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Dating with an Eating Disorder

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If you think a Demogorgon is scary, then you've never been on a date in your 30's.

So you've binge watched season 2 of Stranger Things in 24 hours and your Halloween decorations are in the bin, but you're not quite ready to sling on the Christmas jumper yet and crave one last autumn spook? Come in, draw up a chair and let me tell you of the true horror, which befalls lonely singletons this cold cuffing season. 
For I have been dodging vampire bites since 2012 and have busted myself a ghost or two, so let me navigate you safely out of the dinner party with Hannibal Lecter and arm you with all the silver bullets and wooden stakes that you will need when you are over 30 and single.
Ghosts
Ghosts, ghouls and ghoulies are the mainstay of any Tinder Nightmare. Have you even Internet dated if the 'one' disappears off the face of the earth the day they are due to meet your mother? Ghosts in truth are cowards, they are the people that can't quite brace themselves to send the "it's not me, it's you text". But trust me, pals, it's them; i…

I'm OK, just not today.

Trigger Warning: This post includes descriptions of binge eating and talks about poor mental health. Please don't continue reading this if you fear it may be triggering for you. 


I haven't blogged for a while. I have written, I have written a lot. My blog drafts are filled with half written posts that have never made the edit, never been completed. It isn't that I haven't wanted to write, it's that I couldn't find the words. They weren't funny enough, positive enough, they didn't quite cut it, so I saved them and promised to come back to them another day, and then I never did. 

I started this blog shortly before I finished therapy for my eating disorder. My therapist suggested that blogging was a good way to make sense of my thoughts, connecting with other people like me. And yet, when I have needed to do that the most, I have shied away from it. Put my laptop down, and waited for a better day to come.  

I always knew that recovery would never be an upward…

This is What Recovery Looks Like

* This blog describes bingeing in detail and may be triggering for people who are struggling with disordered eating. 
I forget. I forget I have an eating disorder. In fact that I 'had' an eating disorder. Right now, I don't have one. I wouldn't qualify for treatment, I am not sick enough. I am in recovery. But it lurks there, in the background, often quiet and in the back of my mind. I can ignore it. That voice, the voice that tells me that I am sick. Sometimes I don't hear it at all. It blends into the background of life's noises and I forget that it is there. But at other times, it screams at me. It shouts over every part of the day reminding me that it still lurks there, waiting.
I was diagnosed with having a Binge Eating Disorder (BED) in April 2016. I wrote about it the experiences of BED here.  I finished treatment 6 months ago this week. I remember the day of my diagnosis so clearly. A friend had convinced me to go. I thought it was madness that I could ha…

Let the Fun BeGIN!

I adore the summer; sausages sizzling on the BBQ, British skin sizzling on the sun lounger, the smell of badly applied 'Hawaiian Tropic' in the air. It's glorious. In the summer, we become these new social beings, going for 'drinks' on a Tuesday night and inviting neighbours we haven't spoken to for six months around for drinks and 'nibbles'. We're like 17-year olds on our first holiday to Magaluf, taking every opportunity to make new mates and to seal these new friendships with a drink or ten. And 'Oh the Drinks', the glorious summer drinks that make their way out of the back of the dusty booze cabinet to be consumed in vast jugs with fruit and salad swimming in it like tiny alcohol sponges.  My favourite summer drink has to be gin. Gin is the type of acceptable spirit that can be enjoyed at all times and at all occasions without excuse. 12pm and the sun is shining, a little gin and tonic in the garden it is. 8pm and flirting on a first date…

So You Find Fat Women Sexy? So What!

Now I don't want to say I told you so, but what kind of gloating narcissist would I be if I didn't write a blog post about how I am always right and everyone should listen to me more? Let me just pop my 'I knew it pants on' and lets begin. So, a few weeks ago, I wrote a post about the body positive gang and how I just wasn't buying it. I felt like it was a huge ploy by mainstream media to sell more stuff to fat girls and wrap it up in a bow of 'self love' as long as your fat fell in the right places, of course. Well, this week, the mainstream media have been fawning over a 'body positive' husband and I am calling it what it is, bullshit.
It begins with an Instagram post (link here) by "wordsmith, public speaker and creative activist" Robbie Tripp. At first glance it seems like a perfectly sweet but generally benign public display of affection with him and his wife doing googly eyes at each other on a beach. But take a closer look and you wi…

Things that Love Island has taught me about life and love. 

British Summertime is here, and with it the smell of charcoaled sausages and burnt flesh lingers in the air. Your wardrobe is a mix of "vest tops that discreetly hides under boob sweatage" and "cardigans that can double up as an umbrellas". But alas, your hen do to Ibiza is still 6 weeks away and your social diary is as empty as your wallet before payday. So what better way to fill those muggy summer evenings than to spend each night in your pants, propped up next to a dozen fans, watching people (decidedly better looking than yourself) find ways to win fifty grand, I mean love. Ah the romance. Love Island is back for its second series (third if we're including the series where Callum Best dumped Rebecca Loos for farting) and I could not be happier. If you think for one moment that this is vacuous trash TV viewing then, my friend, you are terribly wrong. Love Island has things to teach us, and in three weeks I've learnt quite a bit already. 
There's a da…