A Head Full of Beauty

. Made in Chelsea '...the scandalous lives of London's elite' Well, I was certainly not made in Chelsea. My friend Harriet however, is a purebred 'Sloaney'. Her mission in life (and she won't mind me saying this because she admits it herself) is to find her perfect Sloaney husband - signet ring compulsory. (A signet ring, I had to learn, is a ring with the family crest, and according to Harriet a true Chelsea Boy hallmark.) I wrote a few posts back that I was going to become more like the girl I had made friends with at law school a year ago who had dug her claws into all the right people to drag herself to the top. Socially, I have already been a climber. I've cut almost all my ties to my working class South London roots - everything from my accent, to my clothes, to the friends I have made, has been changed to reflect my move up the social ladder - albeit superficially. If I were to 'class' myself today then I'd put myself quite com...

Let me start this post by saying this is not the thinnest I have ever been.  But I'm not too far off. As I get thinner, the rate at which I'm losing is slowing down dreadfully. It's hard not to beat myself up when I step on the scales in the morning and see the same number as the day before. It's hard not to feel disappointed because I know that I'm working so hard and doing the maths so well. I sat with a child at breakfast this morning. "Could you have eaten as much as I did?" she asked me when she had finished. "Oh yes", I said, "Of course!" "But how can you be so skinny?!" "I'm not skinny!" "Yes you are!" I tried to contain my joy. "Oh, well, I eat loads, I promise. I eat loads." At night I run my hands along my body with glee, feeling my rib cage grow closer and closer to the surface all the time. There was a fabulous quote which Harlow posted from Crystal Renn's book '...

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 t...

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 a...

So, as I mentioned in the previous post, last Friday, I went back to my university city for the big reunion dinner that evening. As is protocol now, fasting, laxatives, exercise preceded. This could not shift the scales from the undeniable fact that I was 5 kg fatter than when I went to this reunion dinner this time last year. Yes. Fucking Yes. I had my appointment with my psychologist in the morning before I got on the train. She helped me get through it. She is amazing. It's good to write down and map out all my irrationalities. I didn't crumble that evening - I went, I held my head up high, and I still looked nice. I did it. The immeasurable waste. It's always a waste isn't it, this stupid quest of mine. It's never made me happy. All the money and the hours of aching muscles and the nights of hunger and vomit... I do it for something grand, something wonderful, something I deserve... something I can't put my finger on, perhaps because it's not reall...

Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting . I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written... (Do read them in order if you can from #1 to #4!) Wednesday 24th March - Where Do We Go From Here? So, last night (Tuesday) I came out to see Alex while he was with some of our mutual friends at the Club. I was worried at first - I was scared to go in and hovered outside for several minutes... what if he ignores me, what if he doesn't come and speak to me, what if he acts like all the other guys do after they've got what they wanted out of me? I needn't have worried - of course I needn't - Alex isn't like any other guy. I walked in and looked around. He saw me...

Apologies for being absent for so long. The past week has been... crazy, emotional, sleepless... exciting . I've been writing everything in my notebook - It's been necessary for me to still write about everything even though I have been unable to sit down at a computer and update this blog. So, what follows are my entries and self-analysis from the past week, dated when they were originally written... Monday 22 nd March - Things As They Stand I've known a few guys who would have given the world for Ophelia - they would have been great boyfriends to me... But I never deemed them good enough. Conversely, I have known many, many more guys who wanted nothing to do with me - except conquer me for a quick meaningless shag. So yes, I've been liked by so many guys, some superficially, some more deeply. People who don't know me can't believe I've been single for nearly four years now. Four years. It's true; I've been the subject of so much male attention a...

It feels like I've been away forever. In reality it's been what, 3 weeks? I don't want to talk about my mother. I don't want to talk about what happened. She hasn't forgotten, but she doesn't want to admit it. I found myself in the darkest most chilling place... and I really, simply wanted to die. But I didn't. It takes more than that to kill me. I'm a fighter, remember . But I had to come back here. It's odd, it's almost as if it was a resistance... I had to resist the urge to come back and write. But I need this blog too much. I need it to keep me as grounded as it is possible for me to be. I want to thank everyone who gave me support on the last post, and on all my posts throughout the 14 months I've been blogging. I know I'm terrible at replying, but I intend to catch up very soon. There is so much to update you all on since I've been gone. All the events in the past three weeks seemed dramatic at the time, and yet, now seem so ir...

All the power I have comes from the mirror: it comes from seeing fresh, clear skin, big brown all-absorbing eyes, soft dark hair and plump pink lips. From toned legs, a trim waist and slim arms - my power comes from my confidence; my power comes from the way I look. It's a lie, when people say it's what's inside that counts. But we all know this. We all know that's a load of crap. The world is powered by superficiality. As a woman, being beautiful is more important than anything. Period. And I don't mean fake hair-extensioned , plastic beauty, I mean REAL beauty . I mean that naturally glossy smile, that healthy twinkle in the eyes, skin that glows and a body that's lean and fit: with charisma that sparkles. You see, when a woman has all these things, she can command anyone - any man, even any woman. I don't have Real Beauty. But sometimes, with a great deal of effort, I can come pretty close. The experiences I have in this state are simply ethereal . I can...

I'm trying to work out exactly where my life went from bulimic, dull, law-student to starving, vivacious, teenager... (again).... ...Oh that was it, meeting D and deciding to stay at ''the Club'' and socialise with them... I am back to being the crazy, drunk, fun-loving girl I was at University (as a result of being a member of "the Club'' at university.) Ohh I managed to resist the temptations of a lustful life for so long! I came to London and law school with such good intentions! I even came to "the Club'' in London with good intentions - to be boring, and do my job and go home! I avoided all men and all alcohol. (If you read all my old posts back, you'll see, if it hadn't been for me sleeping with Hugh last week, I'd be about to hit a one year dry spell in the sex department!) But now, men and lust and alcohol are back in my life with a vengeance - reminding me just how much I missed them. And my flirty, hedonistic persona...

This blog is my crazy space. It is the only place in the world, where I can be crazy. - Or rather, it is the one place in the world where I can talk, uncensored, about my crazy behaviour in the real world. Sometimes - as with the story I am about to tell - some people see my crazy behaviour - but you guys get the full picture. I suppose, what I'm saying is that this blog is not just about my eating disorder. It's about the terrible insecurities in my head, the reckless behaviour and the irrationality that comes from my mental instability - All the things that have created my eating disorder and which are also borne from my eating disorder - Body dysmorphic disorder, need for male attention, shopping addiction, obsessions, reckless drunkeness ... the list of abnormalities goes on. Now, 'The Club'. I've mentioned it in posts before, but feel I should explain it better for the purpose of this story. I was a member of 'The Club' at my university in another par...