Tuesday, 30 March 2010

UPDATE POST #4 - Alex, Where Do We Go From Here?


Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting.
I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written...


(Do read them in order if you can from #1 to #4!)


Wednesday 24th March - Where Do We Go From Here?

So, last night (Tuesday) I came out to see Alex while he was with some of our mutual friends at the Club.
I was worried at first - I was scared to go in and hovered outside for several minutes... what if he ignores me, what if he doesn't come and speak to me, what if he acts like all the other guys do after they've got what they wanted out of me?
I needn't have worried - of course I needn't - Alex isn't like any other guy.
I walked in and looked around. He saw me immediately, smiled and waved. At once I felt the tension ease out of my body and I spent the rest of the evening happily in his company.

Afterwards, we did the same little tour around late night London. Holding my hand tight, stopping to kiss me, laughing, smiling... so perfect.
This time, I went back to his.
My mum was probably at home going mad at me, but I didn't care in the slightest. I couldn't bare to walk away from him. I didnt want to let go of that feeling he was giving me.

So I spent the night with him. I have never experienced anything so perfect, so sensual, so right. I spent every moment filled with a happiness I can't remember ever being blessed with before.
The way he held me, the way he touched me, the way he kissed me; the sincerity in every word, in every touch.
He told me I was gorgeous. He told me I was sexy. No one has ever told me that sober. No one has ever told me that because they meant it, and not just because they wanted to try it on with me. In fact, only two guys have ever slept with me sober before.
I have never experienced anything so perfect. I gave in to him completely and it was incredible. Simply, every moment was filled with joy and passion. When I'm in his arms I feel beautiful.

Yes, there's an age gap, but you'd never know it. You could never tell. Other than this one (irrelevant) material fact, there is nothing - nothing - that makes me want to question how perfect and how real this all is. He's got to be the first guy I've fallen for because of his personality and because of how well we get on. Yes, I'm attracted to him, but he's not like the stunners I've got with in the past - there's no 'lust' there, this is all from somewhere deep inside me. There's nothing shallow about this for me... and that's got to be a first.


So what now?
What are the consequences? - for me and my ED?
I guess only time will tell, but perhaps, without knowing it, he may be the medicine I've needed for so long.
After starving myself for several days, I was able to sit in his room and eat cake and drink tea.

And I'm not going skiing. Yes, I dropped out of another trip - and it wasn't because of Ana - it wasn't because I was afraid - it was because of Alex.
I simply couldn't go on that trip and trust myself to behave. I know I'd get drunk, flirt and put myself in dangerous situations with several guys. I'd play drinking games, be sexually inappropriate and rumours would flow. The copious alcohol could make me forget - I could very easily find myself in the arms of D or Hugh or some other guy. I could be a fool and potentially - no, almost certainly - screw up everything with Alex. Gossip in the Club spreads like wildfire.

So I'm not going skiing... because I want to reform. I want to be girlfriend material for Alex.

And what if things go wrong with Alex? What if I was wrong and he turns out to be like all the others I've ever known?
It scares me, but right now, that fear is so shrouded by happiness...
What scares me is not that he's suddenly going to change his mind and leave me, but that I cannot comprehend that fear and accept that it's a very possible reality for which I should prepare, and for which I should put up umpermeable barriers to protect myself.
I should be scared of how much he could hurt me. But I'm not - and that's what's scary.


Monday 29th March - The Latest

I've been binging and throwing up several times a day since I left Alex's flat on Wednesday afternoon. A reaction to having starved my body so much in preparation for skiing perhaps? Or something else? I'm still happy having found him... but not being with him now... I don't know... maybe it doesn't work when I'm not with him? why am I still bulimic? - perhaps he isn't the cure... ?
He's left London and gone back to his hometown for Easter so I won't see him for another three weeks. I've spoken to him every day since, with the exception of today... but three weeks is a long time, and a lot of thinking and mind-changing can go on in that period. Ultimately, I want to look stunning the next time I see him. Just because... because I have to...
I don't know that he likes me for his personality... no one ever does...
If I were ugly, if I put on weight... I'd lose him, I'm sure of it....
SHIT
Here I go... obsessed with my weight again. With another guy holding the strings, controlling my hand and mouth like a puppet, controlling my ED, just like D did throughout January and February. SHIT. Stuffing my face, throwing it up, counting down the days until I see him again, working out how much I need to lose by then.
I can't not have an eating disorder. I DON'T KNOW HOW.
Fuck. I know he likes me... I know he likes me as I am right now! But... what if that's not enough to keep him? I can't give him a reason... I can't let there be a reason for this to end like all the others... because I believe this is fucking real... and if he does what Jon did to me...
I'm already in the grips of Ana and Mia. What would happen if Alex fucked me up further? How much further over the edge can I go?

Monday, 29 March 2010

UPDATE POST #3 - Alex and a Change of Heart

Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting.
I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written...




Tuesday 23rd March - Alex and a Change of Heart

Alex - I've always been attracted to him. I flirted - a lot. But then I flirt with a lot of guys... I never hinted at a progression beyond that. Yes, I was attracted to him more than any of the other guys at the Club who flirted with me, but I didn't want a progression beyond flirting. Not only because I was so blinded by and focused on D, but also because Alex is a first year at the Club. He's my junior. It's not done.
I'm 22 and a half years old. When I met him last month, he was still 18 - and he's just turned 19.

To date, he is now the youngest guy I've ever kissed.

Yes, I kissed him last night.
I've always liked him - just liked him. How could I not, with his big brown eyes, big kind eyes; so friendly and funny, sweet and genuine, full of charisma and happiness - I'm always smiling when I'm around him.
But he was only a friend... he could only be a friend...
Yes, I was always spending time with him at the Club, because I liked him... as a friend...
I knew he liked me.
But so did a lot of guys.
But I really liked that he liked me.

Last night, was a social dinner with a small group from the Club. I invited Alex.... because I wanted his company. Why did I ask him? Why was I fussing over myself in the mirror? Why was I always making an effort to be around him?
We spent so long talking. I simply love talking to him. There's a smile on my face.
I liked him, yes I LIKE him... but come on, come on... you don't really LIKE him Ophelia... do you?

Later in the night I was ambushed in the toilets by another first year, Mark. He's a really good looking guy, but a complete womaniser. I found him attractive, of course. He kissed me and pushed me up against the wall. I could feel him. He ran his hands through my hair and backed me into a cubicle. I could feel the lust rising and burning in my red blood.
But I pushed him away and told him to stop.
I wasn't going to sleep with a guy who wanted nothing else from me. He saw me as a conquest and nothing more. I know that.

The boy from Liverpool uni was texting me again. He wanted to come to London. He thinks I'm crazy about him. No; I have no intention to ever see him again. Nothing happened or ever existed between us. And it never will.



Alex and I were supposed to leave at 11:30 pm... but I didn't get on a bus home until 4 am. We didn't want the evening of each others company to end.
I don't really know how it all happened - how we both came to some mutual understanding, some mutual feeling. When we left I held his hand all the way as we walked to the bus stop. We were laughing and smiling. Sometimes we stopped and smiled into each others eyes. I knew he wanted to kiss me, so I would look away again. I was still in denial... we're just friends, this is just...
I couldn't do this. I couldn't start something with someone so young.

But the way he held my hand, drew me close, smiling at me from the heart.
I knew why I hadn't run off home on my own. I knew why I'd spent the whole evening so happily in his company and why I was still clinging on to the rest of the night with his hand in mine.
I wanted to kiss him. I couldn't deny what I was feeling, I couldn't tell myself that this was wrong.
The next time we paused and I looked up at him, I held his gaze and didn't shy away. Kissing him felt so right.
Once we sat down at the bus stop, he drew me close to him and wrapped his arms close around my chest giving me the occasional kiss on the hair.

I didn't need any words to know; for the first time in years, I was with a guy who genuinely cared about me. I could have stayed on the bus stop bench, amidst the glowing taxis and buses of floodlit Central London forever. When my bus came, I had to prise myself away and wave goodbye... but I would see him tomorrow.


I am so happy with him.
It makes me feel like a fool for thinking that D was anything. D never made me feel so comfortable or so safe. I could never talk to him for hours or sank into his arms like it was the most natural thing to do.

On paper, Alex shouldn't be the one. D should. But I struggle to think of any guy who has ever made me feel so happy. "HAPPY." I can't think of any other word to use because I've simply never experienced this emotion before! The closest I've come was with James, because I had admired him for so long and when I thought he cared for me it was like a dream come true. Yes guys had made me feel happy and elated before... but Alex... I can't explain it. The way it just all came together, without either of us having to say a word... something just bought us together, some breeze in nature, some subconscious spark...

I've never believed in soul mates... but the way I feel with Alex makes me question if I should. Being with him makes me feel complete - he fills my gaping wounds of unhappiness and makes me forget all the pain and sadness and fear in my life. When I'm with him, I have nothing left to feel but happiness.
But he's so young.
If I were 18, 19, 20 even - or at least still at uni - it might work...
I don't care about his age, but really, we must be worlds apart? Him, a fresher at uni and me, about to venture into the professional world.
Is this another cruel intervention of fate?
The guy who should make me settle and keep me safe I have somehow missed by three and a half years.

The gap's too big.
Alex.
Surely the gap's too big.

UPDATE POST #2 - The Club, D and things as they stand


Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting.
I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written...

Monday 22nd March - Things As They Stand

I've known a few guys who would have given the world for Ophelia - they would have been great boyfriends to me... But I never deemed them good enough.
Conversely, I have known many, many more guys who wanted nothing to do with me - except conquer me for a quick meaningless shag.
So yes, I've been liked by so many guys, some superficially, some more deeply.

People who don't know me can't believe I've been single for nearly four years now. Four years. It's true; I've been the subject of so much male attention and yet so little male affection. I could have slept with so many guys; to my credit I've kept the total below 10.... because I've always wanted more... If Ophelia slept with you, it's a sign, she wants more: she really fucking likes you and you have the power to hurt her.

D, for example. The second I knew I was falling for him I panicked - I had to leave the Club - I decided, that for my own sake, for the safety of my mind and body, I had to leave.
I didn't.
Being such a fool, I thought, maybe, maybe I should take a chance on him... maybe he was the one...
And everything I've done since then has been for him. All the nights and weekends there... every time making myself look my best for him - the only one who never seemed to notice me. With the exception of that one night - A night I fear I merely dreamt now, because nothing has confirmed to me that it happened since. He talks to me, but without flirting, without... any emotion.

Meanwhile, I'm wrapping every other guy around my little finger. I'm the perfect manipulator, flirting my way to get anything I want and all the attention I need. But I just want your attention little boy, I don't want to sleep with you, I don't want to date you... I'm leading you on. You make my time at the Club more enjoyable... you give me a reason to be in the same place as D.

The guy I met last weekend from Liverpool uni has been constantly sending me messages, asking me to come to another competition this weekend... I was impressed with the effect I'd had.

I've mastered the art of attracting men, charming them and flirting with them... and yet I can't have the one guy I really want. D.

And now I'm going skiing on Friday because of him. Yes, I can't kid myself about the truth. Sure, it'll be great fun and I've always wanted to ski... but really, I can't deny it - it's because of him.
It's because of him that I'm spending all this money to go - wasting all this time when I should be studying - putting all my prospects on the line for him: a guy who really means nothing - because he does not care for me.

So, there you are: Ophelia isn't the strong woman you thought she was. I'm weak and pathetic. I'm going on this ski trip to spend time with D, while he's relaxed, knowing that I can charm him when we're drunk and horny. I've been starving myself so it all goes perfectly, putting myself through hell so I can wear my cutest dresses and most revealing fancy dress. But I know, that if it all goes wrong, if he gets with another girl on the trip.... my head would explode... I know I'll go off the rails - and everyone will see.

UPDATE POST #1 - What really pushed me over the edge two years ago?


Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting.

I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written...



Sunday 21st March - Analysing the Past

You know, all of this would be so much easier if I had someone... If I had someone who loved me, I think I could cope. I think it would all be alright... If I had someone... someone who truly loved me.
I wish I had a rock; someone I could turn to when I was in need, someone to hold me tight, shield me, dote on me...
But I am too fussy - too much of a disaster - but most of all, I'm scared of the pain.
If he were to leave me or betray me, it would kill me. I know I could never take that pain of heartbreak.

What really pushed me over the edge two years ago? What made me so severely bulimic?
It was a boy.
Of course. His name was Jon.
Yes, I'd flirted passionately with anorexia when I was 15, I'd hated my body and tortured myself about it since I 'recovered', I'd been crazy and fragile and insecure, but I'd never actually gone back to a full blown ED. For all those years I'd wanted to, but I'd never managed it.
But it was Jon who finally pushed me back over the edge again.
I met him in October 2007 at the start of my second year at uni. By this time, I'd burnt off the 'Freshman 15' I'd horrifying held on to in my first year. I was working out regularly, and my body was in the best shape of my life. He was an absolute dream. 6'3", toned rugby-player arms, light brown tousled hair and a stunning chiseled jaw. He'd applied to be a model the last time I'd spoken to him. (But I'd imagine he's too deep into drugs now though for that career to have taken off.) He was my motivation to eat well and run further.
What was different about Jon compared to all the other guys I had fallen for in my first year (Pete, Olly, Neal, etc) was that he REALLY seemed to like me and it kept continuing and growing. I thought there was real affection there, because he never tried to sleep with me, he'd just kiss me and hold me all night long. He came out with me and my friends, he always wanted to see me again and again, night after night he was with me. It wasn't brief, it wasn't cheap. It felt like something real was developing...
So one night, while we were out, I asked him... 'Where is this going... what are WE exactly?...'
and he said those words: 'you're my girlfriend'.
Yes, it was in a Club, so in hindsight, he was probably drunk, probably high...
Afterwards, he claimed he never remembered it.

He completely and utterly broke my heart. I remember crying hysterically in the entrance of a Club a week or so later after he had ignored me all evening. He told me properly, soon after, when I demanded that he meet me: 'I just want to be friends'.

I cried myself sick every day.
I died.
I truly died.
Everything ended.
I cut myself off from the world and there was no one around to stop me or comfort me.
I deleted my facebook page, I didn't step outside my bedroom door. I didn't want to exist.
I cried and I cried... because I was just so empty and hollow. Everything was so grey and cold and I couldn't find anything to live for.

A few weeks later I went home for Christmas and destroyed the perfect body I had worked so hard for in the gym by binge-eating non-stop.
And then, the bulimia came.
A few times a week at first.
And then the anxiety.
Panic attacks in the street - because someone saw how ugly I was.
And finally the cutting - all the way up and down my arms and legs - because I wanted my body to reflect on the outside how much pain I was feeling on the inside.
The best bit, is that Jon had no idea about any of this. I never spoke to him again.

I was so severely depressed and my mood never lifted. I can class it easily as the worst period of my life.
I went to the doctor in mid February hoping to get some anti-depressants because I was so desperate. The bulimia had become so natural by now, and so easy, and an almost daily occurrence. I couldn't hide how fucked up I was, how frightened, how alone, how dead...
He sent me to the ED clinic.

For that whole 6 months or so afterwards, I never even looked at a guy. Every part of me was healing, and men frightened me because I knew how dangerous they could be to the health of my body and mind. Those 6 months are almost entirely black in my memory, for I was merely existing, sickly - I did not live.

All that changed in July. It was James, beautiful James. And I was foolish enough to think I had been saved. Truly. I thought he had saved me with his love.
I can never forgive him for making me believe that. Because he knew how ill I was. He knew about Jon, he knew about the bulimia, he touched the scars along my arms. AND THEN HE MADE ME BELIEVE THAT HE LOVED ME. He made me hope again. He fucking lied and fucked me up further.


So, for this whole period of over two years, through all of 2008, 2009 and now well into 2010, I have been throwing up every day.
Sometimes I have gone a day, a weekend, even a week without doing it... however on many occasions it can happen up to four times a day.

It was a guy who started this second wave of my ED and it's been guys who have been feeding it since. Since James, they've all been recorded in this blog... and you can see the fucking damage they keep doing - often without even knowing it.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Objectifying Ophelia

It feels like I've been away forever.
In reality it's been what, 3 weeks?

I don't want to talk about my mother. I don't want to talk about what happened.
She hasn't forgotten, but she doesn't want to admit it.
I found myself in the darkest most chilling place... and I really, simply wanted to die. But I didn't. It takes more than that to kill me. I'm a fighter, remember.


But I had to come back here. It's odd, it's almost as if it was a resistance... I had to resist the urge to come back and write.
But I need this blog too much. I need it to keep me as grounded as it is possible for me to be.
I want to thank everyone who gave me support on the last post, and on all my posts throughout the 14 months I've been blogging. I know I'm terrible at replying, but I intend to catch up very soon.

There is so much to update you all on since I've been gone.
All the events in the past three weeks seemed dramatic at the time, and yet, now seem so irrelevant. All these little bursts of pain and glory will scorch and burn when they happen... and yet in the overall picture, their significance fades so quickly, overshadowed by what dramas the new week brings. It is a never-ending tirade of emotion.



The evening my mother went through all my things occurred because I went on a night out with 'the Club'. I didn't answer her calls and I didn't come home until 6am. I was escorted home by a another guy, Harry. He kissed me. A few times. I let him.
It meant nothing.
After we left the nightclub, I'd been calling D. He had promised me a place to crash. But he never answered. So Harry filled his place.

A week ago we had a big dinner night at 'the Club'. It was part of my responsibility to arrange the seating plan. I seated myself almost opposite D. But once the dinner was over and the socialising began, he didn't speak to me once. He didn't come and speak to me once. We're back to that again.
I don't care if he's crap with women. I don't care if he's intimidated by me. I don't care if he's nervous. It's fucking ridiculous. He can't like me...
By the end of the night I'd been hit on countless times, sometimes politely, but more often than not in ways less than charming. It was, on one level, incredible. I had never, never been in that situation before, where I had so many guys trying it on with me. I never thought I'd be able to feel so desired...
But what's the point? The only reason I put all that effort into making myself look my best was for D, not for any of the other guys in the place. And D was the only one who acted as if he didn't want me.

So, despite every other guy, I couldn't look in the mirror and see success. I looked in the mirror and saw something that wasn't good enough for D.


Since the events of the dinner night I've been feeling quite empty. I've made a lot of friends pretty quickly at 'the Club' since I first started socialising at the end of January. They are almost all guys. And I know the only reason they give me so much attention and time is because they want to sleep with me.
Not one person likes me for who I am inside. Not one guy there has befriended me because they like me as person. That's the bitterly harsh truth.
I'm pretty, I'm confident and I'm flirty. They want to be able to tell their friends they got with the new high rank third year girl. I'm a fucking conquest to boast of.
It makes me feel like utter shit.
Don't get me wrong, I love the attention, that's a big part of why I do all this; the only thing I need other than oxygen to breathe is male attention. This weekend the Club took part in a competition with other uni's. I found a pretty target (who I liked because he looked like Hugh) and went for him. I needed to do it, and if I had failed, I would have tortured myself (like I was always doing at uni). But something's changed; I won. I made eye contact, I introduced myself, I flirted and within minutes I had him all to myself. But when he walked me back to my room, I just gave him a peck on the cheek and said goodnight. I need attention, I need to win, but I'm not a slut, and to be honest, I have no craving for sex, especially with random men.

But now I'm losing this control. The weekend was not dissimilar to the dinner night - I was groped, I was hassled, I was spoken to in a derogatory manner and treated like an object. I've lost control because now it's not me seeking out guys, they're seeking me, and there's just too many, too lewd, too forward, too much... and no, not one has asked me out on a date, but they have all tried to grope me or take me home.
It breaks my heart, but looking at things, the reality is that I have to include D on that list.



But here's the main reason I needed to come back.
I'm going skiing in 10 days - it's a group trip with 'the Club'. D is going. Hugh is going. Rowan is going. One or two other guys who have tried it on with me are going (but generally most of the others are not, thank god...)
We'll be skiing in the day and out clubbing every night. We're even going to a spa on one of the days, which means a bikini... and apparently this trip is always full of lots of alcohol, bad behaviour, lust and sex.
Rowan, Hugh and D.
I have to look perfect.
I have to get every last remaining, disgusting inch of fat off my body.
I can't have a bad day, I won't be able to hide my face, my chunky thighs...
This is fucking serious. The last time I was supposed to go skiing I pulled out because I was too fat. I knew I'd die from the torture.
I can't pull out of this.
And I know, I know, that if I don't get rid of every horrible, wobbly curve on my body, it will be a week of intense torture.
D is going to break my heart on this trip. I know it. Unless I can somehow SOMEHOW be enough for him.

So, until I depart next Friday, it's coffee with sweeteners only. (I would say a water fast but I am at law school everyday and need to have some sort of energy...) I'm gonna try and get in the gym everyday and push myself until I want to throw up.
It's so possible. I've seen it happen. My body can handle it - because I know otherwise, my heart won't.


10 days, to starve, to sweat, to burn... to shine.