Monday, 7 February 2011

There's a phantom in my bed// And I'm all alone now

I'm not sad or numb, just paralysed by inertia. And a man is the cause of it all, or maybe he's the symptom. Or men. Or sex. I started seeing the American again. Originally he was just a body to numb the loneliness and make the drunken wander home that little bit shorter. Except he wasn't into casual sex, originally, and he became one of those challenges. Daisy vs Morality had a certain ring to it - it seems that persuading 'moral' men to have sex with me became a way to prove that in this chaotic world I have power. It might just be the power to destroy someone's moral integrity followed by the brief satisfaction of winning. But then again, as my psychologist pointed out, I've stopped seeing men as people. Objectification. Revenge. Every man is revenge on the ex-Boyfriend, every time they fuck me, your touch is forgotten a little bit more. The American started off like that - just, he held me tightly after we'd had sex, told me how amazing it felt, how grateful he was to be fucking a teenager. And when we fall asleep, I fall asleep with his arms wrapped around me and pressed against his chest. And I feel safe, I know he'd never hurt me. But as I finally told him last night - our relationship is entirely disposable. I feel like the time has come to end it - this casual sex, this make believe relationship. I want the real thing, what I've always wanted and what I keep losing and destroying. I'm just terrified of being alone. Inertia//terror.

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

I couldn't stay away. There's something about writing exactly what you think and feel and knowing that somewhere someone is reading your words and for that moment you're not alone. For months I carried on reading your blogs but it was like having my tongue cut out. So I went to therapy for a bit just so I could talk to someone. But it meant very little. I binged and purged. Binged some more. Felt apathetic about it all and hated myself for a bit. Purged. Read a blog. Binged. Tried to fast. Felt hopeless. Binged. Felt apathetic. Couldn't purge. Stared at the toilet with my fingers in my mouth unable to move. Felt stupid. Binged. I think this is what recovery feels like. I stopped counting calories. The numbers feel irrelevant. I can't really remember hunger. Free, and still disatisfied.