My Secret Life (19 page)

Actually, that brings me to why I have rated ‘how I feel about my life’ as so low today. I really should study. And to be honest, I’m using this diary entry as a form of procrastination. It’s too late now. It’s 10.00 pm and when I finish this I just want to sleep. I don’t have the energy for anything else. But I can’t deny anymore that I am doing poorly in college to say the least. I’ve sacrificed some subjects for others, meaning that while I’m coming out with A’s and B’s in certain modules, I’m actually failing others completely. Even at that, I know those grades aren’t going to last because I can feel myself slipping away. And if I can’t even keep myself together, there’s no way in hell I can keep it all together for college. I’m not sure what this means for second year, nor how I’m going to explain things to my parents. If I can keep this from them totally, I will. My supposed ‘intelligence’ is sometimes all I have going for me. I can’t bear the thought of people doubting it. Excelling in academia is often all that I am. I’m not willing to allow people to think otherwise.

I desperately hope tomorrow is better. I hate feeling like such a failure.

Yours, Leanne

2nd July 2009

How I feel about myself: 1/10

How I feel about my life: 2/10

So, I finally talked to him. It was a result of my initiation, of course. He seemed as distant as he always is with me and did everything but laugh outright in my face. So what does that mean? It means I’m an idiot for continuing this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything feels like it’s slipping out of my control and though I know he doesn’t help that feeling, I just can’t bear to let him slip as well. It’ll just be another failure. Same old Leanne; I just can’t find the strength for this. I know this to be true and yet, I feel calm since talking to him. I’ve been so wound up, screwed so tight and on the brink of absolute meltdown. But since talking to him I feel relaxed again – like I’ve gotten a much needed fix. I know it’s of no importance in the greater scheme of things but men are like a drug to me; especially when I feel very attached, as I do now. I’m calm for now and that brief discussion with him should tide me over for a while.

I’m not so sad as to be unaware of when a guy has lost interest. I’ve plenty of experience in the ‘getting-indirectly-dumped field.’ Signs when a guy has lost interest: Firstly, he stops getting in touch – this is not to say you stop communicating. But let’s be honest: when you’re the desperate bitch always having to text and/or strike up a conversation first, it’s probably not a good sign. Secondly, on the now rare occasions that you do speak – as a result of your initiation of course – he’s short answers and not a lot of talk. For example you text saying, ‘Hey how have you been? Any news?’ and the reply you get is, ‘Good. You?’ And to this I think it also apt to add that if these conversations are via online chat, it’s worth taking into consideration how long you’re waiting for a reply. Feels like too long? It probably is – meaning he has more important conversations to be having. So get over it. Thirdly, since WHEN do girls have to organise to meet up? Need I say more. And finally, he’s not making ANY commitment!! Let me guess – he’s just scared about getting into a relationship? Ha, you wish it was that simple to fix. Let me clear it up for you; it’s not him, it’s you. Sort yourself out and maybe you will be worth the commitment you want so desperately. Pathetic.

I’m going to start dieting tomorrow and I’m determined to make it work. They call this a disease. If that’s the case, I will make my disease my best friend. My ‘illness’ will make me everything I need to be to continue in the pursuit of perfection. I’m so sick of looking at skinny girls and wishing I had their bodies. I will be skinny and beautiful beyond recognition. Then no one will ever again be able to refuse me or deny anything. I will make myself an indispensable gem to the world and everyone in it. I just need to be logical about this and make a plan. Fix my skin, which has been giving me hassle lately. Sort out my weight. Everything else will fall into place. I can do this. I did it before. I’ll do it again. I just have to get past my own lethargy and laziness; THAT is my biggest obstacle. I need to get a job, get a new car, become skinny, lose the spots, and finally make myself irresistible to the society I hate so much. I can do this. Please Christ, help me before I kill myself.

Yours, Leanne

The importance I once placed on the superficial validation of men, shocks me to this day. To a large extent, I’m still ashamed of these diary entries because they highlight the lowest and most embarrassing parts of who I used to be. But in fully understanding myself and the mentality that enabled my bulimia, they are a necessity and stand as proof in my own mind of just how low one individual can sink.

There has never been any blame in the development of my illness or at least not in my own head anyway. I have never recalled a person, circumstance or singular reason as to why I became so sick. But the factors that contributed to my illness stretched far and wide and tapped into every aspect of the life of any contemporary teenager. Western culture I believe has a great deal to do with this, as it has not only shaped civilisation as we know it, but continues to demand ongoing change from the society by which it is inhabited. As this western culture grows through its own evolution, it alters and contorts that same evolution of the individual. The influence of the media on me throughout my disease was something that I could not ignore upon reflection. Is this to say that the media alone was responsible for my bulimia? No, clearly not. I think we’ve come far enough in our discussion now to know that this isn’t the case. But to attribute nothing at all to the hierarchal industries that define contemporary beauty, would also be a gross lie.

***

18th November 2007

How I feel about myself: 1/10

How I feel about my life: 7/10

Woke up this morning and quite simply wanted to die. I felt like the most revolting person on the planet. From my horribly spotty face to the piles of fat that cling to and consume my whole body, I felt like I would be prettier in death than as I am right now. Surely no woman is meant to look like this. If what magazines tell me is true, surely I am behind the human race in evolution. I am the genetic garbage of mankind. But no more. I can make myself worthy of more than this if I try and I have the discipline to show it. I love school but perhaps I need to put it on the back burner for a while, as there are more important things to be dealt with now. As such, I have allocated a few weeks to be selfish and think about nothing but myself.

Do other girls think this way? Perhaps. But with a bit of luck, telling myself these truths will eventually help me shed the necessary weight so that once it’s finally gone, I can adopt a healthy lifestyle from then on. I am currently about twelve and a half stone. The goal is to get down to nine stone before starting college next year. This is possible. And I will do anything. My friends need not know. I’ll tell them about it when I’ve lost the weight and when I’m in the process of ‘living healthily.’ If losing weight is unhealthy well then by God, I must make myself the most unhealthy girl in all of Ireland.

I’ll be carrying this out by doing several things. Firstly, I have gym membership and I WILL use it every day and moreover, I will exercise even more at home until I feel it’s finally making a difference. If I could become addicted to exercise, I think things in my life would become simpler. But that’s not going to happen so for now, I will bully myself into enjoying the pain of extensive workouts. I will be following a STRICT low-calorie diet. I’m allowing myself about 500 calories a day. On a rough basis, this will consist of: an apple and coffee for breakfast; three rice cakes for lunch; and finally, chicken and lettuce for dinner. I am to drink two litres of water a day and will hopefully remember to take the necessary vitamin tablets at each meal. This will hopefully be enough to transform me from this horrible creature I’ve turned into something that can just mildly resemble the women I see all the time now.

I also heard of what’s called the Maple Syrup Detox Diet. Apparently, loads of celebrities use it to shed pounds fast. I’ve heard of some celebrities dropping around 20lbs within a fortnight while on it. I like the sound of it because it’s a lot of weight loss and very little time. I don’t have time to lose weight the normal way because I feel like a ticking time bomb. Not to mention the fact that I just can’t stand being this size anymore. I have to fix this NOW. I eat nothing for about ten days and instead, drink this concoction of water, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. If I can get enough breathing room, I’ll try it for as long as I can.

My main problem at the moment is being given the space to carry out any diet at all. Aside from the girls now breathing down my neck because once or twice they noticed me skipping my lunch at break time, my mum – in a totally counterproductive way – has been on my back and I think would notice my attempts to carry out any of the above. I just need to dodge her suspicions as much as possible. I can just lie to the girls, but my mum will be more aware, as she lives with me. But it is manageable. A growing obsession with the gym will be encouraged, as she’s all for it. So that’s one thing down. The diet will be slightly trickier. She works most days or is out of the house, so I’m sure I could have breakfast and lunch covered. It’s just dinner. But perhaps if I just lie to her about what I’ve already eaten that day, she might just go along with what I want for dinner.

Hopefully, tomorrow I’ll feel better about myself because I’ll have started the weight loss plan. My potential is my biggest weapon and one of the reasons for how I’ve rated my feeling on life today. Moreover, I rethought my life. And though I am disgusted with how fat I have allowed myself to become, my life is good. And I know that with some discipline and control, I will match how I look to how good I could look in time and how great it could be. All those celebrities, models, actresses – there’s no way they look that way without a little discipline. If they can do it, so can I. I’m only 17 but one day, I will be more famous than all of them combined and I will be damn sure to look the part.

I’m going out tonight using Natalie’s I.D. So once I’ve had time to get over the trauma of finding something slimming to wear, I plan on simply drinking myself into one final oblivion, in celebration of what is to come. I will do this. I know I can.

Yours, Leanne.

***

I suppose it’s a very unfair to claim that any individual in the media is encouraging eating disorders among young girls today. I’m not making that claim anyway. If anything, I think I have a great deal of pity for such public figures. Allow me to explain; you see, as a victim of such effects, I do contend that some responsibility is to be attributed to particular media industries today. The people and organisations who define what beauty is in the modern world seem dead set on alleviating themselves of any implication in such things. But the reality is that when their work influences modern living as it does, they cannot surely escape that involvement. Sure, they may claim it to be art. And yet, art stops being so exclusively when it becomes a dictation as to how people choose to live their lives – albeit healthily or in my case, very unhealthily indeed. Such ‘art’ relies on this societal involvement to fuel its progression in the first place. And while I of all people hold out hope for major changes to take place within these realms that so easily influence daily living, my pessimism leaves me to doubt as much.

As regards the familiar faces that are splashed across weekly magazines and television programmes, I view them not as propagators in this vicious cause, but as victims. The emaciation we see in photographs, which is usually glorified is a result of this monstrous ‘beauty machine’ that has gripped western culture. The ideal of what beauty is has always been there, yes, but I don’t think it has ever before been at such a crucial point, whereby women such as myself are starving themselves to embody it. Surely the human race has come too far to remain so painfully naive.

It’s all very easy to say these things now, of course. After taking my body and mind to some of the darkest places a person can go, one can’t but help retain a degree of anger perhaps even resentment, to the exterior influences that guided me down that pathway. But then again, I’ve had the very good fortune of therapy and recovery to solidify these opinions and perhaps even make them stubborn. At the time, I never perceived the media this way. The question in my mind at that time was not whether or not it was the right direction, but simply whether or not I could keep up to speed with it. As it turned out, I couldn’t. I realised this again and again throughout my bulimia and every moment of clarification served to fragment me even further. It hurts me still to know that for so long, I endured suicidal thoughts for the sake of ‘looking good enough’.

25th September 2009

How I feel about myself: 0/10

How I feel about my life: 0/10

This is impossible. It feels like life is killing me. And worst of all, I can’t blame this feeling on very unfortunate circumstances or on things that are out of my control; this feeling is a result of my own failings. Sure, I can say – and have been doing so for a long time – that I feel fucked in life because I have an ‘eating disorder.’ Is this the reason I feel like such a failure? No. I am a failure because I can’t – no, I choose – not to do anything better with myself.

I’m just sick of being bad at everything I try. No matter what I do, I seem to do it wrong. It kills me thinking back to a time when I felt I could do anything; when I felt I was good at so many things. I was a good student, got amazing grades, didn’t cause my parents so much stress, didn’t cost them so much money, could write and write and never tire of it, could draw anything in the world and make it almost photographic, could have any guy I wanted and still not give a shit. Now, I feel like a failure who has been making excuses for herself so as to avoid what needs to be done. And what needs to be done is more than I think I can handle. I now feel that this is impossible.