The Cycle

First call of duty: I'm sure you've all been bombarded with National Delurking week extravanga. I'm not going to go on about it - too much. All you lurkers, come out and say hello to my little site. Don't you just lurve this button? I nicked it off my good friend DM How long have you been lurking for? Don't be scared, my readers and readettes, I am a very forgiving person - when I'm feeling like it. If ever, hehe.

This is probably something you don't want to know, but I haven't much to talk about at the moment. For one thing I feel terrible and I haven't the slightest clue why. Sure, it hurts to blink right now because I have some sort of sty in my left eye and it gives me a headache. And I'm starting to despair over my lack of concentration and sleep deprivation. I'll be taking more pills tonight - it's only Friday night so college won't have anything to moan about.

The something you don't want to know are the two cycles I tend to go through. Firstly, I'm having the period - the crimson wave, the demons, the "accident". Usually I'm really feisty and I feel that intense teenage hate of your Dad - you'd wish he'd just DIE for not letting you have that second breakfast. You're not shy - the notion of PMS doesn't even cross your mind. Until your period comes. Thankfully to my problems my periods hardly ever come around. Last year, I didn't get any for 9 months which was really scary. I felt like some invalid freak. I wonder about children sometimes...what I might have to go through should I ever decide to have them...

Actually, I think me and Ria are sorta synchronised when I'm on - which is pretty freaky considering we only see each other like once a month. Her punk-ass boyfriend (in a good way) Darren had her way with her, which is said to be messy. I can't bear to imagine the mess, the mess! Apparently punk-ass didn't mind. The single-mindedness of men is so strange at times.

Speaking of men, I got sent this link about feminism in the 21st century (or the lack of it, as she argues). Perhaps she's right. Women are as fussy - fussier? - than ever about how men percieve (I'm going for straight women here. I'm a lesbian and I can't figure them out haha! Can't believe I said that) and have reversed from burning bras in the 60s to spending thousands on lingerie and trimming labias and selling thongs to eight year olds. Intelligence seems to be frowned upon - they've found that the smarter the woman, the less likely she is to find a man because they find it threatening, which is said, since girls in the UK are beating the boys in every subject, but then the times are a-changin' again, aren't they? Every backlash has got its own backlash. The backlash against feminism that didn't even finish the job should be taken upon but modernized - no more man-hating, weird hemp clothes that rubbed in all the wrong places, none of that. No shying away from what you are, being cool with that. I think women are about 50, 60 years from full equality. Women have been prejudiced for hundreds of years, what the Enlightenment got to do with that? We have hurdles to jump everywhere and we have to stop being so goddamn bitchy, I can't stand it!

...And I've digressed. I've actually been very down the last three days but all of this ranting has made me feel a bit better. On Wednesday night I got ratarsed, corkscrewed, jackhammered drunk. I felt great. Reading over my blog, turns out I've had this issue for at least 13 months - hey, Friday 13th! This is usually a good day - I get more top grades, or days of school. Not today, today as terrible- I had a horrendous fat day, which is much worse than most because of the depression and eating problems. I didn't eat all day, except for some cherry drops and a Snickers bar. I felt so proud of myself, and so light. I felt intelligent. I felt good. And I shouldn't have, I know but I needed to feel thin and not the disgust when I look at myself in the mirror. I stuck my head in my fifth Murakami book, Kafka on the Shore and I was too happy about it's superb, concise, mystical, optimistc ending I forgot about eating when I got home at about 5pm.

I'm ashamed to say I binged. These days I have mini-destructions and I don't even realise they're coming. One moment I'm bemoaning Eastenders, in a couple of hours I'm ratarsed drunk screaming silent words at my Dad's bedroom wall, or eating a day's worth of food over two and a half hours. Even then, even though I knew what I had to do I didn't really realise what I was doing until I was on all fours in my bedroom, gagging. And it didn't stop there - I hadn't cut my nails and I think I cut my throat a little, but it'll heal fine if I don't purge for a few days. When I was done, I found that my knuckles had turned red from scraping against my teeth, I was coughing a lot, my throat was sore and my body was shaking. Tears were streaming down my face. I crawled away from the bathroom and kept ringing Ria's phone until I got through. Now I'm blogging about it. And that's the starve-binge-purge-blog cycle I've entangled myself in now. But now I should retire to bed - it's 2 am. I have books to read and I'm too ugly for words.