Tuesday, 26 June 2012

...burning up under the glare of the bright lights of the City of London

I was thinking about this post for a while - maybe I'd make it my last post - it would be strong and victorious - if I could do it, you can do it.

Things haven't gone to plan

His name was Harry. He had huge blue eyes and a cheeky grin. I insisted on giving him my number as we left the city bar across the road from where I worked. I called Theo 21 times as I sat in the taxi with Harry. He didn't pick up. The next day Harry and I continued to exchange banter and he asked me to go for a drink the following Thursday. I could even stay over "if I wanted".

I was excited about getting Theo out of my system. I wanted to get drunk with Harry and laugh and smile and feel beautiful. I went to get my hair done at lunchtime and drank juice all day so I looked perfect.

We were going to meet at 6.30 after work. At 4.30 he texted. Just been given loads of work to finish at the office. Had to cancel - "let's rearrange for next week".

He never contacted me again.

I can't get Theo out of my system.

Last Tuesday I had my interview with Tony, the head of the department I want to join. This was the interview that I had had continual nightmares about and worked so hard for in all of my spare time over the last six months. This job meant everything to me - it was this or I quit, and they knew that.
I had taught myself so much since my original interview in January, and it was evident - I answered almost every question with conviction and passion and I know that he saw that and loved it. He was the kind of man that respected determination and ambition over all other qualities and those are the two things I have in abundance. At the end of the interview he professed his pleasure and told me that I would sit down again with the head of the London team and the head of a region sometime this week.

Despite reminding him twice since, however, this has still not yet happened.

And so to deal with the ongoing stress and anxiety, I have eaten. I have gone from progressing to vomiting only once or twice a week to bingeing and vomiting every day again. I have lost count of the amount of times I have sat with my therapist going over the 'alternative methods' of dealing with anxiety but I cannot remember them when faced with a black mood.

My head just shuts down. It all goes blank. The cyclical motor in my hand starts up and my mouth feels nothing and the food goes in and in and in and in... Over and over again, more and more and more...

And then I bloat like a balloon, try to hold in the gas from my cramped stomach, poke at my tummy, pinch the fat, avoid the mirror, pull at my hair, clench my fists and cover my hideous face.

So I pull on my trainers and run. Run away, run till the dripping sweat tells you you're punishing yourself enough. Run so the disgusting toxic genes pour out of you.

Run. Run. Run.

Friday night back to the bar where I met Harry, desperately hoping he'll be there, desperately hoping I'll be thin enough. Beacause maybe then he will realise that he loves me. Watching Theo out of the office window as he leaves with other members of his team, wishing I were part of that circle. That circle of fucking privileged private school city boys.

Bitter? Chip on my shoulder? Feminist? Woman scorned?


I didn't get the job. I'm handing in my notice today.

Monday, 4 June 2012

Make or break

It has been a while.
I've been shut up indoors studying for my CFA Level 1 exam which I took on Saturday. I don't think I passed, but... well, that is that.
When I went to my Doctor a few weeks ago to ask for more pills, he said it was so sad that I spent my weekends in bed. At my age, I should be out enjoying life.
Oh. I feel like I have regressed so much. The darkness hanging over me, my heart smothered by the black clouds. Just like the old days, the old days from years, months, weeks ago.

The exam was the culmination of everything I had worked for and had dreams and nightmares about since January.

I took two weeks off work before the exam and made the terrible mistake of studying with Theo, day in, day out in the British Library.
I shouldn't have done it.
We had long lunches and tea breaks, talking like the good friends we are. And when the sun blessed us with scorching weather last week, we had a picnic in Regents Park, ate ice cream, walked through the beautiful English flowers,
felt like a couple
excpet we didn't hold hands, didn't touch, didn't kiss,

I wanted someone to love and look after so badly. I bought him medicine for his cold. I bought him teas and cakes. I gave him my notes and books. I calmed him down when he got mad. I paid for him to stay in a hotel with me by the exam centre the night before.
I did it because I wanted more, I thought that after the exam we could make it work.
I thought that we'd return to the room as lovers.

He went home. I cried all the way on the tube. I couldn't hold back all the pain. I saw the sadness in his eyes, but I also saw that he didn't understand.

I had imagined we'd drink and laugh and fall together now that everything was over, and it wasn't the case. Instead of the fun I'd looked forward to for so long, I cried continuously from boarding the tube at 6pm to going to sleep at 11pm. Hellish home. Hellish room.

We spent a wonderful two weeks studying together and now he will not reply to my messages or answer my calls. Now the exam is over, he doesn't want to know me.

Why am I not good enough for him? Why am I not enough?

I shake my head in shame. I am a strong feminist in a world of men in suits, and yet I want to care for and look after a man I love so much.

Three weeks ago I asked to meet the head of the department I want to join at work. I sat before him and told him that I needed to know if he was going to interview me again or not. I told him that I'd only stayed on at the company for the last six months because I wanted the job in his department, I also told him that I needed to know if I was staying on for anything or not.
He wants to interview me.
I've been sending him the work I've been doing, he's seen me in the office at the crack of dawn studying, on the Bloomberg terminal researching. I know he admires my ambition and my hard work and I know he wants to interview me.
"It's not my decision," he said. "I have to ask your boss. If he doesn't want you to move, then I can't interview you." I nodded. They know that if I don't get the job in the other department that I'm leaving the company.
I go back to work on Wednesday and I will find out if everything I have worked for for the last six months has been a waste or if they are going to give me a chance to shine.

The fear makes me sick.
I cannot bear the thought of not making it.

Depression never leaves you. All it takes is a little chill. Sinking under.
Saturday 2nd June had been in my diary for months as the make or break day. I broke.

Why the hell can't I be happy.