The head never shuts up. And everyday I think a little something and write it down, add a bit, think a bit.
I hate Christmas. No, I don't hate it, I dread it. I find it the most depressing time of year. Empty and terribly depressing. Me and my Mum, pretending to be happy. A depressing meal. Disgusting 'treats'. Food at the centre of everything. Stuck in this sad house choking back the tears. Every year since I was 11 years old, it's been empty and unbearable.
And this year, I'm running away. I'm leaving for Egypt tomorrow morning for a week. I'm sick of the cold and the emptiness. The most wonderful thing about travel is that you can become so far removed from your life back home that it's almost as if it doesn't exist. It's the most liberating feeling.
I don't have to do Christmas. I don't have to do it! I don't have to curl up alone, stuffing my fat bulimic face, wishing there was something stimulating on the TV to distract me.
I cannot put into words how relieved I am to be running away from Christmas.
Anyway, my point is, I felt compelled to post before I went away, although I have not been able to write to all the people I want to and need to... argh! Anyway, as I was saying. I have all this stuff which I jotted down and needs posting, so this post is a bit of a blotch of stuff I just need to put down before I go away and have not had time to make coherent and flowing....
The lovely Cally C commented on my last post how eating disorders are like abusive relationships. Now, there are a lot of songs with a lot of quotable lyrics, but these lyrics really seemed worth putting down in writing. It's exactly what I'd say to Ana/Mia.
Love The Way You Lie Part II - Rihanna ft Eminem
On the first page of our story,
The future seemed so bright,
Then this thing turned out so evil,
I don't know why I'm still surprised.
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes,
But you'll always be my hero
Even though you've lost your mind.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,
But that's all right because I like the way it hurts.
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry,
But that's all right because I love the way you lie.
Now there's gravel in our voices,
Glass is shattered from the fight.
In this tug of war, you'll always win,
Even when I'm right.
'Cause you feed me fables from your hand.
With violent words and empty threats.
And it's sick that all these battles.
Are what keeps me satisfied.
...So maybe I'm a masochist
I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave...
And some notes on my decision to leave the City and its monetary rewards and move to another part of the country to work in a boarding school - I still don't know if I made the right decision:
Sylvia Plath in her journals states, "I am still young. Even twenty-three and a half is not too late to live anew".
If she says it, it must be true. I must force myself to believe it because so much of my current despair comes from being twenty-three, from my belief that my life is over now, because I have failed to make it, and will never make it, and will only grow older and fatter... because at twenty-three I am finished.
I am still young.
One of my favourite parts in the journals are in the section entitled "Notes on Interviews with RB: Friday, December 12th". These notes reflect a lot of my own thoughts on mothers, men and writing. I could bore you with quotes from the whole thing, but here are the keys ones for now:
On choosing writing as a profession:
"We can't now and maybe never will earn a living by our writing... Weren't the mothers and businessmen right after all? Shouldn't we have avoided these disquieting questions and taken steady jobs and secured a good future for our kiddies? Not unless we want to be bitter all our lives. Not unless we want to feel wistfully: What a writer I might have been, if only....
What do [society] seem to want? Concern with a steady job that earns money, cars, good school, TV, iceboxes and dishwashers and security First. With us these things are nice enough, but they come second. Yet we are scared. We do need money to eat and have a place to live and children, and writing may never and doesn't now give us enough. Society sticks its so-there tongue out at us."
I was bought up in a household where everything was 'too expensive', where my mother bent over backwards to save pennies on her weekly shopping, where I never asked for any presents unless they were 'educational', where I wasn't allowed new clothes unless I desperately needed them and they were massively reduced in the sale.
Needless to say, my financial independence was the best thing that ever happened to me. And the biggest thing I regret in taking the job at the boarding school is losing that. I will have to pinch and save again.
I'm afraid, just so afraid. Afraid of being poor, afraid of never getting better, afraid of loneliness, afraid of sadness, afraid of failure, afraid of sickness, afraid of living, afraid of the world outside, afraid, afraid, afraid,
because every decision I make always seems to be the wrong one - always makes my life worse.
Everything always comes back to this: FEAR
When I was a teenager, I thought after leaving school everything in my life would come together, because I had suffered so much so early on. I've had my share of sadness, I thought, it's gonna be all uphill from here... and I cannot believe, I genuinely, cannot believe that aged 23, every year, it has become progressively worse.
The sickest time of my life aged 20 - unable to leave my bed, unable to leave my room, unable to stop crying, unable to stop self-harming and vomiting. I never, never imagined I'd go through that again, let alone go through worse.
And here I am - worse. Haven't seen anyone I know other than my Mum since the beginning of November. Too afraid. Too fat. Too afraid.
But there's nothing wrong with the world, or other people. There's something wrong with me. I accept that.
...So maybe I'm a masochist
I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave...
There's something very wrong with me.
And I'm very afraid.
I have to believe that I am running away to find happiness. I have to believe that it will be ok. I have to believe that I'm not a failure just because I don't work in the City anymore. I have to believe that it's ok to still be working out what I want to be at the age of 23. I have to believe, STILL, I have to keep believing that I will get better and I will never experience sadness like this again.
And in the words of dear Betty Suarez as she turns down a New York fashion column in the final series of Ugly Betty: "I know it was the right thing to do, but it's still scary... I mean, maybe I was on the wrong path, but at least it was a path."
I can't help but wonder, if I wasn't ill, would I be working in the investment bank, strutting around in new Louboutins I bought with my own money? Or would I still have made this choice and left it all behind... because it was the right choice for me?
Sending you all lots of extra love over Christmas,
for I really love you all so much x x x x
I hate Christmas. No, I don't hate it, I dread it. I find it the most depressing time of year. Empty and terribly depressing. Me and my Mum, pretending to be happy. A depressing meal. Disgusting 'treats'. Food at the centre of everything. Stuck in this sad house choking back the tears. Every year since I was 11 years old, it's been empty and unbearable.
And this year, I'm running away. I'm leaving for Egypt tomorrow morning for a week. I'm sick of the cold and the emptiness. The most wonderful thing about travel is that you can become so far removed from your life back home that it's almost as if it doesn't exist. It's the most liberating feeling.
I don't have to do Christmas. I don't have to do it! I don't have to curl up alone, stuffing my fat bulimic face, wishing there was something stimulating on the TV to distract me.
I cannot put into words how relieved I am to be running away from Christmas.
Anyway, my point is, I felt compelled to post before I went away, although I have not been able to write to all the people I want to and need to... argh! Anyway, as I was saying. I have all this stuff which I jotted down and needs posting, so this post is a bit of a blotch of stuff I just need to put down before I go away and have not had time to make coherent and flowing....
The lovely Cally C commented on my last post how eating disorders are like abusive relationships. Now, there are a lot of songs with a lot of quotable lyrics, but these lyrics really seemed worth putting down in writing. It's exactly what I'd say to Ana/Mia.
Love The Way You Lie Part II - Rihanna ft Eminem
On the first page of our story,
The future seemed so bright,
Then this thing turned out so evil,
I don't know why I'm still surprised.
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes,
But you'll always be my hero
Even though you've lost your mind.
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,
But that's all right because I like the way it hurts.
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry,
But that's all right because I love the way you lie.
Now there's gravel in our voices,
Glass is shattered from the fight.
In this tug of war, you'll always win,
Even when I'm right.
'Cause you feed me fables from your hand.
With violent words and empty threats.
And it's sick that all these battles.
Are what keeps me satisfied.
...So maybe I'm a masochist
I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave...
And some notes on my decision to leave the City and its monetary rewards and move to another part of the country to work in a boarding school - I still don't know if I made the right decision:
Sylvia Plath in her journals states, "I am still young. Even twenty-three and a half is not too late to live anew".
If she says it, it must be true. I must force myself to believe it because so much of my current despair comes from being twenty-three, from my belief that my life is over now, because I have failed to make it, and will never make it, and will only grow older and fatter... because at twenty-three I am finished.
I am still young.
One of my favourite parts in the journals are in the section entitled "Notes on Interviews with RB: Friday, December 12th". These notes reflect a lot of my own thoughts on mothers, men and writing. I could bore you with quotes from the whole thing, but here are the keys ones for now:
On choosing writing as a profession:
"We can't now and maybe never will earn a living by our writing... Weren't the mothers and businessmen right after all? Shouldn't we have avoided these disquieting questions and taken steady jobs and secured a good future for our kiddies? Not unless we want to be bitter all our lives. Not unless we want to feel wistfully: What a writer I might have been, if only....
What do [society] seem to want? Concern with a steady job that earns money, cars, good school, TV, iceboxes and dishwashers and security First. With us these things are nice enough, but they come second. Yet we are scared. We do need money to eat and have a place to live and children, and writing may never and doesn't now give us enough. Society sticks its so-there tongue out at us."
I was bought up in a household where everything was 'too expensive', where my mother bent over backwards to save pennies on her weekly shopping, where I never asked for any presents unless they were 'educational', where I wasn't allowed new clothes unless I desperately needed them and they were massively reduced in the sale.
Needless to say, my financial independence was the best thing that ever happened to me. And the biggest thing I regret in taking the job at the boarding school is losing that. I will have to pinch and save again.
I'm afraid, just so afraid. Afraid of being poor, afraid of never getting better, afraid of loneliness, afraid of sadness, afraid of failure, afraid of sickness, afraid of living, afraid of the world outside, afraid, afraid, afraid,
because every decision I make always seems to be the wrong one - always makes my life worse.
Everything always comes back to this: FEAR
When I was a teenager, I thought after leaving school everything in my life would come together, because I had suffered so much so early on. I've had my share of sadness, I thought, it's gonna be all uphill from here... and I cannot believe, I genuinely, cannot believe that aged 23, every year, it has become progressively worse.
The sickest time of my life aged 20 - unable to leave my bed, unable to leave my room, unable to stop crying, unable to stop self-harming and vomiting. I never, never imagined I'd go through that again, let alone go through worse.
And here I am - worse. Haven't seen anyone I know other than my Mum since the beginning of November. Too afraid. Too fat. Too afraid.
But there's nothing wrong with the world, or other people. There's something wrong with me. I accept that.
...So maybe I'm a masochist
I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave...
There's something very wrong with me.
And I'm very afraid.
I have to believe that I am running away to find happiness. I have to believe that it will be ok. I have to believe that I'm not a failure just because I don't work in the City anymore. I have to believe that it's ok to still be working out what I want to be at the age of 23. I have to believe, STILL, I have to keep believing that I will get better and I will never experience sadness like this again.
And in the words of dear Betty Suarez as she turns down a New York fashion column in the final series of Ugly Betty: "I know it was the right thing to do, but it's still scary... I mean, maybe I was on the wrong path, but at least it was a path."
I can't help but wonder, if I wasn't ill, would I be working in the investment bank, strutting around in new Louboutins I bought with my own money? Or would I still have made this choice and left it all behind... because it was the right choice for me?
Sending you all lots of extra love over Christmas,
for I really love you all so much x x x x
Money doesn't buy happiness...but neither does poverty. what i really want is to have it all but that is possible only for the select and lucky few. you ARE young. 23 is still so young that you can do this and still re invent yourself later if you decide. despite your sadness you are lucky in a way. you are super smart and you've had both worlds...you just have to pick which one you want. Have fun in Egypt. Sounds positively amazing.
ReplyDeleteI hope you have a wonderful time in Egypt, I think it will be good for you to get out of the country for a while, and have some sun.
ReplyDeleteTry not to regret your decisions - you can never know which was the right choice, because there isn't one. Just see what happens, it might be great. It's a risk you have to take, otherwise you'll never know whether it could have worked. It's better to try, and regret, than avoid the decision and stay stuck where you are.
Have fun in Egypt
xxxxxxxxx
Merry Christmas Ophelia, and all my love. I really hope your flight does operate and some airline does not ruin your Christmas as BA currently is ruining mine.
ReplyDeletexxx
ps: oh thx so much,excuse the spam'ming BUT i am convinced absolutely convinced you will shine shine shine even more than you do now, in way that even you cannot ignore and I am CONVINCED that the best is yet to come for you! i wish you could see how incredibly gifted you are. (sounds clichee, i know BUT i mean it!)
ReplyDeleteLOVE
I agree with Fed Up...money DOES NOT buy happiness...true happiness. I hope the boarding works out for you. I truly do.
ReplyDeleteIn the meantime, have fun in Egypt! I have wanted to go to that country since I was 11 years old!
Even though you hate Christmas, i am not sure if you read this before or after you leave, anyways, Merry Christmas honey.
ReplyDeleteMoney doesn't buy happiness, and well you don't know if the boarding works out for you, but you have the guts to make a decision which could possibly change your life and that's something I envy you for, because it shows strength. It's brave.
Hopefully you'll have the greatest time ever in Egypt, you deserve this more than you can imagine honey.
Love, x
I hope you have a wonderful time in Egypt. <3 It will be good to get away for a while.
ReplyDeleteAt 26, I still have NO IDEA what I want to do with my life. I mean ideally I'd like to get paid to write. But as far as a "real job," as my family calls it? Not a clue.
There is no wrong path--you make the path. You make you own way to wherever you want to go in life. And if you don't know where that is yet, that's ok. Keep on making your path, and you'll get there eventually.
xoxo
You ARE young. I have these thoughts all the time. I can totally relate. Talk to any "adult" or professional (that isn't one of your parents) and I promise you they did not have a straight path. It was screwy. There were diversions. That is life.
ReplyDeleteEnjoy Egypt! It is super nice.
Have a good, fun trip in Egypt. You deserve some time and peace. I only wish I could escape for christmas as well.
ReplyDeleteAnd everything will turn out alright, you must believe that. We all support you here and though it is hard to believe it at times, there are people who care.
Take good care of yourself, dear, and try not to worry about whether or not you are making a mistake. It only brins on more stress. Take care, love. Have a wonderful trip! Don't forget to have fun :)
Ophelia, I hope you got everywhere you wanted, at the very least location wise. And stop talking about your heyday, as if it has long passed. It’s still to come, you silly, beautiful person.
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year.
hope you're having fun now. and forget your NOT so good chritmas :)
ReplyDeletekeep smiling girl
any way. love your blog. hope talk to u soon babe.
xo
Money don't mean shit when you're miserable. I'm sort of running the same questions through my head, wondering where this all leads, whether it's worth going there. Will I be them I pity? Can I live with that? Is that what I'm actually meant to do? All I'm good for? And that said, many good writers do so while working a full-time job - at least til their work either makes enough or they take time off the 'real' work. Either way you do have quite a way with words and I suspect it is only your determination which will decide what happens for you. I'm hoping for a published book to be honest.
ReplyDeleteAlso, thanks for putting that in about Eminem's song. Have had that same thought in my head about my own e.d. and it does seem eerily accurate given the amount of verbal, mental and physical abuse she causes. Is it any wonder we're fucked up?