A Head Full of Beauty

My head never shuts down. If I could only find the switch, turn myself off, I could start living in the real world again, I'm convinced of it... but maybe there isn't a switch. Something I saw on jd's blog struck a real chord with me, I thought it was perfect: For a head so full of words and emotion, so much of my life is consumed by numbers. the numbers game Calories. I can't remember the last time I forgot about numbers in my head. I must have been so young. I wonder sometimes, about the whole genetics argument - that some people are more predisposed to eating disorders than others - we have the genes for it so to speak. Was I born this way? No... I'm sure I can't have been, but at the same time I'm acutely aware that I've always had the symptoms and the character and personality for it. I was never like other little girls. I tortured myself mentally for not looking perfect. I tortured myself for being 'fat' when I was a skinny littl...

Have you seen the fasting? It's beautiful. There's a light on in the kitchen. She's trying to get out. The fake sugar chemicals turn black inside me - blacker than blood. I shut my eyes last night and felt a feeling in my hands. The feeling travelled up my arm and I thought... this was it, I was going, everything was shutting down at last. I put down my writing pad and pencil and shed tears for him. But I didn't care if I was leaving - he is young, he'll forget - I didn't mind if I didn't wake up. I positively wanted it. I'm terrible, and I'm horrible, I know, but recovery is not an option. I can't believe people recover from this. I'm so far away. I want to call you. Alex. I want to tell you the truth about how bad it is. What's wrong with me. I took photos of myself on my phone today. I couldn't believe it. I really, couldn't believe how true it was. The mirror is kinder than the camera. The mirror has angle...

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...

I know my posts are starting to become really sporadic. I apologise. I'm trying to live... trying to be busy... perhaps I'm trying to run Anyway. "I regret to inform you that the Medical Board has decided, having reviewed your medical history ....you do not meet the medical entry standards." I got turned away from two careers this week. The first I had to have an interview with a doctor. The second I had to have an interview with a psychiatrist. I couldn't lie my way out. I tried. I have to thank Mia. I have to thank my body. No one wants to employ someone with a 'history' of mental illness. Even though I lied and told them I was cured now. It's still there. It will always be a black mark by my name, no matter how I try to put a gloss on it. It's still a blip on my character. It says I'm unstable. It says I'm weak. It says unemployable . Anorexics are turned down because: "It is impossible to predict the 20% of sufferers who m...

I've told D that I'm going to go to his on Thursday. But I'm still too fat. So I may postpone it till Friday. Or Monday. Or never. Wouldn't it just be so much easier if I deleted him from my head, never heard from him again, never thought of him evermore. Oops, sorry D, I forgot you existed. I went shopping today, with him in mind. Every time I remembered one of his messages and remembered something sweet he had said, I smiled - a great, big, sunny, daydream smile. The goddamn boy makes me smile . And yet, now, I just want to cry. I binged. I am too fat to go and see him, too fat to go and wow him. I am a terrible fuck up. It is too late, again. I messed up, I missed the deadline, I gave in. I fucked it up. I will not go and see him at this weight. I would be humiliated. The experience would crush me. I really want this. God, even just thinking about him makes me happier than I've been since the countryside days I spent with James back in the Summer of 2008. That wa...

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 ...

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 ...

I have many regrets.I have many memories of which I am ashamed.I am flawed in the worst way possible: I am weak. I am fragile. I am not always completely there. I cannot blame anyone for hurting me because it is my weakness that left me open to feel pain.I am unstable. I cannot expect others to hold me up. I cannot blame anyone for letting me fall because I should be able to stand on my own two feet without them. I am a girl with standard brown hair and brown eyes. My thighs are too big. My self-respect is too small. I am an identity. I am. A fragile. Identity. I am a hypocrite and easily prone to jealousy. I am always so jealous, because I am so insecure.I am broken and I am torn. I am stuck together with lies. I have scars in neat rows and a head going round in circles. Night is for nightmare. Day is for daydream. Ophelia is for someone else in the mirror. I hate the girl in the mirror. I do not blame you for hurting me. I blame myself for wanting you to make it better.I blame myself...