A Head Full of Beauty

So, that trip to Athens that I was raving about last week? Cancelled. As I arrive back at my flat on Tuesday afternoon having purchased 200 euros and two boxes of cereal bars I get a call on my mobile telling me that there's a strike at Athens airport and my flight out will be delayed by 24 hours minimum. The man recommended I get a full refund. So, I did, walked back into my cold little room and promptly scoffed both boxes of cereal bars in agony. So, no pretty photos from Athens. Just plain words from England. I finished my final essay in the end, handed it in a day late, and it was a pretty poor effort, but like I say, not really bothered, I just needed that final pressure off my shoulders. Yesterday I ate about 6 bowls of cereal, 4 slices of bread and lots of biscuits in a binge, and I actually have a physical tyre around my waist. I'm disgusting. Just sickening. I've been thinking recently about a guy I know - an old romance if you will - or well, it was a romance in...

Today has been one of those rock bottom days. I hate it when I get like this. All I can do is sleep. I can't do anything else, my brain just won't function. Even if I've slept for 12 hours straight, if I get up and attempt to do anything, I'm just overcome by an intense wave of tiredness. I've just now got back from a binge-trip to the local supermarket, scoffing a double chocolate muffin and a wholemeal bread roll. I feel really sick. I hate muffins! Anyway, the usual thing to do right now would be to kneel infront of the toilet and shove my fingers down my throat. Well, I'm not doing it. My teeth have been really sensitive of late and I know they're rotting away with the amount of vomiting that I do. I have got to stop. I have got to stop. I HAVE GOT TO STOP! All day I've just been craving to get on this blog and write about how empty I feel today. And I kept stopping myself. No one reads your stupid blog, I said to myself. It's pointless and stupi...

I have, of late, been living a reversed life. Reversed in the sense that I stay up all night and go to bed in the morning. I've had a mountain of deadlines this week and more next week for all my university assessments, and for some reason, I just can't work during the daytime but work incredibly well at night. More than this, however, I think there is also an underlying fear of daylight. I've had this phobia since I was in my mid-teens. I remember in the morning before I went to school, I would spend so long getting ready, putting my make-up on, covering each single blemish, then re-covering it, then re-doing my hair, and then changing it again...I keep on and on amending myself until I looked bearable. I was frequently late for school, not because I overslept, but because I couldn't find the courage to step outside. In unnatural light or in the evening, I usually can cope with how I look. If I look in the mirror while I'm under daylight or very bright light, I a...

"Bulimia is not a pretty disease. It does not bring the admiration of peers, as starving does. Writer's have spoken about "the moral superiority" of anorexia nervosa. Being able to starve is an "art" because it involves self-control. One feels so morally superior! Society admires starving women. Not so with purging out-of-control women! There is no moral superiority in throwing up your food after stuffing yourself."

Bulimia is not an illness; it's a way of life. It is my life. That is how I live it. Scared of food, obsessed with food, intoxicated by food. Eating it knowing that I will throw it up in a minute. Eating with that knowledge that keeps me safe - the knowledge that keeps me fat. Bulimia is like any disease in that it begins to define you. I choose to be defined by bulimia, and yet, it is not a choice. I choose to cut myself. Sometimes I grapple with my emotions and force myself to stop...but if the knife is there, it's so easy and everything gets better. And yet, when people ask me why, I cannot explain it. To other people, I am just a girl on pills, a girl who can't sleep through the night, a girl that writes strange things and sees the world in a different way. I am a girl with scars on her arms. I am a girl who thinks she is fat. A girl who worries too much. I am an attention seeker. When I went to therapy last year for my eating disorder, I made progress, but still I didn...

I’ve just eaten a plate of rice with soy sauce because I was craving the saltiness. There is now nothing in my shared fridge at university which belongs to me :) I binged on a packet of cookies and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s this morning, but didn’t even enjoy a single mouthful. It was just compulsion I think. Last night, at about 5am, wringing my hands in madness at not having any junk food to binge on, I walked a mile up to my local 24 hour supermarket and ate a Sneakers Bar and a whole loaf of bread (yes, a whole loaf) on the walk back home again. To tell the truth, I had gone to try and buy some sea salt as well in order to do my first salt water cleanse. I could only find yucky table salt and didn’t fancy torturing my body with that. So, tomorrow morning I intend to search all the health food shops and supermarkets that I can in order to find some real sea salt! I’ve put on over half a stone over the Christmas period, which is, for want of a better word, disgusting. This is the fatt...

‘Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?’ I have no right to write this. This is a silent cry. The memory is a blur. But I remember his few sickening words. I can’t write them. The buzz that night set me alight and I was loving it. I set the part. I looked the part. I played my part – to perfection. I recall just two brief snapshots of it - but I can’t write them. I can’t put those two moments into words. They are just two images, engraved in the forefront of my mind, and every waking moment they haunt me. There I was, there’s my picture, there I am. Somebody help her, somebody get her out, somebody, please, anybody! Why didn’t you tuck me into bed and kiss me goodnight. Like a father would. Don’t you know that’s all I want. Perhaps I hope that if I don’t write it, it won’t be true. Perhaps I’ll forget. The spaces of blackness make me terrified. Sick. Horrified. Find me th...