A Head Full of Beauty

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

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 m

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 kno

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