Sunday, 28 November 2010

Packing up the dreams and moving on

I taught myself to hate food when I was 15.
No - that's not entirely true. I didn't teach myself anything, I just learnt it... somehow, I learnt to hate food.

I was asked in an interview last week: What makes you angry?
I made up some "excellent interview answer" bullshit with a fake smile on my face. But the truth is, food makes me angry.
I have to move seats on the train when someone in my view is eating a McDonalds out of a brown paper bag. I have to put on my earphones to block out the greasy crunching of crisps from the person sat behind me. The rustling of foil packets or the stench of fried foods makes ME feel gross. I feel so angry and disgusted it makes me want to scream.

But do you know what is really the grossest thing ever? This is the highest figure on the scales I have ever seen in my entire life.
I'm a lump. I'm a thing.

When I lost Alex I let go of everything I had been fighting for. I let all my demons take over. I became everything I loathed. I am everything I hated and despised. I am fat and greasy.
And I Did This.

I had a relationship with a Mr Perfect - top boarding school, flawless grades, star pupil, Senior Prefect, top university, champion cadet, strong athlete and the unequivocal "really nice guy".
And then there was me - an unstable liar, body and mind stuck together with a cheap glue.
I'm not sad that we broke up - I'm sad that I let my dreams and imagination get carried away. He wasn't my ideal man - perfection has no depth or emotion, perfection is plastic. Perfect people are plastic people. Alex was plastic-hearted through and through. He felt nothing, while I felt everything.
I put him into a mould labeled "The Man Who Loves Me" and didn't question if he fitted or not. I convinced myself that it was perfectly alright for me to be crying myself sick on my bedroom floor, unable to lift the phone to hear a caring, loving voice comforting me at the other end. He felt nothing, while I felt everything.

It was four weeks ago when I walked out of my job in the City. I have done nothing productive in this time - I cannot lie - except make my way through all the DVD box sets of Gossip Girl. When I looked at the online prospectus of Yale I was confused - why was everyone in the pictures plain and unattractive? Oh... yes, that's right, I was watching fantasy in Gossip Girl, it is not reality. In the real world, there are very, very few beautiful people. I looked around me today on the bus and train and high street - and I genuinely did not see one person who could be cast on Gossip Girl.

A few posts back, an old blogger, Daisy, made the connection for me. I have always read books or watched film and embedded myself in one fantastical world or another. While my feet stand on the cold, hard land of reality, my head has always been spinning up in the clouds of my imagination. I have never accepted the world in which my feet stood, only the one I dream of standing in.
So like now, I dream that the land of Gossip Girl exists, and I too could prance around beautiful men like a gazelle in designer dresses.
And I have to force myself to accept that my imagination is just that - however vivid and alive it may be, it is not real, it is my imagination. I will not survive if I keep trying to live in it and live up to it.
Do you know, I have spent my whole life trying to be something I am not. and never will be

The fact that I am still talking about Alex and am still haunted by him three months after I last saw or spoke to him goes to show how unable I have been to move on. If I took the job in the investment bank, I'd still be here, living the same life, with the same emptiness, and months later I would still be writing the same old shit. So, I have to get out of London and burn all my bridges. This has been the worst period of my life, and I want to erase every single memory of it.

For whatever I have said about Alex, there's really only one way that I can sum it up. These are my final words on him:
When I was with him, I was happy. Happy in a way I had wished for for so long and happy in a way that I never genuinely believed I deserved. When I was with him I was happy.

He will never know that. He will never know any of what I have written in this blog. Just like every other guy that came before, he will never know.

So I'm uprooting my life and I'm saving it. I'm going to go to work in a boarding school where I will get three meals a day set down in front of me, where I will be around decent, cheerful people, where I will have no temptations to go off the rails, where I will have nobody to put on a show for. I'm getting out of the place that promises dreams and never delivers. I'm getting out of the lifestyle that has ground me down into nothing. Yes, I am running away, but I'm running away to somewhere that promises a healthy and grounded way of life - I'm going back to school - to learn how to be a genuine, honest, loving, decent human being again.

Thank you for the comments and advice on the last post, I am truly grateful.
I would also like to point you in the direction of a new blogger on the scene who I think is very special:


Saturday, 20 November 2010

Acting Lessons

So, as I mentioned in the previous post, last Friday, I went back to my university city for the big reunion dinner that evening. As is protocol now, fasting, laxatives, exercise preceded. This could not shift the scales from the undeniable fact that I was 5 kg fatter than when I went to this reunion dinner this time last year. Yes. Fucking Yes.

I had my appointment with my psychologist in the morning before I got on the train. She helped me get through it. She is amazing. It's good to write down and map out all my irrationalities.
I didn't crumble that evening - I went, I held my head up high, and I still looked nice. I did it.

The immeasurable waste. It's always a waste isn't it, this stupid quest of mine. It's never made me happy. All the money and the hours of aching muscles and the nights of hunger and vomit... I do it for something grand, something wonderful, something I deserve... something I can't put my finger on, perhaps because it's not really there...

This was my first big performance on the public stage since Alex left and I fell apart. Tonight I was going to be a glittering diva again. I spent £50 on a new dress. £88 on new shoes. £75 on getting my hair styled. £10 on lashes and makeup. £60 on a hotel room so I could get ready in private. £40 on trains. £10 on taxis. £30 on dinner. £10 on drinks. £10 on binge food.
All that for... for what? So I could turn up at an event with people I used to know and new people and look beautiful. That's it.  I chatted and laughed loudly with old friends, did the polite rounds of old acquaintances, happy, quirky, vibrant Ophelia, danced a little, ranted, drank, screamed in joy, had a cigarette... and felt unequivocally empty - because I did all this, I spent all that money, I put in all that effort, took all those laxatives, forbid all that food... for something, for sparks, for fireworks, for love, for passion, for SOMETHING...
I spent pretty much the entire evening talking about 'my ex-boyfriend' and how 'i hate men'. All I kept thinking was that I wanted Alex to see how wonderful a show I had put on, and how beautiful I looked on the public stage again after hair and makeup and costume had done their work. His ghost stood over me, completely.

I left on my own in a taxi at 5am without saying goodbye to anyone. I silently undressed in my hotel room, slipped under the cold sheets and ate a cheese and pickle sandwich.
That university and that life of drinking and flirting was who I was - and is not who I am now. I am past all the charades.
I was supposed to be staying for the Saturday night as well to see some other uni friends who couldn't come on the Friday - but I'd had enough. My skin was tired and so was my soul.
And so I gave my body shitloads of food - as is habit and protocol after every big, draining performance.

I seemed to have a lot more to say about the whole situation when I was thinking about this post last weekend - but now, a week later, that's all I have to write. I found out yesterday that one of my friends pulled two guys that weekend - both of whom have girlfriends. So I politely told her off. There are enough cold-hearted cheats and assholes in this world without us helping them along. Women should all be on the same side.

I'm struggling to get over this infatuation I have in thinking that men are the enemy. I've been reading lots of feminist literature and theory, trying to get at some understanding of the link between femininity and madness. I feel like so much of what is wrong with me stems from that - from being a woman - and from being utterly unable to cope with the demands of being such.
At the core of my illness lies this simple fact - I want to be a perfect woman with all the fairytale ideals that come with it. I want to be beautiful, I want to be thin, I want to be glamorous, I want the beautiful dress and beautiful shoes, I want the charming prince, I want to be loved, I want to be adored, I want to be kind and lovely, I want to be dainty and demure, I want to be intelligent and witty, I want to be well-spoken and well-educated, I want to be charming and individual. And everything I have done to try to fit the damn plastic mould has made me mad. And not even mad for myself, but mad for society, for men, for the everyone else to see I am well moulded.

The story of Kate Middleton's engagement to Prince William has been interesting to me in a way. She (or her parents) have been social climbers. To look at her and hear her speak, you'd think she could quite easily have come from an Aristocratic background because she is well-dressed in a quintessentially English manner, has a posh voice and comes across in a very elegant and sophisticated way. That's how you get by in this world - you carve yourself out into what you need to be - you force yourself into a certain mould that's gonna get you places.
I taught myself to speak with a well-spoken English accent, I chose my fashion tastes to reflect my femininity and elegance, I taught myself the way to act and come across in a corporate, polished manner so that I could become an asset to a team in an Investment Bank.
I am a daughter of a single immigrant mother on basic wage in South London - but people who meet me think I went to an excellent private school, come from a well-off family and have always been confident and charming and happy. Because I moulded myself that way. And because of that moulding I can get a job in an Investment Bank, and I can have friends with huge trust funds and I can be the girlfriend of a wealthy ex-boarding school boy who attends black tie dinners.
It's not who I am, but who I have moulded and presented myself as being, which has brought me everything I got.

I have to sign the contract for the job at the Investment Bank on Monday or I lose it.
I went for an interview for an assistant position at a Boarding School in the countryside on Thursday and got the job - of course. Great if I want to continue with my 'ideal' career into teaching. But I don't know. The countryside is beautiful. I will have so much spare time for long walks and runs, I can wear whatever clothes I feel comfortable in and plain makeup... but I'm afraid I'll get bored, I'm afraid I will still crave the city and the stage and bright lights too much... and it will be too late for me to return once I have cut these ties, I know.
And where, where would I ever meet a man to love me if I'm hidden in the countryside...

I feel like, I have this great opportunity to be "successful" in the eyes of others. I mean - I care so much (too much) about what people think of me. Telling people I work as an assistant in a boarding school says to them that I am weak, unambitious and couldn't get a better job OR to tell people that I work in the city, I deal with big people, work on big deals and make loads of money says to them that I am smart, driven and successful. When I went back to see my old uni friends I was shocked at how many graduates were shop assistants/unemployed/working in a call centre... they would kill for the opportunity I have.

If I turn down the Investment Bank and go to the boarding school, I will have to be a teacher. It's a big career move and you cant go back. I'd be on half the wage as well. But I might be happy. And I'm sure I said, the pursuit of happiness is everything. Fuck the social standards and the social hierarcy.
...But casting all that aside means casting aside the mould of social perfection I have been striving for all my life... a mould which I know gets you 'places'... and which I believe will earn you 'love'.

Thursday, 11 November 2010


I do not burden myself on other people.
I do not pick up my phone when I am crying my eyes out. I do not seek comfort. I do not ask for kindness.
I cry on my own. I have done for years. Even when I was in a relationship, I never bothered him with it.

And yet I lean on you. I come here to cry. I come here to find a shoulder. Because here, I can.

I'm a wreck. I'm so petrified.
I remember once, I must have been about 14, I was at school sitting, chatting to a friend during lunch, and she raised her arm suddenly and I flinched. I instinctively jerked away from her and raised my arm to cover my face.
"Woah. Ophelia. Why did you flinch?"
I laughed nervously. "I, er, I don't know, I, er, thought you were going to hit me."
I don't flinch now. Strange, I still censor.

I've blocked out pretty much all of my past. I've blocked out my childhood because it was so happy, and I've blocked out my teenage years because they were so dreadful. Looking back, when I was 13-18, I was living through a worse hell than I am now - aside from the fact that I didn't have a ridiculous eating disorder, I was completely... dead. The hatred I had for myself was unbelievable. I had to get dressed in the dark. I never looked at my naked body. I would only take baths not showers because I couldn't bare standing up so exposed. I wouldn't wear t-shirts - I had to wear a jumper so you couldn't make out the outline of my breasts. Look at the pictures of me when I was 14. I was so sick. Sicker than I am now. Believe it or not, I can accept my body more now. When I was with Alex, he almost made me begin to love it. But the idea of suicide never became a serious contemplation for me in those days. And I can't remember much of what it was like. Maybe I am more sick now. The experiences in childhood are so different to adulthood. I'm 23 now. No one can help me and no one should help me. It's a different loneliness. I think I am more frightened now.

I have to go back to my university city on Friday, and the university Club to see all my old friends, the close girlfriends I love, girls who loved me... And I am so consumed with fear, because I am so fat, and I really, really don't think I can do it - because I've lost her, I've lost the girl who was brave enough and hungry enough to laugh. I don't want to go - but I miss them, I want to see them... I don't know why I want to hide.

"And the day came when the risk it took to remain tightly closed in a bud, was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."
make it true

I did a stupid thing today. I met a friend from the Club, and I went there to meet him.
I had a new costume, but the mask was beyond repair. That's when I realised it was gone, the sparkling pretty girl mask was gone. 'I don't think it's a mask; I think it's just one side of you.' I loved that mark. I mean mask.
I wish I hadn't gone back there. The memories, the smell, the staircase, the clothes. I looked at the spot where I had laid out the tables for my ball back in December, I stood at the entrance where I walked into D and charmed him to come out one evening, I looked at the board where Alex was. Alex. The friends I made and lost in a year. Alex.
It's been two months since I saw him and not a day - not a single fucking day - has he left my mind. I want him out of my head. I want him OUT OF MY HEAD. I want someone to flush out my mind of all the decaying memories.

I'm haunted, day and night. Every night i want to pick up the phone and tell him how much im dying i want to just send a message but hes gone hes gone i know where he is but hes gone
And I don't even care! This isn't even about him anymore.
What is it? WHAT IS ALL OF THIS ABOUT? WHY? just WHY. why cant it just stop
I don't want to feel anything anymore.

I cry now from despair. I want to curl up in a ball with someone's arms around me. "I want to be held in someone's arms"
I have pushed away so many friends.
I have isolated myself.
And all that remains to comfort me are memories and ghosts

I want to hide and I want to run - but neither will give me an escape... and yet, living - "blossoming/blooming" - it hurts as much.

record. going round and round...

"and all that consumes me is fear. Just fear"

I have structured scribbles in my notebook for a different post. And this is all I can give you today.

Monday, 8 November 2010

People who want to live but don't know how

I was reading a random article about bulimia online. It was the comments on the article that struck me. There are so many of us - so many people addicted to dying.
I'm supposed to be keeping a food diary for my therapy. I can't list how much I've eaten and thrown up, four, five times a day in the last week. Huge piles of food in and out, over and over. I'm doing it because I want to die, it's becoming quite conscious now.
Below are the comments on the article I read. The article is not important, it's the list of nameless people living this hell, saying words I understand too well. So many. Nameless. We are all nameless. The nameless stories of people living through hell, knowing the damage, knowing the danger, and hopelessly praying that it will all get better. We're like broken records all droning the same nameless story... so many, so, so many...
too many.
How can this be stopped. How the hell can this be fixed? No one deserves this. I can't even say what I want to say - but can you feel it? This shouldn't BE. And I want it to stop. I don't want this to exist. I don't want this many people suffering. How and why is this such a fucking silent death conviction? How can we save them?
This is too much.

Dec 31, 2008 9:28 AMGuest : I have been Bulimic for going on a year now. I halted last summer and thought I had quit...but stress overcame myself, my whole life...and it all started over again. I tell myself everyday I can over come this sickness...but really, I think it's gone past me being able to help myself. I want so badly to stop, but I don't know how...Its began to make me feel better about myself when I do it...but then I get so tired and weak and have no motivation to do family and my friends and myself all suffer from this. And I hate it.

Jan 16, 2009 5:05 PMGuest : I have been bulimic for 5 years now. I hate what Im doing to myself and my friends. I seeked help from this bitter illness when my dad took his life. Now I feel I am losing mine. I have lost my sole. I have tryed everything ranging from gp visits to an eating disorders unit to hypnotherapy and nothing helped!

I am weak, unhappy and have started throwing up blood now. I'm scared!

Jan 20, 2009 9:20 PMGuest : ive had bulimia and anorexia for the past 3 years.
im only 15, and its the worst thing ever.
i know im gonna die if i dont stop but i cant and im so scared, i throw up between 40-80 times a day and its getting worse.
i dont know what im going to do with myself

Mar 15, 2009 12:37 AMGuest : I have been bulemic for nearly ten years. Unbelievable to me when counting the years. I started in college but I remember making myself throw up so I didn't have to go to school when I was in kindergarten. I felt powerful and in control. How could it have lasted for so long? I thought it would just go away. Has it? My hunger for perfection lingers on. My throat hurts todays. I say it's just a cold and deep down inside me I have convinced myself that it's true. I am irritable somedays and other days I feel completely normal. I have two small girls-4 and 19 months. I always told myself that I would never throw-up in front of my girls. I am not perfect, I failed one time and I can hear her words carved into my brain. She said," Mommy, why did you let your throw-up out?" I can't let her see me again. I HATE the liar inside of me. I want so much to be committed to recovery but it is so difficult...I don't want to leave my girls. I know if I don't, I won't be there for them when they need me the most, years from now. Yet, I hide.

Mar 19, 2009 12:04 PMGuest : I have been bulimic for five yrs, lost my partner as he could not take my selfish erratic behaviour anymore! I desperatly want to stop i can't hold down a relationship i am behavin promiscuous i get far too drunk when i go out! Its like i am trying to destroy my life, its as if i do things on purpose to give me a purpose to hate myself! Every morning i wake up i think today is the day i will stop, i will eat healthily but by the the night i have binged at least three times and just feel a failure! I've been the doctors for help but they do not have the resources! I feel selfish even going the doctors because i am doing it to myself, i put my fingers down my throat, i eat the food that makes me feel fat, i am the one that slyly hides food and does things five yrs ago would never imagined myself doing! I just wish it would go forever and sometimes i feel the only time i will be free from it is the day i die!

Apr 15, 2009 3:51 PMGuest : My body is a prison, food is the enemy. When I'm throwing up, I loathe food, I depsise it. When I'm around family, happy and enjoying life(as much as the disease allows for it), food is my friend. I can control this, I think. I don't have a problem, I repeat. NO. I am an intelligent, career-driven mother. I can stop this. NO. I can't stop this and I hate myself for it. I really hate myself---how pathetic is that? I constantly feel tired, sick and constantly worry about my health. I am lucky to be healthy naturally and I am doing this to myself. I am making myself sick.
I WANT to stop, I DESIRE to stop. I simply cant do it on my own.
I called for help recently, I am going to try. I am still scared to tell my family, so the secrets will continue. I will seek therapy in private and the chains wont fully be broken. I wish I could be honest with myself and others. I am tired of lying. I am tired of hating myself. And I am tired of being this type of mother to my child. I want to LIVE.

Apr 19, 2009 2:32 PMGuest : I can't stop this monster. I have been bulimic for 7 long years. As stated above I feel 100 and I am only 24. I have lost so much because of my disease. I have dropped out of universities and colleges 5 times due to my bulimia, lost all of my friends from isolation, hurt loved ones, stole, and lied more than I can keep up with. I have been to 2 inpatient centers, an out patient center, therapists, psychologists, and "bulimia studies." Piled up huge medical bills, but I still can't stop. I hate bulimia, I gain weight because I binge so much. I feel like a prisoner in my own body. I am drained and empty. I don't know how to live anymore, but I want to.

Jun 10, 2009 10:58 AMGuest : I sit and waste the day with food.Eat,get sick,eat to feel better.Get sick.Go food. Feel worse.I feel like I live in my own universe.14 yrs into it and you think I might know more.No teeth.scars on my knuckles.size 00 to 3.waiting and wanting for something to help. S O S

Feb 4, 2010 11:08 AMGuest : i have been bullimic for 3 years. and recently ive sought help. im not too sure whether i'll be able to get better, and part of me doesnt want to. i throw up between 10 and 30 times a day and i have no control with food whatsoever. its a horrible illness and im scared that if i dont get better then i will die. but there is hope.. and theres hope for you all x

Feb 4, 2010 3:53 PMGuest : today i will acknowledge my demon...i used to weight 255 pounds and i lost weight and got down to 144. i did this with diet pills and bulemia...and now the weight is gone and i cant regain balance. i dont want to do this to myself. i can barely make myself get through one day without throwing up...and what's worse...i'm about to be a nurse

Mar 24, 2010 10:04 PMGuest : i dont really know how i started i have 2 years now that i vomit my food. i binge soo much i wait a while and vomit. i over abuse laxatives the stress of this is killing me everyday i seek help but im embarrased and afraid of my family what they might think im 17 now almost 18 started at 16 i seek help

Apr 12, 2010 4:28 AMGuest : Ive had bulimia for nearly 10 years, im in total denial over it!My behaviour is so erratic because of it,i shut myself off from people because i believe they dont like me!I've lost some good friends due to my behaviour and now i feel so lonely!The worst part is that now it has started to affect my job,I hate going to work because half the time i have cold sores on my face from all the self induced vomiting!I eat when i dont want to and then feel the immense urge to make myself sick!Only people who have this disorder can understand what a prison it is!!It has affected me so badly the last time i can actually remember being happy was before i had this problem!I cant stand losing more people that i love so i am going to ave to try and get some help!

Apr 13, 2010 10:09 PMGuest : I have been bulimic on and off for- it seems INSANE to type- 23 years! Every time that I "recover", I think "there's no way I'll ever do that again." But here I am again. And again. I feel so trapped by this war with my body and food. I careen between anorexia and bulimia. One causes the other and I never seem able to just eat normally. I went to DBT day treatment for TWO years straight to get my self-injurious behaviors under control. It allowed me to finally finish undergraduate school and start my master's degree. I'm now an intern doing acupuncture and oriental medicine- helping other people heal. Meanwhile, I'm destroying myself. It makes me hate myself so much. I wish that I would die soon because I can't take this misery any more.

Apr 17, 2010 1:49 PMGuest : iv been bulimic 4 11 years. i was 1st diagnosed at 13 with bulimia with anorexic thinking,iv been hospitalised 4 times, my muscles in my face have collapsed, heart palpitations kidneys are damaged. i so want to overcome this illness but if im truthful i dont ever see a day where i wont have my head down the toilet. i know i will die of this illness and i know it will be in the next 3 years if i dont stop. but this hasnt stopped me from doin it. everyday is a struggle and a battle. bulimia has destryed my life. i spend 30 pound a day on food. i got in so much debt iv had to declare myself bankrupt .

Jul 9, 2010 2:39 AMGuest : I'm 19 years old and I've been bulimic for nearly 6 years. I've been hospitalized twice and visited every kind of therapist imaginable, from family social worker to psychologist. I have countless self-help books stacked in my room right now...
Yet, I still purge about 7-10 times a day. 7-10 times a day for six years. I don't want to even think about how many times I've vomited in my lifetime.
I've wasted money. Time. Energy. I've lost friends, frustrated my family, scared away boyfriends.
I see that this disease is tearing apart my life (not to mention my teeth and intestines) but no matter how hard I try, I always wind up stuck over the toilet.
I don't have any energy anymore...All I want to do is sleep...I used to run 10 miles a day for the shear joy of it, and now I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I think my life may be ending soon, and the most pathetic part is, I don't have enough hope left in me to fight for it. Good luck to all of you who are battling this like I am... I think I'm going to lose pretty soon.

Sep 8, 2010 10:46 AMGuest : I have had this for 33 years. I am a man and I am not thin now and I think it is because of it. If anything I am overweight today even though I purge everything I take in. I think the fact that I am overweight now & still purging everything drives me to continue and not seek help. My thought process is ... if I am overweight now & I am purging everything I take in, imagine how big I would get if I were to stop. I hear people say this can lead to death. I don't believe that because I have been doing it for over 33 years now and I am still alive and kicking.

Sunday, 7 November 2010

Some really powerful posts.

I think it's good to broaden our vision of the world and our understanding. I have got to get out of my head and into other peoples, because this head is suffocating me - and I want to write and feel and understand more than what is contained within it's distorted and confining walls.

Thursday, 4 November 2010


On Thursday I gave the keys back to the house in London I was supposed to be living in with my two friends.
That door is shut now. It killed me to do it.
It was great to go there on Thursday, and be with friends, to laugh, to forget about the pain. To be the girl I used to be. To laugh. And it killed me because I had to walk away from it and come back to this room in this house I hate. That door is shut.

I got the job offer from the Investment Bank. But I can't take it - sorry - I won't take it - because I won't live this nightmare anymore. Living in this house, trapped, and working a job, trapped. dead. trapped.

It's as I said in my last post - It was two choices - live or die - take the new job and move out or stay here and rot. And when I came back home my Mum saw that I wasn't kidding. I'd shut the last door that led out of here and back to life. And I resigned myself to suicide. I told her so, frankly, as I had warned her the day before she made me do it.
She got scared - scared now by the blankness in my eyes - and she told me I could move out now. 
I had to laugh. OF COURSE. Of course I can now, now that it's too late.
I told her it was too late. Decision made. Door closed. Another girl has moved into the room with my friends. Congratulations, you got what you wanted now, a daughter who doesn't live.

I went to my first appointment on Friday morning with the NHS psychologist. Session 1. Charts. The cycle. Snotty nose and tissue after tissue after tissue.
She's nice though. I know she will look after me.
But she wants to weigh me at every weekly session. So she can force me to maintain.
"I won't ever force you to do anything you don't want to in these sessions, of course."
A somewhat pointless statement in my opinion - for it would be pointless for me to go to therapy and refuse to do what I'm supposed to.
And yet, to be weighed once a week - and to have her... to have her stop me from losing weight.
I really don't think I can do it.

Decision today: I'm taking the job at the Investment Bank, Canary Wharf, and I'm going to move out, I'm just going to have to move out to somewhere else. I HAVE TO LIVE.... because now, I am just sitting in this house EATING and growing FATTER than my wildest dreams.
disgusting, slob, fat running through my veins, fat for blood,
This is not the way my story is going to end dammit, this not not what I dreamed of and what I've been killing myself for. I will not let the memory of Alex or my Mum or this depression destroy the dream.

I am still the girl that wrote this

Sometime at the end of August, I saw this face staring at me amongst the rows of usual fashion magazines:

This is the face of 'Buela', an enchanted doll. It's not very often when something captivates me so completely, but this cover, the whole cover had me spellbound. I stood there staring.
Ms Perfect
The Mannequin
I had to have it. She was perfect, even just as a 2D picture, perfect. That's it, that's her.

I knew it was going to be a post - but I just wasn't in the right mindset - until now.
So here she is. The girl that made me stop and stare. Give her dark brunette hair, and dark brown eyes, and that's me - that is a perfect me.

Of course it's ironic. The most beautiful cover I've ever seen is a doll. Of course. It wasn't a real woman. (God, don't you just hate that term "real woman"). My ideal was drawn and crafted and painted. Of course I cannot do that to myself - no living person can. God the irony, that I can only find a doll so perfect and beautiful, out of all the stunning models gracing the other magazine covers, I desire to be the fucking doll...

Here is the text next to the full page picture of Buela in the magazine:
"Sublime. That's how the French would describe it: the highest level of beauty, so giddyingly unreal it transcends the usual realm of the senses. There's no exact translation, and 'gorgeous' isn't quite as mysterious, but you get the idea. The divine beauty embodied by the women here is on a scale that's simply too epic for words."

I've sat here, stuffed my fat face and let my mammoth body balloon.
Next time Alex sees me, he's gonna think my arms and legs and cheekbones have been carved from finest porcelain.
Because I am Ophelia and I will win this battle.
No question.
No fucking question -
I starve.

Monday, 1 November 2010

A Survey from a 'College Student'

I have been asked nicely via email to post this on my blog. Hoping that maybe some understanding of eating disorders will be bought to the 'outside' world as a result of this survey, I have obliged to post this request. I must reiterate this has nothing to do with me I am just doing it because, well, because I'm bloody nice and I hope it helps I suppose.
She has asked for your responses to be given in the comment box as normal...

Hello. My name is Sheila and I am a college student working on a research project. My study focuses on girls and women who consider themselves to be pro-anorexic. I hope to better understand the users of online, pro-anorexia websites. If you are willing to participate, I would like to ask some questions about what this website means to you. I am not here to judge or make assumptions, but to simply gather information on a group that many know little about. All participation will be anonymous. Please use screen names that do not identify you in any way. If you are willing to participate, please post a reply to the following questions. If not, thank you for just taking the time to read this.


1.) How did you first come to join this website and what keeps you participating in it?

2.) Do you consider others on this website to be your friends? What kinds of support do they give you?

3.) How does your family support -- or not support, --you?

4.) Are you closer to your friends who are online or to those who are offline? Why?

5.) Do you see a difference between anorexics, “anas,” and “rexies”? What term do you use to refer to yourself?

I guess I'll put my answers as comment number 1...