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Showing posts from April, 2011

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" - I love my Black Swan

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 …

"Obsession is a word the lazy use to describe the dedicated" - I love my White Swan

Of course, thank you to Anonymous who commented in the last post - I forgot Natalie Portman!
Natalie is one of those actresses who I've adored since the first time I saw her for having such flawless and dainty features - I mean, the woman still looked stunning when she shaved all her hair off for V for Vendetta.
I went to see Black Swan twice at the cinema and am counting down the days for it to be released on DVD here in the UK.
I love that you can see all her ribs in this picture and she has practically no breasts (I would give anything to be totally flat-chested).


Anyway, not only am a big fan of Natalie Portman, the film and its ridiculously sky-high thinspirational quality, I am also a big lover of ballet. This Spring I've been to see Swan Lake and Cinderella and have also booked to see Manon and Anna Karenina in London later this Summer.

I just love ballet...for all the obvious reasons. And yes, I am the only person I know who likes ballet, and yes, I go on my own.

As I …

A Body Full of Beauty

Funny, isn't it, the effect alcohol seems to have on my writing. I suppose that's when I feel and write at my most intense, 100% raw and 100% real - no craft. All night I was conscious of the words and paragraphs forming in my head as I danced, as I stood in front of the mirror, as I kissed, as I drank... all I was thinking was how to write it down and speaking it aloud in my head.

I don't know when I will stop hating Alex or when I will stop remembering how it felt to touch him. I don't know if I could ever let another man back into my life or if I'll ever want to.
History dictates that I always do anyway.

It was a shame that I had to drink on Thursday night, and that the drink inevitably led to eating foods that I had cut out of my diet with my Dukan Diet regime. But I'm back on track again, eating only chicken, fish and seafood and drinking only water and skimmed milk.
The new gym I joined is totally worth the £100 a month that I am paying. However, I'…

Look How I Fell

I think that sometimes, my drunken posts (which have been few) are some of the best. So here is my two pence drunken thoughts for this evening (morning).

I have just completed three days of the Dukan Diet (my three days of the attack phase of pure protein only.)
Day one, admittedly was a struggle. I smelt like protein - fish scent and poultry odour pouring from my very pores. It was hard. But I did it. Day two was easier, but still smelt like a piece of rotton protein. Day three and I'm thinking I could go on like this forever were it apart from the fact that I would kill for an apple.
At lunch, I swished the food around my plate to make it look like I was eating and maintained the most wonderful air of superiority and self control - just like the good old days.

Originially, several years ago, the bulimia spread from this girl who couldn't handle nightclubs and men and mirrors all in one go. I used to do it over and over and over again to myself, the torture, boys and music an…