A low point hits and I have no way to express it. I realise this is the only place where I can cry or scream or speak. I am not a great conversationalist. This is something I have noticed in this job - where I have to sit with people every mealtime, make small talk, engage in conversation, every goddamn day. Sad to say, this is new to me. This is too much. It is this constant requirement to talk that has shown me something interesting: that I internalise pretty much all my thoughts and feelings. I must come across as the most boring and uninteresting person with absolutely no views whatsoever - because I just don't like talking. I can sit and listen. I can nod. I can sympathise. But I can't talk. I'm not a talker. I'll sit and think, I'll write, I'll think some more. But I don't talk about what passes through my thoughts. I just... don't. And this blog was a gift. It gave me the voice I never had - not just to voice my eating disorder and my fears a...
The City Girl Made of Glass - The true story of a girl burning up under the glare of the bright lights of The City of London