Friday, 29 May 2009
Saturday, 23 May 2009
I feel like I have really been lacking strict regime and control, and what better way to sort myself out than to follow the 'Ana Boot Camp'. So much better than messing up and then deciding to fast and then messing up and then getting high on restricting and so on and so on...
Just routine. Control. Rules. Boundaries. I need these things.
Check out the ABC list on the right hand side of my page...no margin for error when I've got to tick it off everyday on this blog in front of you all!
I was going to wait until my exams at uni finish (2nd June) but by then it will be too late. I want to get the ball rolling and start shedding weight before then. I start my job (only a temporary one for a month or so) on 3rd June, and although it's only a load of middle-aged men with beer bellies and motherly women with massive hips, I have to be thinner than I am... because at the moment none of my office wear actually fits me properly... shit that is humiliating to write.
So, from tomorrow :) Tiny Ophelia is coming back to her wardrobe of tiny clothes!
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
I was sick and alone. After the initial ecstasy of starving, it began to feel like I was rotting away in my room...for nothing and no-one.
I went to the ball on Saturday and since then all I have done is eat and I have been too ashamed to post, knowing that my body was so filled with shit, knowing that I was a traitor to this head full of beauty and to all of you.
I am more than an eating disorder.
I do not consume food. I am consumed.
Every time I eat, I am consumed.
I am consumed by myself.
I am an eating disorder.
The ball on Saturday night.
All the pictures are up on facebook.
So many smiling faces, drunk on euphoria, high on life...filled with the beautiful May dream of university...the life of the privileged few, enjoying the best time of their lives.
We may not know it now, but we will cherish these hedonistic times and value these vibrant memories for the rest of our lives.
Tears from our happiness sting my eyes.
I am leaving. That’s it, all over. I have two essays and an exam, and then I leave this university city and return to London.
I too will cherish my memories,
But they will always be tarnished
Bright laughter from a black heart
Lovers pillows damp with tears
Happy memories hung with a hatred of myself.
I hate my eating disorder because it has ruined my life.
I love my eating disorder because it is the hope of my life.
I am twenty-one years old. I lived the best times of my life already dead. It was too late for me; I never got there and perhaps I never could have.
I do this because I can’t stop. I do this because it’s all I have left of myself.
The truth is that all the girls who were uglier or fatter than me had a happier time because they didn't care. Sometimes I wish I could be like that, and yet my head can't process how they can be like that. I don't know many girls who I would be happy to look like...and yet they are happy...and I look down on them for it. I know that's horrible and sick, but I can't understand why anyone would be happy being 'average'. I understand the desire for perfection and I fully support that in others. Perfection isn't something I want, it's something I need and something I'm obsessed with.
But I deserve to be happy...no more ruined memories.
I don't do it because I hate myself, I do it because I love myself.
I want to be beautiful, skinny and happy.
I love my life. I love my rich, full life on an empty stomach :)
Sunday, 10 May 2009
And the second I've written that, the tummy rumbles - it is such an attention seeker. Well I'm gonna teach it a lesson by ignoring it's pathetic cries.
My fast is still going well and I am still smiling! Instead of raging headaches and wanting to sleep, I just feel really healthy and happy.
I had a day off from all activity yesterday. I am a bad, bad person, but to make up for it, I enjoyed a killer session in the gym today. 600 calories on the treadmill alone and then 1,000 metres in the pool. Usually I'm knackered by the time I get into the swimming pool (always my last activity) but today I was just hammering out the laps easily... can't explain it, but certainly not gonna grumble!
I've always had severe hangups about the size of my arms and rather than moaning about it, I've taken to spending that little bit extra time in the gym to use all the machines that work out the arms.Even in the last week alone I've been able to move up a couple of kilos on all the weight machines I use. This makes me happy. I'm not sure which dress I'm going to wear to the ball on saturday yet. I have a red floral one which is lusciously figure-hugging or a white floaty one with a black bow... I think I will have to decide on the day depending on how much weight I shift with this fast. Either way, my arms, shoulders and back will be on show, so it is VITAL that I get my arms really toned and my collarbones nice and prominent! For the moment, my chubby thighs can take a back seat as they will be safe under the long dress :)
So a week more of fasting and working out for some bearable arms! I hope these high energy levels that I've had today last. I don't think I've had tiny arms since I was starving at 15/16. Unbelievably, during that time, I would always cover up all my skinny body because I hated it so much (I was still convinced that I was hideously massive). Imagine, big jumpers hiding those skinny arms! What a waste. God, I was so fucked up then.
My Mum just rang to check up on me a few minutes ago.
"What did you have for lunch?"
Bless her, always wanting to check that I'm eating right at uni.
Long pause...erm...what to normal people eat for lunch again? Erm..."Chicken." And erm... "bread?"
She seemed satisfied with this.
I do feel sorry for my Mum. She just wants a perfect daughter so badly. She wants me to be successful and rich, with a great job and some well-off husband. Truth is, well, she doesn't know the truth. Poor Mum, always buying me nice food when I'm home just so I can throw it away or throw it up. Poor Mum, thinking I keep cutting my arms on barbed wire accidentally. Poor Mum, trying to understand why I cry in front of the mirror when we're going out because I look too fat.
I used to resent her when I was younger. I had it in my head that for some sick and twisted reason she wanted me to be as fat and as ugly as possible. Why else would she make me eat? Why else would she not let me buy the cosmetics I needed?
For the whole of my teenage years, we hated each other. We lived in different worlds and wanted different things for me.
It wasn't until I came to uni that I could see things from her point of view.
Let me describe my Mum: just under 5"0', around 85-90 lbs, sleek black hair, perfect complexion and skin, hairless legs. She doesn't need make-up, she doesn't need anything. She is natural beauty.
So, she just doesn't understand.
And no, she doesn't have an eating disorder. For all my life, she has eaten what she wants. "I can't put on weight. I'd look so much better if I had more flesh, but I can't put on weight." Have some of mine Mum?
While I'm in such a fitness-freak mood, here's a website that I've been using for a while. It's got lots of free videos for all sorts of exercises, mostly for toning those stubborn yucky bits.
Love Ophelia x x x
Saturday, 9 May 2009
This Saturday is the ball...I mean The Ball. Everyone I know at uni will be there.
Every guy I have ever mentioned in this blog will be there. That's how big it is.
James - the ladies man, the English-gentleman, the best-looking guy I have ever met, the biggest slut I have ever met, the one I thought was in love with me...
Oli - the rough Londoner, the cheeky one, the body of a Greek god, the one I want and don't want...
Sam - the cute one, a gem of football team, the one who prefers blondes...
Max - the loved up one, the one who chose my skinny friend...
And it's not just them. It's boys I have known for ages while I've been at uni and who have judged me that whole time. It's boys I have pulled on drunken nights out. It's boys I've turned down, boys who have lusted after me in secret, boys who have rated me on a scale of 1-10, boys who play 'Who would you rather sleep with...'
This is the last time I will ever see them again.
I need to be as perfect as I can get...and that's why I am not breaking this fast.
I wanted to post some pictures of myself in this post...just becuase I want you all to be able to feel closer to me, know me better...just because I want to be able to open up to you that bit more. And I've been searching through the many photo albums on my laptop to try and find the right ones - the ones when I was thin, then fat, then thin... and I can't seem to decide on the right one. I just look so normal.
But that is what I am. I am a normal 21 year old girl, in my third year of university. Nothing special, nothing spectacular. Sometimes fat, sometimes thin. If I posted up a photo, I feel like it would render myself something less to you all, something just very average - just a real girl in a real body.
I don't want that. I want to turn heads. I want to be unbelievable in an unbelievable body.
This was me at my first ball when I first came to uni: (note collarbones!)
This was me a few months later: (note the belly...there were much worse ones, but this is humiliating enough to put up)
And about 6 months after that: (belly completely flat again)It's also worth noting the shape of my face. It's naturally round, but can go from hideously chubby to bearable.
I NEED to get back to that. I'm not as disgusting as I was at my heaviest. But I'm nowhere near my lightest.
That's all, looking at photos upsets me. I'll take them down in 24 hours.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
But what a blatant, disgusting lie to write that now.
I have been on track
and I would still be
if it weren't for men
and my stupid need for attention.
I showed them what they were missing. A perfect slim dress with ruffles, red ribbon, red shoes, dark hair over my shoulders, sultry makeup. I surrounded myself with boys who couldn't have me. I was out of their league. I thrive on that adrenaline beat of the dancefloor. My life revolves around what I become in that space and who other people perceive me to be.
I am the one they want.
But I'm not, not at all, not really, not in the harsh reality of sober daylight. But I know for that space of time, I am something. I am vibrant and alive, you can touch me and I can respond. In the club, under the artificial lights, I am not beauty or fragility, I am desire... a sensual but sordid desire.
It's now 7am.
I was supposed to be on a coach back home to London for the weekend at 6am.
I have been spending an average of 3 hours in the gym every day and my restricting has been perfectly controlled.
Last night was meant to be nothing. A quick drink with friends, a barely there sip of no calories. "No, I'm not coming out tonight."
How many times did I have to say it for me to realise it was a lie?
So I went out. And drank too much. Just far too much. I wasn't trashed as I could have been, but enough alcohol for me to feel disgusting.
And I am.
This belly is getting bigger, I swear, it wobbles, these arms aren't shrinking, these thighs still spread, this arse don't fucking fit.
I want to go home. I want to get away from uni. I want to be safe and far away from all these cruel temptations that want to destroy my body.
I want to be alone. I want to be alone in my pure sanctuary where nothing can pollute my life, body and soul. No alcohol, no food, no men, no sex - just purity.
As I write this Peter is in my bed
I didn't want him here, but he insisted, so I let him sleep it off
the idea of sleeping with him repulses me.
What's happened to me? I've gone off sex. I have no lust left in my body except for Ana.
I need to get away from my friends for this purity. I need to be alone.
I love my eating disorder.
And there can only be two in this relationship.
and I don't want anyone else.
It is my end of year ball next Saturday. I have 10 days.
10 day fast :) Perfect.
Get this shit out of my body. Get the alcohol out of my blood. Get all the toxic emotions out of my soul. I'm going to sweat this sickness out of my body and burn the burden off my bones.
This fast is going to be heavenly
this determination is going to kill me
and release me from hell
I leave uni in under a month, forever.
This life ends.
This fast is going to be heavenly
and release me from hell
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
On Saturday I took a walk into town where there was a little ethnic fair going on. Stall upon stall selling sweets, pancakes, barbeques, oriental ornaments, handmade jewellery etc. I spent ages looking at all the precious little cupcakes and sweets, lovingly crafted like miniature works of art. I loved it: just taking in their visual beauty, not tempted in the slighted at their taste. It makes me so happy when I can surround myself with delicious food and take delight in just looking at it. In the end I bought a little packet of caramel roasted almonds and ate a few as I took a walk around the town’s botanical gardens. More visual beauty. It was such a perfect day and the birdsong was ringing loud and clear. Everything was in bloom, and the flowers were calling to me, come join us, come join us. There wasn’t even the slightest gust of wind around…it was all just perfectly still perfection.
I want to be a flower, tranquil and naturally beautiful.
I felt a little bit guilty about the almonds, but that was all I ate all day, so it could have been worse.
On Sunday I took a walk to the big Tesco’s in town. Strange as it may seem, it was the first time I’d ever been there in the three years I’ve been living at uni. I usually just go to the tiny local shop – less choice, less to buy.
That’s all I can say.
I spent about half an hour just wandering up and down the aisles, looking absent-mindedly at food…just looking at it…choosing what I could eat…up and down…pick up something…no…something else…
Eventually I settled for a seeded bread roll.
Ate it, and then felt guilty.
Spent about 3 hours in the gym: treadmill, weights, swimming and sauna, mmm lovely. Felt so wonderful.
Oh it was a good weekend. I’m so happy when I’m just left alone. Sad I know, but I can just relax and live how I want to.
And then Sunday evening my friend rang me up - the guys on a football team that I’m friends with had just won a big national tournament and were going out celebrating. Oh why didn’t I just make up an excuse and say no?
But no, I convinced myself that I would have a tiny drink and have a good night with some pretty football lads and it would all be ok.
Would it hell!
I drank half a bottle of wine and a double Southern Comfort and Diet Coke. Ok so not a huge amount by any standard, but enough to get me drunk and completely undoing all my good work restricting and exercising! Fuck. Then I get told by my friend Kate that Max (see post 28/04/09) has been stalking her and wanting to take her out to dinner and that he’s crazy in love with her. Great, great, great! She doesn’t even like him and she has to rub it in my face that he’s crazy about her and not me. And Sam (see post 29/02/09) is on football team so he was there, and everyone is giving me banter about him not liking me. I think I lost it when I’m at the bar with Kate and Sam comes up behind and starts grinding on her. I appreciate he was drunk off his tits, but really, did you have to make your point so crudely?!?!
I left the club and bought two portions of chips with cheese.
Walked to the 24 hour supermarket and bought a tub of icecream, chocolate biscuits, two flapjacks and porridge.
(well in fairness I only ate half the icecream and made one bowl of porridge…but yeah…hardly makes a difference.)
I was hurting so much.
As I left the club, the only thought running through my head was how much I hated myself. I wasn’t angry at anyone else, I was just angry at me, just fat, ugly me. It was my fault. All the pain I felt was my fault. It was my fault that Max and Sam didn’t like me. It was my fault because I am fat.
All I wanted to do was punish myself.
That was it; the thought was clear as day in my drunken head.
Binge trigger: Sabotage.
I wanted to hurt myself as much a possible, and my sick little head knew exactly what to do – binge on as much crap as I could buy.
And I did. I undid all the good work, all the happiness and fulfilment that I had gained that weekend. I hated myself, I deserved to be punished – so I ate – the greatest form of self-harm imaginable.