Peace, love and Amsterdam

The healthy outlook is going well :) I'm still at 142 lbs but I am trying to see that as maintaining rather than a monumental fat failure. I actually feel like I have tons more energy at the moment and I legitimately need to get out of the house in the afternoons because my vitality seems to be coming back... which is pretty impressive seeing as I've been a zombie for the best part of this year. Yesterday was a success. Tina forced me to go shopping with her (I loathe clothes shopping with a passion... I've gone into why before on this blog). That didn't turn out to be too bad... I bought some cosy ribbed bottle green leggings, a thin white cotton top with a purple-galaxy peace sign on it, a long tee with a kind of tie-dye sunset design which is sort of rave-y (if that's even a word), some stretch cotton maroon jeans, some new socks and plimsoles. So I was really pleased with that as usually I hate myself in all shop mirrors and come back defeated. After all that we treated ourselves to a Starbucks (coffee light) and by 7pm we realised neither of us had eaten all day so we bought a healthy snack-type dinner of organic blue maize chips, vegan barbecue sauce, baby carrots, raw hoummous and organic chorizo.

I also had my new favourite drink:

This stuff is amazing for your immune system... it has manuka honey, beta glucan, ginger, zinc... MUNE "Healthy" water, go look it up.

This morning I've had the standard yogurt, fruit combination except I used soy yogurt (yummy), organic applesauce, banana, blueberries, cinnamon and some grated carob. I also had a bottled green tea drink which was weirdly nice... I usually hate green tea but apparently it has fat burning properties so who knows. No granola today, I want to save my calories for lucky dip trail mix and couscous salad :)

OK, so, food talk over... I'm sick of all the social drama that's going down in our 'friendship group' - if you can even call it that these days. It's just turned into this fricken labyrinth of petty high school angst and I'm bored of it. So bored. In fact, it makes me want to run off and go and live in a cave for the rest of eternity. Thank God I'm going to Amsterdam. Oh, and that's another thing. Zara is making me feel guilty about not inviting her over there - I DID INVITE HER when I first heard about it and she never ever followed me up on it! I'm sorry but if people want to come on holiday with me I'm not going to be the one pestering them about it. Tina and Caro were actually serious about getting out of the country with me, and they were actually proactive about it and sorted out booking their tickets with me. The ridiculous thing is, Zara wouldn't even have been free this weekend. She's at like 3 different festivals over the next week. So it's just stupid really and reminds me of what went on in my primary school playground.

Another thing going on is the never-ending Charlie saga, yawn. So Caro spoke to Charlie like she said she would, and asked her if she might try and talk to me any time soon. Apparently she's still scared I'll 'yell' at her and 'needs more time'. I have several responses to that. A) I've never 'yelled' at her; in fact, I was one of a minority of people who didn't yell at her following what happened, despite wanting to and being totally justified in doing so. B) Why is it on her terms and why does she have all the control? - and C) Why should I wait around for someone who quite frankly should be grovelling after the way she's behaved - not just with me but with Alfie, Tina, Zara and actually just about everyone in some way or another over the past six months.

My mum and sister also had a horrific argument last night which culminated in my sister packing her bags and leaving the house to go bunk at her druggie friend's open house. She sent me a text saying she wasn't coming back until school started. Then I had my mother ranting at me for about 2 hours straight like some kind of banshee. So that shattered my sense of calm. It's like a never-ending nightmare sitcom on freak repeat. You could literally write a bad series about this. Pathological lying, sociopathy, eating disorders, love triangles, unrequited love, secret relationships, depression, divorce, custody battles, huge misunderstandings, babies popping out of nowhere, oh God the list goes on. Ludicrous, I am telling you. And I think my head might just explode.

Seriously considering doing some meditation in between packing, and the sad thing is, that's not even a joke.

I love you all so, so much - you're like my escape from my real world and I can't tell you how much I value that. I'll be back next Wednesday, and in the mean time, take care of yourself, little chickens. <3

The Heart of Hippie-dom

Today's been pretty much a success. I haven't been in much pain with my throat or ear and for the most part I ate pretty healthily. I also walked for like an hour which doesn't sound like much but when you have been convalescing for over 2 weeks it feels like a freaking work out.

This morning I had a standard health freak breakfast in bed: natural probiotic yogurt, 1/2 chopped banana, a small punnet of blueberries, dried apricots and pineapple pieces, a handful of granola, 1 tsp honey and 1 tsp cinnamon powder. I also had a little coffee with honey but that's not in the picture because who takes pictures of their morning coffee?! (Unless it's from some beautifully dinky French café, of course, in which case coffee photography is totally justified).

On my walk I stopped off at the organic & natural health foods shop near my house. The reason I went was mainly to find some containers of kale chips but I ended up getting a ton of other stuff too (and justifying it by telling myself I hadn't spent any money on food in 2 weeks). So yeah, these were the kale chips I bought:

As for the rest of the day I ate some beetroot salad, baby carrots and hoummous, cherry tomatoes, an oat and spelt cracker, bottled honey & lemon green tea, some popcorn and an orange carob bar. Carob, I've found, is almost as good as chocolate and way sicklier (I actually count this as a good thing because I stop eating it sooner). It's not amazing for you or anything but it's definitely better than chocolate... it's calcium rich, contains a lot of fibre, and Vitamin A, B1 & B2 apparently. The only thing I regret eating today was a 150 calorie bag of popcorn. It's not like popcorn is that evil or anything especially since it came from a health food shop. But I just didn't need it and I felt like by having it I was just being greedy... it didn't give anything to my body or nourish me in any way so it was a total waste of calories. I'm not too fussed though. Calories today came to <1500 but not far enough under, in my opinion... and they were unjustified calories seeing as I didn't do much... but I'll make up for it tomorrow. Oh and morning weight was 143 again. I'm okay with that, it's not as bad as 144.

Tickets are booked for Amsterdam and I'm so excited! I hope my throat is healed enough for me to smoke there because cigarettes are ridiculously cheap... like half the price of a pack over here, which is awesome. So I'm going to smoke as much as I want over there and when I come back to London on the 5th I'll be cutting down again.

I definitely feel a bit happier since I've decided to stop obsessing so much over the numbers side of things and focus more on what I'm actually putting into my body. I don't really have a set goal weight for school anymore. I would vaguely like to be in the 130s again but beyond that I think it's more important I go back feeling revived rather than worn out and ill. I actually want energy this term... I'm not gonna have energy if I don't eat properly.

I have this feeling that everything will be OK if I just become a chilled out, neo-hippie, stoner freak who wears tie-dye and walks everywhere and eats granola... that's the plan anyway. Oh and I forgot to mention, next year I get the cool lesbian couple as my art teachers, which is so good because I hate the rest of the department. One of the teachers is kind of scary and weirdly bipolar but they're both pretty chill if you keep on their good sides. I'm thinking of doing something really eclectic and impressive with my time next year, maybe aztec-related or astrological something... something with lots of patterns. I have a good feeling about it.  

In other news Alfie is dying of stress and sleep deprivation and his family is being a dick to him, I'm not very happy about it. He passed out and hit his head on a marble floor the other day... and wound up in the ER. I keep worrying that he's going to pass out at the wheel or something. Not cool. I've said this to him and he said he's working on fixing it but his dad needs him to all these business-type things and he's just really overworked. Gah. I can't control it. I don't even know. Things between us are fine, though. I just haven't seen him properly in a while and I miss snuggling my Alfie :(

Be kind to your body

I assessed a few things both when I fell asleep last night and as I woke up today. I will get into them, but firstly, I want to write that I am starting to get better, which is awesome. My throat is healing, and the portion of time during the day where I feel no pain is expanding as time goes on. All good stuff. It's nice to know that every day I'll wake up feeling a little bit better than the day before. Seems like you suffer the full 2 weeks and then start getting better, which is not what the doctors made out - they implied I'd be truly back on my feet when I hit the day 14 mark (today) and I'm not, not just yet. But I will be by Friday, which is excellent, as it means I can hit Amsterdam in better health. Totally great and stuff. So yeah, I'm happy.

Now onto my considerations and assessments of my life and how I want things to start panning out. I've had an epiphany about myself, which is that I am one of those people who will never be successful or content or happy by lying around all the time and waiting for things to come to them. Some people can settle on that but I think honestly, in order for me to really succeed next year, I have to start getting serious about improving my health, getting myself out of the house, and being proactive by running around and doing things to help myself long-term. Not just bumming around waiting for something to spring up, or waiting to lose weight so I can start living my life. I'm an all or nothing kind of person. So I need to push myself pretty hard and in order to do that, I need to treat myself and my body a bit better in the months to come.

I'm going to make a conscious effort to channel my obsessions with calories and weight into being super healthy. I mean, I think it's better to be a complete health freak than to be a nut about numbers... if I'm going to devote a part of my brain to losing weight, and deliberate over it for a long time, then I might as well spend that portion of time being good to my body, and making it into something productive. The numerically inclined part of my brain looks at it in terms of probability. Say there's a 1/2 chance I'll lose a significant amount of weight by Christmas. Now let's look at that 50% chance I don't lose weight, and stay the same as I am now. If I've been unhealthy for an entire term - drinking, smoking, and eating shitty meaningless empty foods - then I will wind up with a lose-lose result by Christmas. I won't have treated my body well, I'll probably feel like crap physically and psychologically, and guess what, there's a 50% chance I'll still be in the 140s. But if I've been a health freak for three months, exercised, eaten clean, maybe indulged a vice once a week or something, but in moderation, then I either end up with a win-lose result, or a win-win result. It's not possible for me to lose-lose if I've been healthy, because being healthy is a big WIN in my opinion, especially if I've successfully made myself happier and stronger in the process. Sorry... that's extremely rambly, I know, but I hope it makes a little sense. Basically, treating my body like shit won't be worth it, probably not even if I end up 8 stone by Christmas (highly unlikely anyway). So I'm going to start channelling my obsessive side into finding ways to make myself as strong and healthy as possible. I want to be fighting fit this winter, not withering or convalescing like I have been as of late.

I've been googling ways to boost your immune system naturally, and what super/power-foods to eat if you want to make yourself super indestructible. Exercise will definitely be featuring as soon as I'm back from Amsterdam in September. I'm going to start running; I live right next to a huge common, so I'll use that to do laps and slowly build up my stamina over time. Plus I kind of like the idea of runner's high. I might also invest in some Spirulina and Echinacea tablets since they're meant to be great for your immune system and energy levels.

My breakfast today was yogurt, apple and peach puree, muesli, chopped apple and dried apricots. And a little coffee. I had to use regular milk instead of soy milk which I don't like doing :( but we don't have any soy milk at the moment. I'm gonna trek to the natural foods shop in the centre to pick up some supplements, and also I am having a massive craving for kale chips so I might get some of those :)

Basically I'm going to try to embrace the healthy lifestyle over the next few days, and I'll be letting you guys know how it goes for me. Weight this morning = 143.2 lbs.

Ramble pamble puddings and pie

I'll lay out the good news and the bad news.

Good: My throat is healing pretty fast now that I'm coming up to the 2 week mark. I still wake up with a raging earache that doesn't go away until I take 4 (very) strong painkillers, and I go to bed pretty much the same way, but for most of the day I have very long periods of time where I don't feel any pain and can eat.

Bad: Due to having been able to eat pretty much anything I wanted in the last few days, I've managed to put on 4 lbs and am back to dreaded, ugly, revolting 144 lbs.

Good: Amsterdam is looking very likely for next Friday, if I'm all healed up and can fly without there being any risk of bleeding (which happened the other night and was pretty scary... I'm fine now but it freaked me out).

Bad: Firstly, the only reason I want to go to Amsterdam, besides seeing my father of course, is to smoke a LOT of cheap dope, and basically survive off vodka and coffee and cigarettes for a week. Now I don't know when I can drink and smoke again, technically, but I assume it's when my throat is completely healed, and that's definitely not yet :( Secondly, I'm fat, and I have a mere five days to change that. Fucking fabulous.

In other news, I've decided that at some point over the next 3 years I want to look like Élodie Bouchez in La Vie Revee des Anges:

Because she is just so fucking beautiful and tomboyish and gamine and FRENCH!

I just need to get this shit over and done with so I can live my life.

My mum asked me this morning, while I was spilling melted chocolate from my pain-au-chocolate-breakfast all over myself, what my plans were for next year. I looked at her from across the table, a pained, 'not this again' expression on my face, and tested the waters - 'Anything... I... can... get?'

'No, but really. I mean, darling, you've got to decide what you're going to do. As in, solid, concrete, tangible plans. Not just, "I want to lose a lot of weight and smoke a lot of cigarettes and cavort around London waiting for things to spring up".'

Oh God. She knows me too well.

I explained to her that I can't make any 'concrete plans' until I have my school schedule sussed out. As it stands, I'm taking this A level for fun. I don't need it - I've already got into university - and technically, I only require an F to pass, so I doubt it's obligatory for me to be in school 24/7. After all, I was hardly in last year and I got 2 As... I rest my case.

Shit, of course I'm panicking. I don't know what I'll do for money. My dad doesn't give me anywhere near as much as I need to maintain myself and has worked all the loopholes of the legal system in order to get out of paying. So I need to get a job. I need theatre work experience. I need to get my fat ass in gear, if I'm honest. I've spent a year laying around convalescing and as soon as I'm back from Amsterdam, it's time to build myself back up again and put myself out there in the world. Fuck, I'll be 19 in a month, it's really time to get going.

Pita breads and ice tea :)

Today was like the nicest day. I've figured it out: I have this precious, golden window of time from like, 3-6.30pm, when all my pain just disappears, and I can't feel a thing. I can eat without my throat or ears burning like all hell; I'm chatty and can laugh without feeling like someone rammed an ice pick in my head; and most importantly, I can get up, walk around, take a bath, put on make-up and bring myself to go into the sitting room to sit up rather than lying down dead in my bedroom. Caro, Tina and Bash came round which was awesome because I haven't felt well enough to see anyone in a week or so. We just sat around like a load of old hippies eating ham & butter pita breads, drinking diet coke and iced tea, and chatting about everything under the sun... proof you don't need alcohol to have a good time haha.

Of course the rest of the day I was in agony and having to sit in silence with my hands over my ears trying not to break down and cry. And it took me half an hour to eat breakfast again. But tomorrow is day 10 which is the bench mark, or pinnacle or whatever you want to call it, so that makes me pretty happy. Oh and I was 140.6 this morning which is fantastic... -9 lbs in 9 days, perhaps a record for me?! I'm not complaining...

There's only one thing that is bugging me this evening, and something I'm really not prepared to deal with tonight as I have other issues to cope with... like relentless frickin' ear and throat pain. Alfie is in this weird mood with me and somehow figured out I had people over this afternoon and is all upset I didn't 'invite' him. It wasn't a party for God's sake. I just suddenly felt better and asked a few of my girlfriends over - one of whom I'm not going to see again for a very long time. And for some reason I'm a heinous person for not letting him know as he's been 'trying to see me for days'. Actually... the last time I talked to you, all you could talk about was how much work you were tied up with, and how busy you were... so, ergh :( I thought I was doing him a favour by not asking him to trek when by the time he arrived I would probably have just been in agony again. I don't know, I hate drama, especially with boys, bloody hell. They're worse than girls sometimes.

Anyway... enough of that, as I say I'm not up for dealing with my alleged wrong-doings tonight because I need to chill out and pray I wake up feeling better tomorrow. I have some GOOD NEWS. I might finally get a fucken holiday this summer! Amsterdam is looking VERY likely for next Wednesday - if, that is, I feel well enough to fly. And Tina and Caro are really up for coming along :) So it's going to be me, two of my best friends, an empty brand new apartment, and unlimited weed for a week... haha perfect :) Something to look forward to anyway. Plus, everyone there is super hot and thin... so I'd better come back to London looking banging for the beginning of term, hee hee.

Hope everyone is well. I'm thinking I will be in the 130s by Friday at this rate, definitely.

The storm before the calm

Oh my God! Worst pain ever this morning (ears in particular) but I'm in the middle of this blissful Voltarol-induced numbness window where I literally can't feel anything. I'm not joking, everything in my mouth is numb unless I prod at it. Took the opportunity to eat some cooled-down mashed potatoes and homemade chicken pie. Literally heaven on a plate - I'd hardly eaten all day except a few lollipops and some applesauce. Total calories: a bit under 1000... maybe 950? I've re-watched all the Indiana Jones films, Jurassic Park, Breakfast at Tiffany's, all the classics, you know... and I've been reading too. For the first time in like, ages, voluntarily. Forgot that I actually enjoy reading for pleasure. It's been alright this evening. I expect I'll wake up in agony tomorrow as per usual, although tomorrow will officially be my day 8, which means I'm coming up to the day 10 mark (the point where things turn around, if you're healing correctly). It is a case of getting worse before you get better with this surgery. So hopefully I'm just in the really bad stage and soon enough I'll be on the path to painless happiness - and the ability to speak properly, walk around without feeling dire, and, dare I say it, eat meals in under half an hour again...

Although having said all that, there's this really terrible part of me that I KNOW will miss being sick. Like, I know it's awful and everything. But being ill is what I know... it's become my security blanket this year. My way of hiding away from the world, and the physical pain kind of numbs out the psychological one. Not to mention I always lose weight when I'm ill (this time last week I was 149 lbs; this morning I am 142), and if it's not because of a physical incapability to eat a lot as with tonsillitis, then it's because I'm being provided with the perfect environment in which to control my calories without any distractions.

So I'm, like, definitely going to be back in the 130s by the end of the week. I wonder what kind of diet I'll adopt when I regain my health and recover from this beastly ordeal.

In between blocking out the pain with films, I've been thinking a lot about next year. And shit. I'm really clueless about what's gonna happen to me. Next year, and in general. I have so many questions. So many.

Ice pop shortage

Weight- 143 lbs. Pain- I'd say 9 at its highest, but right now it's only around a 6.5, thank God. Calories- Around 800, amazingly. There was a point where I didn't think I would top 300. The first thing I ate was half of a mashed banana and it made me cry the pain was so bad. You know, I can actually deal with the sore throat end of the deal, it's just the relentless 3-day long earache that really gets me. Lunch I forced down a small bowl of mashed potato with some butter to make it soft. Hurt like a bitch... took me 45 mins to eat. Afternoon snack with the pills I had one of those organic baby apple & strawberry purees (ironically picked out by my mum) and for supper, I've managed to eat half a massive quiche which is very surprising to me, but I guess the pain went down for about half an hour and I seized an opportunity to wolf down the protein & carbs. My body needs this stuff to heal and I guess I just really want to get better asap. It's awfully tiring being in this much pain and not even being able to stand up for long. Reminds me of how I was in February and that's just plain depressing.

I NEED ICE POPS but all our local shops are like, out, because it's been so damn hot in London over the last few days. In all honesty, I'm glad to have avoided it. In true vampiric style I loathe the heat when I'm in a city and have to walk around with other people looking at me... I hate it all, the clothes, the sweat, the fatigue it gives me, the way it forces you into tiny tops and shorts you'd never wear in your right mind. *Shudders* I can't wait for winter. 

I don't know whether my weight will continue dropping a pound a day but right now it looks to be that way. -6 lbs since surgery and tomorrow marks day 6 post-op. It would be fucking lovely to be back at my nice comfortable 142 weight and know that I'm not going to mess it up by bingeing.

A note to a question I received in an earlier comment (I think. Unless I'm imagining things due to all these marvelous painkillers). My friends visited me a lot at the beginning, but over the past 3 days I have felt too unwell to see anyone besides my mum (and my dad, who visited yesterday). Alfie is getting a little impatient as to why he can't see me but it literally hurts to move right now, for most of the day anyway, and I can't even bloody speak! What would I say to the guy? It's a real pity people aren't made to learn sign language at school. It would be so very useful in circumstances such as these.

Island of pain

So they said days 4-7 would be the worst... they weren't lying. The last 2 days have been HELL. Not only do I feel as if I have an inner ear infection but every time I swallow it's like knives stabbing down my throat. Last night was a really bad experience... I took 2 codeine and they really fucked with me, my insides. I had some sort of fucked reaction. In February I had something similar, the last time I was in hospital... it's these opioids that just don't agree with me unless I take them intravenously. Stabbing between the ribs, like the worst heartburn you've ever experienced, except you're doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. Oh and screaming - that one was fun, with the back of my mouth being the way it is. I thought I was going to dislodge the scabs from the screaming and crying alone. So my mother called an ambulance and I was strapped in with the bright lights whirling all around me... by the time they'd rushed me through A&E and put me on a monitor I was doing a lot better, and the pain had subsided considerably. They gave me another painkiller, one that wasn't morphine-based, examined me, let me wait it out. Urgh. Then the truly awful part. They discharged me and as I was getting up to leave I felt this absolute nausea wash all over me. Like that clammy and hot and disgusting feeling you get before you're about to pass out, or throw up. And I started wailing because I was so terrified I'd throw up... that's got to be the worst thing, being sick after a tonsillectomy, and you want to avoid it at all costs. They gave me an anti-sickness but it didn't even work... and then in the taxi on the way home I was dry heaving and retching and it was just the most appalling pain. I didn't even throw up, thank God... but it was terrible, the whole thing, and I practically passed out in bed when I got there. This morning I'm still in agony with my ears and throat and stuff, but this I can deal with, in comparison to last night... Jesus.

I've managed to eat a hoi sin duck wrap, a banana, some frozen yogurt, and half a jelly. I'm down to 144.2 lbs. So I guess I have lost about 5 lbs since surgery. That's pretty cool. Although I'm nowhere near where I want to be at this stage. Really this is just me getting myself back on track, and not being able to swallow without being in an island of pain is merely helping me get there. Also, I've decided to amend my goal weight. Last night it struck me that I really gotta take care of myself next year. And while 112 lbs seems awfully enticing, it probably won't improve the health situation... so I've changed it to a range that will give me a little more leeway. Basically I want to be under 120 lbs. Even if it's 119.8 I'll be happy.

I am desperately hoping I'll be out of the woods by Tuesday (day 8 post-op, I believe) which is when the really bad pain I'm feeling now should start to dissipate, and the risk of bleeding etc. reduces dramatically. That's 3 more days... I can make that, right? I'll just keep sleeping and reading and drinking water and taking my pills and eating little bits at a time - it'll be okay. I hope.

My dad visited me today! I was so happy to see him although it was totally weird having him in our house. Oh and I've turned into a mute... I can only whisper and sign things which is doing wonders for my introspection. People talk in too many words, we really don't need many at all to convey what we need to say. Ironic, seeing as my posts ramble on to infinity and beyond, but anyway... we talked about Amsterdam. I can go there on the 28th because I'm not allowed to fly before then. That's like 10 days. I can get back to 135 by then, totally. I'm losing a steady pound a day now and I presume it'll continue like this for a while, as I can't exactly binge on what my mother brings to me on a tray in bed. Then maybe in Amsterdam I'll plummet myself into the 120s or something marvellous like that. I can only imagine the feeling of pride I'll carry walking back into school on the 5th in a brand-new 128 lb body. A massive 'fuck you' to Rebecca, if I ever see her, that is. Christ.

The perfect outcome

I am grinning all over like a Cheshire cat... An A in English literature and an A in English language - all I needed to get into university. I am over the moon. See here? Here's proving you can ditch out on 6 months of school, have 2 stints in hospital, become an invalid, lose utter touch with reality, do most of your coursework in bed, and still get into university... needless to say, I'm extremely happy! As those of you who read my blog regularly will know, however, I am staying in London for a year to take a third A level (art), and 'find myself' - a.k.a. become an arty pretentious type who smokes pipes and writes manuscripts on a typewriter. It's going to be a blast.

So now, I feel like all the struggles and pain and torment I have suffered over this past half a year have been sort of worth it. I almost didn't take any of my exams but thank God I did because it's opened up a year of freedom starting from September.

Alfie got into the uni of his choice too! I am so freaking happy for him I can't even explain it. I won't disclose the names of the universities we will be going to, but they are top universities, I'm sure you can make a wild guess at the kinds of places we will be going. I'm very happy indeed and feel like I have a license to be mildly arrogant right now, on both our accounts :)

I got my ass in gear with food today. I have FINALLY managed to shit which was the cherry on top of a fantastic morning (I'm charming, I know). My throat is motherfucking painful but it's to be expected, what with my scabs turning to gloop in the back of my mouth, and everything. I had a big bowl of porridge with chopped banana, raspberries, honey and cinnamon, with a tall glass of apple juice (400) for brekkers. Then early evening I had 4 slices of pizza (600 calories) which took me about an hour to get down but was sooo worth it. So in total that makes today 1000 which is perfectly reasonable in my opinion. I wish I could have had a celebratory drink with my friends (who all got perfect results bar one) tonight but I guess I'll just have a vicarious painkiller and imagine I'm there raving it up :P

Plans/things to do next year:
-Get down to 112 lbs
-Boost immune system through going to the gym and drinking lots of health smoothies :)
-Do some theatre work experience (this one's already sorted for October, I'll be working voluntarily with a lot of writers and running around fetching thespians their morning coffee)
-Read a lot of great literature
-Make at least one short film
-Get more babysitting ie. earn easy cash 4 no work
-Buy a flat cap and a pipe
-Make some new friends

I'm going to take my evening meds now because that's how cool I am... love to you all x

Celebratory Edie:

Tonsillectomy weight GAIN?!

Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh is all I have to say for myself right now.

So I'm not happy for two reasons. The first is that I am in an island of pain. That's right. I want to go to bed and cry into my pillow and just stay like that in hibernation until all this shit goes away and the back of my throat stops looking and feeling like a battlefield. The second is that I HAVE GAINED SO MUCH WEIGHT AND AM NOW ACTUALLY LEGITIMATELY OBESE. I was 150.2 lbs on the scales this morning and 154.6 this evening - I mean, what the fricking frack? I haven't been this fat in months... I even weighed less than this when I started my mother effing blog back in 2011. The shame and disgust is just unreal.

I know why it is. It's because all these goddamn antibiotics and painkillers have meant I haven't gone to the bathroom properly in 3 days and so I have half a week's worth of food just crammed in my system. The meals must just be piled on top of each other... ugh. So I'm drinking a shit ton of water which is bloating me, on top of the soup, the soft bread, the juice, full fat coke, and every other starchy sugary fattening item of mush I've shovelled into my face since Monday. Ugh.

See, I know I'm not ACTUALLY 150 lbs. I know what my body looks like when I am genuinely tipping the 150s and this ain't it. I look, like, 145 lbs, at the most. But the scales don't lie and when I see that number glinting up at me, it feels like I'm in some kind of fucked nightmare. But this is the issue with me. It's so unreal that I can completely dissociate from the fact that I've ballooned 10 lbs over my comfort range and my mind genuinely just shuts it off. You'd think it would shock me... and on some level it does, that I've let my body get this fat again... but for the most part, I'm just swimming in a painkiller-aided fuzzy-minded haze of obese denial whereby anything I eat is totally justified because I'm ill and heck, I probably wouldn't even care if I was 160 lbs right now, because I'm literally that far gone.

The only good thing that could POSSIBLY come out of this would be not bleeding in days to come. If I don't bleed, the weight gain might be *minorly* worth it (pfft, says the ED. Weight gain is never worth it). But if I do... then just fuck everything.

Oh and it's results tomorrow. Happy times.

Could this post BE any more miserable? Apologies. Small piece of good news though: my dad's coming back from the states on Friday to visit me before he flies out of the country again over the weekend. He's lost so much weight it's ridiculous... (maybe America was my saving grace and the tonsillectomy a red herring? Who knows; life is weird.)

So as it stands,

1) I'm up 15 lbs since study leave
2) I feel like I'm being stabbed with knives down my throat every time I swallow
3) It's results day tomorrow and I can't even drink my sorrows away
4) My best friend has officially ex-communicated me
5) I'm not even the thinner one so I have nothing to make me feel better about it all

No, this is not a happy post.

PS. I'm joining a gym in September, it is decided.

Morphine

So I'm alive bitches :) Had the tonsils out Monday afternoon and it's currently a little past Tuesday midnight (technically Wednesday morning). I'm doing okay. The day of my operation wasn't too painful because they gave me a shitload of morphine and the anaesthesia made it all kind of a fun experience. However today (Tuesday) I was back home in the afternoon and I've sort of been in pain all day long. They couldn't give me any more morphine as I was being discharged and so they gave me codeine instead... helped a little, but it's not as strong as the other stuff so the back of my throat is currently like a battlefield. I haven't lost an ounce of weight, in fact I stepped on the scales and I was up to 149 lbs (cry) probably because I've been doing absolutely nothing all day, and have eaten rather a lot to get my medication down/clear my throat of all the nasty shit that's going on back there. Plus I was sort of pressured into eating a big breakfast and lunch at hospital by my ENT... he said the more normally I eat in the early stages, the quicker I'll recover and the less chance I'll bleed - which is literally my worst nightmare. So I was too weak to argue and have eaten bread, hoummous, soup, jelly, a smoothie, salad, pasta and cooked vegetables. Oh and Lucozade. Lots of flat Lucozade. Calories calories calories.

I'm thinking of cutting down tomorrow. Now I've got it all sussed out I think I can afford to do a little restricting... I do not like being up here, so worryingly close to the 150 lb mark. Gah. Not to mention barely anything is coming out of me due to the strong antibiotics I'm on... so there we go. My arms look kind of nice and muscular though. Which is weird because I don't exercise nearly enough and I've been eating like a horse but hey, I'm not complaining. Tonage is rare and always well-appreciated.

Tina visited me last night and again today, which was lovely. She bought me one of those super cool zippo lighters (the old-fashioned kind) with an engraving on the back... then was like 'I can't wait till you can start smoking again'. Alfie came and crawled into bed with me a few hours after I got back which was sweet and comforting. I was so out of it but he said I looked ridiculously pretty for someone who had just had an operation. Then later Caro came and brought me a little bracelet present from Greece. So yes I love my friends very much. And my sister, who came and fed me pasta and roasted vegetables in bed this evening, even though she'd just got back from an all-night underage rave outside of London and was utterly wrecked.

Oh and more news. Not particularly happy news. But Caro has been keeping up with Charlie (you know, my best friend who's been ignoring me for 2.5 weeks). And apparently the reasons she hasn't been in touch with me are the following:

1) Because she wants to eschew everything to do with Alfie, and Alfie has apparently somehow 'brainwashed me', or some bollocks, and as I'm associating with him she doesn't want to be around me
2) Her batshit crazy mother is filling her head with all these screwy ideas about me, something about how I have 'very intense relationships' with people and it always ends badly, and trying to make out like I'm this bad influence friend Charlie needs to 'move on from'. Ugh

So that really upset me but I hid how much it upset me, obviously, as it didn't feature largely in our conversation and I didn't want to start crying with the sore throat because I tried that yesterday and it hurt like a bitch. Oh and apparently she's an exercise freak now, has a 14% body fat percentage and a 23 inch waist and does yoga/drinks coconut water all day long. All this makes me feel like shit and if I wasn't such a rational person I'd seriously consider deleting her off Facebook, because all her pseudo-health freak updates are really beginning to grate. The thing that hurts the most is I helped her find fucking therapy numbers when I wasn't well myself, and now I'm recovering from an operation she can't even send me a 'get well soon' message. Some best friend.

Ugh anyway enough of that. Aims for the next week: Drink more smoothies. Dream of Amsterdam. Get better.

The Last Supper

My weight has magically ballooned to 146.2 so that's just great and dandy. In all fairness I did, and I kid you not, eat almost 4,000 calories yesterday... across the whole day, not all in one go. I have an excuse. I thought I was fasting today. I got really confused looking at the pre-op instruction sheet the hospital gave me; I thought it said I couldn't eat after 24 hrs before or something... so I took it upon myself to devour most of the fridge and cupboards sporadically until about 3am this morning. My thinking was, I might as well just stock up on carbs because fuck it, the next time I get to eat, it'll be hospital jelly on Monday evening, so let's just have a nice, big, good old-fashioned Saturday night binge.

WRONG. I can eat whatever I want today but I have to stop by midnight. Herp derp.

So, lovely people, what shall I have as my last supper? I'm not exceeding 1,500 calories today. I've already had a coffee with honey and soymilk (65), 1/2 cheese and onion quiche (300) and a diet coke (0). I have a pretty bad craving for Mcdonalds, not gonna lie... I could really just inhale a chocolate milkshake and chicken mayo right now. But I'm inclined to go with something more healthy, seeing as it's going to be essentially sugar and water for the next 10 days. Maybe a fuckin' big salad niçoise or something. I could probably use some protein. Ooh or a big ass fruit smoothie and some falafel and hoummous. Nom nom nom. OK so now I'm just dribbling over all the food I want and it's embarrassing... I'll stop.

Honestly, I'm scared shitless, and thinking about food is like, the only way I can distract myself. I am also hoping I'll bounce back at the end of August a good 10-15 lbs lighter, too, after my involuntary liquid diet... but that might just be wishful thinking.

I'm gonna have a severe hatred of popsicles after this week. I just know it.

I don't know when I'm next going to update. It might be sooner than you think. I'll have nothing better to do. But I warn you, if I sound high off pain medication, I probably will be. Don't judge. I presume I'll be talking about all the mice I can see on my ceiling, and how somebody needs to feed my unicorns before they die.

So with that, I bid goodbye to my cigarettes/holy red wine/holy coffee/my voice/my freedom/and blogger (for now). I love you all and oh - and a side note, if *I* die by some anomaly then you guys can all have my wardrobe. It's a pretty eclectic mix, I'm sure you'll all find a piece that suits you :)

Oh and Alfie is coming round today to give me a good luck kiss. I'm thinking I might 'accidentally' slip an 'I love you' when I'm high on morphine next week. Peace out.

Fat Bitch Saturdays

Last night I dashed all my plans of going out and seeing my friends. I felt really fucking lonely. It started with not going out to meet Zara for lunch. Then later I said I'd take a raincheck on seeing Alfie and Ben. Bash has gone to Cardiff for 3 days so I won't see her until I'm recovering.

At least that's 3 days her and Alfie can't hook up, right? But it's not like I can trust them not to get it on when I'm in my post-surgery coma. Who wants to make out with Tonsillectomy Scabs anyway? These are my last days of looking beautiful and not like a freaking zombie, and I'm blowing off the one real-life guy I've actually found attractive in, like, five whole years of my adolescence. He's probably forgotten what I look like by now.

Results are also looming. 16th is D-day, or whatever. I'll be dead, in bed, coked up on painkillers at that point. It probably won't even touch me. But how will I do? Will I, by some anomaly, have aced them? Or will my dreams of getting 2 As be dashed, meaning next year won't be a breeze at all, but an exhausting expenditure of energy directed in all the wrong places. I do not know.

This morning we get to see my baby half-sister. Her mother is bringing her to the park in a buggy and I am obliged to go and say hi. I don't want to see her mother. But I haven't seen baby for months. Apparently she has teeth now, or something.

So I picked up my (real) sister from the station at 11pm last night and she was drunk. (She's fifteen). We spent THIRTY-FIVE POUNDS ON JUNK FOOD, CIGARETTES AND ALCOHOL. That's £35 I don't have, sweetie. But I threw it away anyway, because hell, what else is there to do with it. I'm not exactly going to buy myself a nice new pair of jeans to go over my fat size 12 arse, am I?

We carted the food and wine home then watched a chick flick. I totally pigged. What else was there to do? Eating my feelings, as usual.

Afterwards we sat outside and chain-smoked. I say pensively, 'What would you do if you were in my body for a day?'

She considers this for a second, shifts around on her seat. Then her eyes light up. 'I would wake up. Have sex with Alfie for breakfast. Have sex again with Alfie for lunch. Then I would go out and spend all the money on my card on clothes and shoes. Then I would get dressed and go out in the sluttiest outfit imaginable and take my ass clubbing, then I would hook up with all the hottest guys, but give them a fake number, then I'd come home, have sex with Alfie again, then pass out in my underwear'.

I spend a lot of my time kind of hating her, but mostly, I absolutely love her.

An eye and a tooth

Wednesday- 146.8
Thursday- 144.4
Friday- 142.4

-4.4 lbs in 2 days, hells yes :D Ugh thank God I don't have to see 147 on my scales anymore, or anything near it. Literally makes my skin crawl these days.

If I'm good today I'll probably see 141 tomorrow, then 140 on Sunday, and *fingers crossed* I'll be in the 130s by my operation on Monday. Which means keeping strictly to the safe and narrow until I'm recovered, because there's no way you can overeat with revolting tonsillectomy scabs in the back of your throat.

I am actually meant to be meeting Zara for lunch right now but I totally blew her off because I was tired and grouchy and knew it would take me an hour minimum to get out of the house. Now she's all pissed at me. Why are my friends so temperamental?

Today I am going to
-Blitz my room so that people can visit next week when I'm in a coma and not trip over clothes to get to me
-Maybe see Alfie and Ben (his spiritual God-brother, whatever the fuck that is, some joke they have between them) tonight for a drink when they come out of the match
-Maybe invite Bash
-Work out
-Wash my hair
-Drink some coffee
-Smoke as many cigarettes as humanly possible because starting tomorrow I can't have any due to pre-op precuations
-Dream of September
-Try not to implode

WISH ME LUCK x

Rapid cycling

Weird night/day. My mood keeps changing from cold and hostile and depressed - I don't direct it towards anyone in particular, but it ends up unwittingly targeted at Alfie - to warm and happy and feeling like I am on top of the world. The rapid cycling is really starting to tire me out. More than that, it fucks with my sense of self, and I forget who I really am. Sometimes I feel like I'm thirteen again. Lost and confused and 10 different people according to who I was with, so desperate to fit in. Like I forget everything I've built and created and developed over the last five years, which just freaks me out, because it's a carefully constructed scaffold, and if that comes down, I worry I genuinely won't have any protection, or any kind of identity, which is terrifying to say the least.

To Winter... I get blood tests every month, ever since my hospital stint in February, so I'd know if I had a thyroid issue. To be honest it's surprising I don't sometimes, but then again, I know it's not my hormones stopping me from losing a certain amount of weight, it's my own stupid psychoses about food and my body, and an unfaltering binge eating disorder to boot; so I'm definitely not at a loss of understanding as to why I can't keep my weight at a steady level. I fluctuate because my moods fluctuate and with that, so does my eating. It sucks.

I've got into the habit of waking up in the afternoon, eating at home despite going out later... then going out later, drinking shitloads, and more often than not I'll smoke weed, which is always followed by stuffing my face (not with proper food, but disgusting fatty junk food) from like 2-5 am. Then I'll sleep at 6am, rinse and repeat. I guess the one good thing about pot, is that it makes you sh*t like nobody's business... so everything that has gone in, is quickly coming out (ew) - and no, I can't describe that any less indelicately. Luckily, today my eating really wasn't that bad... in comparison to how it has been as of late. I got about 3 hrs sleep which made me feel like crap, then we went to the cinema midday (my friends dragged me out of bed by my ankles) where I had a big ass diet coke with ice, and some of this banana smoothie I stole from Bash's fridge. I walked across the whole of west London with Alfie so I must have burnt a shitload of calories from that alone. Especially since it was so hot. We shared this thing of nachos from a Mexican place. I didn't have that many. Maybe like 10 (it was a huge plate) but it had cheese and guac on it so I don't know. Probably pretty caloterrific. Then when I got home at 8pm I had a chickpea & feta salad, a Hershey's bar (my sister's friend gave her a massive box of the cookies & cream bars to try, so I caved. I'm a sucker for white chocolate), some more banana smoothie, and 1/2 peanut butter sandwich. Yep. Not great, but seriously, when you've been exceeding 2000 calories a day for like a week straight, I felt like I seriously under-ate today. Plus I didn't drink any alcohol which apparently is a rarity for me these days... so that was... good? I guess? I felt empty and weird without it, but then again I feel empty and weird with it, so I can't win really, can I.

So, this day came in at a calculated 1061 and all the trekking to and fro must have given my body a little push and a shove in the right direction... ooh! I forgot to mention. I'm starting to exercise again. In small ways. I know what you're thinking... totally pointless when she's eating a ton of fast food every night, but you know what? I looked in the mirror today and actually thought, I may weigh 147 lbs which is the amount I weighed pretty much all of last year, but I'm way more toned than I was back then. I can actually see hints of abs. Which is surprising, because for as long as I've been aware, there's been quite a distinct layer of fat covering any potential muscle that may be lurking in my abdominal area. But no. This evening, my friends, I saw OBLIQUES! I think I have that body type that like, puts on fat pretty easily, but it also puts on muscle just as easily without too much work, which is totally awesome. I want my post-hospital body back. I miss when there was nothing else to do but to work out and do yoga and eat baby food... I'm not going to start eating baby food again, but I am definitely going to start working out more. Even 30 mins a day and I start seeing a difference fairly quickly.

OK I've rambled on enough... I'll probably read this back tomorrow and think what-the-fuck as I usually do when I read back my late-night entries, but I have an excuse for sounding like a moron. I'm officially crowning myself a fucked-up jacked-up emotionally-unravelled trainwreck of a teenager with trust issues and insomnia who's smoked too much god darn fricking pot. Word.

Nightmareland

This is my 222nd post. Make a wish, you guys. Mine's to stop being fat.

So, as is always the case, I feel myself coming down from a good few days' worth blissful and blithe denial, into an all-too-familiar pit of self-loathing odium. And yes, my weight does have something to do with it. I got a really nasty shock this morning (well, to be more accurate, it was 4pm, because that's when I woke up) stepping on the scales and seeing a number I feel sick to my stomach recording. 146.8. Oh wow. So that's what happens when you enjoy yourself for a few days. What I simply don't understand, is that on Sunday night I weighed myself (AT NIGHT) and I was 143.8? So yeah I'm really confused. But I know it's not just the scales because I really do look as if I've put on weight. My thigh gap has disappeared and my face just looks tired and soft and not nearly as sharp as it usually does. That's all depressing beyond belief.

Currently feel like I'm in Nightmareland, so I'm taking a day off social frolicking and staying in with the fam. We (The Elite Squad plus Gabby) were going to go to this really low-key jazz bar in central London tonight, but I'm just not feeling it. I always envisioned looking like Liza Minnelli the first time I went to a jazz bar, and currently I'm definitely more gauche than gamine, so I think I'll pass. Plus my mother is worried about me 'going crazy' and wants me to take it easy for a night. Of course I'll probably end up drinking alone tonight out of depression while Bash and Alfie go out and have fun but whatever. I don't even care anymore. They can do what they want. I've got instant coffee and Suburgatory to keep me company. I win.

I guess a big part of me is like, 'whatever, you have an operation on Monday, you can eat whatever you like and smoke whatever you like and drink as much as you like because you know what? On Monday, that freedom goes straight out the window, so enjoy this while you can'. My logic is so flawed. If they even sniff that I am not up to my full strength on the 13th they won't proceed with surgery, so I probably should listen to Mother Dearest and lay off the rock and roll lifestyle for a few days.

My one-oh-five pound sister is downstairs eating a chocolate croissant and a full fat hot chocolate at the kitchen table. Anyone got a gun, so I can just get it over and done with now? Seeing her stuff her face and still stay under 8 stone when she's practically my height would drive anyone to suicide.

Eggs and bacon

I snuck out with Alfie last night. We drove over to his in the early hours of the morning... then snuggled in his extremely cosy bed with a film. 4am nachos + rum&cokes + sugary sweets feels soooo good the next day (not). But I love being with him so I'll suffer a bit of morning bloat in exchange for cosy bed times. Good thing I was too drunk to care... even better a thing I haven't weighed myself in days, as I've been on a bit of a booze/weed/junk food bender these last couple of days. The upside is that my life doesn't feel too dull at the moment. The downside is I'm at the stage where I'm drinking to cure my hangovers and so desperate for nicotine at I end up scrabbling for the loose tobacco on Bash's bedroom floor with Tina at 3am and rolling it with receipt paper.

So a bit of stuff's gone down. Let me update you lovely people on the latest saga of my so-called life. Bash keeps making moves on Alfie and because she doesn't know about me and him, and hopefully won't in the near future as she has a big mouth, he's kind of (begrudgingly) gone along with it. Now, I really don't see the issue, because we're not exclusive and she's leaving in 2 weeks. But I had to endure a morning of her practically dribbling over her hangover eggs and bacon about him - and I'm not going to lie, it did something to me. It really, really bothered me. I could tell he was feeling guilty about it on the night because after he 'put her to bed' he immediately crawled into my lap and started going on about how pretty I looked. So we had a little chat last night because I was feeling weird about it all. I settled on letting him indulge her for 2 weeks... as long as they didn't sleep together, because I don't think I could deal with that. He told me he'd happily never see her again if I wanted him to, because he would never want to hurt me in a million years. But, you know. Strange as this situation is, and even though I don't like sharing, I know that from experience if you give a dog a long lead he always comes back... and I don't want to drive him away. He's a guy, he's single and to be frank he deserves a little freedom now he's been released from the Wrath Of Charlie. I'm not going to make him feel bad, and it's not like he has feelings for her, so 2 weeks (technically I'll only have to endure 1 of those 2 weeks, as week 2 I'll be off my face on morphine) and then I won't have to share anymore. Besides, I'd better get used to it because he's off to university in two months and there's no way I'm going to be THAT girl... you know who I'm talking about. The one who doles out directions and just basically wants to control everything. I know from experience that never bodes well.

I've discovered a new drunk comfort food combo. Rice and yogurt. It's like... amazing. And no, not the flavoured yogurt (I'm not that deranged - yet). Just a little bit of the tart plain stuff, blob it on, bit of salt and pepper, then a food party in my mouth. Also, I found out today that my sister weighs 105 lbs. And she's almost 5'8. HOW IS THIS FAIR. And how is it fair that she still looks healthy, and not all sallow and drained and sad? If I was 105 lbs I'd be dead. And no, that doesn't stop me from wanting to get there... but 8 stone's my limit. 112 lbs. *Daydreams* Of course, I won't get there if I keep eating tortilla chips after midnight, but... you know. I'm trying to stop.

Maybe I should just eat socially. You know, like a social smoker, but a social eater instead. That could work.

Well, I'm off for a late-night bath then I'm back at Bash's, because her house is still empty, and she has marijuana. NO MUNCHIES. Only smunchies (drunk smokes). I love spending time at the most expensive address in London. I'm such a charity case. It's actually tragic. Maybe I'm turning into my sister. Not that that's a bad thing, apparently. 

Chelsea girls

One of the things I love about my otherwise despised edification (and indoctrination as a lower middle class child thrust into the hands of pompous, self-important, self-indulgent upper middle class snobs) was that in both primary and secondary school, I was allowed to play amongst the rich kids, which, in turn, meant getting invited to their very large and luxurious family homes. Now, I'm no sucker for wealth. Money doesn't interest me - people with money, however, do; and I find it interesting how almost every wealthy kid I know is the absolute embodiment of the poor little rich girl. Spoilt, parentally neglected, and indubitably messed up.

Rebecca was one of these types, born and bred. She could have been the re-incarnation of Edie Sedgwick - bulimic, self-involved, yet enigmatic - except more Jewish, and a pathological liar to boot (NB: although it's well documented that Sedgwick herself was known to lie and wildly exaggerate). Daddy issues? Check. Attention complex? Check. Ticking time bomb for self-destructive cataclysm? Check. I could name a few others like her, although perhaps not such severe cases, as it would be both ignorant and insulting for me to imply that all rich kids are vulgarly spoilt sociopaths who are prone to eating disorders and addiction. Many are quite the opposite.

Bash is someone who's utterly refuted this stereotype despite the fact that she could quite easily have become a Rebecca. She couch-surfs between the two homes of her divorced parents, both of whom are arguably as emotionally (and physically) absent as Rebecca's were. Her mother is a refined, French ice-queen who keeps maids and secretly binges on parma ham despite her self-proclaimed vegetarianism. Her father is a re-married Lebanese-American with truckloads of money and a penchant for spasmodically leaving the country on business. But, she lumps it. She could have quite easily have developed an E.D. (mother with body issues; comforted with food instead of love as a child; a messy adolescence that included divorce and a brother who went off the rails; etc.). She could quite easily have become an addict, too, but while she knows how to enjoy a drink (and the occasional bong) she also knows when to stop, and in addition, makes a point to stop others when she feels they're getting too crazy. She's like, perfectly formed in some ways, but then you look at her situation and her family and how she's grown up, and in realising just how messed up she could have grown up to be, you gain even more respect for the fact that she's so mellow, and positively un-sociopathic.

The point of this discussion was to lead up to the fact that I will be spending this evening in her father's Chelsea mansion, which, of course, is currently empty, and I plan on getting absolutely wasted there. Alfie and Tina are coming too. I wonder what will go down. Admittedly, the sociopath in me rubs her hands together in morbid glee at what could pan out. The human in me is scared shitless.

142.6 this morning, urgh. Tomorrow afternoon I have an appointment at the hospital, so they can outline all the precautions I need to take in the week leading up to my op ie. what I can and can't eat, smoke and drink. Fun times. I wanted to drop like 10 lbs before the surgery but that quite clearly isn't going to happen, so I'm setting my sights on the 130s in general. However, you can bank on the fact that I will be quite thin come September, after surviving on mush for two weeks. Tonsillectomy chic. Watch this space.

Trust no bitch

Scales went loopy again this morning. 140.6 then 141.6 then 142.8 then 143.6... then 143.6 five more times. I will have to go with the last one.
:(

Food today:
-2 ham and cheese wraps
-Iced coffee
-Cracker with nutella
-2 peaches
-Screwdriver (OJ & vodka.)
-More alcohol to come

I think the last time I started drinking in the day was study leave. Oh dear. Well, I have an excuse. I'm depressed. Mother was away last night again and Tina stayed to keep me company. I didn't divulge how sad I actually was. She knows anyway. She reads me as easily as a children's picture book. Alfie turned up at 3am for an hour and it sounds silly, but I actually felt really upset that I couldn't be alone with him, and all I wanted to do for the whole hour was kiss him - that would have been all it took to make me happy again - but of course I couldn't, because Tina was there and I didn't even manage to be with him for 1 second on our own. I mean really, what was the goddamn point of him coming, I couldn't talk to him openly, I couldn't curl up on his chest and cuddle him, I couldn't even look at him because I was scared that my eyes would give it all away. Admittedly I was drunk and Tina was sleep deprived and, you know, anything goes and all that shit, but... no. Just no. It sucked.

I want to be motherfucking goddamn loud and proud. Is that too much to ask? And yes, I know it would cause the most monumental, catastrophic eruption that would send waves rippling through our circle from the inside out. It would probably damage me and Charlie's relationship beyond repair, and make everyone second guess me, or worse, lose utter trust in me to be honest with them. But what the fuck man. As I said in my last post, NO one is honest with each other in our group. I think I love this guy. And I don't know if he feels as strongly for me as I do for him, but I wish it didn't have to be this way, tip-toeing around when other people are there, keeping it on the downlow 24/7. Maybe I am too hard to please. When he's over at mine all the time, when we're seeing each other frequently I can quite easily distance him from my mind... but the minute he's slightly out of my reach, it's like I'm an addict for him. He races through my head non-stop from dusk until dawn and I feel my whole body yearning for him. At times I'm so heavily inundated by my thoughts of him that I have to metaphorically pinch myself in order to stop myself from falling into an out-of-control spiral of emotional dependence and vulnerability.

After he left and I finally fell asleep downstairs, I had dreams all night that he was ignoring me, going around with other girls, paying me no attention and it hurt. It hurt like a thousand knives being thrust into my heart. I woke up crying and had to fix myself before seeing Tina off with some fresh orange juice and a hug.

I mean, what the actual fuck dude. I'm not like this. I don't know what's happening to me.

Bash is coming back from holiday tomorrow. Tina is going away in 2 days. Caro left this morning. Zara's psycho-nosy mum hacked her email account and grounded her indefinitely. And Charlie isn't even picking up my calls. So that leaves me... Bash... and Alfie.

Ménage à trois, anyone?

I'm just gonna get drunk and forget it all.