Milk

Okay so I did my usual thing of not posting for a while, and I've noticed that I've avoided that topic of food for a very long time, and now I have a good reason to post an update on this.

In general, my eating has been okay-ish. I still binge occasionally, but I've managed not to make myself sick, thankfully. I do get really paranoid over how much I eat, and I often feel like a whale despite eating what I know is the right amount for my age and height. It's a work in progress, I know that.

For quite a while I've been wanting to get over my last food phobia. For years now I have refused to drink milk, or add it to anything I eat or drink. Since moving, I have only ever had soya milk and if anyone asks I say I'm lactose intolerant. The thought of buying milk filled me with so much actual fear that I've even bought cream to use in cooking instead of it. That's crazy. It has much more fat in it, but I just couldn't let myself bring milk into the flat.

As this is the last "big thing" in terms of my eating disorder, I decided I'd work through it. I knew I wasn't going to be bringing it in and drinking it by the gallon, so I bought one of those packet cheese sauces to make. I decided to do this about a month ago, but it was only on Wednesday (the 23rd) that I decided I would buy a pint of milk on the way back from my lectures. Just a pint, so there's not much.

I spent the entire day thinking about it getting more and more anxious. I didn't focus on my lectures at all. I went into Tesco and had to force myself to not think about it or else I would have turned around and walked out. It took all of my self-control not to leave while I was waiting in the queue, but I made myself buy it. The whole walk back I felt the bag burning in my hand and wanted rid of it, but I got it back to the flat.

Actually making the sauce was okay I suppose. I had the expected panic over how much milk I was putting into the pan, but a slight cooking disaster (it started turning into dough on the bottom of the pan!) distracted me from it, and I ended up with a very small bowl of pasta in slightly lumpy cheese sauce (I'm a great cook, but packet things seem to be my downfall). I sat at my desk making every excuse not to eat it but I did it. And I'm happy. It feels a bit like a weight has been lifted from me. I feel like I'm allowed milk now. I'm able to have it in my chai tea or other drinks, which I have missed. More than anything I feel a kind of pride that I've finally overcome the food phobia that has been most noticeable for years.

I know how stupid a fear of milk sounds, but I know that anyone who has an eating disorder will understand this. I wish I could talk about this with the very few people who know about my eating disorder, but it will be belittled a bit. I feel good about this. It's like a sign of my refusal to give in to the disorder again. A test of my strength that I succeeded.

So, I have finally finished the two horrible difficult and important essays. I just have one more at the start of next month to work on, thich won't be as bad. I should feel less stressed but I can't.

Every hour I think about how things won't work out with my boyfriend or how I should kill myself. I'm scared I'll do something, so I'm trying to keep busy.

I don't really want to continue this update. Another day.

Stupid

This will probably sound stupid, but I've tried getting in touch with people to talk to and there isn't anyone to help just now. I'm not sure if calling the crisis team or hospital might be an idea, but I'll leave that for now. Anyway, bear with me and I'll try to explain this ridiculous situation.

I decided to watch Shameless, because it's one of my favourite shows, and in it this week this girl talks about how when she was 10 her mum would rent her out and she'd be filmed, before killing herself. Now, take out the filming part and knock 2 years off the age and it's what happened to me. Normally this would shake me a bit and I'd have a weep and then be okay, but my mum was emailing me over the weekend. She says her computer is broken which is why I haven't heard from her since November.

I mentioned the sexual abuse therapy I've been referred to in my last email and she jumped on it, said she had no idea what happened. I really wish I could believe her, and I tried to, but it was so obvious that she arranged it herself. I don't know, a combination of these 2 little things has left me feeling kind of hollow and sad. I wanted to hurt myself, to maybe even kill myself, at the very least to binge eat, throw up then cry until my eyes ached, but I can't. I just can't react.

After my ex attacking me maybe I've just had enough. There's only so much I can take, you know? I'm sure I'll be back to my usual miserable ways soon enough, but right now I just feel this huge void where all of my urges should be.

It would be nice if I could forget everything that happened, or even just forgive my mum and have a relationship with her, but that can't happen. What happened in my past actually took place, and instead of running away from it maybe it's about time I accepted it and allowed myself to resent it and the people involved. I'm allowed to reject my mum now, and I'm perfectly entitled to after what she put me through. I know it's tempting to smile and try to get on with her and my ex now as best as I can, but actually, I'm a person. I have feelings, and I don't have to try to make things perfect for everyone all of the time. I'm able to just think of myself, and sometimes I need to. This is one of those times.

I think I kind of need someone to call me or sit with me for tonight, but even if I am alone I refuse to hurt myself when it is other people who deserve the pain. Even if it's just for one night, I will not allow myself to take it out on my own body.

A Letter I'll Never Send You

You cunt. There is no other word for you. You complete and utter cunt. Of course, you'd love to be called names so you could carry on and play the victim and feel sorry for you but I will NOT have that.

You KNEW what happened in my past and yet you chose to take advantage of me, possibly worse. Hell did you rape me? I don't even know if that matters to be honest, the fact it was you has messed me up. I trusted you and I LOVED you at one point and you (most likely) spiked my drink and (certainly) decided to get a good grope in while I was unable to move and used my hand to try to jack yourself off. Really classy you bastard. You picked me up like a fucking ragdoll and tried to undo my skirt, but you're still the same stupid fuck you used to be and couldn't figure out how to work the button.

I'm well aware that in the eyes of the law you'll get off with this. You told the police it was consensual, so DNA evidence means nothing, and they didn't take a blood sample so they will most likley not pick up what was in my drink. Wonderful Scottish law means that at least 2 people have to say somehting happened, and funnily enough you didn't do this in a crowded room.

I have a friend helping me though. Nothing illegal of course, just checking if people in your jobs (your "political" one as well as the one in the school) know what you did. And if that doesn't work, hell even if it does, I will see you suffer. I know you have a conscience buried beneath your folds of fat somewhere, and God help you when I drag it out. You will pay.

I will not let you get away with this. You have taken so much from me, and I will take it back, one way or another.

You know that feeling you get, where you're perfectly content for the time being but know you will hurt yourself soon? Well, maybe you don't, but I do, so despite the fact I am so behind with work I'm going to go to my boyfriend's in a bit. I don't trust myself alone tonight. I was already going to cut (there isn't even a fucking reason why) but managed to stop myself.

Oh dear, so many days have passed. Ten since my last update. I have lots to tell, but it's not for now. I'll likely forget before I get a chance to update. I don't know. Right now all I want to do is hack up the smooth parts of my arms. They're too smooth. I want the cuts and the release. I haven't cut my arms in years. It's only my thighs; that way I can wear short sleeves.

It would be beautiful if I did my arms, but I'd have to deal with the consequences of it.

The sexual assault by my ex.

I just can't cope with it.

When the police tell me they can't press charges or anything I don't know what I'll do.

I don't want to wake up tomorrow. I need it all to go away. He knew about the abuse in my past and still did it, then told the police it was consensual. I can't get accept it.

I don't want to have to deal with this. I want to go to sleep and never have to wake up to it.

My Mother's Daughter

I was at a party last night, and it was so much fun. I drank a lot and chatted to everyone. Then we smoked weed and I had to be carried back to my flat where I KOd. That wasn't good.

I spent all of today in bed, watching things and pottering about online. I should have been relaxed
but now I'm stressed again. I keep thinking about my mum.

Part of me wants to see her. There's this huge space in my life and mind where a mother should be, and despite what he used me for I kind of want a relationship with her. But then I don't. I hate her. It makes me so angry that she has her own lovely happy life after what she put me and my sisters through. She doesn't deserve it. I don't get that. I get to be a complete mental and emotional fuck up. She has recovered and is doing well for herself. I can push the thought out of my head, but if my sisters start showing signs of things I will go out of my way to tear her perfect little world apart.

I hate it. I really hate it. I want to push the sadness out of my head and forget about my past but I can't. It's there, like a weight on my mind constantly, and every day I have to struggle to balance every little thing in my life to make sure I don't have a breakdown and even then it doesn't always work. The weight is too much. I need some kind of relief.