Skip to main content


So, the weekend.
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.
Oh dear.
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.
Scoffed it.
Walked to the 24 hour supermarket and bought a tub of icecream, chocolate biscuits, two flapjacks and porridge.
Scoffed it.
(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.


  1. Oh. How awful. How utterly heart-wrenchingly familiarly awful. In the pursuit of perfection there is nothing that feels more like failure than being liked less than someone else. Or not at all.

    People should be enchanted by you. They will be, I know it. I'm quite sure most are already. Strangely enough, passion can be harder for us to spot than impassivity.

  2. Oh God how I can relate. Your writing hits a strong note with me. The rejection and following self-loathing is the worst feeling. I have spent too much of my life punishing myself with food.

    Hang in there and I know you will find your strength. I am sorry you are hurting.

  3. The greatest form of self harm imaginable. Xx


Post a Comment

Don't be anonymous, leave a name at least so I can identify you back :)

Popular posts from this blog


I have wanted to come back for a little while. So much has happened since my last post. Work colleagues mostly, a trial run with a boy from an app. Arthur, Francis, Gregory, Vincent, Russell, Simon R. Shoes that didn't fit. There are pages about them of course, not here, but in notebooks and scribbles on my phone written on my tube commute. Some indifference, some annihilation, all part of my continual journey.

In February, I met Thomas, and the turn began. We began dating in April, I was labelled his girlfriend in August, and he is the kindest man I have ever let into my life.

I went to Bali in March. Like the healing of the Nile, the energy pulsed deep into my cells and blood and I have not let it go yet. The vibrations of the gong still echoing in my ears, the sunrise still glowing in my heart, the peace and tranquillity in the silent hum of those green fields... I came back with a deep, divine knowledge, that I treasure, every time I am close to forgetting.

And now, I am train…

"Feeling 22, acting 17"

Except at 26, neither feeling 22 nor acting 17 is okay.

All the secrets I have to keep.

I can't tell anyone what I did last night. Except the whole world here, with my anonymous face.

Because I know I should be ashamed.

All week I had been thinking about Gareth. Thinking, longing, dreaming - at the expense of my work and my sanity.
But the strangest thing happened to my eating. No binges, no starving, no vomiting, just level-headed control. Was it the faux joy?

We spoke every day: whatsapp, office messenger, lunches in the bank restaurant and 'meetings' in the bank coffee shop, sessions in the gym and runs along embankment. No sense for being sensible and holding back, getting closer and closer. I wanted to be closer and closer. I kept thinking about having my hands on him. Fuck him. Fuck him for literally putting those thoughts firmly in my mind. And damn me for going back to being the fuck up I'd suppressed for so long.

It's no coincidence that my one-…

"Here I am, sane and dry"

"I stayed there, staring at myself in the glass. What do I want to cry about?.... On the contrary, it's when l am quite sane like this, when I have had a couple of extra drinks and am quite sane, that I realize how lucky I am.
Saved, rescued, fished-up, half drowned, out of the deep, dark river, dry clothes, hair shampooed and set. Nobody would know I had ever been in it. Except, of course, that there always remains something. Yes, there always remains something....Never mind, here I am, sane and dry, with my place to hide in. What more do I want?....I'm a bit of an automaton, but sane, surely - dry, cold and sane. Now I have forgotten about dark streets, dark rivers, the pain, the struggle and the drowning...."
Jean Rhys, Good Morning, Midnight