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...another world

My head never shuts down.
If I could only find the switch, turn myself off, I could start living in the real world again, I'm convinced of it... but maybe there isn't a switch. Something I saw on jd's blog struck a real chord with me, I thought it was perfect:

For a head so full of words and emotion, so much of my life is consumed by numbers.
the numbers game
I can't remember the last time I forgot about numbers in my head. I must have been so young.
I wonder sometimes, about the whole genetics argument - that some people are more predisposed to eating disorders than others - we have the genes for it so to speak. Was I born this way?
No... I'm sure I can't have been, but at the same time I'm acutely aware that I've always had the symptoms and the character and personality for it. I was never like other little girls. I tortured myself mentally for not looking perfect. I tortured myself for being 'fat' when I was a skinny little 8 year old. If I didn't always have an eating disorder, I certainly always had an intense hatred of my appearance and was highly anxious because of it.

This morning I went shopping with my mum - just like I used to have to do when I was younger.
I had the same anxiety and panic. I fought back tears as I stood in the mirror, despising myself for not getting thinner, I flung clothes around my room in distress and punched and slapped my arms and thighs for the pain relief.
Just like when I was a teenager.
Everything's the same.
Every last thing is the same.

My putrid body is the same.

Things like today really put it into perspective. The way I used to cry in floods of tears in the car all the way to work, the way I would have to try on everything in my wardrobe to find something that didn't make me look fat, the way I would have to avoid mirrors to stop myself from having a panic attack...
Surely the only cure is beauty.
How else can you fix someone like that?

In the last few days I've been evaluating my relationship with Alex.
Dear Alex; I really couldn't ask for anyone more loyal and devoted and caring. I really couldn't.
But. There's still a terrible, gaping gap between us - a chilling space of void that neither of us can cross - not only because he cannot feel it, but also because I know it would suck him under like a vortex.
I may have been crying all day and all evening, but when I talk to him on the phone, he'd never know. Even if I told him, he'd have no way to comfort me.
If I'm honest with myself, I know, this is never going to work. We're kidding ourselves. He's young, he doesn't know any better. He's never seen me when I'm depressed, when I'm on an edge. He's never witnessed tears rolling uncontrollably down my face or the anxiety when I need to self-harm. He doesn't really know what it's like to love someone with an eating disorder who is so bent on self-destruction. He's never had to live with me.
I'm worn-out, broken and beyond repair. I'm never going to be able to play happy families.
I belong to another world.

When I lie in bed, I can feel that the walls of my heart are getting weaker.
Every time I stand at the platform, as my train approaches, I stand at the edge and stare down at the tracks. How easy it would be to take one more step. One more step, and it won't hurt anymore.
You could save him from yourself.

But I am too selfish. I love him, in all his innocent and unblemished perfection. He brings me joy like I've not had in a very long time. Real Joy.
I cry as I write this, because I want that joy so much.
But I can't have it, not really, not in the long run; I will destroy it. That's what I do: I destroy things.
There is a perfect girl out there somewhere for him. I can lie when we're together, I can pretend to be perfect, but I'm not.
I'm seeing him on Friday for the first time in two weeks. He's been revising hard for his uni exams and they end on Thursday. So I'm treating him to a surprise on Friday evening. I've made a reservation for dinner at a restaurant in Covent Garden, and then I've booked tickets to see the Lion King in the West End.
He says he loves me and thinks I'm perfect as I am.
It means nothing to me. I want to clear my body of every trace of food and channel water through it every day before then. I have a perfect new red dress. It's not worth the torture being fat.
It's really not worth the fucking torture and tears in front of the mirror.

And yes, stranger, I know it's you. But without your name, I couldn't believe it. No name. Gone.
Really. It's not enough to say I miss you.
Just tell me you are happy. Please give me that closure and peace of mind if it is true.
I pray that you are.

A quote from 'Anonymous' on Pasco's blog:
''Dear are so like me that I suppose I said to you what I wanted to say to myself... You do disgust me. You lead this messed up life. You're a waste.
You are a wasted girl.

And so am I.''


  1. Ah, thank you for the compliment because I feel the same towards you.

    I've often thought about genetics playing a part in how I feel about food and my body. I think there is something in us that makes it easier to be this way, but along the way something somehow triggered that part of us. I blame my Mother, but that's an easy way out. My body issues didn't start until I was in my early teens, but when I was around seven I would put myself in time out for not finishing my homework. Life is tricky. I hope there is another world that we were made for. Then it would all make sense, we've simply been misplaced.

  2. I actually do think genectics plays a part in all of this, both my sisters have struggled with bulimia and even in their 20's and 30's they still struggle, i think there is something in our genetic makeup that makes us more vulnerable, not only that but we all grew up in the same environment where looks and ur appearance matters most, coz the prettiest and thinest gets the most attention.

    I also agree with u, we we're all made for another world, a world where food does not exist and we can finally live in peace and not suffer.

    Hope things gets better soon.


  3. We are so much alike in so many ways. Once again, i can fully relate to your words. I too, found my eating disorder at a very young age. (I think i was 10 or 11.) What do you think? Were we born with it? Part of me really thinks so.
    And dressing rooms kill me too. How can clothes look so much better on the hangers than they do on me?
    As for the gap between yourself and Alex, quite honestly, love, that's because you created it. Try telling him. You know that i've told my Jacob and he really does help. Perhaps your Alex will do the same.
    Stay strong, sweetheart. And do try to be happy. Reach for that joy with all of your strength.

  4. this picture is brilliant. beautiful. so true
    (and i know this feeling when you realise that nothing really changes...what a mess)

  5. complete understand the whole situation with alex, wanting to share/not wanting to share.

    i can't imagine sharing with anyone because people's first resonse tends to be "why don't they just eat" :( most people just don't get it.

    i dont want to share with my boyfriend because i feel like its such a negative flaw...i don't want to suck him into this world.


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