Tuesday, 27 April 2010

"Your body hurts me as the world hurts God"

Facebook says I am 'in a relationship'
with Alex.

So, everyone knows; it's not a secret, it's not being kept quite, it's not a rumour, it's not gossip.
It's there now, in black and white.
Ophelia is in a relationship with Alex

There we go, dear readers, after all the endless posts of turmoil, lust and heartbreak, it's happened.
Ophelia has a boyfriend.

Sweet Jesus.

Tonight I have cried. Uncontrollably weeping on my bedroom floor. Like the Drama Queen I am.
Crying because I know I can't do this.
I can't keep up the act. I can't keep up the lie. I'm trying to think up excuses not to see him this weekend because I am too fat, because I am too sad, because I am in too much pain.

I've been spending almost every other night at his. And this week the cracks have begun to show... I can't keep it up - this happiness thing - it doesn't understand me.

I should be the happiest girl in the world. For I am the luckiest girl in the world. I have the kindest, sweetest, most loyal and faithful boyfriend who is head-over-heels in love with me. And truth be told, yes, I love him just as much.
But every time I leave him, I feel sick and empty. Because every time I leave him I have to step from the bright, free world of love and joy to the dark, sick world of Ophelia. It's like every time I leave I step back into the murky river, swallowed up by the suffocating, muddy water.

It is more than just this world, this reality, which made me cry. It is more:
I have always craved a relationship - because I craved support, love and security.
My posts always stated it
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 hated being alone. I hated having no one to turn to...
Now, I have Alex
but
Ophelia does not have someone on the end of the phone.
She cannot call him when the tears are rolling down her face. I cannot put on her voice when I talk to him. I cannot show him the flowers chained around my neck and wrists, pulling me down, drowing me... or rather, he does not have the ability to see them.
I am still just as alone as I was before.
Alex will never make me whole because he does not know what makes up the biggest part of me - my eating disorder, my depression, my anxiety, my BDD.
When he touches my body, he touches bliss, not sadness and sickness.
And all my body is, is quite simply, sadness and sickness.

The house smells of disinfectant:
I dug out my faithful pen knife - unused for so long - and cleaned it, because the craving for fresh wounds had returned.
Alex would be devastated if he saw the neat red marks.


You know, I knew I wouldn't make it through this year at law school. I went to my doctor on the 13th November 2009 and told him so. Nearly six months later, and the year is nearly over. And I am still on the list 'waiting'. I asked for help. I asked for help. And have cried on my own for another six months... and who knows how much longer...

I should be the happiest girl in the world.
And when I lie to myself and to Alex,
I am.


I am so in love with Alex. I know it seems fast. But it's me, it's him, it's the power and the passion and the intensity that burns me up and scorches everything I touch. He said it, I love you. And I know it, I feel it... it hurts me.
The happier he makes me, the more it hurts to leave; the more he loves me, the futher I sink below the water when I'm alone.

Now I have the perfect relationship and perfect man and perfect love, the demons are back inside my head stronger than ever. I've not felt this weak and depressed in a long, long time. I'm struggling.

Monday, 19 April 2010

'I'm glad the rain is coming down hard. It is how I feel. I love you so.'

I know my posts are starting to become really sporadic.
I apologise.
I'm trying to live... trying to be busy...
perhaps I'm trying to run

Anyway.
"I regret to inform you that the Medical Board has decided, having reviewed your medical history....you do not meet the medical entry standards."
I got turned away from two careers this week.
The first I had to have an interview with a doctor. The second I had to have an interview with a psychiatrist. I couldn't lie my way out. I tried.

I have to thank Mia. I have to thank my body. No one wants to employ someone with a 'history' of mental illness. Even though I lied and told them I was cured now.
It's still there. It will always be a black mark by my name, no matter how I try to put a gloss on it.
It's still a blip on my character. It says I'm unstable. It says I'm weak.
It says unemployable.

Anorexics are turned down because: "It is impossible to predict the 20% of sufferers who make a full recovery and the remainder relapse and remit or remain severely ill."
And Bulimics: "may be considered for recruitment if they have been symptom free for more than 4 years, but 30% relapse and so referral is recommended."

It's a fucking hard pill to swallow.

And yes, I shed tears.

I had told them the bulimia was in my past - that I was cured - that I had learnt so much about myself on the road to recovery - and even then they didn't want me. Let's face it. If they knew the truth, if they knew I still stick my fingers down my throat everyday, if they knew about this blog, if they had any idea of the fear in my heart... they'd never even have let me in the interview room.




And that's not where my attempted glossing ends.
I told Alex.
Oh Alex.
I told him I failed my medical for the job.
On Friday evening, I told him why.
"In my second year of university, I had bulimia."
True.
But I stopped there. Silence.
"but you're ok now aren't you." It wasn't a question, it wasn't concern; it was him confirming that I was fine.
I said nothing. I couldn't lie... I didn't want to lie to him, of all people, I don't want what I have with Alex to be a lie... so I said, "I'm on a waiting list for more treatment. Just to get the final demons out of my head. But I am better than I was. It was out of control before. It is better now. But it's not gone."
Half true. It's not better in any sense of the word, but I am on a waiting list... only this is the start of treatment, not the end...
He asked me how often it happens now. I said once in a while... when I eat too much... when I can't stop it. But I am better now. I am better now Alex...

I had to lie.
I had to lie to him. I wanted to tell him the truth, I did. I wanted to tell him I still throw up every day - that it's never gotten any better - that I need him to support me and love me...
But I couldn't.
He doesn't understand sadness like I do. He doesn't understand fear like I do. There would be no point in telling him, "I'm really insecure, I hate myself, I stuff my face and throw up, sometimes several times a day, and then I exercise like a madwoman until I collapse, and then I starve myself until I shake, and I am so afraid, and Alex, Alex I need you to hold on to me..."
He wouldn't understand any of my words.

I spent all of Friday and Saturday with him.
We walked through Hyde Park in the sunshine, sat by the lake and watched the swans, ice cream in one hand, his hand in the other. I stayed in his bed all night, fireworks and laughter, heat and fingertips; he held on to me until the sun rose... until mid afternoon, because neither of us could tear ourselves away. And then he cooked me 'breakfast' at 3pm. Fried eggs, bacon and toast. And I ate it. And it felt wonderful.
I've never felt warmth from someones body like that before. I've never had someone kiss me that way before. I've never felt so right before.

But he can't save me.
He wouldn't know how.
And now, I should be petrified - because I'm really falling. I'm choking on his sweetness.
It's an age old cliché, but really, I've never felt this way about someone before.
This isn't lust. This is something far more scary.






This is something far more painful.






Last night we went to a barbecue with a group of others from 'The Club'.
But we weren't a couple.
To the outside world, there was no hint of anything going on between us. You'd never know I spent the previous 24 hours blissfully in his arms.
The only one there who knew that anything was going on was the girl who was wrapped up with him for most of the night. With their stupid banter, that they're married, 'hubby', hahaha. He doesn't laugh like that with me. He's not sitting alone with me. He's not talking to me.
I had to stand behind the locked door of the toilet to choke back the tears on several occasions. I was slightly drunk, which made my emotions difficult to control, but I couldn't get upset about this. She's my friend. She knows about me and Alex - she wouldn't do that. Alex doesn't like her, he likes ME. They are just flirting as friends. They are just friends. It's just banter. Everyone else is wrong, their legs aren't entwined, something isn't going on...they aren't... they aren't... because he's with me... he is...I have no right to be jealous; no need to feel sick in my stomach... stop being drunk and stupid, walk back in there tall and proud...

As I stood, steadying my nerves behind that closed bathroom door, I made a single note in my notebook. I hate him. I don't want the pain.

I meant it.

Of course we left together; but I was cold towards him. I was hurting and afraid. I didn't hold his hand as we took the last tube and waited for the nightbus. Instead, I walked with a notable distance between us and couldn't look him in the eyes.
I didn't want to care about him. I didn't want to be falling for him. I didn't want him to be capable of doing this to me... But he is.
...and I am weak; my coolness towards him quickly began to melt, and by the time I was in his bed it was gone - I was his.

But it wasn't the same as before. It wasn't quite the same. He knew there was a distance between us. It wasn't quite the same when he held me. In the morning, when I woke up and got out of bed, he asked what was wrong, why was I up so early?... 'nothing', I said.
But he knew.
And awkward as he was, he tried to mention it; 'This is a bit random, but, you know Katie and I have this thing where we pretend we are 'married'...'
'Yeah I know,' I said bluntly. There was a bitterness in my voice that I couldn't disguise, so I didn't say anything more.
pause
'Oh, good... I er, thought you should know.'
pause
He was probably waiting for me to say it was alright, haha how funny. But I said nothing, because it wasn't. Take your victim as you find them Alex - I'm insecure and vulnerable.


It's stupid, I know. There's nothing going on between them. He likes me. He does.
...But I'm afraid. I mean, I'm fucking petrified. Because I'm in so deep now - I'm in deeper than I ever was with James or Jon or anyone - and I remember how much they hurt me. They hurt me because I let them - because I let myself fall for them, and in doing so, laid myself vulnerable and exposed.
Yes, I'm jealous and insecure - and I know those are my faults, not his - but still, they are faults of mine which are not going to go away and are only going to get stronger and harsher the more I fall and the longer I let him keep control of my heart. I need to protect myself.

I want to run
because
I'm scared

'You're wonderful, you know that?'
'I think your body's perfect.'
'I'll drive you there - and you will probably meet my parents - big steps!'
'You're amazing.'
'I think I'm falling for you'.

Why the hell do I want to run from him?
Is it just fear? Or do I know that I can't handle it? Because I'm not better yet... I'm too fragile for this.

I'm still throwing up everything I eat. (Except when I'm actually in his company).
I still spent two hours yesterday trying on every combination of sports kit I owned before I played in a netball match because I knew he was watching. Every pair of sports trousers, skirt, top, t-shirt made me look fat. Everything I tried on I ripped off and flung to the floor in horror until I was finally sat, distraught and senseless, surrounded by clothes that my body couldn't deal with. Stupid, fat, loser. He's gonna see your huge pink legs and flabby arms. He's gonna see sense. He's gonna be embarassed that he ever thought you were attractive.
If I know he likes me just as I am, why does the mirror still torture me? Why am I still so crazy? So full of self-hate? So bulimic?
Why isn't Alex the cure?

Sunday, 4 April 2010

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

I've been out of control for too long.
I am on the waiting list. Waiting
for someone
to
save me

It has been months since I took that first step into the GP's office and said, quite plainly, 'I am bulimic. I binge and throw up everyday, often several times a day.'
They assessed me and agreed: I'm fucked.
So they wrote the name Ophelia on the end of a line of other names.
And have left me to get on with it.
I know there's nothing more they can do.
THEY.
Them...
the ones I want to save me.

because I can't do it on my own


I wish that you could save me, I wish that more than anything, because I'm so afraid.


It's not going to be Alex;
he's never met the girl that writes this blog. He never will.
I've put on the act far too successfully. I found the winning formula and I crafted a porcelain mask from it - a mask that sits far too comfortably and fits far too well.

Alex would never love Ophelia.
And I would never burden myself upon him, because I know I'd drag him down to the bottom of the river with me.
He's a beautiful, innocent 19 year old. He's happy, charismatic, popular and full of life. He has never known pain and sadness. And it would be incredibly selfish to make him witness mine
'Being sad doesn't suit you, you're so optimistic and vivacious!'
Yes, because I'm lying to you Alex. I am a big, fat lie.

I'm afraid of committing to you. I didn't go skiing because I knew I'd get with another guy. And I knew I'd flirt and flirt with all the ones I was attracted to and lead them on. But I can't avoid attractive men forever... in fact I was up until 4am the other night talking to and consciously flirting with Mark. And I'm meeting him for coffee while you're back in your hometown. You see, it's because you're so far away...
It's the badness of it all that attracts me. Much like it did with Hugh. There's no happiness, security or love there. None of those wonderful things I feel with Alex. But somehow, it makes me feel powerful.


I wish you were here to dry the tears rolling down my face Alex.
But it was you that made me cry.
I was flying high as a kite when I came home - so full of joy and full of hope - so strong and indestructable. And then I spoke to you. And when you left me, I lay on my bed, on top of the sheets, and shut my eyes to stop the tears. But they still came.
Because I know you're going to leave me. Everyone always leaves.
I have to leave you before you leave me.
Because liking you will always hurt. You make me so happy and that's why I hurt.
Because I know you're going to say, 'Now is not a good time for me.' 'I'm away all summer.' 'It's not going to work out.' 'I'm not ready.' 'We're going down different paths.' 'It's just not what I want right now.'


Don't make me happy Alex.



'Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.'

Why is Plath always right.

Friday, 2 April 2010

'Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue'

I don't make any apologies for what I write on this blog.
This is my head - Uncensored
- All the uglyness of my thoughts in beautiful, bleeding words.

Fundamentally, I set up this blog as an interactive diary. I've always written. I've always had to put down everything on paper because I could never tell anyone or trust anyone or burden anyone with what I was feeling and what I needed to express.

Everything I write on this blog is what has happened to me, what I am thinking and what I am experiencing. I do not apologise for it. I do not apologise for sounding selfish or self-obsessed. I do not apologise for seeming shallow or weak. I do not apologise if you dislike me.
Because this is me.
I will never exclude or edit events to make you like me more.
Because I have to do that in my real life everyday.

I could never and would never tell anyone in my real life the depth of my insecurities or the confusion of emotions I feel - because they would judge me and hate me and think I was an attention-seeking headcase.
Everyone likes being around happy, carefree people. So I keep all of my sadness and disorder under wraps... as best I can.

I'm sure you are all no different, but here I can write everything. I'm going to write it and I'm going to post it. Even when I know it's shit that no-one wants to read. It's like letting out all the toxic substances in my body. I can see the words and know that I exist, I'm real, I'm alive - I'm not crazy and I'm not ill. I make sense.

I want to escape from my eating disorder and my sadness; but ultimately, I can't, because more than anything, I want to be thin.


p.s. Someone commented that I'm dependant on living with my mum. Like hell. I don't live with her out of choice. I've spent the last three years at uni living away from home and I'd give anything to get out again. I've supported myself emotionally since I was a child and I continue to do so.


Hamlet:
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.