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...

They warned me before I went - but warnings are just words. I wasn't prepared in any way for what I witnessed last weekend. My Mum and I went to see my Grandad. My Grandad lives in another part of the country close to my Aunt and Uncle - from my Dad's side of the family - and went into hospital in December having deteriorated drastically. We monitored the situation over the phone as the snow at the time made it impossible to travel the long distance to see him. They didn't think he would make it. Since being in hospital, his condition has improved but he had to move into a home where he could get full 24-hour care. We had lunch with my Aunt and Uncle before we visited him together. "It's incredible," said my Aunt, "the ability of the human spirit to cling on - even when the body is at then end, that spirit still clings on." I nodded, not really understanding. "It's awful where your Grandad is now", she continued, "Just old pe...

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 haven't logged on since I wrote my last post three weeks ago. I think I thought it was my last post. It would have been a nice note to end on wouldn't it. I want to thank you for all your kind and positive comments. I will find the time to comment back I promise. The first thing I noticed when I logged back in was the number of followers I have. 456. Four hundred and fifty-six people thought my words were worth following. I'd never really thought about what an extensive number that is. Of course I can't leave. And I can't leave for many reasons - this blog is like blood letting. Take that to mean everything that blood letting can do and for every reason that it is done. But more than that, this blog gives me a connection to people who understand me, people with the same wires crossed in their brain, the same creatures crawling underneath their skin, the same heart beating the same desires to the same rhythm... I'm part of a community and a family whe...

I have a new training program in place - a 10k training programme to be precise. It's hard to have an eating disorder whilst trying to train intensively at the same time - the two things really do conflict... But the fact is, I'm going to be running some races with Alex and some other super fit guys in the Autumn - after a Summer away on the LDAC that is. Yes, for any American readers, I am coming over to the US for a month to take part in the ROTC Leader Development Assessment Course. I have very little idea as to what it all entails exactly... other than it is something similar to the Territorial Army Commissioning Course we have here in the UK at Sandhurst...? If any of you out there have any info or experience of it I'd love to hear! So, my fitness is pretty good - in fact I can meet the male entry standards for Sandhurst (well on the run and situps anyway - my pressups are sill rather feeble!!) so I know physically I'm in pretty good shape... however it's...

I got an extension for a piece of coursework I was doing for law school and I had to get my doctor to sign the medical reasons on my ‘concessions form’. You want to know what I think of the fucking health care in this country? Well this should say it all: He wrote my first name wrong and mis-spelt my surname. Under medical problems, he wrote ‘Anorexia and Depression’. I' ve been diagnosed with Bulimia for fucks sake. The rest of the questions he barely answered or ignored. And I paid £19 for this proof of apathy. My exams start at the beginning of June. If I do them, I will fail. I have the option... to not turn up to exams and then give in a concession form like the one I did for my coursework. If they accept the bulimia as a reason for not doing exams then I will get the chance to retake them in August. Do I do it? My life is eating, throwing up, exercising, restricting, thinking about food, crying over my body, worrying... I can't do anything else, and I’m never g...

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...

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...

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...

Presenting Problem: Ophelia presented with symptoms of severe depression and severe levels of anxiety (as indicated by scores of 22 on the PHQ 9 and 17 on the GAD7 respectively). Ophelia told me that she is obsessed with her weight and how she looks. Ophelia explained that she will restrict her food for a few days, and then will eat a lot and vomit afterwards. Ophelia said that this is having an impact on her studies, and she won't go out to lectures if she is feeling particularly bad about her appearance. Risk Issues: Ophelia said that she often has thoughts of suicide, but said that she would never act on those thoughts. Ophelia also explained that she does self-harm about once a fortnight. She told me that these cuts are fairly superficial, and she has never needed medical treatment for them. Treatment Plan: Ophelia and I agreed that I would refer her for a further assessment with one of our high intensity therapists. In the meantime, I have sent Ophelia some self-help materials...

This blog is now one year old! I can't believe it. Over 300 followers and still writing. So I am going to take you back to where it all began... In the Autumn term of my final year at University I chose a module in Literary Theory and Trauma. One of our projects was to analyse some blogs - so naturally I decided upon an eating disorder one. My google search at the time came up with one: Dying to be Thin - Anaregzig - The queen of all pro- ana bloggers . I read it from beginning to end. And that's when I found that a sanctuary for me did exist - here. I didn't start up my own blog until the end of term, after Christmas. I never intended it to be 'pro- ana ' and still don't, really. I just wanted to write freely. I wanted to be able to express exactly what was going on inside my head, exactly what I wanted and believed and exactly who I was, without the fear of social prejudice. My desires then are the same as they are now: - I want to recover and be normal. -...

Little sparks of happiness... from an ashen grey wreckage... my world... Yes there are bright little sparks sometimes which jolt sensation back into my fingertips. When I finally found the courage to go back to law school this week after over a week of hiding away, I felt foolish. It was fabulous to be back. Fabulous because I was just normal. I just forgot about my eating. I chatted and laughed, saw my friends again, felt emotion again and wasn’t alone anymore. I don’t have to be alone and miserable. Behind the fastened doors of my silent home is an incredibly vibrant world. Living. Every time I need to get somewhere in the City of London, I walk. Just to fall in love with the spirited streets, the structures, the history, the visions, the pulse. Breathtaking. But I admire the sights on my own – because I prefer it that way. I was 17 when, as a heart-broken teenager waiting for him to text me back, I fell in love with the City. I stepped off the train at 09:30 and disappeared. It was ...

I found out that 15 years before he died from cirrhosis of the liver, my dad was prescribed Antabuse - in other words, he was being treated for alcoholism. So he knew he was an alcoholic long before it killed him. I had always thought it was a secret. I questioned her about it. "If he knew, then why didn't he stop? Why didn't he get help?" She defended him, "It was an addiction. He tried, I know he did try, he really did try... but he couldn't stop." So she knew too. "But he knew! He should have got help!" I stopped myself from telling her she should have made him get help as well. "No, Ophelia, you don't understand. It's an addiction... like a drug addict... they know what they are doing is harmful, but they can't stop. I know he did try." So when I opened cupboard doors and found secret stashes of vodka, inconspicuous coke bottles filled with white liquid, cups of 'washing up water'...that was him trying was it?...

This post is not so much about thinspiration , but the women who inspired my vision of beautiful perfection, made me believe in it, aspire to it... ....my head full of beauty inspiration. Vivien Leigh I've been in love with Vivien Leigh since I was about 5 years old. Well...to be truthful I was in love with Scarlett O'Hara. Gone with the Wind has been my favourite film since I saw it as a little girl. I was completely blown away by her; her beauty, her courage, her power...Vivien is absolutely tiny in some scenes of Gone with the Wind, her figure was perfect. According to the book, the character of Scarlett had an 17 inch waist. W-O-W. (Proof that my lifetime idol had an ED surely!) This last picture is my favourite of the whole movie. It's where she walks into Ashley's birthday party and knows everyone is talking about her, but her poise and the look on her face just says it all: "I'm beautiful. I'm better than all of you." Oh, I love it. I've wan...