I got an extension for a piece of coursework I was doing for law school and I had to get my doctor to sign the medical reasons on my ‘concessions form’.
You want to know what I think of the fucking health care in this country? Well this should say it all:
He wrote my first name wrong and mis-spelt my surname.
Under medical problems, he wrote ‘Anorexia and Depression’. I've been diagnosed with Bulimia for fucks sake.The rest of the questions he barely answered or ignored.
And I paid £19 for this proof of apathy.
My exams start at the beginning of June. If I do them, I will fail.
I have the option... to not turn up to exams and then give in a concession form like the one I did for my coursework. If they accept the bulimia as a reason for not doing exams then I will get the chance to retake them in August.
Do I do it?
My life is eating, throwing up, exercising, restricting, thinking about food, crying over my body, worrying... I can't do anything else, and I’m never going to be able to work until I get better. Or until I get thin...
So. I have the option now. To get out of this stupid NHS system, get off this ridiculous waiting list, and go into private treatment which would start within a month. By the time August comes, my treatment will be well under way. I can study, I can work, I can live, I can do well.
But if they don't accept my concession form...then I've fucked up a year of my life and wasted £9,000 in the process. That's a big price to pay for an eating disorder.
* * *
So, just like the last two weekends, I spent this weekend with Alex.
On Thursday I decided to make a picnic. I was up baking all night. I cooked sausage rolls. And cheese and tomato slices. When I got to his on Friday, we ate, like romantic children, crossed legged. Happy.
But only because I had fasted the day before and taken laxatives to clear my body out.
We talked. We kissed. We made love. We slept. And then we did it all again.
We were supposed to be going out to an event with some friends on the Saturday afternoon, but we couldn't tear ourselves apart. His little room was a haven; his bed was a sanctuary.
I was wrong about Alex.
I underestimated him.
I trust him.
He is the only man who has ever seen my whole body. No covers, no asking to switch off the light, no nothing; nothing hidden. I don't hide my naked body from him like I have done with every other guy.
Perhaps it's because I know he likes my body.
He is the only man who has ever woken up beside me and looked at my face without makeup. Because I wanted him to.
And he didn't run.
That's not to say I don't hate my body and I don't think I look horrific without makeup. I don't think those feelings will ever change. But I did it: I let someone see my flaws. I let the man I love see my flaws. No more Miss Perfection. No more lies, no more ticks and coverups. I am bulimic Alex. He knows. And he didn't run.
...He knows, but he doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't like me talking about it. And I want to talk about it...
But it's good that I'm with someone who isn't emotional and neurotic like me, because it means he won't sink under with me. He is sound and logical, strong and physically grounded. He is, quite literally, a rock of the earth for me to hold on to.
I was wrong. He is a cure to me. I do have the ability to feel happiness - for I felt it this weekend.
But is this happiness making me weaker? What happens when he leaves? Everyone always leaves.I don't want to rely on him for happiness. I don't want to be weak. Love makes you weak. Only someone you love can truly hurt you. I learnt this when I was 18. I gave myself for a guy, I lived for him, he was my world, he was everything I based my life and my happiness on. When he treated me badly, I still blindly and unconditionally held on tight to him. I've never changed.
And when Alex talks about other girls, even in a joking way, even when I know it's just him being a guy... a little part of me dies every time. For they are prettier than me. They have better legs. They are more perfect.
It's going to be a fight that never ends. I will always have to compete with these women until I die. I will never be able to accept that I am good enough for him until I consider myself to be perfection for him. So I will work and work on myself until I am perfect – or rather I will just work and work on myself to meet an unattainable goal.
When I look like this, I will be secure, I will believe that I can fulfill his needs, I will believe that I'm enough, I will believe that Alex won't leave me for another girl:
Hillary Clinton meme
9 months ago