my girlfriends decided to sack off sleeping out the the freezing cold tent and took our sleeping bags into the 'drying room', where we were joined by Peter (see previous post 22nd Feb) and I spent the whole night snuggled up to him wishing for more. Urgh, why! There is nothing more comforting than having the warm body of a strong man next to you. I just spent the whole night close against him, inhaling his scent, wishing I could hold him tight. I threw all logic out the window - I just wanted him so badly. It made me really sad that I didn't have a boyfriend. All the times in the last year when I have been intimate with a guy I've been too drunk to enjoy that feeling of security, and I really missed it. It really made me very sad.

So, back to the important things. Fat. I am still fat. It's fucking killing me.
I've got to go home tomorrow, because I've got three weeks off uni for Easter.
I am so, so frightened.
Already my mum has been telling me about all the 'treats' she has bought me to eat.
She is going to make me eat.
How can I bear it? How can I live in a house, with a kitchen full of 'treats'.
I just want to starve.
How on earth do you guys that live at home do it? How do you manage with the family meals?? Any advice would be appreciated so much!!

I'd rather just stay here in my flat at uni and rot. Seriously.
I hate food. I hate it more than I hate myself and my body. I hate it because it controls me. Starving myself is so easy when I'm in my flat at uni, because I just don't keep food here. But back home...its three meals a day sat down with my mum in a kitchen stocked full of food. How the fuck am I gonna find the strength? I'm so scared, how am I gonna find control? Please Help!

Friday, 3 April 2009

Walking heaven

Hmm sorry for the last post. I tend to go all crazy, manic, poetic style when I hit the depth of hell.

So last night was the biggest breakdown I've had for quite a while... well a least like two months or something?
Really did some scary binging, like really 'think my heart and stomach are failing' kinda scary. And like I mentioned in the last post, I went for the horror look with regards to cutting my arms. Jesus Christ. Did my best to throw up all the food again, don't know how much I managed, but I ate so much I doubt it all came out. Just dissolved into tears and curled up in a ball under my duvet.

Oh this might have had something to do with an overdue assessment and 'I need to eat to write an essay' and 'I can't write this essay!'

Woke up the next morning and had to face a room strewn with wrappers and plates. Really, I ate ALL that?!

So here I am, writing my essay (yay!). I have to get it handed in tomorrow else I fail my whole year... which really isn't comprehensible right now...
Also tomorrow I am off to the Lake District for a weekend of walking!! (I'm so excited cos I'm just thinking about BURNING CALORIES!!!)
I'm going with the club I'm in at uni (no it's not a walking club - although one does exist! - but because it's the start of the Easter holidays and everything, this is a little 'treat' for us to get away and chill. It's all paid for so can't really complain.)
Anyway as well as some hardcore walking (I'm going with a bunch of military buff guys who love their physical training so I'm bound to get a beasting! woop!) we are bringing out our own I know right, good service or what. And the plan is to not eat for the whole weekend. Should be pretty easy for several reasons:
1. I find it hard to eat in front of others (I always love to be the one with control and look at everyone else with a superior air.)
2. I'm a vegetarian and the cooks and the boys are really big on their meat and I have been told that pretty much all the food is gonna be meat!
3. I can't go and buy my own food because there won't be any shops!

Oh happy, happy days. Burning calories and no food to eat! It's like ana heaven.

I intend to spend the whole weekend in dresses even though I've got to wear sexy walking boots with them. (I can't stand my figure in trousers... like I physically can't go out in public wearing trousers - I mean trousers just define the outline of my bum and thighs!! In dresses I can pretend like I don't have curves... does that make sense or am I just being overly paranoid about my figure?) I know that me wearing dresses isn't going to go down at all well... I mean the kit list says 'suitable walking trousers' haha...but hell, if I don't take any trousers with me, I can't wear them can I! Ah, the boys are gonna rip me apart for being so girly... and the instructor will probably shout at me... it happens a lot...
I am kinda worried that my friends and the instructor (who knows about my eating cos I was put into therapy and had to miss a trip a while back) will get all 'concerned' with me not eating, but then it will just be a case of 'Oh I have a really bad tummy, I just can't even look at food.' Sorted.

I'll post some pictures of the lake district when I'm back.

Thursday, 2 April 2009

'I do it so it feels like hell'

In November, the rain is grey.
It is not November, but I am so afraid of it. It will be in London, walking down along a grey Thames, my head bitterly cold, sweating sickly under my collar, face patchy, makeup smudged and trying desperately to lie for me. Clawing off my suit of repulsiveness, using mirrors to abuse myself, I will ache from carrying books and books that I can never read.
I am so afraid of seeing November. I will be failing at success, pretending to be an angel with sewn on polyester wings. The scars will be purple in the cold and I will be proud. Ah yes, it made me strong.

In November, I will have returned to the dance studio, singing ‘Lean on me’, shapeless, pale, disgusting. The bare, bleak world of grey where I sewed my skirt over in pain, ignorant of how hurtful the bitching truth would be.

Why do you do it? ‘I do it so it feels like hell, I do it so it feels REAL’.
It keeps me alive. It gives me an identity; an isolating force from my body which helps myself to stand alone.
It is an expression: ‘an art, like everything else.’

He took my hand and kissed the smell of sickness on my fingers. He took up my arm in disbelief, ‘I think you stress too much. Why don’t we go and chill out.’
I had to laugh. I pulled my arm away and told him I was doing him a favour.

I did it when I was 15, down, down, refusing all the marks of womanhood. It was not a part of me, it was a thing, it was not a part of me. I was a child, shrinking down to regress, into my fathers arms, surely.
They let me fade out of their records, pump my blood with colourful placebos, forget and let me rot, pump me again, forget and let me rot. I book an appointment. Cancel. Forget. Lie. I decided to write a letter so I can sit there and make no sense and hear the logic that I refuse to process. I wrote no letter.

I spent six months in waiting rooms, ‘being so brave’, taking the first step of admitting, and it’s all so easy from here. I spent an hour every week sitting across the table from a woman who made me feel like the stupidest girl in the world. I couldn’t help but hate her as I gushed my thanks and gave her my genuine, heartfelt smile. I book an appointment. Cancel. Forget. Lie.

Yeah I fucked up.

I've ripped my arms to shreds. No neat rows of cuts like before. Slashing. Like a horror movie.

I ate it all. Pushed my way though a drunken throng to the supermarket, buying all the food. Eating. Chocolate, bread rolls, cereal, icecream, crisps, noodles, sandwiches. All of it.
Thowing up until I took the pain.
I regret nothing, except staying alive.