A Head Full of Beauty

I'm putting myself back on anti-depressants (Fluoxetine). I watched The Iron Lady last night and there were about two 10 minute intervals in which I did not cry. Throughout the rest of the film I just sobbed manically, tears dripping off my cheeks. I'm raw these days. It's like there's no flesh on me, just touch me and you go straight to the nerve. Everything hurts and everything makes me cry. I sobbed all the way through The Iron Lady because it reminded me of my own mother - or how she will be in a few years. The film perfectly depicted the heartbreak of losing a husband - God knows I have no idea what it feels like, and yet I cry my eyes out for my Mum - am sitting here crying my eyes out for her now. And that was it really. The old, deep-seated inability to deal with death and loss and grief. My mother who lost a husband and has only known pain and heartache since, who is getting more and more fragile and frail by the day. And what can I do except give her a ...

Anonymous said... stop binge eating stop throwing up stop taking laxatives and you'll be fine. eat a bit and starve the rest of the time. if you can't starve eat a little bit of fruit or veg. if you carry on like this, if you lose alex, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. get it together. 14 June 2010 13:18 I never forgot this comment - so I went back to search for it. I never forgot it because even at the time, I knew it was so true, and I wasn't strong enough - am not strong enough - to end the binge and purge cycle. Sometimes I get these pro-ana comments which are harsh but true. I like them. I noticed how many comments I have that I've never been able to respond to properly - and I apologise, because I haven't had the time to show how every single one has been read and taken into my heart. I'm going to catch up and write back this next week.   When I was at my most disciplined I was wonderfully thin. In the beginning of my second year o...

On Thursday I gave the keys back to the house in London I was supposed to be living in with my two friends. That door is shut now. It killed me to do it. It was great to go there on Thursday, and be with friends, to laugh, to forget about the pain. To be the girl I used to be. To laugh. And it killed me because I had to walk away from it and come back to this room in this house I hate . That door is shut. I got the job offer from the Investment Bank. But I can't take it - sorry - I won't take it - because I won't live this nightmare anymore. Living in this house, trapped, and working a job, trapped. dead. trapped. It's as I said in my last post - It was two choices - live or die - take the new job and move out or stay here and rot. And when I came back home my Mum saw that I wasn't kidding. I'd shut the last door that led out of here and back to life. And I resigned myself to suicide. I told her so, frankly, as I had warned her the day before she made me...

I love having an eating disorder. I must do. Else why would I do it. You don't do something you don't want to. I didn't want to do my job. I quit. It's easy... If I take the job at the Investment Bank, I'm moving out, I'm going 'back on the crazy, fit men and alcohol' . If I turn the job down, I'm staying here with my Mum, and reading books. I choose to live. Or I choose to stop living. I told my Mum my choices. So after shouting at me for wasting money on rent she has stopped speaking to me and pretends I don't exist. (Yes. This is what I deal with.) If it wasn't for my Mum I'd have jumped. I live so that she doesn't have to bear anymore loss or suffering in her life. But she kills me in another way. Yeah. I never write much about her. I won't now. I want to live, you know. I want it back. I opened up my cupboard and ran my hands through my vast collection of beautiful dresses and clothes. Stacks of shoes, dai...

I mentioned a few posts back that I was off to have an assessment for psychotherapy on the NHS . So I feel I should update you on how it all went. Diagnosis: Bulimia Nervosa (How enlightening!) Ok , let me stop myself there. I need to say at this point that anything sarcastic/rude/mean that I say about my therapist or my session is just my frustration talking. She actually turned out to be one of the nicest people I've ever had to talk to (out of several doctors, nurses, councillors and other random do- gooders ). She was the first person that I have ever spoken to who I did not feel was judging me. I would even go so far as to say that she understood. My words made sense to another human being - it was incredible - in an odd way, for the first time, I felt sane. So, it was quite revealing - all the stuff I had to talk about. My non-existent, fucked-up relationship with my Mum. My alcoholic Dad drinking himself to the grave when I was a child. As a teenager, the hated ...

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...

Sigh. I didn ’t step on the scales this morning. I know the figures would have gone up from eating so much yesterday and I couldn ’t bear seeing higher numbers. I’ ve been a bit of an emotional train wreck these last few days. Some sorta full on bipolar, manic depressive roller coaster . Screeching round tight corners between break-neck hyper joy and the slamming breaks of reflections in the mirror and screaming inner pain. My mum has been eating away at the remainder of my self-esteem with devastating effect, constantly finding fault with every single part of me. I received my degree results in the post when I got home from work on Tuesday night. I got a fucking 2:1. I was sooo relieved and thankful. My mum leaned over the staircase banister and looked blankly at me. ‘So you’re happy are you?’ she said bitterly. ‘Yes.’ ‘I expected a first. Honestly I expected a first. You always used to get the top grades.’ And that was it. Not a smile even. It didn ’t really affect me. I knew I was...

So, a few days ago I declared that I was off to buy some laxatives to clear out my podgy belly. Took one. Nothing. Took two. Standard. Took three. And spent all day at work cramped over in severe pain and running to the loo every half hour. Oh my god did I curse myself. 8am to 5pm sat in an office, feeling like something inside me had collapsed. What I would give to go back to uni already and spend my days curled up under my duvet! I am sick of maintaining my weight. I'm working so hard on restricting my calorie intake and nothing is happening. Although I haven't exercised for like two weeks or something - maybe three. That's disgusting. I need to sort it out. I was a member of my gym at uni, and loved it. Now that I'm back home I can't get a gym membership anymore because my Mum believes in saving money over being healthy. She controls everything I spend and everything I do when I'm living with her. Working in an office with these long hours leaves me no time ...

Mmm it's not so bad sometimes, is it? And the second I've written that, the tummy rumbles - it is such an attention seeker. Well I'm gonna teach it a lesson by ignoring it's pathetic cries. My fast is still going well and I am still smiling! Instead of raging headaches and wanting to sleep, I just feel really healthy and happy. I had a day off from all activity yesterday. I am a bad, bad person, but to make up for it, I enjoyed a killer session in the gym today. 600 calories on the treadmill alone and then 1,000 metres in the pool. Usually I'm knackered by the time I get into the swimming pool (always my last activity) but today I was just hammering out the laps easily... can't explain it, but certainly not gonna grumble! I've always had severe hangups about the size of my arms and rather than moaning about it, I've taken to spending that little bit extra time in the gym to use all the machines that work out the arms.Even in the last week alone I'v...