Over.

We all destroy something beautiful, some of us with more diligence and application than the rest.

Today it was the relationship. Tomorrow, who knows? He sort of sat there passively, looking, biting his lip, half-smiling. I want him to cry, to weep, to stop awkwardly making jokes, to beg me to reconsider. To tell me he loves me. I'm not sure why I'm crying - I ended it with all the casual cliches designed to minimally inflict pain upon the other. The cliche: We never see each other. My reason: I want you to love me, I want to lose myself in love with you and experience the most ineffable of experiences - a total annihalition of myself in love. I just wanted something more violent, more tangible, like rough kisses in the dark and bruised bones in the morning.

Liminal: a. gen. Of or pertaining to the threshold or initial stage of a process. rare. b. spec. in Psychol. Of or pertaining to a ‘limen’ or ‘threshold.’

Thanks for your advice everyone, coming here, ranting, weeping and moaning to you and finding out that people out there have actually heard me saves me a little everyday from crazy Daisy who is beginning to resurface her ugly, deceitful, terrifying head again. I know it's borderline psychotic to see yourself as two seperate people, but it's how am I and as long as I keep out of hospital and away from the doctors, then my dirty little secrets are safely yours.

I needed the Boyfriend but inside I can feel the restless growing, the nervous energy accumulating. Last night I went to a feminist meeting determined to meet androgynous, intellectual lesbians. Is that bad? I'm looking already for the next crazy to submerge myself in. Last time it happened I lost 6 kilos so anything goes. Surrounded by beautiful, skinny girls with the bodies of men I fell in love in my usual, superficial way. Bone lust. The men I fuck hold my bones together, the women I fuck - I guess I just want to inhabit their bones. Exist in their skin for awhile. Strange crossing the lines between the two, falling in love with these mannish women. Motivating myself for the next big starve. Liminal.

"I'm good at love. I'm good at hate. It's inbetween I freeze." Leonard Cohen.

How do you tell someone, tenderly, you don't love them? How do you let them go, gently? I know how to finish something brutually. I've been dumped enough times to understand the maximum pain/minimum effort principle, but I'm terrified of hurting the Boyfriend. He's the only person I've ever known who would pick up the phone at 3am and listen to me interrogate him about all his previous girlfriends. It took only one drunken night to destroy my carefully crafted illusion of well-balanced, respectable, even innocent Daisy. There's nothing to say to him. We have nothing in common. I just want someone here, to feel wanted in his arms. But it could have been anybody. Anyone. I want to be loved but I also want to love. And I don't love him and will not. So what is the point? I'm not sure why I bother with relationships. The loneliness is still here. But how do I tell him?

Back where I belong. I'm sitting at my desk back at uni, surveying my neatly unpacked room - my pot plants cluttering my windowsill, my fruit basket overflowing with apples and everything beautifully, perfectly, absolutely in my control.

I swore that this would be last family holiday. I cannot take another 3 weeks of being bullied, emotionally blackmailed and generally treated like a slightly dim 12 year old. Christmas dinner as ever was hell. But pleasant, sunny hell. Turns out my aunt wants to lose a stone so we were served steamed ham on lettuce. Normally I would have rejoiced, but you know those days you save calories all week for? Christmas is one of those for me. I was all prepared to gorge on as much fat-clad, calorie dripping food as I could wolf down. And there it was - the perfect meal. Twelve hours later and my mum had told her sister how she ruined her life, blamed her for her compulsive eating disorder and banned me from contacting my cousin (and best friend) until I was 'old enough'. Because apparently I'm not old enough to see how my aunt mocks me and uses me to hurt my mum. Frankly, I don't give a fuck. I love my cousin, I love my uncle and I sort of like my aunt. Despite this, my mum cut out our only remaining family from her life and dragged my sister and me out their lives 'until we're old enough'. Because she's 'protecting me'.

Protection: you can never save anyone who does not want to be rescued. So I cried the way I always do when I'm so angry I can't breathe and when I feel so hopeless I lack the energy to breathe. And then I screamed and yelled and raved because really, I'm not a pawn. So, once I'd sufficiently embarassed my mum in public (mentioning failed suicide attempts, eating disorders or any of our family secrets tends to bring out the diplomat in my mother) she promised me total freedom the day we got back home. limitless freedom.

happy new year everyone! thanks for all your comments... they inspired my new years resolution: if i want to change i have to do it myself. no one is going to rescue me except for me. i just want to be happy.