Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Hungry for The Boy

The main point I need to make from my behaviour in my last post is a very strong and clear one:

I am not a role model.
I am not a role model in any physical way, shape or form.

This is physically the most ill I have ever been. And there's no denying that. Even though I feel on top of the world, even though mentally I've never felt better, that's all kind of irrelevant. It's irrelevant because my body won't last - and what's the point of being happy and being so alive inside when you know the physical medium that's holding it all together won't last for too long.

I am either starving and over-exercising; bingeing and purgeing multiple times a day; or abusing laxatives, or several of these at once.
The weekend after I slept with Theo I started to get scared. I pumped my body full of junk food after ripping my digestive system to shreds. I began to be afraid for the first time that what I'd been doing was going to see me end up in hospital - and that is a new fear I've genuinely never seriously contemplated before.

Fact is, this 'success' is coming at a heavy price - I'm pushing my body further than I've ever done, I'm living a life that's zooming by at top speed, not caring about the consequences of anything as long as I'm having a good time.

I'm living like someone who knows her time is short. I want to live as fully as possible, I want to get squeeze everything out of life while I can.
It's wonderful to live like that, to not think about consequences, but its scary too.
My digestive system is about to give up on me, I know I simply must not take any more laxatives now. I was frightened for the first time in my life that my insides had stopped working. I spent four days stuffing myself with food and nothing moved. Relief came at last. All the parts still work.

Millie and I had a good heart to heart the following Monday and she told me some home truths. Millie and Rhianna are actually two of the best friends I have ever had.
Millie told me that I was in no position to have a relationship. And when she said it, I realised it was totally true. None of these guys have a fucking clue who I really am.

Our chat prompted me to call up Alex and speak to him for the first time since we broke up last year. I asked him why he broke up with me. Although he originally tried to say again that the eating disorder had nothing to do with it, but I was relieved when he finally stood tall like a man and told me the truth.
He said he saw no future for us because he never believed I could get better. He hated that there were two sides of me. The happy, fun girl I was when I was with him and the crazy broken girl with the eating disorder who he had never met. That was the truth - he had no clue who I really was - and that was the deal breaker.

Despite all this I decided to pursue Theo. We had been texting since that night, initiated by me of course, and often getting very flirty and pushing the boarders of acceptable. I asked him out for a drink one eve after work and was very surprised when he agreed. I was almost certain he wouldn't have wanted to start dating anyone from work, simply because he'd been quite anxious for there to be no awkwardness or bad feelings between us which would distract him from work or get him into shit.

We set the date for Thursday.


"So for him, I'll do it again."

I walked to the train station the next morning after our date in a daze. It was pitch black with a slight drizzle, and judging by everyone's coats and scarves it was probably freezing cold too, but being so steaming drunk I was still burning like a furnace inside.

I walked with an odd sense of pride in my step.
Now, I felt like a real City Girl.
Just like the ones I'd been reading about who rolled into work still drunk and wearing makeup from the night before.

I had left the office just after 5pm that Thursday evening in the City of London. I stood delicately outside the entrance doors and looked around vulnerably. I couldn't see him anywhere.
Then I looked across the street.
He was crossing towards me.
I smiled, my eyes misty.
My God.
He was crossing towards me in perfect City Boy gear, white shirt and red tie to complete the suit ensemble.
An hour later I sent Rihanna and Millie a joyous message: "Omg he's so pretty. Kill me now."
It was only 6pm and I was already drunk - clearly not eating for two days had been a great idea...

The evening started off pleasantly, we got on, despite my nerves, there were never any awkward moments. Things started to get more heated as we got more drunk. We had our own table on an upper balcony, he made me smile and laugh and burn with joy. His hands ran along my body with so much desire and pleasure. His kisses were long and hungry. Once we started making out, it was impossible to stop. It was like we were in our own world again.

That evening I started to see a shred of vulnerability which I was drawn to immediately.
Outside the bar as we smoked, the bouncer commented on the way I looked and jokingly said to Theo, "Woah mate you are punching WAY above your weight with her!" I smiled but at the same time felt uneasy. He was openly attacking Theo in front of me and I didn't want him to think for an instance that he wasn't good enough for me. Too late. The seed of doubt had been planted.
"Why do you like me?" he asked when we were back inside.
I looked at him tenderly and shrugged, "I don't know, I just do. I either like someone or I don't." And I took him through all the moments that had led to me falling for him more and more.
He then began to worry about his figure. "You have such a good body - it's motivation for me to get in shape. I have to start working out more. When I look at myself naked it's horrible. What do you find attractive about me?!"
I reassured him. "Look, I'm very fussy, you know that, I don't just go for anyone. It takes a lot for me to like someone. And I like you."

I didn't ever want him to remember the words that bouncer had told him. I'm not in an objective position to say whether Theo is in 'the same league' as me, but I do know for certain that is absolutely not the way I feel. I feel like his equal, on a level with him in so many ways, on so many wavelengths. I don't care if he's not perfect. I don't care. I don't ever want him to think he's not good enough for me - because fucking hell I know exactly what that feels like.

When it got to midnight I looked at the rosy pink cocktail in front of me and shook my head.
"I can't drink it. I'm really sorry, I need to eat."
We left and walked again, several minutes later perched on a ledge enjoying a chicken burger like it was the most beautiful experience in the world. I apologised profusely but it didn't even seem to matter. A deserted street, intimate moments in the silent night.
He held me so tight, I could feel the vibrations of how much he wanted me and I wanted him to have me, completely.

I got in a taxi home at 1.30am. We had work the next day. I was so sad to leave him.

The next morning I couldn't stop smiling, I was glowing with happiness. I'd found someone that made me feel alive and excited about living again. It had been so long.

Ophelia is smiling. Ophelia is smiling. Daydreaming about the boy she kissed and held on to all last night. Ophelia is too happy to be scared about what pain might ensue.

He told me I had an amazing body.
My God, it's like a fucking drug.
I want to hear it over and over again, I want to feel his hands tasting every inch of me in bliss.
I drank juice and laxatives for two days before our date that Thursday evening. This whole weekend afterwards I've faced the terrible aftermath, my digestive system keeping me up all night getting rid of the death inside me.
Ran for 3 hours on Saturday, gym and swimming pool on Sunday.
For the man that loves me enough I will kill myself with joy. I will make sure that he never wants to let my body go.

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Praying for a survivor out there

If there is ANYONE out there who has recovered from an eating disorder...
And I mean COMPLETEY recovered, back to the pure, normal, natural way of eating and thinking that you were when you were first born...

PLEASE, I need you to reach out to me. And tell me it can be done. Because I simply cannot believe it otherwise.

Sunday, 13 November 2011

"When I want something, I go after it"

Ok. Long story short. I slept with Theo on Friday night.

In a hotel room.
In Kings Cross.

I'm not really sure how to continue with this story, but I suppose I must find a way to express it all and come to terms with it...

Theo works in the same department as Gareth and Cassio - in the same team as Cassio in fact. And I've said it before, I fancied him the first day I saw him, and even more so when I spent much of the evening chatting to him at the usual office drinks one Friday after work. In terms of character and background he is exactly the type I always go for - exactly the type of boy I hung out with at University, exactly the type of boy I eye up in their suits on the way to work, exactly the type of boy I click with and have banter with and laugh with...
plus it helped that he was easily one of the best looking guys in the office. 'Geek chic', Rhianna calls it, 'with those geeky glasses, but it totally works for him, he's cute.' I smiled at this remark - it's very rare for Rhianna to approve of a guy, her standards are very high.

So, look, I'll be completely blunt. I wanted him, I wanted him when I saw him, I wanted him when I chatted to him, I never stopped wanting him. The only problem was, how to get him... I needed to get him in a situation where it might be possible for something to happen between us. The usual after work drinks on a Friday was never any good - always too many people, standing around in a bar... but this Friday it was Rhianna and Millie's joint birthday celebrations - a few people from the office were coming out and then we were going to go on to a club. It was the perfect opportunity, I knew it, the perfect opportunity to get him out, get talking again, get drunk, dance...

Easy. On Thursday I sent him an email at work: You free tomorrow after work? Millie and Rhianna's birthday drinks... be awesome if you come! Let me know.
He replied: Sure - sounds good. I'm not in work tomorrow, drop me your number and I'll meet you guys there.

Oh God, finally. I cleaned out my bloated body with laxatives and didn't eat or drink a drop. Standard procedure.

On Thursday afternoon Cassio sent me a message telling me he had got me a present and asked me to go for a drink with him after work so he could give it to me.
I ignored his message guiltily.
I wanted to keep my body empty and go to bed early so that I was perfect for Friday night. He sent me another message asking for a reply. The guy had got me a present. Fuck. I couldn't say no.
I told him I would come for one drink and that it would have to be a simple fruit juice.
We chatted as we always did, it was nice as it always is. There is nothing between us though, at least not for me, I simply am not attracted to him, and it's purely a mis-match of personality and character - so there are no sparks, there is no lust. He had got me a Lawyers Latin Dictionary and he had written a little message in the front, in Latin. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, and served to only make me feel even more guilty. I finished up my drink and made my excuses to go. As soon as I walked away I forgot about him instantly. All I could think about was Theo and Friday night.

I spent Friday in agony. I wouldn't even allow myself water, I wanted to dry out and be as thin as possible. When 5:30 finally came we went to the bathroom to start getting ready. I slipped on a new dress I had bought earlier that week, my blowdried hair in tumbling curls over my shoulders. I'd sneaked off to have a massage at lunchtime to get me in the mood and open up my shoulders...

When I walked back out the reaction was amazing. I'd never been so complimented in my life. I walked through the office knowing all eyes were on me. And I loved it, loved it, loved it, loved it. This is what I lived for, this was what I was killing myself for, this was everything I had worked so hard for and been through so much blood, sweat and tears for. And you know I'm not going to lie, you know I'm not going to pretend to be modest. It is SO worth it. Being THAT girl.

"Seriously, Ophelia, fucking hell!"
"Oh my God... you look Stunning."

"Aw. Thanks hun, bless you."

I felt so strong, invincible almost, all I needed was a guy to play this out on. Where was he?
Being the girl with all eyes on me wasn't enough, I needed a guy to make me feel it inside too.
Where was he?

I chatted and laughed and drank with the usual crowd from work, Chris was there, flirting as we always did. We'd been out since 6:00pm... by 6:30, 7:00, still no word from Theo, I'd sent him my number but I didn't have his so I couldn't chase him up.
"He's not coming is he..."
Rhianna shook her head. "Probably not."

At 7:30, my phone, which I'd been holding in my hand in anticipation all evening, began to ring.
"Sorry, hun," I said to Chris mid-conversation, "I have to take this..."
It was Theo. He'd he told me he'd be there in 45 mins.

Beaming and full of adrenaline, I took my usual spot in front of the mirrors in the toilets. On rare occasions, I can look in the mirror and adore what I see; maybe it was the alcohol burning in my eyes, but this was one of those times. I loved what I saw, this was the best I'd ever looked, surely, and he was coming, he was coming, I could play my game out!

He arrived and I told him to wait for me outside. He was having a cigarette. I handed him a drink. It wasn't long till other members of the crowd wandered outside for a cigarette too and another girl latched straight on to him. I made my excuses and went back to the mirrors in the toilets. I must have gone and stood in front of the mirrors about 10 times in the short time we were in that one location.
When I came back out he was at the bar chatting to another girl from work. I was pissed off, but I wasn't bothered, none of these other girls from work had anything on me. My only competition in that department was Millie and Rhianna, and they both had their own men and would never tread on my toes if I liked a guy. So I chatted with Chris again, and other guys from work that I got on with. It was all fun and easy, me and Rhianna were laughing, then suddenly, in came a group of guys. Guys from Theo's department, Gareth in the middle.
I swore.
"Oh my God."
Rhianna laughed loudly, "Fuck!" She turned to explain to her friend, "Ophelia went out with him once" she pointed to Gareth, "and now shes trying to get with him" she pointed to Theo.

I played it cool, welcomed the group of guys and stood my ground cooly.
"Gareth! Hey! How are you? Long time no see!"
He bumbled and mumbled.
"Good! Cool!" I gushed confidently and passionately.
I had no idea what he was saying and I had no interest in what he was saying. The fact is, he was here now and it was slightly unfortunate - for him. He got to see how hot I was, and think about how he had missed his little chance of having me. I'd moved on.

People were starting to move on to the next bar, a City favourite. Theo was still holding the drink I'd given him when he first arrived.
"Oh my God - drink up!" I exclaimed to both him and Gareth in unison. "Come on, come on, we're moving on! I'm way more drunk than you!"
I left without him in tow. I couldn't be that obvious and that desperate. In the next bar I thought I'd lost him, and then I saw him through the crowd, standing at the bar with one of the other girls from work. I hesitated for a split second, before realising that actually, I didn't give a damn. I pushed my way through the throng and over to them.
"Ophelia!" said the girl as I reached them, "What's your star sign?"
"Excellent!! There you go, perfect match!" And she gave us both a knowing wink and sauntered off.
I looked at Theo awkwardly, "er well..."
"Of course!"

Millie came over and gave Theo a dirty look. "I don't like him, he's an arrogant cock. And I'm not coming to Mayfair , I don't want to go and pay for expensive drinks in some pretentious place."
I defended Theo, particularly because she didn't even know him and was judging him on gossip. One of the guys from work, James, had got us a table at a club in Mayfair but was keeping it on the low as he could only get a small number of us in. Since Millie was refusing to go, it was just going to be James, his two mates, Rhianna and her friend, and me and Theo. I told James I wasn't going unless he got Theo in too.

As Theo slipped away to the toilet briefly, Rhianna came over. "Ophelia, we're moving on, James has got us the table at the club in Mayfair, but we have to go now, get Theo and come. We'll wait for you outside."
When he came back I told him to drink up. "We're moving on again." I didn't give him a choice, I didn't give him a chance to say no. "Rhianna and the others are waiting for us outside, come on."
I boldly took hold of his hand and led him across the bar to the exit. I didn't care who saw me leading him out. I loved the feel of his hand in mine and I loved letting the world know that he was with me.

Much of the night from here on was a blur. Inside the club, the atmosphere was perfect, I was with Theo, we drank, we danced, I didn't shy away from making it clear that we were together.
"I'm so glad you came! I didn't think you'd come." It was true, I didn't think he would come. Why would he come out with a girl he barely knew, why would he spend the evening dancing with me...

The music was loud, I could feel the beat pulsing through my body, my brain couldn't think about anything, it could only feel. I could feel Theo and I could feel the music and I could feel the alcohol numbing my inhibitions. I felt free as a wild bird in the wilderness.
"Why haven't you kissed him yet!" Rhianna exclaimed pushing us together.

We danced, his hands around my waist, feeling my body, the body I wanted him to feel, he loved it, I know he loved it. I wanted to believe that he'd never been with a girl with a body as good as mine, I wanted him to think that he would never have sex with anyone as good as me, I wanted him to believe that, I wanted him to know that.
I stopped against a pillar and smiled at him. I looked straight into his eyes and held his gaze. I wasn't going to make a move on him. He had to be the man, he had to do it.
I saw the same thought flash across his mind. She wants me to kiss her.
He put his hands on my waist and drew me in
and kissed me.

For the rest of the night we danced and kissed and smoked and kissed.
It was perfect.
"So where do you have to go home to?" he asked.
"South London."
"Wow, bit of a trek."
I shrugged. "It's ok I do it all the time, besides I don't have a choice."
"Yes you do."
"Really? What?" I stared at him.
"We could get a hotel room."
I said nothing.

Theo was in the middle of moving out and was staying with his parents in the meantime. I couldn't take him back to mine and he couldn't take me back to his.
I was both pleased and taken aback by his forwardness. He wasn't afraid to ask and put it out there.
I looked at him in anguish.
"It's up to you. If you want to go home, I'll see you on to your night bus," he said reassuringly.
I put my hands to my head in shame. "Good girls don't behave like I do. When I want something, I go after it. And good girls don't do that."
"It's fine, don't be silly. But I don't want you to do something you'll regret."
"I won't regret it... but... I don't know that I can have sex with you and then for nothing to happen after that."
I was honest. I didn't want a one night stand with Theo, I liked him way more than that.

We walked through London while I battled with myself, eventually conceding that I wanted to have sex with him more than I wanted or was able to think about the consequences. As much as I successfully played the confident, straight-talking girl who knew what she wanted, the truth was a lot different. I wasn't able to ask him outright if he wanted to sleep with me and then for nothing to ever happen between us again. I wasn't able to ask him because I was too afraid of the answer.

We got in a cab and went to a hotel in Kings Cross.
The room cost £140. We split the payment.

In the morning we cuddled and chatted, laughed and played. It was beautiful to lie in his arms, just like I did once with the boy I loved.
I wanted to stay in that bed with him forever.
I wanted what I had had with Alex back.
He wasn't Alex, but we still had it. Something different, but still something that made me feel good.

I wanted to speak to him about the situation but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to ask the questions that needed to be asked.
And I sit here writing this still not knowing.
We checked out of the hotel at noon and I called Rhianna as soon as I was on the train home.
"It's fine," I said, "we're totally cool, it's not going to be awkward at all."
"Well ok, if you're sure. I know you've wanted him for absolutely ages so good for you!"

So these are the questions I am faced with:
Do I really like Theo? Do I really want him? Is he just another guy, another game, or do I really like him more than that?
Do I want to pursue him? Do I want to face the risk of rejection and the inevitable awkwardness that will ensue at work?

After a week of restricting, exercise and laxatives to ensure I fitted into my tiny dress on Friday, I spent the whole weekend eating again. This trend is frustrating me. Starving during the week and then bingeing and purging all weekend after a drunken Friday night. It has to stop. It has to stop. I'm killing myself. I'm living fast and dying pretty.
I'm killing myself so I can live the life I always dreamed of.
At school I wasn't attractive, I wasn't confident and I wasn't popular. And all my life since then I have dremed of being one of the elite, a 'popular girl'.
That evening, one of the guys at work jokingly called me, Millie and Rhianna the 'Mean Girls' because we were the popular party girls, always out, everyone knew our names and everyone knew we ruled the roost. I beamed because I realised that I'd finally become the girl I'd spent my teenage years wishing I could be. I'd moulded myself to fit that character perfectly.
I'm finally sitting pretty at the top and I love it there.

The only problem is what comes with that. All the guys at work think I'm a fun-loving bitch, a party girl who loves being single, loves playing the game, loves going out and having a good time.
"You give out that impression Ophelia, and guys don't want that, sometimes being shy and vulnerable is good. Theo won't see you as girlfriend material - unless he thinks he can be the one to tame you," said Millie to me the morning after.
I hung my head sadly. I played that character in front of all the guys at work. I played that character in front of guys full stop.
"I play that girl because I'm so insecure. I want them to believe that I have the power and that I'm in control."
"But you don't - the truth is that you would love a boyfriend and to be treated well."
"I know... but I don't like showing guys that side of me. I don't want them to feel that I'm weaker than them and that they have the power to make me feel loved."
"I think you should show him who you really are. Text him and say that the girl you played on Friday isn't the real you and that you want him to know that. At least that way, if he rejects you, you'll know he's rejecting the real you, rather than some fake character you played."

Theo. Theo has brown hair, a cute face and personality that caused us to click the moment we first spoke. He's not perfect.
But I don't care. He doesn't have the perfect body, and we didn't have the most mind-blowing sex. And ironically, even though that's what I value myself by, I don't care about that with him.
I want him in a deeper way. He makes me crave the relationship I had with Alex, the time we spent laughing and cuddling in bed, the comfort, lying there under the sheets, blissfully cut off from the rest of the world.

The bed we loved in was a spinning world
of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seas
where we would dive for pearls.

I killed myself for him, yes, pushed my body to the physical limits over the week, for him, stuffed myself into the little perfect mould. I wanted to be the best for him, I wanted him to want me more than anything.
It was the first time that I had killed myself for a guy and felt his hands and eyes appreciate it.
So for him, I'll do it again.
(Also, for those of you who were wondering, Aiden bailed last Sunday. Had to have dinner with his sister.
Whatever. Not bothered. Moved on.)

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Who is Ophelia now?

I studied a book at University called ‘Spasm’ in which the author suggests that someone might create an illness because she ‘knows no other way of telling her life’s tale...the illness a conduit to convey real pain.’
Is that what my eating disorder is to me? The desire to stuff my face and throw up, the need to run until my feet are blistered raw, the buzz from fasting and curling up in a ball locked in the toilet cubical - are these desires created or born from the inner pain I had for so many years and had no way of expressing or feeling physically?

Cassio is in the dangerous position of making me remember who I am. I am the girl who devoured books and poetry, wandered around the galleries alone, writing, dreaming, opening up her bare, raw soul to the harsh elements of Art. He is a culture snob. Fine dining, classical music, expensive clothes, European languages, European cities. He could never love London like I do, even as an Italian, his heart will always belong, not to Rome or Venice, but to Paris. We talk about all these things, all the things I used to hold so close to my heart. That’s why I studied English Literature at University. But I chose to walk away from it all.

I came home, exhausted and emotional last Friday night and pulled out Sylvia Plath from my bookshelf and went to sleep listening to her recording of ‘Fever 103’. It was the first time I’d touched literature since I started in The City back in July and it reminded me that literature was the only thing that could make me feel what I was feeling. At least the last time I was working in The City I used to have time during my journey in and out of work to read a couple of chapters. Now all I read are the business pages, reports and analysis, news journals and magazines. I walked away from everything I used to love, everything in my heart, everything I am – was.

Of course I still love it. But I’m not going back. When I speak to people now, I tell them my biggest regret was letting my love take over me. I tell them I wasted three years of my life studying something pointless. Who cares that I have views on Shakespeare and Romantic Literature? That won’t make me money, that won’t get me a job, that won’t earn me respect.

But Cassio brings it back to me. He talks of his friends in the large investment banks with disdain. He tells me that the glamour I dream of is a lie. It’s all sleeplessness and overwork. He speaks of the beauty of Paris, the importance of culture and beauty. He makes me miss all the things I used to love and treasure.

My business trip to Dubai has been amazing. I was so anxious in the run up to going as I was travelling and meeting clients on my own, but I did it. The little girl from South London held her own; fearless. I walked away realising that there was simply nothing I could be afraid of now, nothing. I flew out alone, held meetings at funds and banks alone, holding court with men twice my age and experience. I did it. Brimming over with pride and relief after every day came to an end. I did it. I'm doing it. I've done it. There is nothing I can be afraid of now.

A year ago I wrote in this blog that I had lost everything, I shut my eyes at night praying that I wouldn’t wake up the next day. And honestly, I don’t know what it was inside me, but I didn’t die, I didn’t give up, I came back and I’ve achieved things I never even dared to dream. I achieved all this because I walked away from the avant garde, the love of Art, beauty. I would have been a penniless author like those I read about on Grub Street. There’s a reason why all the greatest writers and artists were mad or depressed – that’s what philosophy does to you. Living in the real world, cutting off those sensations, numbing the desire to read and write and feel... that is what has enabled me to take flight in the world of business.

So you see, I can’t go back. I can’t go back to that girl that you probably used to love to read about. Ophelia, the classic form, tragically broken and fragile, clambering for beauty, for the flowers which I hung about my room in ecstasy. That Ophelia was also the girl in the dressing gown, underneath her duvet, alone in an ice cold house, a floor strewn with images in magazines and a laptop full of written dreams. That is not my vision of success.

The only downside to the 'success' I've felt in the last few months is that once a bulimic, always a bulimic. The events of last Friday night threw me off the edge and into a spiral of uncontrollable bingeing and purging. Over and over and over again. During my time in the Middle East I dined on 5* food every night. And threw up 5* food every night. I came back to London looking like a whale, unable to control my intake, unable to put the fork down and say no. A typical poor person’s attitude to food; put me in front of a buffet that I don’t have to pay for and I want to make sure I get everything I can out of it. “I’ll never get to eat like this again when I go back home...” straight back to my hotel room, clean out the mini bar and stick my fingers down my throat until it’s all gone.

* * *

On Friday the lawyer, Aiden, sent me a message telling me he was finally going to be in town on Sunday. ‘Passing through' London, and his first port of call is to let me know.
Shame that I feel like a gross monster after a week of bingeing and purging extremis. But who knows when he will be 'passing through' next? I had to say yes, I'll be around on Sunday and I'll meet you for a coffee (lame on the coffee front but I take what I can get). Besides, it's nice to be chased for a change.
I was supposed to be knockout beautiful when I met up with him. I'm not going to be. But I have to get it over and done with.

I ran for two and a half hours yesterday to prepare, to try and deflate some of the weight which I had put on in the last week. I ran along the Embankment, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Green Park... back round to my gym in the square mile. I hobbled into the sauna and came out clutching at the handrail along the stairs, the world reeling about me. I felt so sick. Locked myself into the private changing cubicle, laid out my towel and sat on the floor. Horrified. I put my body through this, and look, still a roll of fat on my tummy, look, look. There is still fat on your body. All the miles you've run, all the good work, the bulimia will always undo it. Bulimia will always keep you fat. Last Friday I reached my lowest weight since I was 15. Lost control, binged for a week, and saw a dial on the scales go right back up again.
On the train back home I had to press my hand to my mouth to stop myself from vomiting all over the floor. Vomiting on public transport during the day is just so not done. I nearly didn’t make it. It was the cocktail of a banana smoothie and lucozade drink which I had after my run. Internal violence.

It’s Sunday lunchtime now and I have heard no word from Aiden. Poor form either way. To keep me hanging and waiting around or to pull out and bail on me. I don’t know which yet, but both are just as bad.

Today I feel very numb. And it’s almost as if I couldn’t give a damn. He is just some guy I put my body through hell for yesterday. So what. Even if he does message me now, I’m tempted to say it’s too late notice, made other plans now, sorry. My life moves at 100 miles an hour, you get one chance to catch me. I'll kill myself for you, but I'll only do it once.