A Head Full of Beauty

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.” The Journals of Sylvia Plath This blog is called 'A Head Full of Beauty' for a reason. When I started this blog I was already writing voraciously, spilling my emotions out in the strongest form of expression I had mastered. Literature and poetry had always been able to move me and help me feel the beauty in the world and in the human race. For me, beauty is not about aesthetics, it is not about what we see with our eyes but what we feel with our hearts. We feel beauty, it is an emotion, it is a movement in our soul, it is something transcendental. Beauty can be sad, it can be happy, it can be tortured, it can be innocent, it can be fresh, it can be ancient... While I hated everything about my physical self, I thanked God everyday for the beauty h...

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...

See Part One here . I sit down at my desk first thing on Wednesday morning to find an email waiting for me from Aiden, the City Lawyer. I read it hurridly and smiled. "Aw, so sweet...he's so sweet." This is the standard reaction I seem to have from every message he sends me. He's incredibly thoughtful and sincere, a textbook nice guy. He had no reason to email me and I wasn't expecting to hear from him until he was back in the UK at the end of the month. His unsolicited email indicated that he'd been thinking about me. His emails were getting more personal, he was talking about emotions, things he likes, experiences and dreams... With every email he sent I began to recoil from him further. Of course in my replies I gave him just as much back, but I couldn't help thinking that he was giving too much to start with and being too keen. I would never have sent him emails like that - and I'm queen of keen. The final nail in the coffin came with: "I'...

So it didn't really matter that Harry wasn't there in the end. All it meant was that it was a pretty uneventful night in which I drank far more than I needed and... well, nothing happened. My friends have always expressed concern about my lack of fear in walking the streets at night, but I've been doing it for years. Sure, I've had to run off from a few shady characters, I've been jumped on by a licenced London Black Cab driver, I've searched desperately for a friendly taxi on dark streets I didn't recognise, but it says a lot about me really - and as I said in my first post: 'I'm not afraid of any conventional fears.' We ended up in club called Fabric up in North London. It was gone 4am and I was done for the night. I vanished before anyone could start lecturing me. Naturally I hadn't eaten all day to ensure that my body was empty and at its thinnest, so my first stop was to buy food. Alcohol impairs judgement : half a pizza, half a subway s...

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 mus...

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...

I don't know what I'd do without you all. How on earth could I possibly get by without this blog? Without the love and support I receive through this medium? I just don't know. My physical 'friends' hate me whenever they see a glimpse of my true tortured soul. I am so sick of this aching, brave facade, but it's not a choice, it's a necessity. I went away this weekend with 'the club' - one of our weekend camps if you like. Of course D was there. He spoke to me once or twice in passing, but that was it. It wasn't as if he ignored me exactly, but there was none of the sweet friendliness and enthusiasm that he had shown towards me before. It seems he hadn't told anyone about me visiting him last week, or in fact acknowledged to anyone that we had become anything closer than mere acquaintances. Perhaps on the weekend he felt that he couldn't let the others see him being overly friendly with me? Perhaps he felt awkward? Perhaps he just wanted n...

It was the Fresher's Party for my law school a few days ago. You can already tell I fucked it up can't you. I got drunk. I mean annihilated . Threw up everywhere. My new friends... superficial friends - don't like girls that behave like me. I told a girl I was bulimic - after I had to stick two fingers down my throat outside a new London club to get the liquid poison out. "I could tell," she said, "You never eat." I'd be amazed if those girls are still friendly with me on Monday. I hadn't planned on acting like trash, but I hadn't eaten for days and my starving body couldn't take the alcohol ...and as standard, drunk and blacked out from sickness, without a sensation in my body, I ate and ate and ate - until I thought my heart was going to stop - but I wasn't scared. Holly yes, I do believe. I've done it before. I'm doing it again. Stay with me. Be strong, you deserve happiness. The pretty, paper mask is crumbling. But it'...

Home. I am finally home. My unhappy sanctuary. I have come home for the last time. I used to pack my bags on Thursday afternoons when I was at university and get the cheap train home for a long weekend. It was worth the hassle and the long journey just to have a house to shut myself up in alone – a house where things were ordered and sober – where there were no men; no threats, no temptations. Home was the only place where I could cover up my body beneath a thick duvet and forget that it existed. It was a difficult two weeks at camp as you can no doubt tell from my last post. I got away at most mealtimes with just eating vegetables and fruit. There were many arguments as usual, but I give up now… I have yet to meet anyone (in the flesh) who understands and supports my desire to better myself. Perfection, to everyone I know, seems to be a mere fiction in a world that proudly accepts its disgusting self. If it weren’t for this blog, my followers, commenters, I would never be able to beli...

I'm on Camp. Somewhere in some bleak, uninhabited part of rural Northern England. Just under two weeks to go... I meant to post before I left but didn't have the time. God I hate being away from home and internet! I'm currently paying £1 for this 30 minute connection in the bar so I can write. I thought this camp would be a great opportunity for me to get away from all the temptations of the kitchen at home. I have to eat three meals a day with the rest of the people that I work with. So no snacks and no opportunities to buy or binge on food when I get weak. I get here and am given the itinery. Massive piss ups almost every night with my team, led by guys with beer guts three times the size of the rest of them. Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol - the most calorific thing on the planet... that makes my belly swell and makes me crave food and makes me lose control of my willpower to restrict. Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol... that is all these people do! Oh and when they're not drinki...

I seem to have been pretty on track recently. But what a blatant, disgusting lie to write that now. I have been on track and I would still be if it weren't for men alcohol and my stupid need for attention. I showed them what they were missing. A perfect slim dress with ruffles, red ribbon, red shoes, dark hair over my shoulders, sultry makeup. I surrounded myself with boys who couldn't have me. I was out of their league. I thrive on that adrenaline beat of the dancefloor . My life revolves around what I become in that space and who other people perceive me to be. I am the one they want. But I'm not, not at all, not really, not in the harsh reality of sober daylight. But I know for that space of time, I am something. I am vibrant and alive, you can touch me and I can respond. In the club, under the artificial lights, I am not beauty or fragility, I am desire... a sensual but sordid desire. It's now 7am. I was supposed to be on a coach back home to London for the weekend ...

So, the weekend. On Saturday I took a walk into town where there was a little ethnic fair going on. Stall upon stall selling sweets, pancakes, barbeques, oriental ornaments, handmade jewellery etc. I spent ages looking at all the precious little cupcakes and sweets, lovingly crafted like miniature works of art. I loved it: just taking in their visual beauty, not tempted in the slighted at their taste. It makes me so happy when I can surround myself with delicious food and take delight in just looking at it. In the end I bought a little packet of caramel roasted almonds and ate a few as I took a walk around the town’s botanical gardens. More visual beauty. It was such a perfect day and the birdsong was ringing loud and clear. Everything was in bloom, and the flowers were calling to me, come join us, come join us. There wasn’t even the slightest gust of wind around…it was all just perfectly still perfection. I want to be a flower, tranquil and naturally beautiful. I felt a little bit gui...

Water. No calories. In the right mind set it is extraordinarily filling. I'm drowning in it. Drowning is the glamorous way to go don't you know. I think I made that up. I want to thank you all for all your comments. You are the best support system a girl could ask for and I am so incredibly grateful. You have to forgive me for my lack of posting and commenting recently. I come on here everyday, numerous times a day, to read all your posts - I don't know why I can't write. I think sometimes it's because I feel so... unworthy? I will make up for it! This blog is the only place in the world where I don't have to lie. I lie to everyone else: my friends, my mum, my university lecturers. I even lie to strangers. Except I don't call it lying, I call it 'hiding the truth'. But why do I feel the need to hide the truth? It's simple, I don't want to hurt my mum, I don't want be labelled a freak, I don't want to be misunderstood, I don't wa...

"Men. They're just not worth it." "You're SO beautiful." "He's clearly blind." "You can do so much better than him." "He's not worth it." No. Dear friends, you're wrong, it's me. I'm not worth it. He's not blind, he just doesn't fancy girls with fat legs. I'm not beautiful. I'm dead. Oh the cliches. They come out thick and fast from my friends. Last night, prime example. So, in my last post but one 'further into ana's arms' I mentioned Sam and how I had started to become really attracted to him. Well we started chatting via facebook and texting etc, and it was all so lovely, and it made me so happy. I thought there might be something... Last night was a big social to the student union club, and naturally I persuaded him to come. Oh, I was so excited, so high, so full of desire to live. Our conversations had led me to believe he was coming out just to see me. So I let myself imag...

Another week of being locked in my room. Another week of missing uni. I cannot bear to be seen right now. I don't just feel hideous, I know I am. I am, fuck it, underneath the carefully applied makeup and nice clothes I'm fucking hideous. My clothes are horrifically tight after all the amount of weight I've put on this week. I know it's been loads, and I don't have the guts to stand on the scales and see what I've done to myself. I went on the most mental binge I've ever known on Wednesday after my friend's birthday. Two packets of crisps (the massive sharing bags!), a packet of biscuits, a tub of ice cream , 4 sandwiches and not to mention bottles and bottles of alcohol. Of course the next day because I was hungover and felt like crap I had to go on another binge and so on. My mate had a massive go at Oliver on my behalf. I made a massive fool of myself in general going around telling everyone how much I liked him. I humiliated myself on a massive scale...