Oh my god.

There is this drug called spice, which is a blend of herbs and, you guessed it, spices. It’s one of many ‘alternative’ drugs. It is similar to weed, except lighter, fluffier and without the underlying paranoia and heaviness. It isn’t as deep as weed, it’s more playful and you feel interested in everything you see, rather than feel like everything is okay in the world and that you understand everything like weed. It’s also weirder in that although your head is completely spaced out, you appear normal exteriorly, and your body is normal and your responses normal – but it’s like your body is actually on autopilot and controlling all your reactions.

I took the biggest two drags I have ever taken before, but I only took four drags altogether of it. That was at two this afternoon. That was…ten hours ago. I’m still high.

The greatest thing, the very greatest thing, is that once you are over 18, it is completely legal.

My boyfriend and I broke my bed the other day whilst having quite *cough cough* forceful sex, and I haven’t been able to sleep on it for a few days. He’s coming over this weekend to help me make a new frame from an identical bed we have. Luckily, my bed was one half of a twin pair.

Other than that though, I don’t want to sleep. At night I can relax, and usually don’t sleep then anyway. It just doesn’t settle well with me. I don’t like sleeping alone, and I don’t like sleeping in silence or the dark really. Daytime is safer, more secure, and nighttime is a time for parties and fun.

I miss self harm. It’s the first time that I’ve missed cutting. A large part of me wants to start cutting my legs, and lying about it. If I did it in a certain place, on the inside of my thigh, not even my boyfriend might see it. The only reason I stopped was because it seemed right. It was what everyone wanted.

The scars are on my arm and they’ll be there forever. I have to cover them with make up next week because I’m in a play and can’t wear a bandage. Part of me feels like such a freak, but really, I’ve accepted myself for who I am. I’ve told a few friends now, and they still like me. They worry, of course they do, but they know that I would never go too far.

Although, that I’m not so sure….

My childhood best-friend told me the other day that a friend of his was rushed into hospital after taking a paracetamol overdose. She was trying to kill herself. I don’t know if I’ve told you this already, but even if I have, you can see it’s been playing on my mind. His reaction…he was so worried and concerned for her. She was just a friend he had made this year, he can’t have known her longer than six months. I’ve known him since I was a baby, we’re like brother and sister.

It would hurt him so much, him and my family, and everyone else.

But there I go again, stopping myself just because of other people’s feelings. It isn’t how it’s meant to be. I want to do what I want and not worry about their feelings. As long as what I’m doing is for me and not to purposely hurt them, then at least there is just cause for me to behave however.

I know I won’t kill myself. It’s just…the amount I think about it, it’s phenominal.

I took five laxatives today, and I purged food before too. Technically yesterday, but seeing as I’m not sleeping it makes little difference. Tomorrow (when the sun comes up), I’m going to do everything that I need to do. I’m going to tidy up the house, go down to the beach, ask for a job at the cafe and at the restaurant down there, and go for a run.

I’m going to have half an apple for breakfast, and half when I get back from the beach. I’m going to fake a big lunch. Because my diet is so bad, what with it not being regular, my weight goes up and down like a yoyo. I’ve put on half a stone just this week, and it’s getting towards the end of the month and I need to be lower for my personal weigh-in.

I’ve let myself accept that this month might not count, because it’s been a tough few weeks emotionally. I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been, and yet, I’ve also been the angriest. I’ve never felt rage such as this. The need to destroy.

Tomorrow is a new day, and although I won’t have lost much by the end of the week, I have until Tuesday. That’s…four full days between now and then. Today (Friday – seeing as it hasn’t started properly yet), Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Tomorrow is the only day I have to sneak around my mum.

On Saturday and Sunday I have day-long rehearsals, and on Monday and Tuesday the performances. This month I am not letting anything other than fruit and veg pass my lips. No sauces, condiments, fatty, salty or sugary foods will grace my plate. Hardly ‘grace’, more like ‘contaminate’.

This week and last week I have been eating normally. I’ve been talking normally. I’ve been acting normally. I haven’t self harmed. The more I eat, the more I feel normal. But it’s horrible. A double edged sword and it confuses like nothing I could imagine. I’m eating normally, and I know that it’s a healthy and good thing. That everyone I know thinks that it is a good thing. So why do I find myself crying for no reason, thinking of the food I’ve eaten, and wondering why I’m bothering?

I fell into this, I don’t even remember making the decision. I made a conscious, spontaneous decision not to self harm, and I think that I’ll stick with that. Scars are ugly and scabs and dried blood is inconvenient. I’ve stopped cutting but every now and then I find myself hitting or scratching myself. Punching things. There is so much anger there. It’s almost as if stopping the self-destruction has brought forth the need to destroy…but something other than myself.

I’m sick of being ugly. Being ashamed of my skin. Scars and scabs, blood and bruises.

Although I know eating normally makes other people feel better, I just feel fatter and fatter and uglier. I can stop cutting, stop self harming, but I’m going to get thin. If I need an obsession, this is better than weed, alcohol and self harm.

P.S If you are in England and have been watching Skins on E4, how amazing is it?! I love Effie.

It’s Easter weekend soon, and Mum has time off. She would probably be at work if she could, but everyone has a few days holiday. This is meant to be time to spend together because we are alone. My dad and sister are gone abroad and it’s just us. Today she made a delicious salad, and I have been so good food wise. All week I have been so good. Eating like a normal person, purging and exercising minimally.

I have tried so hard to be normal, and for what?

She makes this salad, talks about losing weight, being together, painting the house, eating chocolate together, chatting…I even say that I’ll have a few drinks with her. When I’m drinking water with lemon in it she seems disappointed that I chose not to drink with her. I’m with her aren’t I?

She walks out the room half way through the film, half way through her salad. Comes back later, much later, drunker than before. She eats more salad, drops off to sleep. She sleeps through the rest of the film, and through the next one. She’s sleeping now. Whenever she is awake she’s slurring, her head drooping, her hands fumbling, dropping things.

I don’t know what I feel anymore. I don’t know whether I can afford to keep hoping that she’ll stop drinking. I don’t know whether I can take waiting any more. Every time she says she’ll stop drinking, there’s a “one last time” and I don’t think I can believe her anymore. There are too many “one last time”s. Hope isn’t really enough anymore, and I think that for a long time it’s only been a memory of how it felt to hope.

I want to help her, but she falls back, pushing away my outstretched hands. I end up just watching her stumble around, my heart breaking. I know that many people have worse parents; abusive parents. Mine don’t particularly neglect me, it isn’t even that. I think in many ways neglect would be better. No, instead I’m looking after her. Shouldering her tears. She rubs my shoulder as she cries, but I’m fine. She’s only doing it to feel like she’s the parent. To feel like she is in control, looking after me. It’s not true though, is it? None of it is true.

You sing so blue,
The only thing that’s true,
Baby hide your face,
Nothing there but your disgrace.

Don’t you cry,
Those beautiful tired eyes,
Baby hold your breath,
Life’s a test and then there’s…

Death.

Aparantly I had the ‘just had sex glow’ this morning. I feel so good. The happiest I have been in so long…sex is a miracle cure for depression!

Tomorrow I start my Rainbow Diet, and I am going to be so good. There is no reason to eat. I’m happy. Life is good. Happiness and thinness go hand in hand, and being happy to start with…perfect!

I get to be thin, and fullfilled!

I’m happy.

I lost my virginity in the early hours of this morning. It was perfect. First time…managed to go through six positions without him ‘leaving’ me. Pretty impressive, huh? The desk was one of my favourites…just for the novelty! After having a really bad day Friday, and bad morning Saturday, it was so good to have him here with me.

Have a feeling I’m going to become addicted…but at least this is exercise! And very pleasurable!

I just ate four slices of toast with butter, mayonaisse and steamed vegetables. I heated the vegetables up from the fridge (they were the meal the other day). It was anger food, and I wolfed it all down in front of my parents after having a furious row with both individually. Then I went upstairs and threw it all up. I didn’t pause, I didn’t care. I was angry and I had never wanted food. I had just wanted something to chew so that I could use my anger on something. Throwing the bag of bread hadn’t stopped me from wanting to break things.

 So I chewed and chewed, getting angrier and angrier. I never even considered the possibility that I would keep it in my stomach. It wasn’t an ED thing. It was anger management. So I chucked it all up without pausing, and it was gone in about five miutes. I didn’t cry, I didn’t wonder why I was doing it, whether it was normal. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if it isn’t healthy. It helps me cope, it helps me not absorb kcals, and again, it helps me cope.

Dad accused me of being selfish, and I just snorted at him. Everyone is selfish, I’m not any worse than any of them. He is more selfish than I am. I may not help physically by doing stuff, but I’m the f***ing shoulder that everyone cries on.

Next time he talks to me, tries to argue; tries to win, I will say:

“You are right. I am selfish. I only look out for myself. But someone has to, right?”

I just want to scream, “look at what you are doing! look at my arms, smell my sicky breath, read my f***ing diary!” but I know if I do, I will regret it. Because they will either think I’m attention seeking (likely), and/or watch me eat and take away my privacy (also likely).

I HATE THEM……………………………ALMOST MORE THAN I HATE MYSELF

I just found the Rainbow Diet, and it looks like something I want to do. Starving for a whole week is fun and all, but it f**ks your metabolism up. This is less than 700 kcals per week, but it looks really yummy (if sparse – but better than starving, right?).

Last night my friend and her boyfriend stayed the night (my boyfriend came along too but had to leave in the evening). It was…awful. He got drunk off hardly anything, and got really touchy with her, which made her really uncomfrotable. They didn’t do anything whilst I was in the room, thank god, but it was enough to feel uncomfortable. I hadn’t wanted him to come in the first place, but if it was going to be the four of us I didn’t mind.

But obviously I wasn’t thinking, because I knew that my bf had to leave, it just slipped my mind and I found myself in a hole. I just kept digging it and digging it. I had had such a bad day.

I had been at my grandparents, and had my results back. They want me to have extensive medicals and a joint session with me and my mum so that I can ”tell her how I feel”. I need blood tests and everything to check that my health hasn’t been affected by the laxatives. I was living off them for like, six months…

I bought a pretty dress yesterday though, to make me feel better. I shouldn’t have because it was from money that I owe my mum, but I needed a pick-me-up. Although I’m a little worried that my legs will look fat. But that’s just me being silly, I know that people don’t give a s**t what I look like. It’s just me. The dress is too pretty for them to care. There are bigger girls in my drama group anyway, and they wear dresses and look goreous, so why can’t I?

I got back yesterday with my friends, and my dad was home from abroad. He had just arrived and was in an awful mood. Really surly and rude. He humiliated me in front of my friends, asking them rhetorical questions that made me sound like a horrible person. He made me sound like a complete bitch, and he slagged off our family to them in a really sly way. They felt really uncomfortable and I felt like crying.

Talk about the good of the dress fizzling out.

He had a go at me, for nothing may I add, and when I got angry and told him how he humiliated me in front of my friends, he just said, “I know, you deserve it.” For what?! Seriously? The cat had ‘gone’ on the floor by the bottom of the stairs, and someone had APARANTLY stepped in it. We got back when he was cleaning it up in a foul mood. Well, I said, mum and I weren’t the last to be at the house, my sister was, and so he should ask her when she gets back. He wouldn’t listen. He’d made the assumption that it was me in his head, and he wouldn’t let it go.

He was SO rude!

I haven’t seen him so rude and angry in such a long time and this was NOT the right time, day, place for it. I said to him after he said about me deserving humiliation, “look, ive had a bad day and i DO NOT deserve this”. I wanted to cry the entire evening.

I was so glad that my boyfriend was there, even if just at the beginning. He held me so tightly and kissed me. He let me press my face in his shoulder and not breathe for a little bit. I didn’t cry on him, but only because he was there. I wasn’t alone. Then he left, and I have never missed someone more.

Then this morning once my friend & bf left, my mum accused me of lying to her and “duping” her into having my friend’s bf back just so that they could have sex! They aren’t allowed to sleep at each other’s houses, but it doesn’t stop them having sex! Their parents know full well what they are doing! He stays at hers til one in the morning every day, and I can’t imagine them being quiet.

Mum accused me of “letting people use our house as a shagpad”. How f***ing ridiculous!!

I’m not eating today. Tomorrow neither. Then on Monday, I’m starting the Rainbow Diet. I don’t care what they think anymore. They don’t trust me, and I have done nothing wrong. That anger that has been building that I talked of? It has burst, and I am externally angry as well as internally. And this time, I’m not going to focus on cutting my arms up to look like I’ve been tortured by some sadist, but I’m going to be angry with them. Because they are why I am angry, and I don’t see why I should take the brunt of it anymore. I’m not angry at myself like usual. I am angry at them, and it has been a long time since I have been angry with ANYONE let alone both parents at once.

I’m usually so contained. So, in myself. I hate myself and I punish myself.

Now I hate them too, and they will feel it. They will feel it like a lead bullet to the brain, because the one thing they can’t stand is not getting their way, and I’m not following their rules anymore. I don’t want anything to do with them. Consider me done.

This is a reply to unfitting’s comment on my post, “Reasons”:

She said that where I feel like I’m watching my mum die slowly, many people feel low and like that. I’m not arguing that other people don’t have similar situations, and I’m definately not saying I have it worse than anyone else.

She also said that my mum would feel the same way about me. Feel like she’s watching me die, too. I can’t agree with that, because to my family, everything is normal. The only problem I have is ‘minor depression’, because that was what I was diagnosed before I even said about food and self harm and the suicidal stuff. It’s progressed since. She also has no idea about the eating problems, because whereas most people with ED’s who say that they aren’t thin, I’m being truthful.

I’m called, “slim”. I’m the same size I always was, because I’m not anorexic. If anything I’m bulimic, but to be honest EDNOS is probably what they would call me. I flit between tendencies, and my weight ups and downs, but not enough to make a difference to my appearance with clothes on.

So actually, she isn’t watching me slowly destroy myself, because she has no idea. Maybe she is watching me self-destruct, but she doesn’t know it, and so isn’t being harmed.