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Who is she?

A low point hits
and I have no way to express it.
I realise this is the only place where I can cry or scream or speak.

I am not a great conversationalist. This is something I have noticed in this job - where I have to sit with people every mealtime, make small talk, engage in conversation, every goddamn day. Sad to say, this is new to me. This is too much.
It is this constant requirement to talk that has shown me something interesting: that I internalise pretty much all my thoughts and feelings. I must come across as the most boring and uninteresting person with absolutely no views whatsoever - because I just don't like talking. I can sit and listen. I can nod. I can sympathise. But I can't talk. I'm not a talker. I'll sit and think, I'll write, I'll think some more. But I don't talk about what passes through my thoughts. I just... don't.

And this blog was a gift. It gave me the voice I never had - not just to voice my eating disorder and my fears and anxieties, but also to simply voice my opinion, my everyday trivialities and heartaches...

When I feel sad, I don't tell anyone - even if I wanted to I can never seem to find the words in speech - and yet I come here and the words flow. Perhaps it is because I think the people I speak to will judge me, perhaps, it sounds stupid when I say it aloud, perhaps I'm simply just a poor verbal communicator... I don't know.

This evening has been bad.
The demons started to come back two weeks ago - when I wrote that last post. Visions of self harm started to flash across my thoughts again.
Overall, the eating has been controlled and my mood has been stable.
Protein. Vegetables. Fruit.
No carbs. No dairy. No wheat.
Running, gym, DVD workouts.
And the figures on the scale are going down again. Soon I will have to start putting weights in my pockets when I go for my weekly therapy sessions. She weighs me every week and I am not allowed to lose. I have to maintain. I wonder if she sees the victory dancing furtively in my eyes as I watch her draw the line on my weight graph downwards.

When I got off the train to London for my most recent appointment I took a mini detour to the Tate Gallery to stop by and see two of my favourite paintings. Ophelia by Millais and The Lady of Shalott by Waterhouse.
Two characters and two paintings that I have loved even as a child, before I understood the depth of their meaning.
The Lady of Shalott

Why do I love to go to that small London Gallery to stare at these two women? What do they represent? Why do I feel a connection to them?
And yet, why do they feel like they belong to another world? - is it death that separates us? imagination? dreams? or something else?
Both these women, in literature and art, were created by men. Funny. If I created a heroine would she die?

This evening has been bad.
The memories have come back to haunt me.
2010. London. The worst year of my life. That horrible, horrible chill in my heart.

I innocently looked at the facebook profile of a friend from the Club and then I couldn't get rid of the chill. That place. Those people. The mirrors. The alcohol. The sexism. The pressure. Alex. That horrible, horrible place. Why did I go there. Why didn't I just stay away from all the things I knew would only hurt me, all the things that had destroyed me while I was at uni. Why did I come back to London and put myself through it all again?

I don't want to remember that place and those people and those memories. It just... there's just a horrible chill, a twisted, sickly chill deep inside. I feel the black clouds rumble over my head and suddenly it's dark again, and I want to starve, just want to feel light and thin and in control, I want to feel glorious, I want to feel powerful, like a winner...
and the moment I got back to my room tonight, I snuck out and ate. Bread, toast, peanut butter, honey, jam.
Throw up. I throw up so it all comes out, all the binge food, all the dinner, all the feelings, all the sadness, all that twisted cold stuff deep inside, out, out, OUT,
damned spot.

I did this, I did this! And I can't scream, I can't say a word, I can't do anything, except sit here and type... and wait for morning. Because no one here knows. I can't even breathe the slightest syllable.
No one here knows Ophelia,
they just see a little girl who says yes and no with a simple smile

I don't know if I can fight this.
One side of me longs to give in, to curl up in a ball and sleep forever.
One side of me wants to fight and live and go back to the world.
And I know I can do one,
But I am not convinced I can do the other.

People like me, we're always haunted aren't we? I've read about them, they couldn't get better, they couldn't shake off the darkness. It's just... the way.

I want to smash my cup against my desk and use the broken pieces to cut my arms.

I need more water to help me throw up. There's still more to come.

I'm not going to sleep tonight. I have to write and work. Must work, must write, like a fever, must not sleep. Sleeping means fatness.
My body will be drained tomorrow. And that will feel good. Then my bed will feel so good. Weak and empty, dragging my limbs behind me. That's good.

I can feel the pressure of the water around my head. My ears still ache.
A dummy at the bottom of the pool. I ducked, kicked furiously and somehow propelled myself to the bottom. Panicking, I grabbed frantically at the body, finally getting a hold and shooting up to the surface in slow motion. Spluttering. Relief.

But what if the dummy was real?

I don't know how to escape my memories.
People say you must learn to deal with them, learn to cope, talk about them, blah blah blah. But I do face up to my memories, I don't suppress them - they are always haunting me. The problem is that I feel constantly haunted. And it's not 'the Club', it's not the memories, it's not the sadness, it's not Alex...
it's the darkness.
The eating disorder came out of the darkness - perhaps it wasn't just a consequence but a way of coping with it - I don't know. But I do know, the darkness came first.

I'm always going to be this way, wherever in the world you put me, however many new chances and new beginnings I get. I am who I am. I am what I am.
I don't know if I should accept that or fight it. I don't know if I believe in fate.


  1. :(
    Hugs to you.
    Don't know what to say here. Sad that you are sad.
    <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

  2. Those are two of my favourite paintings of all time. My other favs are all Waterhouse... This Ophelia:
    Last I heard, they still can't find the original.

    I'm sorry you're feeling so down. I wish I had a way to make you feel better. I truly do. <3


  3. I'm not much of a conversationalist either & an internalizer too, so I can deffo relate to you trying to muster through these situations of arbitrary chit chat.

    The Darkness of which you speak...I know it too. I, too, wonder if I am what I am or if I should fight it. At the same time, I know what it's like to be what I am so why not give it a shot and strive for what I want? I think what keeps me going is the 'what if..'

    You never know what you are capable of until you try.

  4. You write beautifully.

    I can completley understand not wanting to talk to people. I'm the same way. You just have to learn to polietly not care if they think your disinteresting. The people who matter will always know better.

  5. I think, I'm afraid, that the darkness will always be a part of you. Because it's part of your history. But that doesn't mean it will always take over and haunt you.
    Going off to the school was never going to clear the slate completely, because if it was that simple, we all would have done it! But I do hope that it is at least giving you time to think.

    And keep reminding yourself that although the number going down feels liberating, and the weightlessness is beckoning, it cannot lead anywhere but further unhappiness. It only makes the darkness worse. I know that you know that.

    Sending a huge hug xxxxxxxx

  6. This comment has been removed by the author.

  7. If I could rip my heart out of my chest and use it to help you fight, I would. I know you can win over this shit, it's hard and nasty and takes everything you have and more to get up from each trip and fall.

    Fate is bullshit. The ads on buses keep telling me "Fate doesn't control your cornering, you do" Yeah I control my cornering, but I don't control the cunt coming the other way crossing the centerline. You've had a nasty fuck-off smash on the road caused by an unneeded sideswipe. Nap, rest, get your inner balance back.

    You don't need to be a chatty person. Some people are, some aren't. Lol, if people bug me when I'm reading on a break I get really shitty with them. There's all kinds. You do what is you, ok?

    Gah, I feel like such a fucking lecturer. Sorry! Dralion sends love and cuddles and piles of fluff <3


  8. Sometimes I sit with people and think "just say something... anything... just speak or they will think you dull and worthless..." I keep quiet and then I know they know what I know... I am dull and worthless.
    I think they are my friends out of duty and sympathy, they haven't the heart to stop having me around poor, pathetic creature who else would have me...
    I love your blog, I wish we'd see more from you but most of all I wish the darkness would recede.


  9. i have become more reserved do to the world my mind lives in. it makes it easier i think... but i do not know.
    im very sorry you feel so down and sad, i wish i could come give you a hug *virtual hugs*


  10. You are such an amazing writer, so talented.

    I find it difficult to make small talk day after day with my co-workers too (at this job anyways) because I simply cannot relate to them.

    I say fight it, fight the darkness.

    ~ H

    Ps. I don't know if you are into these things but I gave you a blogger award, because you deserve it.

  11. Both those photo's are beautiful, the raw honesty of them.
    Please don't hurt yourself! Keep you chin up, stay well.


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