Monday, 7 December 2009

Back home. Claustrophobic as always, I thought I'd beaten this. A month of freedom, no scales, no calorie counting and now back home, and all I can think of is the exact volume of balsamic vinegar I just poured onto my salad. She walks into the room, her look of disapproval mixed with self-pity. Her calculated sighs - pity me, pity me. What do you want me to say? Oh thank-you mother, you've sacrificed so much for me. I know, of course I fucking know. It's not like you don't remind me everyday of the people you've discarded, the dreams you gave up, the lovers that left, the pain I cause you. But you began this, emotional blackmail? Ha, you've only taught me how to be even better at it than you.
Today started as a good day. This week felt like a good week. It's monday evening and already I can't wait to escape. The Boyfriend is coming to visit. Or maybe. Everytime I say goodbye I feel like it's the very last time. Passively I wait for him to dump me. So I cheated. I lied about it afterwards. I wanted this one to be special. We still haven't had sex, two weeks into our relationship, I consider this a record. He still believes I am totally balanced, in control, normal. Why in the hell have I invited him home? Back to the source of everything? How do you purge your body of paranoia? How do you convince yourself that when he tells you you're beautiful it's not just because he's drunk and hoping this is the way into you. How do I reconcile myself with the fact that home is toxic? And why is the person who loves me most, the source of so much pain? I don't understand. It's why I fast. Silence in starvation.

Saturday, 28 November 2009

You can survive anything. It doesn't matter how shattered, weary and numb you feel. You're still alive. I know we're all in this far deeper than we'll ever know and trying to disentangle myself from that toxic world of chasing an ever-more elusive dream has been harder than I could ever imagine. But I'm still here.
The memories don't come back. Those hours of humiliation simply don't exist. Thanks for all the encouragement and love - without those comments I'd probably still be cowering here.
And this week... I got a boyfriend. Proof that if you present the most beautifully composed parts of you in a wholesome, cheerful package that you can deceive anyone into believing the lies you repeat everyday into the mirror... 'I am beautiful. I am not crazy. I am loveable. I am not crazy.'
When he holds me, I stop thinking. Finally silence. The Beautiful One, The User, The Long-term Crush just fade away. I have never been happier in my life than in silence in his arms.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

if i could never leave my room again, huddle here forever. 6.30 in the morning - still drunk. Everytime I close my eyes, something else comes back.
where the hell are my shoes? why are my clothes everywhere? how did i get into bed? who put me there? and why am I only wearing knickers?
this is the academic dream, oh god I've fucked up massively this time. How do i go out there and hold my head up out in public after sexually propositioning most people in the bar last night? these weren't just random people, I have to see them every single day for the next three years.
oh god.
screaming, choking, crying in the shower. clawing this repulsive flesh. silencing everything, everyone.

Friday, 16 October 2009

sexual frustration. gnawing filthily inside.
craving the touch of naked skin, someone stroking the small of my back, kissing my neck. i dream off clothes falling of my silken skin, shallow breaths gasping in the murky gold dark light filtering in through hastily drawn curtains. fingernails scratching, teeth grazing. hoarse whispers 'i want you' & my personal favourite 'god, you're so thin'... and then afterwards... exaltation/disgust. shame/fear/silence. dull the noise. deafen the whispers. consume what i so willingly surrender to you.
i miss the user. i miss the long-term crush. i miss them all.
in the bar last night i felt the scorching eyes undressing me. but this is new daisy - pure, innocent, sweet daisy. so i bat my eyelashes, i laugh sweetly and write my blog...

Thursday, 1 October 2009

Clean, pure, innocent, untainted, idealistic, hopeful, free.
I've been handed that holy grail of things - a fresh start. New people, new place, new me. As long as I don't drink then old Daisy will remain my festering secret, hidden under layers of smiles and easy laughter. It's an escape from home, from control, from watching eyes. My accomodation is self-catering and my student loan hasn't come through so finally - total freedom over food. I thought that starving would make me free from the fat that I see as polluting my body. For me, fat is the visible symbol of my weaknesses - gluttony. But above all else I traded my fat for attention. And now I'm handed a free pass. I'm savouring this moment of freedom from myself but simultaneously I am so terrified I feel like there's a hand around my throat, gently caressing whilst gradually tightening. What if they find out?

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

I'm not quite sure how it happened. Somehow it went from vague promises of: 'Daisy, if you don't get fat immediately we're going to lock you up in some remote clinic for damaged teenagers.' Then, yesterday I was ambushed. I believe it was my family's imitation of an intervention. Apparently I'm off the rails. Crazed. Pyschotic. Pathologically fucked up.
Sex. Drugs. Lies.

And only last - anorexia.

But what if i'm not ill? What if this is me?

They're so ashamed and they want me to feel it too - the humiliation of being a fuck up from a 'loving family' with an 'excellent education' and everything i've ever wanted. I know why they're doing this and it's not because suddenly they've noticed i've lost 12kgs in 2 months and i'm drunk most of the time. Pasco wrote beautifully about reaching the very bottom and I think I've finally found it. The Beautiful One called me to tearfully admit to sleeping with the User, a few hours after a text from Long Term Crush came through saying we couldn't hang out anymore as he was trying to work things out with Big Tits Blonde. I think I passed out in the bath, my mum came in and pulled me out before I choked on my own vomit. It was the first time she'd seen me really naked, not just physically but as I am. Fucked up and sad.

Monday, 7 September 2009

I am so angry my hands are shaking - I have that empty, shaky, numb feeling cushioning me. Later, I'll feel it. Right now, I can only concentrate on the searing rage & desire to destroy something beautiful.
So what? There was a sexual revolution. People fuck each other. And you're allowed to enjoy it. Now apparently it's a 'symptom' - sexual promiscuity is another reason to get a label other than whore.
I try and stay numb. Then on facebook Big Tits Blonde's photos come up and it's her wrapped around Long Term Crush. Long Term Crush and I have been fucking casually for a while, even though I know when we're having sex, he's thinking of her. And inside my delusions, I'm convincing myself that I can fuck him until he loves me the way I love him. She laughs at/pities/despises me - she can go off, do anything, come back and he is her's without complication.
I thought I could fuck like a man. Feel nothing but pleasure. Clearly I can't and yet, I can't let him go.

Monday, 24 August 2009

Life is so beautiful right now. This is what hope feels like.
I got my 4 As... I'm going to the university of I've dreamed of for 8 years.
Today is day five of fasting... perhaps I'm hallucinating happiness but this time success feels tangible.

Monday, 10 August 2009

The party was cancelled... Thank-you fate. Standing in a bikini, awkwardly trying to hide my various bulges from people, whilst trying to project an image of confidence, is my idea of hell. Throw in various failed attempts at 'intimacy' and the night could only have descended through shades of nightmare.
Decided not to weigh myself until the 31st August. I simply cannot stand on a scale and see some figure screaming 'failure' at me. I need to cling to the idea of tiny limbs and razor sharp hip bones without a number by which to judge my failures. Tried the ABC but found it was far too rigid for me, so trying something slightly different. As long as I eat under 800 cals a day I'm going to burn fat/muscle & at least 2 of those meals must be negative cals... so basically cabbage soup, beetroot & salad. I googled negative foods and those are the only things I'm allowed to 'binge' on. See... these are rules I can live with. Cabbage soup by day & vodka diet coke by night. I've developed an obsession with weighing everything. I physically can't put something in my mouth without out knowing exactly how much it weighs and how many calories (exactly) are in it.
My 3 friends invited themselves to lunch today.. I know why. We never talk about the big, scary 'it'. You know, the term last year when i disappeared and didn't go to school for 2 months. But, as they tell me in their most patronizing voices (reserved for the really fucked up ones) they're always here for me. Just as long as I don't actually talk about it and just project an image of normality. So I'll go eat with them. I'll eat a 'normal' amount. I'll compliment on their culinary skills. And they will politely make conversation whilst I discreetly disappear & return with a puffy face & red eyes.
But this is how we live & friends like these... I still love them & I hope they love the fragments of me I work so hard to craft for them.

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

The enemy of self-control: alcohol. Just before I left for Amsterdam, there was an 'incident' with someone's long-term boyfriend at a party. The Drunk Boyfriend is a really sweet guy and we were chatting about the User, I was so shocked by this sudden interest and empathy, I tried to express my gratitude in the only way I know: sex. He rejected me but the thought was there and now I'm terrified about facing the consequences of my 'indiscretion'. Whenever things go wrong, I run away, I close my eyes and black everything out until the past fades into nothing. Unfortunately, there's a party tomorrow and I can't escape.
I'm the girl everyone loves to hate.
They fuck your boyfriend, the one you've just fallen for.
They pretend they're naturally this thin. They're lying.
I hate girls like me.

Tuesday, 28 July 2009

I'm back...

Eurotrip with my friends was amazing. Partying in abandoned warehouses in east Berlin. Having sex with an italian stranger in a club.

It's just real life and getting a job. I feel so claustrophobic back at home with my mum screaming at me to eat something. The freedom of having friends who don't give a fuck what you eat (or don't) and doing whatever you want, whenever you want. Resisting the temptation to buy expensive drugs or fuck exotic strangers.

God, I hate reality.

Stay strong


Friday, 3 July 2009

I always avoid writing during, after or inbetween bingeing. It just feels so helpless, like I'm flailing around, oscillating between bingeing and feeling utterly apathetic to the point of not even purging. Then the next morning and waking up with some new resolution about never eating again. Technically summer is the best time to fast, you can live on fruit and salad without anyone batting an eyelid. However, everywhere you're tortured by teeny-tiny arms and skinny thighs as people show off their perfect bodies. I don't want to leave the house when I feel like this.. The Beautiful One text me to tell me all about this party I spurned last night (in theory I was going to stay home and do pilates for 2 hours, really I just binged) to tell me all about the User and his latest conquest. Honestly, i don't care. He got rid of me because I was fat and that should be sufficient motivation to stop this pointless bingeing...
This might be my last post for awhile. Leaving for Amsterdam on Wednesday and have exactly 11 euros a day to spend... that should ensure I have no choice but fast. But how do I explain that to the three girls I'm going with? I feel their eyes, silently judging me, evaluating every public mouthful. And yet - they stay silent. If one of them had just said something maybe all this would be different. Ha ha the paradox - I'd do anything to hide this from them and yet I just crave attention for the goals I have achieved.
Thanks for all your comments, sounds toe-curlingly cringey but they are such huge motivation to carry on and to pursue perfection.
Anyway... good luck and stay strong!

Thursday, 25 June 2009

You Can't Hurt Me If I'm Already Gone

Can sex ever be casual? Or is so fundamentally intimate that you can never truly divorce your heart and your body? I thought I could. Every day I punish my body until it aches, my head screaming 'you fucking fool' but really, my heart throbs with satisfaction. There is nothing as satisfying as hunger pangs, followed by the moral purity of denial and then, the scale rewarding your starvation. I thought sex with the User was simply a manifestation of my relationship with Ana. You're fucking up your body, why not literally? He called me today, I lay in the clearing in the woods, conscious of the irony. This is my favorite place in the world, I never showed it to you, and it was here I wanted to make love to you. A nauseauting cliche but I just wanted love. I wanted you to fuck a person, not a body. I found out from the Beautiful One he fucked some girl two days after we first had sex. Today he told me because he thought we were in a relationship and he couldn't handle it. Oh god, the irony, the fucking, choking, bitter irony of it all. I just wanted to be exclusive. Casual, exclusive, sex. Why did I sit and weep after he hung up? Because I told him we couldn't be friends? Because I felt manipulated and deceived? Or because he managed to touch this cold, numb, hollow shell? Maybe I was mourning myself and wallowing in the most comforting emotion I know: self-pity. I don't know what to do. I feel so contricted, claustrophobic but paradoxically, utterly alone.
I told him I only had sex with him because he was so fucked up, I couldn't possibly fuck him up anymore. I meant it. That's why I can't pursue the Beautiful One and contaminate her. I destroy everything I touch, and anything I let touch me in turn destroys me. I feel like I'm disintegrating and it is so liberating. I don't even have to think anymore - subsisting on my mantra: Eat nothing, starve forever.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Love Letter From Your Dead

I walk into the room, you look up, those fierce seconds then you look away
I first feel it in the iron in my throat, then fat splashes streak my paper. I clutch my nose, the blood pouring through my fingers. You look at me; you remember what I told The Male Shoulder and those eyes, cold.
The drugs were always there. If you loved me, you loved those illusions that had drawn about myself. And you hated drugs, you hated weed, I remember in history your righteous facts about schizophrenia. But coke – my illusion – you had no sermon. But perhaps you didn’t need to, preaching to me through coldness instead. Melting the distance, I just fuelled your hatred, your fear.
Did you fear me? Or did you pity me, did you see the lies, the shrouding, was I waving or drowning?
The necklace I gave you, the mocking Valentine poem, the letter about Self-Righteous Bitch in which a hypothetical you/me question was raised – do they mean anything to you? Like the scraps of paper of notes we scribbled in maths, the code I search for in my leaving message – that is all I have of you. But my deception was all permeating, was I ever truthful? Those notes, my lies, my life I presented to you – vivid, brightly contrasting, living somewhere between euphoria and tragedy – that’s where I wanted to be and wanted you to join me. I lived my lies so completely, I did, I believed what I said, the lies were real and you believed them. Your jealousy feeding my rage at my own failures. If these imaginary boys loved/wanted me, you would too.
Perhaps men/boys like you are integral to life. You are devastating: a year later I’m still healing. But it is not you that inflicted any real pain, it was entirely me. And yet, the pain rises in my throat, I want to cry and weep and rage and rage until – the pain is so sharp I can’t see past it. I cannot imagine living and never seeing you again or hearing your voice and yet this year I have managed. The User distracting me, school distracting me, my own logic. I need to hear your voice, so you can become 3D again. And yet I am acutely aware – I may have meant something, but now, I mean nothing.
Daisy, you have to stay in touch – walking back through the stables. I promise. And what of you? You never made any such promise, you knew I’d come back. My two texts you never replied to. Did you not receive them or am I now part of your life compartmented away? An irritating memory, disposable.
I am aware of the distinction between comforting fantasy and reality. I am comforted by my dreams. Every love song, every film, every book reminds me of my own huge failures. I’m 17 and already I feel constricted by time, to return to 14, to my years with Amy, I would change everything. Regret is futile: how can you love the unlovable? No matter what she said, she could have said anything, been anyone and you still wouldn’t have loved her. I am so tired, so very, very tired of being uncomfortable in my own skin. Of feeling, exhausted of being me. I am sick of the idea of you – you seldom comfort me, only condemn my failures, my inexperience. I pretend to be wise, experienced, and I will always have to. It is too late, this 17th year a year of intense claustrophobia, of doors closing, of regret, of loneliness and of facades and wishes. Of broken resolutions, of failed hopes, of voids and of intense regret. I made many mistakes, and there is no time. You’re a pattern repeated throughout my life.

Sunday, 21 June 2009

Day Two of post-exam fasting. Already obsessing over food... until I found this to remind me just how much i hate myself for bingeing and how much everyone else hates you for it. I'd forgotten how much i love fasting - that feeling of perfect emptiness, the euphoric high of walking past the fridge and resisting. Feeling so strong right now - found out the User fucked some girl two days after me... was feeling naive, dirty and used until the hollow high hit. Fuck him. I cant control my life but i can control my body. food is a choice. and we can all say no.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Revision, revision, revision.... So instead I went and took some photos in the garden... Perhaps my obsession with flowers is slightly sad and kitsch given my name, but to me, there is no nothing more perfect or beautiful than flowers. I could philosophize pretentiously forever on how transiently beautiful they are, even in their decay but even more than that, I find the idea of perfection intoxicating. Everyone I've ever met or read about with an ED seems obsessed with perfection (me included) but has anyone ever attained it? Has anyone out there ever reached their goal weight and achieved happiness? Or are we trapped forever like this, pursuing an ever more elusive image of perfection? Will it always be like this: Starve, binge, purge, starve, binge, purge, in an inevitable cycle of destruction?

Monday, 15 June 2009

Five days until exams are over and I can start living again.
Three weeks before I go to Europe for two weeks with my best friends.
A month until I turn 18.
Three months to reach perfection.
And I can't wait.... lots and lots of uninihibited crazy sex with the User. Who cares if i hate myself for this, for every gram of fat that dissolves, surely that gram cancels all the self-loathing and disgust? All my posts have been very depressing recently, but really I am so, so happy. This euphoric emptiness combined with being in love... love the ultimate appetite suppressant. I used to dream about gorging on cake and painting my body in icing but now she's all I think about. I've always loved her and now she feels something and even if it's only curioristy, I'm in hopeful love and I've never felt anything close to hopeful love before.

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Fucking A levels. I feel like my brain is disintegrating. The possession I treasure more than anything - my mind. Why do we sacrifice everything for that elusive dream of perfection? Fuck strangers until you're numb, drugs to escape and starve until you feel real again. I can live like that. But without my brain, my thoughts, the connections, the visions, the words, I can't exist. So for today, tomorrow and until the end of my exams I will nourish my brain. And then I will pursue that toxic dream until it destroys or perfects me.

Monday, 8 June 2009

On the dark, dew drenched lawn, The Beautiful One's fingernails scratch my skin. She laughs, "I'm not lesbian." Sure, just don't stop kissing me. Your fingers entwined in my hair, your hip bones grinding against mine, I run my hands across the ridges of your spine. This is perfection. You are perfect.
"I'm just drunk."
So am I.
"Promise me, you won't tell anyone?"
I love you.

Thursday, 28 May 2009

I had sex with you because I wanted to feel closer. Closer to something, anything, nothing. Me. But for me, anorexia has trapped me here. And i feel so alone and numb and hollow and cold. Like nothing can touch me anymore. Originally, that was what I craved. As I lay there, cold and passive, watching the sky as you moved inside me, I wanted to come back. And you feel nothing for me, just like I feel close to nothing for you, and we have cold, clinical, souless sex and I want to evaporate. Someone asked me why I did it. They didn't get it. The self-harm principle. Destroying your body, slowly, pushing yourself to the point of unbearable pain, and enjoying it.

Tuesday, 26 May 2009

"Eat it." Their eyes watch me, covertly, waiting for me to react.
"Ah, thanks." Sweet, sticky, crumbling on my tongue.
Daisy just ate a cupcake. She can't be anorexic.
Fucking morons.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

The User text: "Last night you found out what i've always been saying. I said I knew I would hurt you and I did. You're a really cool girl, even if you can be scary or weird..."
I felt nothing. I was too busy calculating the calories in my salad. If it was just sex, then why does he care? Why can't he really, really hurt me? Instead of insisting on this facade of kindness and mutual respect, when we both know this was some sick game in which we pretended to be living in the moment, when really we were coldly calculating how much to invest in this..
I can't stop eating. I've eaten a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, hummus, two quiches and a litre of milk - i just can't stop. I promised never to purge again. But maybe the searing pain, those convulsions of pain, maybe that will make me realise what I've done. How i should feel.

Monday, 4 May 2009

Dearest friend,
today i'm leaving you. you make me strong, beautiful, extraordinary. i love you, i depend on you, i need you. but you're destroying me. my hair is falling out. my skin is yellow, my fingers and toes blue. i'm numb. please let me go - my brain is disintegrating. there is nothing i haven't given you - my body, my mind, my soul. let me go, my exams are my future and i cant think because you contaminate every thought.
you'll drag me back. i know you will, and i'll surrender willingly. but please, until the summer, let me go.

Monday, 27 April 2009

I want to disappear.

Thursday, 23 April 2009

It's all falling apart.
Savagely tender sex with the User. Afterwards lying together, his arms wrapped around me.
"Why do you hate yourself so much?"

Wednesday, 22 April 2009

The Beautiful One looked at me over the Casual Fuckbuddy's shoulder. 'Where are your condoms?' she mouthes and I want to rip the Casual Fuckbuddy's heart out. Casual to the point of non-existance. I love her and I hate her. Everytime I look at her I want to touch her, trace the grooves of her hip bones, the curve of each rib, the ridges of her spine. I want to live in that perfect body.
Everything is slightly blurred. Diet pills and vodka.
'Daisy? Put it down. I think you've had enough - you're losing control'
Don't make me laugh. I lost control when I fell in love with you.

Monday, 13 April 2009

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

"i know you want to..."
"ha ha... but i only have sex with people i love, or at the very least care in the slightest about, and the chances of me falling in love with you are about a million to one. so no."
"you're fucked up."
"i know, right?"
today he text me ~ you said you only sleep with people you care about in the slightest. you seem to love being direct, so i'll put this in your language. do you even care?


Monday, 6 April 2009

home alone... last night i think i made a huge mistake... i invited the guy from Beautiful One's party around and it was just me and him, writhing on the sofa. i've been binging all week and just thinking about him touching my rolls of flab makes me shudder but still... there he was. We were lying in my bed and he asked me if he could ask me a question. but then he got up abruptly, put on his clothes and left. I lay in my bed, looking at the clothes strewn across the floor and i couldn't even cry. i chose this.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

cant stop listening to this... Polly Scattergood "Bunny Club"

Monday, 16 March 2009

the thing about anorexia is that no one really wants to know - and when you most desperately want some one to tell you: "please stop you're disappearing... I will miss you" they will do almost anything to avoid the subject, accept your lies because the truth is so hideously uncomfortable for most people. people love bitching about anorexics but when we actually turn to them for help - it's like "ah shut up and eat a sandwich"....
sorry so gloomy today. school has started to cheerfully through around the a-word. am not in the least bit worried as my school is only too eager to label me with an eating-disorder and then blithely forget about it. as long as i produce the grades, i could be having sex with the entire staff room, selling drugs in the playground and weigh 80lbs and they would not bat an eyelid.

Wednesday, 4 March 2009

As you walked out the room, I passed out. You see, those 4 shots of vodka, absinthe and wine were the first thing to pass my lips in 2 days. But that didn't matter to you: I don't think you saw me. It was the Beautiful One you were touching, using up - not me, I was just a body to project your fantasies upon. The Beautiful One is my best friend. I'm in love with her. And he only kissed me, touched me, whispered hoarsely "I want to fuck you so badly", because he can't have her and there I was. Spinning, a million miles away and desperate for someone to touch my bones and affirm I'm still here.

Sunday, 1 March 2009