This is the only concrete memory of that night - a fading bruise clinging on. I don't remember the end of the meal, by that time I was far gone into my usual drunken repetoire. Guess how much of me is real? Guess how many people I've slept with? Guess the most horrible thing I've done? And somewhere in the midst of that blurry night, I found myself in the bed of a stranger and agreed to have sex with him. I remember flashes of it, kneeling on his bed, kissing his chest, him pulling off my knickers, pushing my dress up, pulling my bra down, kissing me hard, and then having sex with him. And then making him promise not to tell anyone before I got dressed and walked off. I see him later, I take the cigarette from his lips. He got his flight in the morning and I never spoke to him again. I will probably never see him again. The only connection I have to him is the friendship request on facebook. I see photos of him and his girlfriend. I think they'd just celebrated their year and a half anniversary. They make a beautiful couple. She is beautiful.
And I can't stop looking at his facebook, looking for clues. Who was he? And I don't know why. I don't know why I feel this need to give him a personality, to give him context. He was the anonymous stranger I get to fuck. The anonymous stranger whose meant to numb the pain for a while and stop me thinking of the ex-boyfriend. It worked. I can't think of the ex-boyfriend without feelings of overwhelming guilt. It wasn't just the anonymous stranger I fucked that night. I had sex with one of my female co-workers afterwards. She knew and she still had sex with me. In the morning she kissed me back, stroked my body and held me until I stopped shaking. She told me I was beautiful and asked me why I'd waited so long to make a move on her. And all I could think of was the Stranger as I lay in bed with this beautiful woman.

Why? Why? Why?

I don't know why I do anything any more. I knew I wanted to get drunk that night. And I knew it would end something like that. And I still did it, knowing fully that the next morning all I would feel is shame and guilt and disgust. I didn't even use a condom with the Stranger. But I can't get a test yet - I only went last week because I was so angry with the ex-Boyfriend and wanted to prove to him how I disgusted I was with Rose. But I am her. I don't even care enough about myself to use protection. What am I?

Birthday Flowers

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." C.S. Lewis

He dumped me. The day before my birthday. The end?

I feel so sick. Waves of nausea convulsing through my body and these images appearing in front of me, carved into my eyelids so even when I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, all I can see is her with him.

When the Boyfriend and I first got together, I was convinced he was in love with this girl called Rose. She's beautiful, funny, intelligent and has one of those bodies which fill me with gnawing jealousy. He promised me he'd never even kissed her. And then last night after we had sex, he just blurted out how I was a better fuck than Rose. I just lay there thinking it was sort of sick joke. I've always been so jealous of her, of her friendship with the Boyfriend, of the amount of time they spend together, driven crazy by the knowledge that she is far more attractive than me. He then said that it hadn't actually been sex but 'as good as'. And now I don't know what to do. It happened before we were properly together and before I fell in love. But it's the lies - the denials - the casual way in which he announced that I hadn't in fact been the girl he'd given up all his morals, his faith, for.

The post with the photo was meant to be my last post. I don't want to be anorexic daisy. I'm not, I'm really not - I had to go to the doctor's today and she weighed me as I fixed my eyes on the ceiling determined not to care. And then she said the number aloud. It was unbearable. I'm huge. I can't even write how much I weigh. It's disgusting. I just can't believe how far I've let myself go. How I let the fat wrap my body up. I don't want to me anymore. I thought I was getting better, that I didn't care about the numbers anymore, that I actually wanted to live, that I didn't want to be sick anymore, that I knew I had a mental illness and I chose life, and I chose to have children and I chose to have normal relationships and I chose to stop this. But I can't. Not now. All I can see and all I can feel is just fat, fat, fat, fat dimpled, flabby, repulsive. A couple of weeks ago I read all my old posts and I wanted to hug the old me. I wanted to tell her that it would be ok, she'd be free and she'd fall in love.

But that would be a lie. I'm not free. And all I can feel is everything crumbling around me. And nothing. I just want to feel nothing again.

I woke up this morning with alcohol sweats and for a few minutes I just lay there, sweating and shivering, without recollection of anything. It's strange - I've lived like this for so long and I still find those moments of utter blankness as terrifying as ever. I should be scared. I turn into this obnoxious sexual deviant when I'm drunk and the things I say - I can't even type them. They're just too awful, a psychotic haze of lies and ugly, ugly truth. I had to work today. My job consists mostly of unlocking and locking doors for hours on end, whilst smiling cheerfully and exuding an air of confidence and capability. Inevitably, I'm absolutely shit at this job.

Why am I even writing this? I'm just trying to put off typing it.

I cheated on him.

It was just a kiss, a few kisses, I was really drunk, he was really pushy

they're just excuses

nothing at all really

i cheated on him and i thought of him when i kissed this man

this man i turned down so i could be with the boyfriend

i'm sorry, i'm rambling. i'm trying to run away from my job right now and myself right now