Just bloody super

Bed at 7 a.m and waking at 3 p.m to find an empty space in the bed next to me was a little disorientating. Simon didn't answer my calls or text and I had missed the coffee date catch up of an old aquaintance; luckily we had arranged to meet at his house so he wasn't too put out. I had woken up too late for lunch and so my plan was all skew wiff and I gave up on it completely; my major weakness. 2 slices of jam on toast, a bite of chocolate, a cup of tea, a bottle of diet lemonade and half a 'salt and pepper mixed starter' preceeded a vomiting session in my room into a bucket which is now under the bed. I didn't want to miss the break in half ton son and my mother was walking around the house ( I say walking but it's probably more like prowling) and I couldn't be bothered with her hearing me. Simon finally came through and came back saying he'd been taking his mum shopping or something. 2 cauliflower cheese grills, 2 cups of tea and a huge mug of hot chocolate left an even bigger hole in my sanity for the day plus an uncomfortably full stomach.
I fought the rest of the evening with my mother who says that I have to claim incapacity and give it to her to live here because she's financially unstable, and that her new boyfriend (who she's reclaimed) thinks I'm a rude bitch and that she agrees and that although she knows I'm going through a tough time (!) it's no excuse. I went for a walk and a cigarette but it didn't make me feel much better, surprisingly.
This book about addiction is sort of scaring me. It says that an addict will become addicted to lots of things and should quit them all at once; no drinking, no smoking, no weed, no anything. Not smoking? But.... but.... but I like it. No drinking? Ever? I'm definitely not addicted to that. Hmm.
My ex-boyfriend (who I was/am sort of addicted to, however much I'd like to deny it) has deleted me from facebook with no warning. Just like him and I'm trying not to react abusively as I'm sure he'd love. His new fiance (my ex friend who he swore he was not at all attracted to) did not. Did I mention I used to be insanely jealous of her and their friendship? She represented the idea that a woman could be feminine and 'cool' with her tattoo and piercing and coloured hair playing off so well against her curves and red lipstick. She's the epitomy of a 'feminine shape' with long blonde hair and an airhead personality to go with it (since discovered). I used to use her as my reason not to starve/binge/purge/overexercise. Why? Because she is at least 3/4 dress sizes bigger than me and I still thought she looked attractive; a previously unprecedented feat. And now my Bulimia has progressed to this dangerous extent? I find her repulsive; she is so fucking fat! She is a fucking whale for sure. This scares me in the sense that I have clearly gotten a lot worse but also helped me to care a lot less when they got 'engaged'; which incidentally is so fucking ridiculous that I laughed for half an hour when I found out (literally :P). Now she has 'new, fabulous hair' and I want to see it. I want her to have chopped all her lovely, feminine, blonde locks off and be the fat, ugly whore she undoubtedly is. Unfortunately, sometimes when I look in the mirror now I do see the piercing I have that matches hers, or the similar stretcher, or the fact that I love she shop she works in, or the fact she's enamoured with my favourite band or the white blonde hair I've got now and I see me playing at being her. Playing at being a woman and failing miserably. I feel like a short, ugly, fat little mess who will never be 'cool' or 'womanly'; just destined to be my high school self forever and that frightens me more than anything. I know there are sides to me she'll never have. A brain, for one. And my sci-fi side, and my clumsy, cute side and my many other talents and beauties which currently escape me. Ick. I feel dirty and obsessive.
I've decided that tomorrow will be my last day like this. I'm cutting and dying my hair, buying new clothes, cleaning my room out and starting to take control. I'm sick of being helpless. I'm sick of being a mess. I'm sick of being wrecked and full and empty and sick and jealous and angry and tired and lonely and trapped. I want out. Even if it means killing Robin or Nick or my mother or father or shedding 40 pounds or never smoking another cigarette in my life.