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.

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.

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.

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.

ITS OK, I'VE HAD SEX WITH MORE GIRLS THAN GUYS, WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT. ITS NOT LIKE BEING HOT AND BISEXUAL IS A MASSIVE SECRET.

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?

HAHA EVERYONE ALWAYS ASKS ME THIS, I'VE HAD SEX WITH A LOT OF PEOPLE. I'M NOT A SLUT, I JUST LOVE SEX.

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.

I'M NOT DRUNK, I JUST CAN'T WALK ANYMORE.

oh god.

screaming, choking, crying in the shower. clawing this repulsive flesh. silencing everything, everyone.