The Dash

Your Life Is Made of Two Dates and a Dash. Make the Most of the Dash


I don’t want to be at the end of my stretch and look back and realise I lost some of the best years of my life to my eating disorder. I don’t want to look back and see things I missed out on because the demon stopped me from doing them.

Equally, I don’t want to look back and realise I stopped myself from being happy. Stopped myself from being me. I want someone to be proud to have me. Not because I’m pretty or skinny, as my ED tells me, but because they value me as a person. Now, I do know people I have been with and dated did like me as a person but naturally I am well aware of those who abused and took advantage of me. Whilst, its so unfortunate, that’s life.

I want to look back and be confident my decisions were right. I want to look back and see pictures like the one I’ve shared; where I look Strong not Skinny.

I want to make the most of this ‘dash’. I want to keep progressing the way that I am and not keep falling back. Those people who took advantage or did not appreciate me will eventually realise what they’ve missed out on. I don’t think I’ve felt this happy or confident and it truly is a lovely place to be. I’m not skinny. I’m strong.

Isn’t it crazy how we can look back a year ago and realise how much everything has changed? The amount of people that have left your life, entered, and those that have stayed. The memories you won’t forget and the moments you wish you could. Everything. It is crazy how all that happened in one year. It’s made me realise too, you know you really love someone when you can’t hate them no matter how much they broke your heart.

I just want to make the most of these amazing opportunities I have right now and starving and purging isn’t going to allow that. Keep eating moderately and exercising well. I’ve never felt happier or prouder of my progress than I do right now.


A Beautiful Paradox



She was broken but never hopeless. Alone but never lonely. Her eyes reflected pain but projected courage. She was a beautiful paradox

I really like that quote and feel like I can massively relate to it. It always feels weird to have people say things to me like, ‘I love how confident you are, you don’t take crap from anyone!’ when deep down, I know I’m filled with self-doubt.

The look on people’s faces when they realise what I’ve gone through and what I’m currently going through can really say it all for me. They genuinely have no idea the happy, chatty girl with the infectious smile can be so broken inside. The problem is, I’m not pretending to be that happy person, I know that person is me. It’s just that beneath it all there is the girl struggling to glue herself back together.

All it takes is one nightmare from that night…one glance from a girl skinnier than me…one more family argument, to tear down that smile and the tears come running. I really am a confident person, definitely personality confident and definitely NOT body confident but I really am getting there with being comfortable with the way I look.

I met the other trainees this week and they were so skinny. They really were, no lumps and bumps, no chest like mine and I felt so huge. They were like sticks and there I am…most definitely not a stick. I felt so self-conscious…I’ve not felt like that since i was half-naked in a swimming costume. They were all talking about how great their lives were and are, their family background and their wonderful boyfriends. DOn’t get me wrong, every single girl would have been through similar shit like me and to be honest, they were lovely and I don’t think I met a single person I disliked. No one commented on my looks or weight, or made any hint or suggestion.

No one except me. I was so down that day and I relapsed when I got home.

The next day my latest gym delivery arrived, protein etc. and a new (complimentary) gym top. Its silly but new gym kit? That is most certainly the way to motivate you to go! I felt so good, I went and worked out for an hour, did my weights and finished with a run and I looked in the mirror and felt…proud. Staring back at me was the girl who (yes, I relapsed) but woke up today determined to continue on my journey of becoming the best possible version of myself.

And I was not skinny.

But I looked strong.

#StrongNotSkinny seems to be trending lately I suppose

And it felt good.

I want to be so skinny at times but I’m also happy to be strong.

I feel so inadequate as if I don’t deserve anything or anyone but I also believe I deserve special because I do believe I am special.

I want to be loved but I know I still don’t quite love myself so…as my favourite drag queen quotes… If you can’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love someone else!

Haha here I am quoting Ru Paul (she is the best though).

I really am happier. I’m getting less focused on skinny and more focused on strong. My housemates seem to love me for me…I’m sure my new friends will love me for me and I’m sure that one day someone else will love me for me.

I really am a paradox. I feel simultaneously not good enough and too much. I suppose I need to keep journeying for the happy medium where the outside smiles and confidence truly reflects the inside smiles and confidence.

I’m not broken anymore, because I’ve already started to put myself back together. I am simply currently undergoing my re-construction.

The best of me is yet to come.

Working It Out


Today’s been a bad day but on the same hand one of my better ones. It’s so contradictory, I know but I’m pleased with where I am right now in this very moment.

As usual my day started off with the standard family stress but today I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m in the middle with my mum breaking down to me on the phone and my dad pressuring me to send him all my money. We had an agreement that I would look after that money so me and my brother could have deposits for houses in the future but now he’s trying to take it and I will happily support my mum but I’m getting fed up of my dad. Strictly speaking he’s been paying for that whore for 14 years…14 years of his and mum’s money being spent elsewhere…14 years that has led to him taking mine and my brother’s savings, the inheritance meant to help us start our own families one day.

I feel like I can’t cope with it anymore. When I hung up on mum I ended up crying in the middle of the street and I couldn’t stop. I tried to find a place that was quiet so I could try hide from the masses around me but I couldn’t and I felt like I was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe in this crowd and I was fighting to keep the tears from falling but in the end I couldn’t. They burnt and they stung my cheeks as they started to come and I desperately tried to find an empty corner or side street to run to but there wasn’t anywhere, so I lowered my head and made my way home whilst the tears kept running.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope with this stress, I want all my family to leave. I want them to stop pressuring me, I don’t want this financial stress, they can take the money and fight between themselves, I don’t want anything to do with the money anymore, its caused so many problems sitting there and I wish, oh i wish I could just fuck off and leave them all behind. That’s my inheritance…my mum’s hard-earned cash and savings that is meant for me and John but dad is trying to take it and once he takes it, it’ll go to that fucking whore.

I was sick. I didn’t even try not to be. I just went to the bathroom and put my fingers down my throat. Its so bad that its not even to be skinny…its turning into a coping mechanism again. Something to take all the pain away because its the only way I know how.

But then, I went to the gym. I went to the one a few streets down and opened a membership and after 2 hours I went for a bit. I only managed 30 minutes cardio but considering I’ve not been able to do any real exercise for a long time I think that’s alright. I do know its not the best idea seeing as I purged. But I went to the gym, made sure I drank a lot and afterwards I went for sushi. Expensive food for my bank account right now but at least I ate something. At least I exercised. At least I got the remainder of my anger and pain out on the treadmill and not down the toilet.

And I’m proud that I finally went. It’s silly but because I feel so fat most days, I’m almost embarrassed to go to the gym. It’s so contradictory, we go there to better ourselves but it also acts as such a self-conscious environment. I’m pleased with myself. I’ve drawn up an exercise plan for the rest of the month and yeah, it might be too much, but hopefully I can find where my fitness is and start building myself up again. Not just physically but mentally too.


Letting go

I admit I’ve made some massive mistakes the past 7 days but I know I wasn’t fully to blame.

I’m ready to let it all go. I’m ready to make sure I am never that person who got into such a vulnerable position ever again. Hating myself won’t work. Only when I love myself truly will I never be that vulnerable.

Loving myself is the greatest thing I can do right now.

But why is it so hard?

Why can’t I love myself the way others do?

I’m ready to try. I’m going to be on my own next week when I move to London and although I’m so excited to move…I need to really develop my self-love and self-worth to enable that I’m strong enough to never hurt this way again.

The biggest demon is my scales.

I can’t seem to let them go.

I’m ready to throw out so much stuff that doesnt mean anything to me, or makes me feel bad due to the memories or I simply don’t need on my journey into this new chapter.

So why is it so hard to throw out the one thing that has never been my friend? Why can’t I throw out the sqaure that shows me a number and teaches me to hate myself?

Its only hurting me…but I can’t let them go.

Be mine

I feel terrible saying this because of what happened last week. I tried to talk about it but it was still too raw, and he felt I was justifying what happened. I do understand that.

But I want to go out. I want my boyfriend to come with me.

To be proud to come out with me. To want to be seen holding my hand.

To show everyone that I’m his.

I hate going to parties and the like without him. Everyone asking why my boyfriend wouldn’t come with me.

I want to have romantic meals, or a walk in the park.

I want him to show me off to his friends and to let me show him off to mine.

I want to go to a party and dance with my boyfriend rather than dancing on my own.

I hate seeing other couples there, holding hands, dancing, cuddling, kissing.

I love him so why does he not want to come for a drink with me, to a party, to a BBQ. He doesn’t even have to pay for it.

Just come with me. Be with me. Outside of the flat.

I want to go to a party, have a drink and a dance but with him. Not with my friends…not having to stop guys from trying to dance with me.

And the more I drink the more I wish he could be there with me, dancing, holding my hand. Just there with me.

So I drink more.

I drank more.

But I have no argument. No leg to stand on. Not any more.

I want to be looked at as though I am the most beautiful girl in the world. I want him to hold my hand on the walk home. I want to be treated like I’m not something to be lost. I want him to be there and just know that he can’t be without me.

I want him to meet my friends and I want to meet his.

I want him to show how proud he is to be mine…

How proud he is, for me to be his…

We’re not okay, but we’re doing okay, and that’s okay

I went home a little over a month ago. Seems so recent yet so long ago at the same time. I met up with some friends from school, the real friends, the ones I wish I had kept in contact with far more than I have done. Some I’ve not seen for 8 whole years, longer than I ever knew them in the first place.

One thing about developing any sort of mental illness is that you withdraw. You think you’re stronger on your own so you try to stay alone. They make you think you’re better if no one knows what you’re going through. But the flip side is that, mental illnesses also tell you you’re worthless all the time. You want to be alone but its also so lonely. You don’t want people to know what’s going on but its a dark place to stay. I didn’t think I would open up, I didn’t expect to, but I did and it made me realise something.

We’re all fucked up. One way or another we’ve all been through some horrendous shit. Behind the image and pre-conception that I’m some lucky rich bitch who has everything is the father that started an affair when she was 7, who promised to give the family everything but instead spent all the money, fucked around and gave them a half-brother. The dad who everyone thinks is lovely but is still cheating on her mum. Her mum who can’t pay the bills, who she wants to help but she doesn’t get funding for sports anymore because she quit. And she quit sport because this ‘oh-so-rich-kid’ has an eating disorder. A mental illness rooted deeply in all the comments from her past. The family who picked on her. The ‘friends’ who ridiculed her. The boys who took advantage of her. The coaches who humiliated her. The boyfriends who manipulated and controlled her. The illness that manifested because there was so much pressure to be perfect. The stress of being smaller and smaller forced her into such a dark path. One of self-hatred and self-harm. All to make it. Because she though ‘making it’ would make everything alright. But it didn’t. It was never going to. I’ve had to fight constantly, I’ve never had anything handed to me on a plate but, then again, I’m proud of that. I’m glad I’ve worked to get where I am. I know that I am still very fortunate. I’m not trying to say I was brought up badly or had it worse than anyone else. But there’s so much crap that really happens, and it just goes to show you can’t judge anyone. You can never think; ‘Oh, they won’t understand.’

I cried when I told them. My best friend there already knew but the others didn’t. Even one said to me, ‘you have an eating disorder? You?’. She didn’t mean that in a negative way. I used to be scared to tell people because I thought that they wouldn’t believe the fat girl had an eating disorder. But she didn’t mean it like that, she was concerned because she cared for me.

I’m not here to talk about everyone’s issues. Only mine. But opening up made me realise that none of us have had it easy. We have all had to deal with vast amounts of different stressors. I even joked to one, that we could probably write an award winning soap together! We can all sit there and smile and tell each other about the good things that are happening to us and how happy we are for each other. But its when we let the smile go and just open up, tell each other honestly what happens in that dark corner of our mind that you find your true friends are actually there.

I might not have seen them for about 8 years, but after telling them my secret I realised that we’re probably stronger friends now than when we were kids. There’s always those people who you tell, but they don’t really seem to acknowledge or understand. They understood and I’ve never been so happy to talk about my issues to a group of people. I even ended up chatting to one for hours the week after and to realise I had a friend who I had potentially forgotten about, a friend so much more important to me now than 8 years earlier. It’s easy to think that while the world is shitting on you, that it isn’t shitting on someone else but that’s not true. We’ve experienced different things, different highs and different lows, but we’re not alone in that.

The most important thing I gathered from that day at home was that, we’re not okay, but we’re doing okay, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be slowly moving forward, looking to the future and escaping the past. It’s okay to stumble and fall some days. It doesn’t mean we’re weak, it doesn’t mean we’ve failed, it just means we’re human.

It’s okay to not be okay.


Not gaining but not losing either. Feels like I’m hovering in limbo, wanting to lose s few pounds but almost as if I’m not even trying. I’m not overeating but I’m not under eating either. You could say that’s the best position I could be in but the voice tells me it’s not.

Im constantly drifting in and out of weight loss and weight gain. To be honest my eating has been really quite good this week but I feel lost again. I feel that nagging sense of dissatisfaction, the one that eats away at me and I’m struggling to get out of it.

One day, I’m happy, but the next I feel sad. Down for no reason. Just drifting in and out of different feelings and the emotions drive me insane. Logic against the demon. I came away from Manchester this weekend too, went to Ben’s house and it’s so nice to be away, more than often I feel as if my demons are fully rooted in manchester, as if everything is better when I’m not there.

but they still find a way of haunting me. I freaked out going to the shops, no control over what food would be served for dinner, no control over what would be given to me, afraid they’d find out about my problems if I asked for less or ate too much. It’s that feeling of having to pretend, act like you’re fine, no one will ask questions that way which is what I want. To be left alone. And in control.

I can’t explain it other than by saying I feel as if I’m in limbo. I don’t know what to do or where to go next. I want to be slimmer but I also don’t want to be. I want to be happier and so I focus on weight but I also don’t focus o n weight as much as I used to. Maybe it’s the demon sinking its claws in, trying to drag me back down into that pit of self loathing. It almost has. But I’m walking a fine line. Hovering on the brink . It’s almost as if I’m drifting in and out of recovery and relapse. I just never know which day is going to be which and, worse yet, if ill be able to stop stepping too far into the relapse zone.