Hungry for The Boy

The main point I need to make from my behaviour in my last post is a very strong and clear one:

I am not a role model.
I am not a role model in any physical way, shape or form.

This is physically the most ill I have ever been. And there's no denying that. Even though I feel on top of the world, even though mentally I've never felt better, that's all kind of irrelevant. It's irrelevant because my body won't last - and what's the point of being happy and being so alive inside when you know the physical medium that's holding it all together won't last for too long.

I am either starving and over-exercising; bingeing and purgeing multiple times a day; or abusing laxatives, or several of these at once.
The weekend after I slept with Theo I started to get scared. I pumped my body full of junk food after ripping my digestive system to shreds. I began to be afraid for the first time that what I'd been doing was going to see me end up in hospital - and that is a new fear I've genuinely never seriously contemplated before.

Fact is, this 'success' is coming at a heavy price - I'm pushing my body further than I've ever done, I'm living a life that's zooming by at top speed, not caring about the consequences of anything as long as I'm having a good time.

I'm living like someone who knows her time is short. I want to live as fully as possible, I want to get squeeze everything out of life while I can.
It's wonderful to live like that, to not think about consequences, but its scary too.
My digestive system is about to give up on me, I know I simply must not take any more laxatives now. I was frightened for the first time in my life that my insides had stopped working. I spent four days stuffing myself with food and nothing moved. Relief came at last. All the parts still work.

Millie and I had a good heart to heart the following Monday and she told me some home truths. Millie and Rhianna are actually two of the best friends I have ever had.
Millie told me that I was in no position to have a relationship. And when she said it, I realised it was totally true. None of these guys have a fucking clue who I really am.

Our chat prompted me to call up Alex and speak to him for the first time since we broke up last year. I asked him why he broke up with me. Although he originally tried to say again that the eating disorder had nothing to do with it, but I was relieved when he finally stood tall like a man and told me the truth.
He said he saw no future for us because he never believed I could get better. He hated that there were two sides of me. The happy, fun girl I was when I was with him and the crazy broken girl with the eating disorder who he had never met. That was the truth - he had no clue who I really was - and that was the deal breaker.

Despite all this I decided to pursue Theo. We had been texting since that night, initiated by me of course, and often getting very flirty and pushing the boarders of acceptable. I asked him out for a drink one eve after work and was very surprised when he agreed. I was almost certain he wouldn't have wanted to start dating anyone from work, simply because he'd been quite anxious for there to be no awkwardness or bad feelings between us which would distract him from work or get him into shit.

We set the date for Thursday.

...

"So for him, I'll do it again."

I walked to the train station the next morning after our date in a daze. It was pitch black with a slight drizzle, and judging by everyone's coats and scarves it was probably freezing cold too, but being so steaming drunk I was still burning like a furnace inside.

I walked with an odd sense of pride in my step.
Now, I felt like a real City Girl.
Just like the ones I'd been reading about who rolled into work still drunk and wearing makeup from the night before.

I had left the office just after 5pm that Thursday evening in the City of London. I stood delicately outside the entrance doors and looked around vulnerably. I couldn't see him anywhere.
Then I looked across the street.
He was crossing towards me.
I smiled, my eyes misty.
My God.
He was crossing towards me in perfect City Boy gear, white shirt and red tie to complete the suit ensemble.
An hour later I sent Rihanna and Millie a joyous message: "Omg he's so pretty. Kill me now."
It was only 6pm and I was already drunk - clearly not eating for two days had been a great idea...

The evening started off pleasantly, we got on, despite my nerves, there were never any awkward moments. Things started to get more heated as we got more drunk. We had our own table on an upper balcony, he made me smile and laugh and burn with joy. His hands ran along my body with so much desire and pleasure. His kisses were long and hungry. Once we started making out, it was impossible to stop. It was like we were in our own world again.

That evening I started to see a shred of vulnerability which I was drawn to immediately.
Outside the bar as we smoked, the bouncer commented on the way I looked and jokingly said to Theo, "Woah mate you are punching WAY above your weight with her!" I smiled but at the same time felt uneasy. He was openly attacking Theo in front of me and I didn't want him to think for an instance that he wasn't good enough for me. Too late. The seed of doubt had been planted.
"Why do you like me?" he asked when we were back inside.
I looked at him tenderly and shrugged, "I don't know, I just do. I either like someone or I don't." And I took him through all the moments that had led to me falling for him more and more.
He then began to worry about his figure. "You have such a good body - it's motivation for me to get in shape. I have to start working out more. When I look at myself naked it's horrible. What do you find attractive about me?!"
I reassured him. "Look, I'm very fussy, you know that, I don't just go for anyone. It takes a lot for me to like someone. And I like you."

I didn't ever want him to remember the words that bouncer had told him. I'm not in an objective position to say whether Theo is in 'the same league' as me, but I do know for certain that is absolutely not the way I feel. I feel like his equal, on a level with him in so many ways, on so many wavelengths. I don't care if he's not perfect. I don't care. I don't ever want him to think he's not good enough for me - because fucking hell I know exactly what that feels like.

When it got to midnight I looked at the rosy pink cocktail in front of me and shook my head.
"I can't drink it. I'm really sorry, I need to eat."
We left and walked again, several minutes later perched on a ledge enjoying a chicken burger like it was the most beautiful experience in the world. I apologised profusely but it didn't even seem to matter. A deserted street, intimate moments in the silent night.
He held me so tight, I could feel the vibrations of how much he wanted me and I wanted him to have me, completely.

I got in a taxi home at 1.30am. We had work the next day. I was so sad to leave him.

The next morning I couldn't stop smiling, I was glowing with happiness. I'd found someone that made me feel alive and excited about living again. It had been so long.

Ophelia is smiling. Ophelia is smiling. Daydreaming about the boy she kissed and held on to all last night. Ophelia is too happy to be scared about what pain might ensue.

He told me I had an amazing body.
My God, it's like a fucking drug.
I want to hear it over and over again, I want to feel his hands tasting every inch of me in bliss.
I drank juice and laxatives for two days before our date that Thursday evening. This whole weekend afterwards I've faced the terrible aftermath, my digestive system keeping me up all night getting rid of the death inside me.
Ran for 3 hours on Saturday, gym and swimming pool on Sunday.
For the man that loves me enough I will kill myself with joy. I will make sure that he never wants to let my body go.