Thursday, 28 February 2013

Four days until real life starts

When I grow up, I will have no eyebrows. No, I don't mean it in the Kindergarten adage of 'When I grow up, I want to be this, ie. to have no eyebrows and look like a demented Mona Lisa.' Are you crazy? I mean: I ACTUALLY WILL have no eyebrows, and there's nothing I can do about it. You know how Dads tell their sons, 'Check out your girlfriend's mum (and her boobs, and butt, and hips etc), because that's what you'll end up with.' Well, I've recently realised that I will have no eyebrows because of my mum. 

I've often seen her without make-up and I did notice she looks a bit like this:

And I always knew there was something wrong with her face that I couldn't quite pinpoint. But then it hit me: she has no eyebrows! She has to DRAW them with liner. Well yeah OK, she does have a bit of eyebrow but the top of her eyes is like a 10 year-old boy's pubic hair. (ewww I can't believe I just said that. I do NOT 'like' little boys if that's what you're thinking). Right now, I have sexy, arched eyebrows that a lot of girls envy (quite rightly too, you should all want to look like me after all, me being the embodiment of sexualness and all that). But what about in 10 years' time, when I'm like 85 and senile and have rheumatism and have 10 cats called Kirby that I feed cough sweets to???? (Wait, that doesn't work, I'm 23. I've just confused myself.)

In other news, you know I've had the flu for a few days. Well, I'm still ill. What is wrong with my metabolism? I have been bored OUT OF MY BUM doing absolutely zero and watching Revenge on my laptop (OMG I can't get enough of it. And Josh Bowman - need I say more?), when I should really be preparing my new life that starts on Monday with my brand new corporate job. But if you've read my blog until now, you'll probably have guessed by now that Putting Off Things is my specialty. 

 Why, hello there, Josh Bowman.

I don't even know why they gave me the job. Hell, I don't even know why they'd want to be in the same BUILDING as me (other than the fact I ooze sex appeal, wit and charisma, of course). Out of 5,000 international applicants, they could've chosen anyone. Yet they settled on me, the decrepit bum who talks crap. OK I should give myself a bit more credit, seeing as I am super brainy, and confident, and outgoing, and street-smart, and business-savvy but GAAAAAAAAAH SO MUCH PRESSURE! I DON'T WANT TO START MY NEW JOB!!!!!! Just let me curl up under my duvet with my two teddy bears and watch videos of cats on Youtube while eating Maltesers!!! I knew I should've stuck more spinach in my teeth during the interviews, this clearly didn't put them off enough:

With regards to My Fitness Pal, Prince Charming and I had a serious chat on Friday evening, and I've now OFFICIALLY deleted the app off my phone. Whehay! It was ruining my life. I do NOT want to be anorexic and look like Dobby the House Elf again. The issue with that, however, is that I have started eating crap again. Or is it because the mucus in my nose makes me sound and look like Darth Vader all of a sudden, and thus comfort-eating becomes inevitable? I don't know, why are you asking me that? Pfff. I guess I will try to eat a bit of salad and veg tonight, with my chocolate and ice cream. 

Other than that, I will continue to panic about my new job like a headless chicken and do nothing for the next few days. Which is obviously hugely constructive. Ooh that reminds me, I need a haircut before Monday. My hair is like 10ft long at the moment. I look like a hot Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. And I SHOULD go on a serious shopping spree to get new blazers and skirts and shoes. Except I am ill. And lazy. And have no money. Ah well. At least I get quite a lot of dosh for my new job. Four days until real life starts.

Monday, 25 February 2013

Stare at this photo until I get back

I am in bed with the flu. You won't hear from me for a few days because all I want/can do is curl up in bed and feel sorry for myself.

In the meantime, stare at this photo until I get back.

Friday, 22 February 2013

That would not be cool

As I write this, I am on Skype with Prince Charming. He is making me 'stay with him' instead of going to the bathroom and making myself sick. I feel full, not in the good way. I have this overwhelming urge to empty my stomach of its lunch right now.

So how did this happen? I was doing awesomely well! How could Smiley Princess (who is the reincarnation of Wonder Woman, Xena and Lara Croft put together, forming the embodiment of kickassness, ie me. Wait. They're all fictional. DAMMIT I guess the reincarnation thing doesn't work) have come to this after almost a week of not binging nor purging?

Well. My Fitness Pal is seriously starting to get to me. I've become a calorie-control-freak for the past few days. I now frigging measure tablespoons of Balsamic vinegar and weigh pieces of lettuce to enter their calorie content. SERIOUSLY, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I feel trapped. Don't get me wrong, the feeling of having lost weight and seeing what minerals/nutrients I eat is AMAZING, and when I stick to my strict/healthy food and exercise routine, I am content. I don't binge nor stick my head down the loo. So when something like temptation somehow disrupts my routine, I feel miserable, tormented and at a loss. Indeed, today, my GRAZE box arrived.

For those of you who aren't as clever as me and don't know what Graze is, it's a service that delivers a weekly box of four 'healthy' snacks to your door. The service is awesome and to be honest, considering postage is free, it's a pretty good deal. You can even customise the foods you receive by telling them what sort of stuff you like, what health level you want the snacks to be etc. BUT! It disrupted my routine because the foods look so yummy, and I have the biggest sweet tooth EVER (gross, just gave myself a mental image of me as a Haribo-chomping saber-toothed tiger). 

So after my super healthy, low-calorie lunch, I sat  myself in front of Vampire Diaries (JEREMY GILBERT - need I say more? Also I am skiving a lot of obligations today under the pretext I am SUPER ILL and GOING TO DIE. Does man flu apply to girls? I did go to the gym though, which probably made it worse). Being ill is unlike my usual schedule when I am usually out and about, so I felt a strange sense of unease and boredom. Then I remembered the Graze box. So I ate three of the snacks, while tormented by anguish.

I now feel like the guy from Supersize Me. Sick and fat. Even though I've eaten a grand total of only 900kcal today, which SHOULD be normal right? Well, My Fitness Pal says I should eat a net daily 1200kcal to lose weight, therefore what I've done, my brain thinks, is unacceptable. So I've gone into panic/guilt overdrive. GAHHHH. I started walking upstairs in order to gurgitate in reverse motion (eww inappropriate metaphor) but quickly texted Prince before reaching the loo - he immediately called me back and told me NOT TO PUKE, to get on Skype now and to write my blog. Well... I suppose I KIND OF have to agree with you all that Prince Charming is a pretty amazing boyfriend. I still feel the torment, trying to resist going up to the bathroom but at least, I'm still here.

In other news, thank you all so much for all the advice and feedback I got for my previous entry Seriously, what would you do? It was interesting to read your different accounts and the ways in which you've dealt with similar situations. Prince Charming came over last night and we had a serious chat about his Thing. (NOOOOOOO, not THAT thing, you dirty-minded freaks!!! I mean His Thiiiiiing! Just read the previous entry for a refresher, dammit). It turns out he had read my blog entry before I could mention it to him, for which I felt very very awkward, and also because he feels a bit embarrassed at having been pictured in such a way to his/my fans. He hopes you still all love him! In any case, I think he saw what I was getting at, which is reassuring. We both agreed that drinking is a symptom of something he has been feeling, and that it's the FEELING that needs to be tackled before even considering going back to the sauce. Words cannot express how thankful I am that he is going to try. He and I need to help each other. Aah, so much sentimentality!

I just really need to sort out what I'm going to do with the whole My Fitness Pal thing. The biggest part of me doesn't want to let it go, which really worries Prince Charming. But I also know it completely goes against my recovery stance. I don't want to be anorexic again. That would not be cool.

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Seriously, what would you do?

Ahhh. My Fitness Pal. The word Pal makes him sound like my BFF, even more so than my friend Bob the Tarantula (whom I perhaps killed by feeding him salt), when in fact, he's making me feel like a dog who is bursting for a piss and has to choose between his walkies and a lifetime supply of Pedigree. PANIC. (Though if I were the dog, I'd piss all over the living room carpet, take a giant crap on my master's bed AND get the Pedigree. No need for walkies, see?)

Some of my readers commented on my previous article Brain cannot compute dirty plate by sink that these calorie-counting apps actually create obsession and OCD-like control, which is totally true. You end up measuring everything, counting numbers in your head, gauging, measuring, etc. And today, I did something I haven't done since I was 17, anorexic and weighed 95lbs... I FRIGGING WEIGHED LETTUCE ON THE KITCHEN SCALES. What the hell is wrong with me ???? And the weird thing is, when I did my total calorie count for the day after dinner, I felt GOOD because I am 6kcal under my recommended net intake. The good thing, I didn't binge nor purged and ate pretty healthily all day. But I really hope I don't turn anorexic again because not only does that make me feel like an un-flushed poo stinking out the ladies' room (don't ask where I get these similes from, I have no idea, that's what geniuses are like), I am also seriously unattractive when I weigh 95lbs (droopy eyes, sallow skin, sunken cheeks, boney legs, and worst of all NO BOOBS. I basically look like Dobby the House Elf. Except worse).

 OK, maybe not THAT bad.

Ironically, I'm finding it a bit difficult to fall asleep at night now, even though I can't help but wake up at 7am for no apparent reason other than 'Oh I have to go work dammit' (which I didn't really do before). Indeed, I SHOULD be flabbergasterdly (wtf, where do I get these words from?) exhausted from having eaten less than I usually do, and burnt off half my body weight at the gym that day. The main reason is that (please don't laugh) (seriously, please don't laugh or I will sear your eyebrows off using psychic abilities I don't possess)... I am scared of zombies. And ghosts. And monsters. And that guy from Saw. And just about every single scary supernatural/psychopathic creature known to man. That is because for the past week or so, I've been playing these zombie horror video games called Amnesia: The Dark Descent and The Walking Dead which are SO GOOD but so DAMN SCARY (contrary to minor belief, I am not a nerd) !!! Now tell me you've NEVER been scared of the Dementor under your bed. I bet EVERYONE has had these fears. The difference with me is that I am fully-grown, 123lb, 23 year-old woman, and people think I'm bonkers (they're jealous of how awesome I am. Plus every genius gets called 'bonkers' at some point).

 Aww I actually feel for this guy. 
No wonder he looks so unhappy, he's not wearing any foundation.

In other news, I am ANGRY and mainly SAD and FRUSTRATED (and this has nothing to do with food/sex, you filthy-minded buggers). My so-called best friend Snow White, I recently realised, has been taking me for granted for the past 3 years. I'm sure you have them, those friends you'd do anything for to make them happy, or travel 1h30 across London to go see them because they're 'tired' (every. single. time.), for whom you'd cancel all your plans because they're a bit depressed, for whom you'd bring a tub of ice cream and Ghost on DVD because some guy they liked turned them down. And who do NOTHING in return, who cancel on your all the time when you want to see them, who don't listen to you or only perfunctorily do so, who never turn up to any party or dinner you throw, who forget your birthday and cancel on you at the last minute on the day of the party because of some other friend. Well Snow White is that exactly. And the frustrating part is, I am able to rant about it for a gazillion hours, but don't even have the guts to tell her I think she's a selfish toilet seat (what is it with me and toilet metaphors today???). Ugh. *reaches for teddy bear and puts Vampire Diaries on because Jeremy is so frigging fit. Seriously how is it possible for a 16 year-old to look that good?*

I mean, seriously. Just look at him.

Other than that, something has been bugging me for a while (see final paragraphs of my article entitled I NEED TO STOP LYING TO MYSELF). Prince Charming has a problem with Something (much like with me and peanut butter chocolate cupcakes I suppose?), and for the past couple of months, has managed to stay off It. I cannot tell you how proud I am of him, and incredibly relieved - to be honest, I find it inspirational that he has been dealing with it, whilst I have sat there stuffing my face with Strawberry Cornettos (I only eat them for the chocolate bit at the end), being like 'Yeah, it's fine, it's good. NOM NOM NOM.' (Although I am seeking treatment and have managed to stave off the binging and purging since Sunday. 'WOOH GO SMILEY PRINCESS!,' I hear you say. No? Erm... anyone? Oh ok.) ANYWAY. The point is, since I started going out with him a year and a bit ago, I saw how... 'unusual' his behaviour with It is, and it often frightened me, though I didn't really comment (except one evening where he scared the bejeesus out of me and we almost broke up. Don't worry, he has never ever shown any violence. I would kick him in the butt if he tried, like that girl from Kill Bill).

LOLwut ? Just found this on Google Images. 
Because it is beneath my high level of intelligence, I cannot comprehend the joke.
As his Princess, I can see the detrimental effect It has had on him and on his surroundings and on our relationship. I'm not going to lie that I did wonder a few times (despite how sexy/wonderful he is) whether I would be able to deal with his Excesses in the long-run in our relationship. I think this could even break our relationship.

Anyway, let me get to the point. A couple of weeks ago, he told me that he would be staying off It a bit longer, perhaps two, three more months, he wasn't sure, until he could figure out how to handle it correctly. I was again proud of him for seeing the problem and taking a mature approach toward it, realising that it wouldn't be an overnight recovery - it would take time, lots of time, possibly years. Though I did think he needed proper Help, I didn't really mention it. But last week, he informed me he would only be staying off It until the end of February, as opposed to at least March or April. That's a total of only 6 weeks off It. Which shocked my boobs off (not literally, because I would look like a penis if that actually happened). He then said he would like to take a 'balanced approach' toward It.

'A balanced approach' is fair enough... for a person WITHOUT the Problem. However, when you have such a Problem built up over years and years of practice, you can't just sweep it aside in 6 weeks and then try 'a balanced approach', hoping for the best. It doesn't work like that. I know because I am trying to cure my eons-old eating disorder. It takes A LOT of time, help, support and reflection. He tells me to trust him and I TRUST his intentions, I really do. But in practice, I don't buy it, it upsets me. I'm not sure he truly recognises the problem; it seems he's determined to deal with it alone, which, when you're in relationship is pretty crappy. He even goes on to say that on the scale of things, he's not as bad as others - and that, to me, is denial

Everything he says, I've also said before, so I can observe a pattern. I've relapsed again and again and again, despite my promises that I would be 'balanced'. Only recently, when I openly admitted to myself, to him, to doctors that I am a Compulsive Over-Eating Bulimic have I realised it will take years, decades, a lifetime to gain a 'healthy' approach to food, probably even never, like most bulimics. That is why I am determined to go into treatment anyway. I wish Prince could see that recovery is BLOODY FRIGGING HARD, that when he says '6 weeks is enough, I promise it's different this time', I want to slap him and say 'Bullsh*t. You need Help.'

I just don't know what to do because I know the worst thing would be to push him into recovery/quitting if he's not ready. You can't make someone recover, that's impossible. It only works when they are READY, that is when they truly accept that they're in deeper trouble than they've ever thought, and WANT to change. It scares me because I'm not sure how I would handle seeing him tipsy or drunk again; I'm scared it's going to push me away. I don't know what to do, or say. All I express to him, when the subject is brought up, is a sense of panic, and we all know how helpful THAT is. You've probably now guessed what It is.

Seriously, what would you do?

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

Brain cannot compute dirty plate by sink

Weird, weird, WEIRD, is how I've been feeling for the past couple of days. In a panicky way. Not least because I may or may not have murdered my pet tarantula Bob by feeding him too much salt (see article titled Hope I don't get chatted up too much) but mainly because I've been counting calories and controlling what I eat since yesterday. Prince has decided to go on a bit of a diet (even though he doesn't need to because he lights my fire as it is, if you know wha' I means! Wink wink) and control his calorie-intake, so I thought 'Yeah awesome, I can obviously do it better, therefore I shall.' (Also what is the deal with all of my readers being in love with Prince? Seriously, I'M meant to be the star of the show here)

I've therefore downloaded a free app called My Fitness Pal which is pretty decent in monitoring what goes in your stomach (I'm also talking nutrients here, not just the word 'cupcake') and your exercise routine. So you get an idea of what your usual routine actually sticks inside your body (Jeez, why does everything I say sound dirty lately?).

But. CONTROLLING calories has been making me feel panicky, as if the slightest slip-up would send me over the wall, and so I am that much more strict with myself. In other words, I haven't felt like this since my anorexia days (aaaaaah, the good ol' days of throwing a hissy fit because I'd had one cube of cucumber too many... *cough cough*) and that's made me feel really uncomfortable. And so I ended up eating four digestives instead of breakfast this morning, in my panicked state. Thankfully, I managed to control what I ate for the rest of the day so that it was relatively healthy. Except maybe for that mini cheesecake for dessert. CHEESECAKE, YOU WILL BE THE END OF ME!!! Honestly, why does cheesecake exist, apart from being there solely to torture one's soul?
 I tried to capture the essence of evil in cheesecake by using Windows Paint. This is art.

Good news though... I haven't purged in THREE DAYS!

In other news, my best friend Cinderella is moving in with me this weekend. Whehay! I should be super excited, which I am I guess, but we both have quite strong personalities so I wonder how it's all going to turn out. Obviously, I'm the strongest of the two so I will have no problem rugby-tackling her off the sofa when I want to watch 90210 (which is starting to totally suck. WHY did Naomi and Sam break up??? It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, except for the fact Sam is an annoying butt-face and I would've signed the divorce papers before even marrying him. And how did he manage to set up a multi-million dollar corporation while in his first year of uni? GAHHH BRAIN CANNOT COMPUTE SUCH RUBBISH).
 Just LOOK AT HIS HAIR! Baaaaaarrrrrffffffff.

Erm where was I? Oh yes. Cinderella moving in. The trouble is, I am manically obsessive about being clean and tidy, and folding and straightening things (I scare myself sometimes. The voices in my head tell to do it), but I think Cinderella will be OK in communal areas. Though if she leaves ONE dirty plate by the sink, I WILL stick her face up her butt (god that's actually disgusting). Of which my previous flatmate has had the pleasant experience.


Monday, 18 February 2013

Hopefully I won't get chatted up too much

ARGGGGGGGHHHHHH. I'm sorry I haven't posted in a week everyone. I'm sorry your life has been meaningless without my huge rambles to fill your voids during that time (that sounded dirty). The reason I haven't been able to post is that... my pet tarantula Bob died. Of a heart attack. Because I fed him too much salt and his arteries clogged up. SNIFFLE. (That was a joke, I frigging hate spiders. Plus 'Bob' is a stupid name for a tarantula. Can spiders even die of heart attacks??? And why would I feed salt to a spider???) Anyway no, the real reason for not posting is that... I am just a LAZY. BUM. FACE.
I tried to make this spider look cute. It now looks like a demented mutant.

Last week was pretty horrific in terms of binge-purge scenarios. I did it almost everyday. And I didn't really go to the gym, perhaps two or three times. I seem to be stuck in a lethargy of boredom at the moment, fueled by too much sleep, which in turn makes me sleepy all day. I mean, who can ever be bothered to go do cardio at the gym for an hour when they'd rather bury their head into their SpongeBob duvet while streaming episodes of 90210 and playing video games??? (For your record, I don't own a SpongeBob duvet. Seriously, I don't. I'm not kidding. I'm 23, why would I own a SpongeBob duvet?  STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!!!!! Judgmental poos. Although I do have a pair of Snoopy pajama trousers)

This is not my bed. It's the bed of a kid I occasionally stalk from his closet.

For the past year or so, I feel as though my life has been put on hold, having delayed starting my graduate job to focus on making and producing music. I call it my Gap Yah. And god, the word 'Gap' couldn't be more fitting. I'm not gonna lie, I feel as though it's been a bloody waste of time, and when I look back on it, I get so ANGRY, mainly because I could've chosen to either be more proactive about the musical project, or dropped it for something that could've actually gone somewhere, as opposed to a gazillion gigs with a crowd of 10. I kept outwardly blaming my musical partners for their shortcomings (that sounded dirty too) but when I was alone, the person I kept bashing over the head with a frying pan the most has been myself. Because all of this was MY doing. I could've CHANGED direction but I kept waiting for better things to happen, and that's made me very unhappy and resentful, and unmotivated. (OK it wasn't THAT bad, I guess I did learn a bit about myself, and also our music has had some following, and the business side of it landed me a big corporate job that starts in a few weeks, also because I'm awesome and sexy and stuff)

I guess you could apply that frame of mind to Eating Disorders, non? That inability to take responsibility for your own life, always blaming others and your surroundings for your misery. (Kinda like in that movie Ted which OMG is soooo good and it also made me bawl my eyes out. Prince Charming kept laughing his ass off at how snotty my face was. Note to readers: I am HAWT when my face is all snotty OK ???) At the end of the day, I suppose you just gotta be strong and say  JUST DO IT. Nike.

 Mawwwwww so cuuuute! (Until he starts to bum hump the till)

Anyhow, VALENTINE'S DAY. Wooh! Prince Charming made reservations at a lovely neo-gastro-pub restaurant I love, and I was super-duper looking forward to it until I saw my account was in the red, woops. So yeah, that SORT OF went out the window, which is fine because we decided to stay in, cook a delish dinner and play video games (I'm a cool girlfriend like that). And because Prince Charming is almost as incredible and sexy as myself, he had roses, chocolates, Love Hearts, and the cutest teddy bear delivered to me, with an adorable VDay card. I gave him a hand-made card, a box of home-baked orange chocolate shortbreads with Thorntons Jelly Hearts (which are sitting untouched on my kitchen table. With a dead rat next to them. DAMMIT HE NOTICED THEY CONTAINED ARSENIC, THE SECRET INGREDIENT. Note to self: Use less obvious poison next time. MWAHAHA. Just kidding. GOD I'M HILARIOUS HAHAHAHAHAHA Smiley Princess you're just too much sometimes)

In any case, Prince Charming has been so supportive. The thing that made feel all fuzzy and a bit sad was when I was eating a slice of lemon cheesecake while we watched a film this weekend, and he asked me in a concerned voice whether it was going to make me feel 'too full and sicky' (which is our code for 'going off to the bathroom and making yourself sick'). I said 'No' (but we both knew that was probably not true), and he suggested I just eat half of it, and wait 20 minutes to see if I felt like finishing it. That gave me a slight pang of guilt because I hate worrying him. But also a pang of fuzziness because that's one of the nicest, caring, understanding things, anyone has done for me. I know it sounds trivial but it was very refreshing to have someone I love ACTUALLY help me without forcing my hand. Which was nice. (For your record, I did wait 20minutes and did not purge)

Anyhow. Gym today. Hopefully I won't get chatted up too much (LOL)

Monday, 11 February 2013

What's everyone doing for Valentine's Day? Give me ideas!

The doctor fondled my boobies today. OK not in the rapey way because she (yes 'she.' You thought I was referring to a man, didn't you? There ARE female doctors too, you know. YOU SEXIST PIGS. Just kidding, I love you really) was inspecting a painful lump there, that I've been freaking out about for the past 4 months since I started on a new contraceptive pill (I kept complaining about it but was too lazy to book a doctor's appointment to have my boob mollested). I'M TOO YOUNG TO HAVE A BOOB CHOPPED OFF!!! Prince Charming says it's probably just a cyst because cancerous boobs are painless. We shall see. (I'm just glad I didn't accidentally let it slip out that I in fact talk to my boobs, and have named them Boobie and Clyde.) (You weren't meant to know that.) I've just said the word 'boob' quite a lot. BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS LOTTA BOOOOOOOOOOOOBS. Damn you Nicki Minaj.

The other main reason I went to the doc today was so I could start the process in following treatment for my bulimia. 'Whehay!', I hear you say in awe and wonder, 'Princess you are so sexy and amazing and intelligent and that is totally beside the point but I'm so proud of you!' (Well if you were mildly obsessed with me, that sort of exclamation would be acceptable. Probably not though) I'm quite proud of myself because this time, it felt different. I was much more determined, and also this time I WANT to get over this illness. I WANT to be 100% honest with myself and those involved along the way. I should hear back within a week and then have to get blood tests (GAH I hate having my blood taken!!! Unless it's Damon from The Vampire Diaries. That's fine. Hmmmm. I never got the deal about Stefan. He's not that hot, plus he's a pain in the bum.)
(There seems to be a recurring pattern... Check out Captain Hook.)

In other news, I had the loveliest weekend, spent with the sexy Prince Charming! I've had a friend stay with me for three weeks, so it was nice to have a bit of couple time that didn't involve a third wheel. Prince has man-flu which was bloody hilarious but also tres cute (see article titled I'm sure you were dying to know that), and I got to take care of him to the best of my ability (which is practically non-existent. I'm surprised he didn't die under my care). We also hung out, watched films and shizzle BUT food-wise, it wasn't great. I managed to get him to cuddle me whenever I felt like purging which was cool but worried I won't be able to stop myself without him there. GAH! Alsoooooooooo he got me a poster of my blog logo/title for Valentine's Day to show me his support. Soooo sweet!

We WERE going to have a mega productive weekend and go to the museum then check out the Chinese New Year's parade in Soho yesterday but, one step out of the front door, already soaking wet from the rain which had congealed into icicles on our noses, we looked at each other, and our eyes said it all. 'Screw it', we said in unison as we walked back into his flat, and sat on the sofa for the next three hours LITERALLY doing nothing. It was AWESOME (why do you think I'm being sarcastic??? I AM able to talk at face value every so often you know)

Today, food-wise, was fine because there were no major binges... but it wasn't awesome (like me. Awesome I mean. Because I'm sexy and amazing and stuff, you know. What the hell am I on about again?). Just a couple of baguette tartines and coffee for breakfast, although I ate like 4 McVities digestives before going to the gym, then a cheese-lettuce-tomato-ham sandwich on bloomer bread, and now my friend and I are making a lemon cheesecake, and baking a medium pizza for dinner (with a giant salad of course). Oh yeah I also had one of the madeira buns my friend bought from Poundland (there isn't Poundland in his home country. LIKE SERIOUSLY WHERE IS THE WORLD GOING NOWADAYS. How do people survive without Sky and Poundland? I wonder)
But basically today wasn't amazing because as you can see from the endless list of foods which probably bored you enough for you to stick your foot in your butt, I did eat quite a lot, and a lot of crap too (not literally because that would be gross). I hope tomorrow is better, though I'm having dinner with another friend in China Town...

Andddddddddddd this Thursday is possibly the highlight of my year (OK maybe not, I'm not that sad or creepy or weird). I'm out of ideas to celebrate though. Prince has made reservations at one of my favourite restaurants but I want to do something nice for him too because I'm nice like that. What's everyone doing for Valentine's Day? Give me ideas!

EDIT 22:37: The pizza was too heavy and greasy, so I purged. Ah well.

Saturday, 9 February 2013

I'm sure you were dying to know that

I'm watching Prince Charming play a zombie-killing game on Xbox 360. You can dress up your avatars, and so it made perfect sense that he should deck his character in flip-flops, yellow skater boy clothes and a pink lady's hat (guys are freaks). Also the other human characters in the game communicate with each other by grunting and bum-humping the air. Imagine if people actually did that in real life. Like if my boss had called me into his office to give me news of my promotion by going 'Ooh, ungh, agh, agh agh, ooh, ungh agh' and humping his desk. I would've probably kicked him in the face.
 Badass or what ?

ANYWAY. I did NOT eat healthily yesterday - I didn't binge but that is not to say I didn't eat total crap. In the morning, I had two choc chip cookies with my French baguette toast, then after the gym, I had soup and cookies, then when I got to Prince Charming's after work in the evening, we ate ice cream, chicken wrapped in bacon and cheese, and salad. Not in that order, OBVIOUSLY. DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I'M A FREAK??? Nah it's fine if you do, I'd just have to find out where you live and sit on your head. (What am I on about again.)

Because I tell Prince Charming absolutely everything, I turned to him after dinner, did the sad puppy dog eye look, and he knew at that exact moment that I was feeling the urge to go make myself sick. I felt not-in-the-good-way full. He was sweet as ever, cuddled me and said that it would pass, and that I should sit here with him for a while. That made me feel all fuzzy inside, and I didn't go to the bathroom. BUT. What if he hadn't been there? What if I hadn't done the cute-puppy-dog-eye look? I am absolutely certain I would've gone to the crap-hole (NO NOT TO TAKE A CRAP, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS ASSUME THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT? You sick people. Just kidding, I love you really.) I really really need to be able to cope when I'm alone.
SO. BLOODY. CUTE. Me want one NOW

In other news, Prince Charming has man-flu, which means he has turned into a groaning vegetable of pain, crying out at having a blocked nose and proclaiming that he is going to die and, 'please have mercy on me, Mr Cold'. LIKE SERIOUSLY. Men are SUCH wusses! Yet is it weird that I find it really endearing and cute? Indeed my maternal instinct has kicked in and I am taking good care of him (if Freud is correct, I see Prince Charming as my 'son' figure, which makes me feel like his Mum, and that subconsciously 'turns me on'. WTF I know right? That made my brain fall out of my arse too).
As Prince is ill, and because he keeps crying out in pain and despair at his own misery, he wants comfort food, meaning TONS of ice cream ('It clears my sinuses and stops me sneezing so much,' he says with Carte d'Or dribbling down his face), chocolate, Jaffa Cakes, pan cakes, chocolate Hob Nobs and god knows what else. He's basically turned into a girl. You know what I'm like around food. Needless to say, I am having a tough time right now, though watching him talk to groaning, air-humping people in his zombie game is staving off The Deed.  Also I have the winds. I'm sure you were dying to know that.

Thursday, 7 February 2013

I made myself sound gangsta again

BAD BAD BAD. This is NOT. GOOD. Yesterday and the day before were awesome. Today was NOT. GOOD.

I literally draaaaaagged myself out of bed this morning, feeling the lack of sleep making my brain fall out of my butt (ew, that sounds disgusting), and looking and sounding like a total zombie. I poured myself a bowl of fruit & fibre cereal, answering 'Unnnnggghhhhh' in my most 28 Days Later voice to Prince's question 'Are you ok baby?' 
Anyhow, so far so good, right? I then went to work, went to the gym around lunch time and THAT, ladies (and gentlemen?), is when I felt them (no, not the baby's kicks. I'm not even pregnant dammit). The Hunger Pangs (this could be the title of a book. Hmm). Da da DAAAAAAAAAAAAA (that was meant to represent 'dramatic revelation' music, FYI). I tried, I really did, to work through the hunger grumbles, even if it meant practically yowling and growling on the ab-crunch machine, attracting the attention of fellow gym-goers, whose faces signalled distress at the presence of a freak. But by the end of the session, I could no longer take it... I went to Greggs (in the UK, a chain of bakeries). *shock horror* And I had a chicken bake. 

OK yeah I know it's not that dramatic but the worst part came after the late lunch I had when I got home in the afternoon (omelette on toast, sauted mushrooms, salad, yoghurt). It began to rise in me - that awful wave of stress at the idea of having to complete my Tax Return, on top of a whole load of paperwork I'd accumulated over the past 20 years (OK maybe not since the age of 3 because who starts doing paperwork when they're still crapping their diapers?) because I'm a lazy fat arse, and I prefer to do more fun things than admin, like wearing my Princess costume while hosting tea parties with teddy bears and pictures of Ryan Gosling and the Captain Hook guy (see article titled, I should have my own show or something) (you weren't meant to know about the costume tea parties).
This is a photo of me. Nah I'm just kidding. It's my Mum.

But basically, I got stressed, I started to panic, and that irrational feeling of 'GAHHHHH My life sucks, it's terrible, why is everything so complicated, why does David Cameron wear so much foundation etc' surfaced... And so I had a cookie. And another. And another. And another. And another. And after five cookies, I felt full. Not full in the contented 'Hmm yum yum I feel good' kind of way, but in the 'My trousers feel tight and I have a big balloon where my stomach should be, and I'm starting to shake and feel anguished crap crap crap'. So I casually went to the bathroom... and I'll leave the rest up to your imagination (NO I DIDN'T TAKE A CRAP IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WERE IMAGINING!!! Why would I tell you about that???)

After I'd done The Deed, I actually pondered whether to blog about it or not. And then I thought, 'Hell yes, of course I'm going to blog. I already said that if I'm going to be honest with myself, I need to be unashamedly honest with others (see article titled, Damn Maltesers). And that includes my readers. And possibly even Prince who can now read my blog!' So despite your previous kind words of 'You're so funny, you make me happy, you're an inspiration to the world including Obama and Jesus etc', as you can see, I do have my flaws (incredible but true). Just so you know, I then called my local NHS centre and made an appointment on Monday to discuss starting treatment again.

But you know what? Even though I purged today, I'm not mad at myself. Yeah it's not great but at least I'm being honest about addressing my problem, as opposed to hiding it, which makes me feel a tiny bit better.

BOO YAH. Damn it, I made myself sound gangsta again.

Wednesday, 6 February 2013

I should have my own show or something

I haven't posted in like two days. Mainly because I was absolutely exhausted yesterday, having fought off a Sumo wrestler using some acrobatic Kung-Fu moves I didn't know I had, then sprinted 10km to safety because I was worried he would sit on  my face, causing me to die an excruciating death. (God, I really need to stop rambling. This didn't even make sense, not even to me. Plus it's not even true because the reason I was so tired was that I was functioning on two hours' sleep from the night before [having watched the entirety of Once Upon A Time overnight - OMG it's so good, you should check it out. Plus ladies, the guy who plays Captain Hook is ORGASMIC. Crap, what if my boyfriend Prince reads this? Nah it's fiiiiine, he knows I THINK HE'S REALLY SEXY *ahem*] [Yes, I've given Prince Charming the permission to read my blog], including a trip to the gym during which I may have pulled my arse).
 Captain Hook. FIT.

ANYWAY. What was I on about? Yesterday was a Good Day because I didn't binge nor stuck my fingers down my throat, which FELT SO DAMN GOOD! However, upon arriving home from the gym, I was tempted once by the Dominoe's voucher sitting in the hallway because it was 'Two for Tuesday' (Buy one, get one free) and I was so tired from having damaged my bum on the cross-trainer that I couldn't be arsed (pun intended HOHOHO God I'm hilarious) to cook. 

BUT I resisted the Dominoe's voucher! 'YAY!,' I hear you say in wondrous admiration, 'Princess, you are amazing and sexy and my life has been meaningless without you. Anyway, WELL DONE!' Why, thank you. Instead, I boiled two new potatoes, baked a fish cake and had a side of cos lettuce, carrots and tomatoes salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, all washed down with a cup of green tea. Needless to say, I was proud of myself, so proud and happy that I went up to bed and fell asleep a happy girl while reading my copy of The Host (Stephenie Meyer) I bought that day (OMG It's actually not bad! Having read all of the Twilight books [Stop judging me, OK??? I was curious at the time], I was scared her lack of talent would extend to the rest of her works but actually I'm pleasantly surprised thus far)

Today was good too, though I didn't manage to go to the gym before work because I'm a lazy bum and preferred sleeping in. Had a bowl of cereal for breakfast with pink grapefruit juice and green tea (not actually IN the cereal because that would be gross), then work, then checked out a museum with Prince Charming in Bond Street (I'm surprised he didn't make a run for it when I practically dragged him to Karen Millen and LK Bennett on the way there), had a coffee / sandwich break at Pret A Manger (seriously, Pret is AMAZEBALLS, it makes me want to wet myself it's so good. And it's actually pretty healthy. If you buy the healthy stuff, that is. Obviously if all you ever eat is their Chocolate Moose [which is OBVIOUSLY not my case... NOM NOM NOM] then yeah you're screwed. No seriously, I had the crayfish sandwich on bloomer bread).

Anyway, Prince Charming is sitting in my living room right now, and waiting for me so we can start cooking dinner (baked chicken breast with mushrooms and new potatoes, with lots of salad). Honestly, can't men manage on their own? Do they always expect us women to change their diapers? (Actually if Prince wore diapers, then I'd be seriously worried). Nah, just kidding, he's actually pretty good at doing EVERYTHING for me even doing my groceries, I'm surprised he doesn't mind that I make him sleep on the floor of the kitchen, on top of that. HAHAHAHA GOD I'M HILARIOUS, I SHOULD HAVE MY OWN SHOW OR SOMETHING.

Monday, 4 February 2013

Damn Maltesers

Because Mum screwed up my relationship with food and with my body image, I'm angry at her. Yes, I've now managed to emotionally distance myself from her, and completely ignore any abuse she throws my way, but the bruises persist. It's like trying to scrub dry bird poop off a car - not only is it gross but it's so dry that it's become unwashable (believe me, I've tried. Not even Dettol did the trick. Though maybe I should've used a scourer instead of my flatmate's toothbrush).

How someone can have such a magnanimous impact in their kid's life really scares me (My mum, I mean. Not the bird poop). One thing which terrifies me is that when I have children, I may screw them up too, and ruin their lives. I already hate myself for this (weird, I know), and also feel really guilty that I may possibly damage my relationship with Prince Charming.

Prince Charming already knew of my past with eating disorders... but when we started going out a year ago, I resolved to hide my current issues from him and recover by myself before he found out. Well it didn't really happen that way because I was a lazy fat bum who couldn't be bothered with treatment, so I finally told Prince Charming about it last week that I have a problem. I had been inspired by his resolve to address his problem with Something, and realised that one key to recovery is HONESTY with others. If you're honest with others, you're honest with yourself, which is extremely important. 

Don't get me wrong, telling Charming was NOT easy because I was convinced that he would run away flapping his arms around and screeching (he doesn't generally screech, I just made that up), or even worse, be disappointed in me. But all he did was tell me how was proud he was of me for acknowledging my problem, and that we will help each other. BOOH YA. (Not sure why I typed the latter - I meant it as an exclamation of contentment but I think it just made me sound gangsta, not in the cool way)

SO YES. I've finally realised that I need to change my life around, for my sake and for those I love. Going to have to call the NHS tomorrow to see if I can get yet ANOTHER referral to start treatment (honestly, they've seen me contact them then ignore them about 6 times already, they probably hate me).

The other thing is to STOP EATING when I feel low, bored, alone or fidgety, or because I feel like it would make things more pleasant or because it seems like a good idea or because Teletubbies is on TV and 'what would complement the Teletubbies well? Maltesers.' (I don't watch Teletubbies. Only 7 mornings a week.)

Because when I find myself eating in any of the above situations, I generally lose control and purge. And that is something I NEED TO STOP DOING! Damn Maltesers.

I need to stop lying to myself

'Charismatic', 'Confident', 'Bubbly', 'Outgoing', 'Smiling', 'Joyful' are all words that others have used to describe me, from complete strangers to my closest friends (and yes OK 'Cocky' too. Can you call a girl 'cocky' even if she doesn't have a penis? Yeah I know girls don't have penises, I'm not an idiot). I suppose that if you and I were to meet, your impressions would be fairly similar (I am pretty awesome). These words got so hammered into my brain that even I fell for it. Even my best friend at uni would keep saying 'you're so bubbly and confident, everyone likes you, etc' (she was probably just sucking up but tbh she wasn't far off the mark seeing as I'm the incarnation of cool in the universe). And I was like 'yeah, I am cool and people like me', which made me feel better temporarily.

And for years, this facade of how incredible I make people think I am... has been hiding something unpleasant and very common among women. I have the self-esteem of a plankton. 
(Like seriously. I don't think you could get lower self-esteem than that, except maybe if you're a mouldy tomato or a bug).

Anyway, I am 23 and I have been struggling with eating disorders since I was 5 years old.

Before then, I think perhaps I had just been one of those annoying kids that don't care much for food, you know? (When I was 15, I babysat a 6 year-old who didn't like chocolate or pizza. I was like 'wtf you freak, what the hell am I supposed to feed you now?' but not to her face because I would've lost my job and I needed the money so I could go bowling with my friends).

Being a fussy eater didn't bother me or my family when I was toddler. I was just very skinny and didn't really like food, no big deal. We were happy. Our parents were two successful business partners in lurrrrrrve, and we were bloody rich in a mansion of an appartment with all the toys, nannies, holidays, pets etc a kid could wish for (except one of our nannies use to take her slobbery dentures out and put them in front of me while I ate, which was just weird. She got fired). Dad was the King of the World because he was wonderful, but Mum scared me because she made my brother cry by hitting him with belts and metal hangers. Then things went different when Dad broke his brain in an accident when I was 5. I felt sad a lot of the time, and food became comforting.

When I was 8, Mum told me I was fat, and our GP made me go on a diet. He gave me an 'Avoid and Reduce' list which stipulated I couldn't eat dried raisins, pasta, potatoes, chocolate, cereal, biscuits, bread, milk, yoghurt, cream, sweets, noodles, beef, fish fingers, gravy, etc. Honestly, what kind of sick freak tells an eight-year-old she can't eat ANYTHING apart from cabbage and tuna?
Mum kept telling me I was flabby and ungraceful. 'You don't want to look like that, do you?', pointing to morbidly obese or hunch-backed women in the streets, and my brothers followed suit, reiterating that I was 'fat and ugly'. I was convinced that my 'thin friends' would never like me, so I would sit in a corner of the playground on my own to draw princesses in a sketchbook. I agreed with everything Mum said (even though I now hated her because she threw plates at us - I often wished for a 'nicer Mum'). So when I was 9, I found out that if you stick your fingers down your throat deeply enough, you can make yourself sick. Whehay! Then my parents got divorced because Mum fell in love with some guy (he's now my stepdad and he's awesome), and my grades fell down the loo (not literally because that would be gross).

Finally came middle school: a Fresh Start. I resolved to be pretty for the boys (by dieting), be popular with lots of friends and follow my Mum's orders to be 'Number One' at school. I became outgoing, bubbly, friendly and charismatic. Boys asked me out even though I had always thought I was morbidly obese, and I ended up being a popular girl in my year with lots of friends, top grades, liked by all teachers, involved in Theatre, sports, music, art and writing. Basically, I was like one of those cheerleader girls you see in American TV shows. Except I'm not American, nor am I a cheerleader. But I still thought I was fat, so continued eating and purging.

At 16, I started to feel extremely vulnerable. There were boy troubles, jealousy amongst friends, competition at school, pressure from Mum to be 'Number One' ALL THE TIME ('If you can't be the best, you're nothing'). My best friend and I started squabbling over a boy. I got the guy OBVIOUSLY (gosh this is like a Jane Austen novel) but I HATED risking being outshone by others. I didn't want to go back to being the girl who sat alone in a corner of the playground. 

Suddenly, I felt the need to be perfect so that no one would ever surpass me, or ever be able to criticise me. I became obsessed with self-control, which I converted to calorie-counting. I suppose my efforts worked on other people because I got comments like 'You're like a ballerina' or 'you're a hot geek' or 'you're like the perfect girlfriend' or 'you have the perfect figure' - yet it was never enough. Looking back, it seems ridiculous that I felt so miserable, but I was desperately insecure. I HAD to weigh 95lb and was TERRIFIED of putting on the slightest bit of weight.

Ironically, my obsession with counting calories made me lose track of everything else... I stopped doing my homework, I stopped music, I stopped Drama, I ignored my boyfriend (and broke up with him by changing my Facebook relationship to 'single'. I call it 'Speed-Breaking' HAHAHA God I'm hilarious). Mum was initially oblivious to the fact I was becoming a freak, and even praised me when she saw me weighing up lettuce in the kitchen for my dinner, or cutting up five cubes of cucumber for my packed lunch. I didn't think my friends would notice if I munched a cucumber cube 35 times while animatedly chatting to them in the cafeteria (doing both at the same time is hard, believe me). 

When I finally weighed 95lb, Mum said I was pretty even though I looked like a whale. But when the school got involved after my fainting fits during class, she freaked out and force-fed me a pork chop until my face hurt from crying, and told me I would never get into Oxford because she would put me in a mental institute. I often felt so overwhelmed with anguish and fatigue that I wanted to die. Pffff dramatic much ???
At 17, treatment started, consisting in psychiatric following. But if you ask me, it is only ever treatment if you willingly accept it, which I didn't really. Because my control had been taken from me, I started binging and throwing up again. I felt stupidly angry with myself for now weighing 120lb. And Mum said I was getting fat and needed to slim down. Seriously? One minute, I'm too fat, next I'm too thin, then next I'm too fat again? What is WRONG with you Mum? Get a life.

During that time, I had applied to five unis, received offers from four of them... and a rejection from Oxford. I was so devastated that I skipped all my mock exams in order to get drunk on brandy and sleeping pills in my room (PARTAY WOOH! Nah it wasn't like that). Mum reiterated that I was a failure and needed to get over myself, which yeah, I guess was true.

The summer after high school graduation, Mum told me I was a fat hippy. I 'rebelled' by making out with my friend's boyfriend, who then touched me down there against my will. I felt so gross and guilty that I showered 20 times a day to wash him off me, then overdosed on fat-burning pills and was hospitalised. During the follow-up psychiatric sessions which my parents attended with me, I blurted out my thoughts to Mum, and even told her why I took the pills. She reacted by calling me a whore and said I would not go to uni that September. ERM. Excuse me? There was NO WAY I was going to stay home with that psycho. So I went to uni.

Uni was good, as it was another fresh start without Mum. I was a consistent First Class student, involved on the exec of various societies, with loads of friends from all walks of life, going to and organising parties, and dating various guys (I didn't trust a single one of them after what had happened That Summer, and couldn't be bothered to spend time with them. Worst girlfriend ever. God I was such a tease). I was still concerned with my weight but it was a 'niggle' at the back of my mind, as opposed to a major concern (so I thought).

Yet I continued the cycle of eating and purging, especially when my mood wasn't great. Everytime I decided to address the issue, to change my life around, I would get involved with the local E.D. NHS Clinic, and then Completely and Utterly Ignore It. This happened 5 or 6 times (they probably hated me). I kept thinking that if I 'suppressed/ignored my problem' and 'lived moderately', things would get better.

But two years after graduation, it's now 2013, I'm 23, the bulimia rages on. It really needs to change.

'You've tried before, Smiley Princess, what's different this time?' 

What really ticked me off was when my boyfriend (Prince Charming) recently admitted to me he has a problem with Something and that he needs to address it, even blog about it. His new resolve made me so proud of him, but after two weeks, I felt his momentum falter... he now said that it was OK to 'live moderately' (remind you of anyone much...?) and even stopped blogging. COME ON. In any case, this really affected me, and we were both surprised at how strongly I felt about his problem.

Then it suddenly hit me. It's because I have the same issue with food.

I need to stop lying to myself.