Home is where the fast is

Home.
I am finally home.
My unhappy sanctuary.
I have come home for the last time.

I used to pack my bags on Thursday afternoons when I was at university and get the cheap train home for a long weekend. It was worth the hassle and the long journey just to have a house to shut myself up in alone – a house where things were ordered and sober – where there were no men; no threats, no temptations. Home was the only place where I could cover up my body beneath a thick duvet and forget that it existed.

It was a difficult two weeks at camp as you can no doubt tell from my last post. I got away at most mealtimes with just eating vegetables and fruit. There were many arguments as usual, but I give up now… I have yet to meet anyone (in the flesh) who understands and supports my desire to better myself. Perfection, to everyone I know, seems to be a mere fiction in a world that proudly accepts its disgusting self. If it weren’t for this blog, my followers, commenters, I would never be able to believe in myself.
I lost my temper a lot on camp.
Usually when I lose my temper I self-harm or binge eat to take my anger out on myself. This time I just flipped out at people. In fairness, they completely deserved to be shouted at because of the things they said about me, but it was completely out of character for me, and I worry when I do things out of character.

I think that on this camp, for the first time, I was able to start to see how other people saw me… and it wasn’t nice… They misunderstood me to be a self-obsessed and annoying air-head… and it really hurt.

On a plus note, I have left university and all my affiliations with it. Those people who knew me don’t matter at all. I don’t care what they think. I know that I am moving on to something better. I am shedding this skin and becoming unrecognisable. Nothing about my past matters anymore. None of their opinions matter. I’ve handed in my kit and taken my final train to London; to home; where I am staying and living and creating a new and better life.

I cracked on the last night of camp. Drank three bottles.
Went back to my room early before the others got back and opened up all the food I had stashed away from the field exercise that week. Toffee pudding, chocolate bars, biscuits and crisps. I deserved this pain. I didn’t even stick my fingers down my throat. I just ate, and swallowed, and shut my eyes.
At the train station I lost it again. I ate two chocolate bars, a packet of biscuits, a large packet of nuts and a cheeseburger and chips.
I don’t know why: don’t ask me why.
Within minutes I found myself locked in the public toilets at the train station bending over a foul-smelling toilet throwing up as much of it as I could. I think I got most of it up, but not the chocolate.

My body doesn’t feel hunger or fullness anymore. It doesn’t feel anything. It’s all numb inside. Food consumption is controlled by my brain: the stronger part, the weaker part, the part I hate, the part I can’t remember or control.
I’m sorry body, I’m sorry for putting so much shit inside of you.
I was so strong for two weeks only to crumble so magnificently at the end. And for what? Did I just miss bulimia? Did I just miss binging and purging? After all, it’s the only thing my body understands.
But the chaotic life that went with that chaotic eating is over now.
Home is no longer just a rescue or a quick fix spa break away from bodily torture. Home is my future, my base, my foundation – upon which all my prospects are based and will grow.
I can be fully grounded and focused on the things that matter and the things that are truly important to me.
I spent three years at university as a crazy, emotional, obsessive, drunken, party-loving, flirty, uncontrollable bulimic.
I’ve got a lot of wounds to heal.

I’m going on ‘holiday’ on Friday. I will explain why I use that term loosely in my next post.
My body feels gross. All the shit inside me. I am repulsive.
I have four days of just water until Friday. I know you can never drown in four days of water; I wish I had time to fast for longer.
But four days will have to do for now.

This thinspo is dedicated to Holly. If you're reading, I hope you are ok. I've just started watching Skins 3 on 4OD online. I understand why you loved Effy x x x