There are tears stinging the backs of my eyelids every time I shut my eyes to pause. This world is hurting me so much. The truth is, I'm living, I'm so very much alive, so fit, so healthy, at my peak... except I'm doing it for the spectres that haunt me and keep my blood running so cold. I am a living eating disorder.
There's nothing else left in my head anymore.
You know, I'd give anything, to update my facebook status to say really 'what's on my mind'. Don't you ever just want to scream at the top of your voice. "PLEASE HELP ME. Underneath this pretty blush and giddy personality I'm dying, I'm torturing myself, I'm killing myself. Please fucking help me."
I've reached the stage where I can't eat anything without throwing it up. The only reason I'm not losing weight is because my initial intake is so much that I can't be getting even half the calories back up anymore.
I'm 22 years old and my life is over - because I cannot live it.
It's weird... I don't think anyone who knows me would believe me if I told them: I threw up four times yesterday: in fact I'm brilliant at it - I've perfected it. I can throw up anything, anywhere, anytime. Could you believe that of anyone? Surely it only happens to teenage girls on rubbish TV dramas.
I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to be held in someone's arms.
I want to be held in someone's arms. For comfort. Because they see how much I'm suffering. Because they love me. Because they understand. Because I'm not just a drama queen to them.
I want to be held in someone's arms. I want to be safe. Protected from myself.
I just want to be held in someone's arms.
But there is no-one.
I went to see D. I fasted successfully, I ran myself into the ground in the gym, burning 1,000 calories daily. I got down to my lowest recent weight. And, following that, after three days of binging, am back to my highest. 10lbs - up and down, easy as that. Starve, binge. Up, down.
I went to every effort to look perfect for him. I wore the cutest top to show my flat tummy off.
There was nothing in my body. I was so completely empty.
And I tortured myself to look perfect for him.
Nothing happened, not really. He fixed my kit, we chatted a little, it was nice, pleasant, I left. He didn't suggest I stayed longer, he didn't get me a drink, ask me to dinner and he certainly didn't kiss me. Ha!
I took it as the greatest failure.
I don't know what the fuck I was expecting to happen on a casual meeting in the late afternoon.
A declaration of love? Passionate sex?
Clearly, that was never going to happen. I am seriously deluded.
So I ate. Because I could. Because I failed. Because I needed to be punished.
Well I certainly punished myself. He was all I thought about for four weeks. I am such a freak.
What's the point? My heart is so empty.
Hillary Clinton meme
8 months ago