Читать книгу Raw: The diary of an anorexic - Lydia Davies - Страница 11

My blog post

Something I wrote in my phone, probably at 5.40 a.m., one time:

The worst thing is having to think about it and talk about it all the time. Having fun, being creative, listening to inspiring people and watching inspiring films can take me away. Drawing, ink, outfits, glamour, ideas, aspirations are a saviour. Confidence, influence and inspiration are key words. Nothing is safe but everything is amazing. Creativity and drive will save me. Excitement and networking and listening to and hearing other people.

The only way in which I was able to warm up my permanently icy body was by sitting in a bath full of boiling water. I would run it as deep as I could before the water started to get cold. Actually, getting in was horrendous, as it meant taking off all of my clothes and being unbearably cold for some long seconds. I would lower myself in slowly until my sharp tailbone clunked against the bottom of the tub. It was absolute agony to sit. I would lie back, my spine cracking against the surface. Sometimes I would exhale all of the air in my lungs and lie completely under the water, just to see what it might feel like to not be in the world any more. I would imagine drowning and only bring myself back up when I had to. I would look down at my purple knees, and would examine my skeleton of a body. Sometimes I would stroke the layer of fur that was developing on my arms, and wonder whether I HAD taken things too far, and even be a little scared. Thoughts like this never lasted more than a few seconds, as they quickly disappeared behind the mist of the voice congratulating me for achieving skinny. Getting out of the bath was dreadful. Being soaking wet and THAT cold was excruciating. I would dart to my bedroom down the hall and blast the hairdryer over my transparent skin in a desperate attempt to heat myself again.

Another thing I did a lot around this time was sit on benches. I would just walk around completely dazed and sit on benches anywhere by myself, and not think. I would be completely blank and glazed over, but horrendously lonely, cold and depressed at the same time. I remember sitting on a bench in town outside a church for several hours once. I was completely numb, and feeling nothing, till I felt a tear slide down my face, and then another, and then another. I didn’t move, I just sat there, blinking terrified tears, but feeling powerless to them. I felt like I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to and nothing to say anyway. I ended up going into the church, and sitting talking to myself, and maybe God. I had no idea what to do with myself. I was so, so sad.