A Head Full of Beauty

I studied a book at University called ‘Spasm’ in which the author suggests that someone might create an illness because she ‘knows no other way of telling her life’s tale...the illness a conduit to convey real pain.’ Is that what my eating disorder is to me? The desire to stuff my face and throw up, the need to run until my feet are blistered raw, the buzz from fasting and curling up in a ball locked in the toilet cubical - are these desires created or born from the inner pain I had for so many years and had no way of expressing or feeling physically? Cassio is in the dangerous position of making me remember who I am. I am the girl who devoured books and poetry, wandered around the galleries alone, writing, dreaming, opening up her bare, raw soul to the harsh elements of Art. He is a culture snob. Fine dining, classical music, expensive clothes, European languages, European cities. He could never love London like I do, even as an Italian, his heart will ...

I never imagined how I'd feel if that moment came, but I think, it didn't matter as much as I thought it would - because all this is the truth. But would I change it if I could? Of course. I feel like I'm nearing the time that all these blogs inevitably seem to face - permanent deletion - as if Ophelia had never written. It's going to come, I think, with my 'growing up'. One day, I will look back on my life, and be able to point to this week as the week that I grew up. I grew up the week I went back to school again. As most readers will know, I hate my job and I despise The City. That's simple. The more complicated issue is how I survive from hereon... I began to consider becoming a high school English teacher a few months back, and am now moving forwards with my application, potentially to start my training in September 2011. (Teaching being one of three courses of action I am currently pursuing - but I will not bore you with details). To be succes...

Why, oh why has Ophelia been posting so much? I drifted so far away recently, posting once a week, once a fortnight.... Well, truth be told, Alex has locked me out of my facebook account in an attempt to get me to concentrate on revision. Oh yes - exams! Exams... seven to be precise - three hours each - the day after each other. excellent... So instead of sitting at my laptop pressing the 'refresh' button on my facebook homepage and seeing what uninteresting things my 480 'friends' have been doing, I have been sitting on blogger, reading old blogs, reading new blogs, commenting here and there, and of course, posting my usual rubbish! I used to be a good blogger - good to read, good at replying - an attentive blogger, a caring blogger. I think it's the slide from Ana to Mia. Ana makes for a good blogger, and Mia makes for a very bad one. Lets face it, what is inspirational about a wobbly white girl stuffing her face and spewing? This is the most messed up my li...

Does it get better? Does it ever go away? That emptiness in your head; that chill seeping through your blood; the coldness... I can't get rid of it. I sit myself on the edge of the sofa and draw my knees up to my chest. My huge legs, huge pink soft marshmallow legs, scrunching up the rolls on my tummy, big rolls. For all I have done, all week, all day, all night, is binge. Food is the narcotic. Eating is the addiction. I want to call him and hear his voice. I want to send him links to videos, to some of your blogs, to articles, to words, to pictures, to voices, to help him listen to mine. I want him to help me. But I don't want him to understand. I can't do it to him. Not only do I fear losing him (for what 19 year old boy wants to deal with a crying 22 year old falling to pieces on their shoulder?) But I fear I will destroy him as much as I have destroyed myself. "You don't see the world like I do." "What do you mean?" "You don'...

Facebook says I am 'in a relationship' with Alex. So, everyone knows; it's not a secret, it's not being kept quite, it's not a rumour, it's not gossip. It's there now, in black and white. Ophelia is in a relationship with Alex There we go, dear readers, after all the endless posts of turmoil, lust and heartbreak, it's happened. Ophelia has a boyfriend. Sweet Jesus. Tonight I have cried. Uncontrollably weeping on my bedroom floor. Like the Drama Queen I am. Crying because I know I can't do this. I can't keep up the act. I can't keep up the lie. I'm trying to think up excuses not to see him this weekend because I am too fat, because I am too sad, because I am in too much pain. I've been spending almost every other night at his. And this week the cracks have begun to show... I can't keep it up - this happiness thing - it doesn't understand me. I should be the happiest girl in the world. For I am the luckiest girl in the world. I...

I've been out of control for too long. I am on the waiting list. Waiting for someone to save me It has been months since I took that first step into the GP's office and said, quite plainly, 'I am bulimic. I binge and throw up everyday, often several times a day.' They assessed me and agreed: I'm fucked. So they wrote the name Ophelia on the end of a line of other names. And have left me to get on with it. I know there's nothing more they can do. THEY. Them... the ones I want to save me. because I can't do it on my own I wish that you could save me, I wish that more than anything, because I'm so afraid. It's not going to be Alex; he's never met the girl that writes this blog. He never will. I've put on the act far too successfully. I found the winning formula and I crafted a porcelain mask from it - a mask that sits far too comfortably and fits far too well. Alex would never love Ophelia. And I would never burden myself upon him, because I kno...