I've been dreaming about Alex again. This makes me angry. My dreams keep on suggesting I want him back.
I do not.
I wish I could turn off my dreams and not have to experience them.
I want to start today with a comment from Anonymous (gotta love them) which said "You say the same things over again."
Yes. Of course I do. It's called having an eating disorder. What better way to express the hell of this cycle in which it is impossible to escape than with prose that is itself on a cycle. RESTRICT - BINGE - PURGE - CRY - PROMISE TO GET BETTER - RESTRICT - BINGE - PURGE - CRY - PROMISE TO GET BETTER etc etc.
I have a message written on my cupboard wall which is still visible if you look closely. It says: This is THE LAST TIME signed by me and dated 11th August 2008. It refers to the last time I will throw up. I've said it everyday since.
"I hate that I can't get better," I told my therapist last week. "It's so frustrating. I've wanted it for so long, and now I have the support and I have all the resources I need and I can't do it. And I hate myself for it. Every time I fuck up, I know it's because I didn't try hard enough."
"How long have you had an eating disorder?" she asked in reply.
"Since I was 15 - for 8 years."
"And how many sessions have we had?"
"I dunno... like, 12?"
"11.... If you could get better on your own and without any trouble, you wouldn't be here. We've had 11 sessions, and you've had this disorder for years. It's going to take time."
I wrote a letter to my Dad today. It said:
I miss you.
Dear Dad, I miss you. There's so much more I need and want to say. But I can't write it, I can only say it to you, ask you, listen to you, discuss with you. Screw you for leaving. Screw you for putting me and my mother through all this pain. You got out easy but we stick it out. But I can't blame you, because I understand, I am your daughter, I have your blood, I have your sadness... I am one half of you.
They say shit like this can be genetic, if so, I know I got it from you.
It wasn't so long ago that all I wanted was to die. My Mum had to sit helplessly and listen to me crying myself sick half begging to let me die. I just don't want to live anymore! I've had enough! I'm sorry. I just want to die. No Mother should have to listen to that and I can't take it back.
Who'd have predicted that years ago? When I was a popular star pupil with a Mum and Dad that took me to the park on Sundays.
I went all wrong.
If I were to pinpoint the very worst month of my life it would be...November 2010. Couldn't leave the house, couldn't stop eating, couldn't stop throwing up, couldn't stop crying...
I am out of the very darkest times now. If someone were to threaten with me a gun I wouldn't be too bothered, but I can safely say that thanks to my new job I no longer want to kill myself. The fact that I am happy and safe in my new location and new job is a huge deal and it makes me pleased to say it.
But I'm only staying in this job until July - this always has been a temporary situation - it is not what I want to do for any longer than my contract. So what do I do afterwards? Every grad scheme I've applied to has rejected me and now I've run out of time...
For my whole life I have wanted to be a journalist and a writer. My whole life. That's why I chose the A levels and the degree that I did. On my personal statement for my undergraduate course in English Literature I wrote about how I wanted to write and all the projects that I was working on. Writing is all I've ever wanted to do. It's the only thing I've ever been remotely talented at. It's the only thing I love.
So... why did I leave uni and go to law school? Why have I not done any journalism work experience or a post grad course? Why?
Because I decided I was a failure. I wasn't good enough, I'd never make it, I'd never be published, I'm second rate, I'll never make it to the top. It's too much of a risky career, no stable income, no regular working hours, I'm not tough enough, I'm not good enough.
Low self-esteem and eating disorders go hand in hand - they feed each other. Only when you hate yourself enough can you convince yourself that you need to be punished and starved and purged. I perfected my eating disorder because I perfected my self-hatred. I think I'm a worthless piece of shit, so I never even tried to become a journalist or writer. I knew, or rather I decided, that I wasn't good enough to make it.
The only thing I could put effort into and the only thing I believed in was getting thin and being successful in the eyes of society. I wanted to be perfect and polished in a perfect and polished suit, not running around in flat shoes with scribbled notes chasing stories about cats stuck up trees for the local newspaper. But no, that's NOT true, I don't want the perfect and polished 9-5 in a grey office in the grey city - I've never been that person and when I had a taste of it I found myself going mad with boredom.
Sure, I don't want to work on the local paper my whole life, but I have to if I want to reach the dizzying heights of the BBC or The Times. And at least, AT LEAST, I'll be doing what I want to do even if my Mum and society think I'm a failure in the meantime.
I gave up on my dreams before I had even tried because all I knew was how to hate myself and all I believed was that I had to please others.
I want to write.
Hillary Clinton meme
8 months ago