Something amazing has been happening. In three weeks I've lost 4kg.
I even had a small binge last night on rice cakes and peanut butter only to find that the numbers were still down on the scales this morning.
How I have missed this feeling.
I feel sick. Hunched up as my stomach churns with acidity. I'm not walking, I'm shuffling. Another 10k run in the sun has re-blistered the weeping wounds on my feet. Pain.
I feel so sick... but, if i threw up what the hell would come out? Some chicken breast, coffee, acid...
But I can't stop, because I'm falling, at last, I'm falling, falling, rising back up to my best.
God help me, I couldn't eat even if I wanted to.
I've finally dragged my sorry, fat corpse right out of the mud at the bottom of the river and now I can be rational again. Last year I let myself be consumed by bulimia, by a stupid little boy, by social conventions which choked and smothered me.
Well, here I am, it took me a fucking long time, but here I am, phoenix from the ashes, brighter and bolder, stronger and more determined, braver, harder... crueler.
There's a date in my diary and it's given me that evil glint in my eyes again, the glint of a woman who knows her power and ambition, a glint fed by heartbreak and sadness and the memory of what it feels like to be worthless.
I lift my head, jut out my chin, harden my eyes... because I know, I'm the one in control.
There's a date in my diary - in one week - I'm going back to London for a night out with some of the people I used to know at 'the Club' last year. Alex, I've been reliably informed, will not be there, but other guys I've had on my list will. And that's what I want, a show, a great, spectacular show just like the ones I used to stage.
Of course I won't reach my goal weight in one week but I will still look painfully good, I know I can do it in that time. And what is my motivation? The fact that Alex won't be there, but people who know him will. And I have to look so perfect that they will all be talking about it to him. I know I can do it.
I'm going to be back to my best: the untouchable girl who breezes by with a superior air. I'm going to act and play and feed off men. God, how I used to love it, the taste of power. The perfect, controlled white swan Odette will become the black swan Odile, who dances for show, for lust and desire, parading and prancing across her London stage, spinning, spinning, triumphantly daring you to keep up.
But then, I know it's not always going to be Odile who shows up in the mirror. There's every chance I will see a vile, fat, ugly duckling reflected back at me, the men will scorn me, I will be my own worst enemy, a bulimic monster. And even if Odile does play her part, I always know that I will have to shed the costume and sink into the oblivion of loneliness and emptiness that waits for me backstage.
We celebrated the Royal Wedding today, and I can't remember when the loneliness last hit me so badly. I imagined the life me and Alex would have had.
Recently, there have been a few nice guys on the horizon, but I can't go through with it, I can't even think of trying to go on a date. Even though initially I might be really attracted to them, I just don't want to get to know them, I don't want to make myself look good for them, I don't want to waste my time on them. I hadn't realised how much the breakup with Alex had affected my ability to let a man in. I can't let a man in, even slightly, because I could not bear to be rejected, even slightly.
I'm too fragile.
On my own I can do this, I can stand strong, I can stay in control and in command of myself. I cannot and will not let a man open the floodgates and let all the food in. I will not let anyone take away this complete control.
There's a wonderful part towards the end of Margaret Atwood's novel The Edible Woman where the main character, Marian, presents her fiance with a cake in the shape of a woman, accusing him of trying to destroy her and asking him to destroy and consume the cake instead. And how did she believe he was trying to 'destroy' her? By controlling her identity, giving her a role, a duty, putting her in a box, labelled by others... I cannot bear the thought of being even slightly controlled. I believe everyone wants to destroy me.
We had a special tea today in celebration of the wedding. I sat down with all my colleagues at a table laden with sandwiches, cakes, scones, jam and cream. I wasn't even slightly panicked or tempted - I felt nothing but nausea and anger at the sight. I sat politely sipping a cup of tea in silence.
That's when I knew I'd won the battle against the threat of a junk food binge, and all that is left now is to keep sailing along as I am. All I can think of is how much I hate food.
I wish I had someone that I could say that out loud to. I feel desperately alone.
Despite the ecstasy of stepping on the scales every morning to see a lower number, I find myself constantly choking back tears throughout the rest of the day.
Hillary Clinton meme
8 months ago