A Head Full of Beauty

It nearly didn't happen. Millie and Rhianna spent all of Tuesday trying to convince me that Theo didn't really like me. I was devastated and broken, but mostly I was angry. How dare they tell me who I should or shouldn't date, telling me that I'm nothing to him, just another girl he can fuck, that he should be behaving in a way that they deem more appropriate, chasing me like a lovesick puppy. I was furious and my self-esteem was in shatters again. Sure, he was rubbish at replying to my messages and never gushed his feelings towards me, but I'd only really known the guy a few weeks! They sat me down and told me that taking him out on Friday would be a terrible mistake because he didn't like me and would only hurt me. But I am a rebel. I rebel against anyone who tells me what to do, and my God, thank goodness that I do! I remembered the way we had talked for hours, I remembered the way we had laughed, I remembered he had made me feel something I hadn't fel...

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...

Thursday 27th October It has become a rule to binge - to eat myself to death - after a night out. Why. Why not. I am the queen of throwing up. I'd had an intense few days at work - travelling abroad and then pushing myself to the limit in the office overtime. It was nearing the end of a long Thursday afternoon and I needed to smile, laugh, feel good, feel power, feel - feel something. I knew where to get it. Cassio. I sent him an email. Dinner? He said no. Already had dinner plans. But drinks was a yes. I pranced over to his desk when I finished. Tony saw us, smiling knowingly at me. The good looking young kids always found each other. It was lovely. I loved friendliness, I loved chatting, discussing, questioning. When the time came for him to go to dinner with his friend he asked me to join him and I beamed. Of course. We had dinner with two of his friends and one of their other colleagues - all Europeans. He told me I was the first English girl he'd made friends...

It was early on Tuesday morning and the grey rain had begun to pour down on London. I walked into the office kitchen. He was standing by the window, tucking his soaking shirt into his trousers. I tiptoed behind him, trying to avert my eyes, and reached for the paper bag with my days worth of juice on the table beside him. It's not the first time we'd met in the kitchen, but every time we met we just blanked each other. Mark is hot - I mean, he's not just my office cutie, he is fantastically hot - but he works in a different department - a department which is not considered to be as sexy as mine - and departments don't mix in our corporate hierarchy.  But this time I dropped the cool act and mustered up the courage to speak. The silence was too awkward to ignore. 'So, er, you got a bit wet then...' He laughed, 'Yeah, it caught me unexpected', I smiled and held my breath. He was standing at the other end of the kitchen, sopping wet. I couldn't take ...

"Do you think I'm thin, average or fat?" I asked Rob as we walked out of the tube and towards the nightclub. "Thin!" he said. "God, average is horrible! I like women thin, proper model thin, that's what it's about. None of this junk in the trunk shit. I look at some girls that guys really fancy and I'm just like - Put down the fork love!" "Wow," I said, genuinely shocked at the way he then went on to talk about a number of my healthy-sized colleagues. "It's refreshing to not have to listen to the age-old 'men like women with curves' story that most men feel necessary to go on about." "Yeah, I don't know why girls don't work hard to be thin! Seriously, put down the fork!" I had indeed put down the fork that day, so no doubt, Rob would have approved. After a dosage of laxatives I'd only had a small bowl of soup at lunch in order to keep my tummy flat for that evening. Most of the peo...

I am the biggest gameplayer in the world. I treat my whole fucking life as a game. Like every game I have a goal and a strategy and I play to win. When I feel the rush of success coursing through my veins it simply sends me spinning. Work is a game with two prizes - men and career success. I know that if I play my cards right in this job and work hard over the next two years, the City will be my oyster. I also know that with all the attractive men in my office I'll never get bored. The City is my stage. Like every actress I love an audience, I love performing, I love having a strong presence. The roaring streets, the shiny office, the City winebar - all such wonderful stages, danced on by my high heels. I live for every new morning so I can sit cross legged in front of my full length mirror and preen my long hair and paint my face carefully, a cup of coffee and a bowl of porridge at my side. I open the wardrobe of lovely dresses and shoes which I had once feared I'd nev...

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...

I must start off first of all, I suppose, with a remark: You will see now, in the top right hand corner, my little award. I... well, I... it meant a lot. I'm reading a fantastic book at the moment: The Golden Notebook  by a wonderful British author called Doris Lessing. I had never heard of her until she was mentioned on a programme chronicling the great British authors on television recently - I made a list of all the ones which sounded interesting - this book was top of the list. I had recently finished reading Rebecca by Daphne DuMaurier - what a remarkable, all-consuming book. It became a necessity for me - I used it on my commutes to and from work, craving to just be taken away for those two hours a day, completely consumed in that world, that world of yearning. I could smell the fresh woodland of Manderley and the pure salt air of the sea... I could feel the chills of Mrs DeWinter - yes it was a book of feeling - wonderful feeling! It took me away from London, they gre...

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...

There are tears stinging the backs of my eyelids every time I shut my eyes to pause. This world is hurting me so much. The truth is, I'm living, I'm so very much alive, so fit, so healthy, at my peak... except I'm doing it for the spectres that haunt me and keep my blood running so cold. I am a living eating disorder. That's it. There's nothing else left in my head anymore. You know, I'd give anything, to update my facebook status to say really 'what's on my mind'. Don't you ever just want to scream at the top of your voice. "PLEASE HELP ME. Underneath this pretty blush and giddy personality I'm dying, I'm torturing myself, I'm killing myself. Please fucking help me." I've reached the stage where I can't eat anything without throwing it up. The only reason I'm not losing weight is because my initial intake is so much that I can't be getting even half the calories back up anymore. I'm 22 years old and my l...