Monday, 28 December 2009

"That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft..."

What was it that made me this way?

I was talking to my ex boyfriend and he asked me if I still drew.
I'd forgotten that I used to draw.
I was talented at it. Like I was at all the arts I suppose.... drawing, poetry, music....
at least I still write.
And only when he brought it up again did it strike me - how dead I am now - how mechanical - how sober - how cold... like so much around me.
My creativity has been so slowly smothered by this heartless world that I didn't even notice it dying. And now I'm left standing in the middle of a choking expanse of city - just a plain face to be networked by soulless bellies full of money.

If I ever make it as a lawyer I will be dead. I won't be Ophelia anymore.
Do you understand?
I'd be one of them. The Unfeeling. Superficial Unfeeling. PLASTIC. A corporate mould of perfected plainness.
I don't WANT to be like that for the sake of being normal.
This is me: emotional, passionate, wild, untamed, full of pain and heart and insanity. But FULL.

And yet, I want it, because I must succeed.
And like this I am a terrible failure. A head full of beauty cannot earn a living. A head full of economics and theory can. I must block out all the beauty to survive - because it is taking over everything... I cannot concentrate on anything but calories and mirrors and images and dreams.
But this is who I am.
I'm so afraid of losing what makes me me.
But if I did, I would be normal
...and happy?

You see, perhaps I am happier being disordered - as that is how Nature/God has made me. To be normal - would be a torturous, dulling and numbing experience for my personality - surely?

So, I need to go back to this guy - "D" - because it's really hurting my head.
I need to know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.
I need to know whether I'm going to be true to myself - crazy, adrenaline-junkie, passionate, emotional Ophelia - or try and convert myself into the another girl - focused, steady, sensible.
Why is D important to me?
1. I need to feel emotion - I need someone to focus my affections on
2. I need excitement and a project to fuel this
3. I need male attention to make me feel good about myself
4. I need a method to assess my success/failure as a beautiful woman
5. I need motivation to lose weight.

Now, in trying to be sensible I have tried to convince myself that all the above reasons are stupid. I need to leave "the club", I need to focus on my law studies, nothing will come of my relationship with D anyway, and it's all a waste of time that will end up with me getting hurt. ALL TRUE. I know this.
However, I am not a sensible, rational, level-headed girl. I NEED all those five things I listed. And that's why I need to keep D as a goal.
It is just not an option to forget about him and carry on with my life.
I. Can't. Do. It.

And still, I hate myself... for being so crazy.

It would be so easy to forget the whole idea - I'd simply not get in contact with him again, not go to his place and basically not see him ever again. But, every time I contemplate the idea - it becomes acceptable for me to eat again. "It doesn't matter how fat I am now... I'm not going to see D"
I can't let that happen. I can't let it be ok for me to be fat.
Even though... I should be revising for my mock exams in two weeks... it is more important that I am starving and plotting how to perfect my visit to him.

In other news, I went to the hospital today.
I was visiting two of my elderly neighbours who are both there at the moment.
It really struck me, for the first time, how healthy I am. I mean, forget about the eating disorder and the fucked-up head; PHYSICALLY, I am in such good shape. Pretty much peak for a female non-professional-athlete. I was standing in the middle of the ward, surrounded by frail bodies - limbs devoid of muscle, skin drained of vibrancy - and I could feel my health and strength vibrating from me as I stood, tall and easy. It was the first time that I felt aware of my body as a positive being. It was the first time I didn't hate it, and I realised just how lucky I am to have a fit and healthy body.

It's such a shame that I am so determined to destroy it all.
But I can't be someone else. My craft is written in my soul.

Friday, 25 December 2009


Dear everyone
I hope you are all having a very Merry Christmas, I hope you are all safe, with your families and I hope you are all well. I want to take this opportunity - in case you don't all already know - to tell you all how much I love and value you and how much you all touch my hearts everyday. I hope you know that I am walking and cheering you every step of the way until you reach your dreams....

* * *

I am so thankful for this cyber somewhere over the rainbow. Our buzzwords: 'beauty', 'perfection', 'thin' - they are so socially unacceptable - not right to think - not right to believe in or desire.
All I hear is their anger, whenever I explain that I want to be perfect.
"You should be happy and accept yourself as you are."
"BUT WHY?! I know I can be better than this, so why shouldn't I work to be better? Why should I accept myself in this lowly state? - WHAT is so wrong about wanting to better myself and strive for perfection?!"
It's the same argument I have with every person, the same old argument - I never get given a good reason, just the same good prejudice.
But here - you all understand - perfection - why I want and need it - and you all support it. It's so special.

I have thrown up 7 times in the last 48 hours.

The stench of vomit won't wash off from my fingers.

I just need to write that, so I cannot escape from how humiliating it is. The evil part of me took over.

Nothing inside me until I go to him. I predict 7th January. No, make it the 8th - two weeks, exactly two weeks - nothing. It's a game, just a silly game that is a matter of life and death.
I don't care if I die, as long as I die drowning.

Wait... I'm sorry that's not very festive.

Here's what I say:
Exercise. Sweat. Work. Everyday for the next two weeks - there is no room for weakness.
Harder, faster, stronger - until my body is burning up.
The mind is just a substance that needs to be controlled. The body is just a lump of matter that needs to be defined.
I love you all so much. I love my body. I love everything about this world and I want to be a beautiful part of it.
I will not destroy anything anymore. Everything must be beautiful. Everything I do must be for the pursuit of beautiful perfection.
No more sickness for my body; just love, just care, just beautiful.
Only simple, natural foods are beautiful enough for my body. Carbohydrates, fat, processed sugar - are all evil and foul. My body craves exercise, it sends me on a glorious high. I must never come down.

I want to be so light that I walk in the snow and leave no footprints.

One day :)


Sunday, 20 December 2009


I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past two or three weeks -
Consciousness between this world and that, between London and heaven, between then and now...
My name is Ophelia
... sometimes
Sometimes I'm drowning, sometimes I'm soaring, sometimes I'm so alive I can't feel anything except the pulse rushing through my head, sometimes I'm so dead I need a knife to make me bleed.
On Thursday I was 'happy' and 'normal'.
I was SO happy and normal.
I went to law school, made it in for the 9am lecture start, sat between two of my girlfriends, giggled though the whole day with them, went out with my tutor group for drinks and a meal at the end of the day, laughed, chatted incessantly and finally took the first footprints in the thick, fresh snow as I wandered home in the early hours with a sweet smile on my face.
And then I shut the door, and I'm drowning again, until the next time...

* * *

His name is "D".
Yes - another male name which will feature in this blog.
I make no apologies. If I fall, I fall - even if it happens too often and too easily.
D is the guy I mentioned in the last post.
...I didn't think it would get to this.
...I had almost cut my ties with ''the club''.

For months in 'The Club' I avoided all men - and the week I announce I'm leaving, I fall, and now I think I'm going to stay. Shit. [I will refer to this club as 'the club' for my identity's sake]
Ok so as I said before in the last post, he knew who I was, he added me on facebook, I accepted simply because we had mutual friends and it was clear he was a member of 'the club', even though I'd never knowingly met him. So he talks to me at the ball and offers to help me out with something, and I have to ask who the fuck he is and then am embarrassed to find out that really, I should know as I accepted him on facebook. ANYWAY all that aside, me thinking he might like me, and me starving for male attention more than any other nourishment, I decided to pursue it, just for some kicks, maybe more... so I message him on facebook... and the messages run back and forth a little... and it seems that there may be something there... he seems keen to see me again at 'the club'... he sends me his number... and we progress to texts... and it seems even more likely... he invites me to an event the club is holding...
And so now I really like him. Basically. You know how I get obsessed? Yeah, obsessed.
But now I can't quit the club. He's offered to help me out with something related to the club and more importantly, he's invited me to go to his house to do it. (Fuck! We've only had one really short conversation face to face which was at the ball two weeks ago!)
So why was I so happy and motivated on Thursday? He'd sent that text the night before: ''I can give you a hand... if you like... you could come here''
But it means I can't quit 'the club'. Shit, shit, shit.
So now I'm obsessed with this guy and can't escape this club which is soaking up valuable time which should be spent on law studies!
And I can't even go to his house until the new year because he's away for Christmas.
So I'm just left here stewing.

HOWEVER. As I have said before, having a mission to get a certain guy is the absolute best motivation for losing weight. Skinny, skinny, SKINNY! I have to be skinny when I go to his house. Oh my God, I am going to ring his doorbell and knock him dead. I am going to be the hottest thing he has ever opened the door to. I am going to look the best I have ever done; the best I know I can be.
Well, the best I can be in two weeks.
And fuck the fact that it's Christmas and I'm supposed to get fat.
Fuck the fact that the last three Christmas's I ballooned with an extra stone of weight.
Fuck all the food my mum has stuffed the kitchen full of, all the shit that is going be lining the plates and stomachs of the nation this holiday season is not going anywhere near my sacred mouth.
I'm going to be the only person losing weight.
And as God is my witness, I sure as hell can do it.
This is my addictive game - and my God I love playing it: Get the guy. Be thin. Be beautiful. Be irresistible. W-I-N.
I will drown for him. And in two weeks, when I reach the bottom, I will go to him with hungry lips and my head held high.

It is impossible to win the victory unless you dare to battle.
Let the battle commence...
Ophelia v Christmas

Monday, 14 December 2009


I think this has been the longest I have been away.
Or it feels like the longest...
A combination of event planning, essays, job - and an overwhelming sediment of stagnant weight - are my excuses for abandoning you all - and I am aware that they should not be excuses. I haven't posted, I haven't read, I haven't commented and I haven't replied - but I will do better, so please forgive me.

In my last post I told you that I was being interviewed for a waitressing job - and I did indeed get the job - much to my joy and relief. I've done a couple of shifts so far and apart from my first night when I broke about 20 glasses and dropped cream cheese down a guest's jacket, it's been ok. The only downside is the food... every night the waiting staff get to eat all the leftovers - and there's a lot of leftovers, and it's all ridiculously incredible.
I have never found it so hard to resist food.
I'm not talking the urge you get for a midnight bread binge... I'm talking staving, having been working on your feet for the past four hours, and then presented with mouth-watering first class food - for free. So I eat. And it tastes so good. Seriously good.
I don't even turn my nose up at it or torture myself about eating it. It's that good.

So I need to sort it out.

In other news the ball I was running for 'The Club' was a massive success, and it feels so great to have it out of the way. It gave me no end of stress in the run up, but in the end everything went perfectly and felt so proud at pulling off something so big on my own.
I also met some guys at the ball who caught my eye. One in particular - D. Well, I say I met him at the ball, but I actually sort of knew him before, I just wasn't really aware of it and didn't really care... We are part of the same 'Club' and he added me on facebook about a month ago, but I didn't really think much or it, or really know who he was... I get a few friend requests from people there who seem to know me as I have a quite prominent position.
So anyway, I sort of recognised him when he came to speak to me at the ball, but then had the embarrassment of asking his name... and then denied that he was my facebook friend when he told me that he was... so, as you can imagine, that looked really good.
So been messaging him a bit since, and who knows...

I really should be writing so much more than this... my last two weeks have been so eventful...
but I should be focusing on my studies, should be focusing on books, law, tutorials, lectures... and I can't...
something is missing in me... the passion has been put out... except the passion in my anger - I keep losing my temper so horrifically, the knife has been back out, the tears have been impossible to hold in...
I think it's just stress more than anything - and an inability to control my food. I haven't even been trying, just eating, throwing up, slashing my arms and sitting in my room thinking.
The only thing with starving is that it doesn't hurt enough. I need pain. If starving felt as good as self harm I'd be a pile of bones... but there's not enough sensation in it. When I lose my temper and want to punish myself I cut or I shovel food inside me and throw up. I need to find some other outlet for my emotions that's not food or scars.... something that won't make me fatter and something that isn't visible to others...

I don't seem to have a future right now, although it's all I dream of.
and food fills the hole
but I hate food.
More than anything
more than the gaping gap in my chest.

I'm very aware that there's only one way out now.

in the mean time, I'd like to introduce you to one of the sweetest girls on the network: Flabby-J