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24 December 2011 @ 08:27 pm

I totally forgot this weird feeling when dieting. I always have what I call nervous energy.

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20 December 2011 @ 09:34 pm

Lost 10 kilos since January.

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18 December 2011 @ 02:14 pm

What am I going to do about losing weight I've over Christmas. Already tricky. Ha

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Current Location: -33.8786,151.1995
Authors Note: I'm sorry this took so long. Our computer broke and we've only just retrieved the stuff from it, including this; the last chapter of Perfection before I write the Epilogue.

It's been a long journey, when I set out to write this, I was scared of the reception it would get, I would never have dreamt it would end up 30 Chapters long and thats not includng the Prologue and Epilogue.

Alot of you have asked me over the course of this story if I've experienced the effects of anorexia first hand. Yes I have, I was never admitted to hospital but I was severely underweight and sick and unhappy. I overcame it and realised that food wasn't the problem, there was a much bigger issue at hand. I've worked really hard but I'm in a healthy, happy spot now. I weigh a really good weight, I adore food, a have healthy body image, I just make sure I REALLY pay attention to my body's cues, if I'm hungry I eat, if I'm not I don't.

It was only at the end of last year that I really felt I was in a good enough place to be abe to write this chapter properly, so I picked up my pen and did... and then the computer crashed... But now it's here!

I started writing this when I was sixteen, now I'm nineteen, thats about 4 years of writing!

I Only have the Epilogue to write and then that's it. Finis! Although I will be going through and editing the story, especially the first half, it was written SO long ago and my writing style has refined alot since then.

I'm so proud of this little baby. I want to give all of you readers a HUGE THANK YOU, without you and your support I would never have had the inspiration and determination to continue, you've all given me so many kind words over the whole story!

So without further ado, here we go - HAPPY READING!

Chapter 30

The Child Is Gone  

I'm trying to find a place I belong
And I suddenly feel like a different person
From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion
And I ran my hand over a strange inversion
As the darkness turns into the dawn
The child is gone
The child is gone 

Title and Lyrics from the song "The Child IS Gone" by Fiona Apple I suggest listening to her!


The world hangs in a cloud. Thoughts swirl and tangle like leaves blowing in the wind. I open my eyes to white. Nothing but white. It hurts my eyes so I close them again. I slip back into darkness...

A small girl plays with her dolls; her father comes into the room with a ham sandwich. She smiles up at him, takes it and politely thanks him. There is a shout from the kitchen. Her father pats her on the head comfortingly and leaves the room. There is a smash from the kitchen. The little girl walks out, taking a bite of the sandwich as she enters. There is ham on the kitchen tiles, smashed plates and cups. It looks as though everything on the bench has been swept onto the floor. Her parents are shouting. The little girl begins to cry. The fridge door opens as if by magic and the contents begin throwing themselves on the floor. Tomatoes, pickles, bread, all launching themselves at the ground. Her parents turn around, shocked beyond belief and rush toward her. The little girl looks at the carnage in the kitchen and drops her sandwich, sobbing.

White, nothing but white. I’m groggy, like someone has stuffed my head with cotton balls. I can feel something attached to my stomach. Gingerly I move my fingers and feel for it. It feels like a tube. I open my eyes a little more. The Hospital Wing? No, it’s too white. My eyes, stinging, not wanting to be open, look down at my stomach. It’s a tube.

Horror takes me. Why is there a tube in my stomach? It appears to be filled with thick honey coloured fluid. Am I dreaming? I follow the tubes progress, it snakes up my arm, attached with surgical tape, around my wrist until it drapes up to a big bag filled with the same fluid, hanging from a thin metal pole. Something clicks in my brain. And I panic.

Food, fat, drip, weight. Feeding tube. I tear it out frantically. No, no, no. They will not, they cannot. I try to sit up. Who knows how long it’s been pumping fat inside me? Who knows what damage it has done? My head spins drastically. I swing my feet over the side of the bed. I try to stand up, but I fall. I yelp, my hands splaying in front of me to catch me. Someone is rushing toward me. I try to swat them away. They cannot put that thing back in me. I struggle, I cry, I try to push them away. And then one of them pulls out a needle. I feel a sting in my arm. And then everything fades once more...

The little girl hugs her doll tightly. She knows they are talking about her in soft voices in the room next door. She did something wrong. They are whispering about it. They say no one can find out. They say there is something strange going on. The little girl knows it has something to do with the fridge. With the food... They say something odd is going on with her. They had to throw away all the food in the garbage. Her belly rumbles. But she doesn’t want to eat, because it might happen again... She doesn’t want them fighting. She knows it’s all because of her. If she is a good little girl, they might stop...

A basket. It started with a basket. I can’t seem to grasp the details. Wine? Yes, there was wine... And pain, in my ankle. In my arm... Everything was... unbearable... Blond hair... blue eyes...Malfoy... Malfoy saying... No... He couldn’t... The entrance hall... Anger... They were accusing me of... Ginny... Ginny! She told them! And then... And then what?

‘Eat your dinner Hermione, the starving kids in Africa would do anything for a meal like that.’

It was her fault wasn’t it? She was eating food that they could be eating... They were starving because of her...

Hips expanding, skin blemishing, buds on her chest, hair in places – it shouldn’t be… Emotions that simply can’t be controlled, angry for no reason, sadness for none as well. Getting taller, getting wider, hungry always, so hungry…

Her stomach ached, oh it ached, and her back ached, no it seared. Her whole midriff was on fire. Why did it hurt so much? Her period had never hurt this much. It was unbearable, she felt like... She was dying. Surely she was dying. It hurt so much she wished she WAS dying! And then she couldn’t handle the pain any longer and she fell off her chair, in front of the whole class, and passed out.

I wake to white once more. For a moment adrenaline rushes through me. The Death Eaters must have me! But then I remember that the war is over. I have no idea where I am.

‘Where am I?’ I manage to choke out, my voice is raspy. There is no reply. ‘Hello?’ I rasp again.

I hear voices not too far away. They say something like. ‘She’s awake.’ There are footsteps and I open my eyes. Everything is unfocused. ‘Where am I?’

I see the blurry outline of a blonde haired woman. When she speaks, she has a beautiful calm voice.

‘You’re safe. You’re at St. Mungo’s in the Janus Thickey ward. We weren’t actually sure where to put you.’

It barely registers. St. Mungo’s? So I’m in hospital. The Janus Thickey ward? That’s where they put Lockhart isn’t it? But that doesn’t make sense.
‘What- what happened – why can’t I remember anything?’

‘You had a heart attack. Temporary memory loss and confusion is a side effect of the potion you’ve been given.’

I can hardly believe my ears. I had a heart attack?

The Halloween feast has been brought up to the Gryffindor Dormitory. Her heart is still racing. She lied to a teacher. She lied to all of them. She lied! Straight to their faces! They knocked out a troll! And now, now they were talking to her... There was so much food. What must the feast have been like? Her new friends are stuffing their faces. She should eat slowly. Don’t want to make them think she is a pig...

They moved me from the Janus Thickey Ward the next day. They started me off slowly, yoghurt, strawberries. And they had a muggle drink called “Ensure” and if I didn’t eat properly, they’d threaten me with it. It was full of everything designed to make us put on weight.

When I say us, I’m talking about the other underweight patients. I’d been put in a ward designed to help severely emaciated patients gain back some fat and muscle before being moved to different wards for various procedures.

But they were underweight for different reasons. They hadn’t meant to lose weight. One patient had gotten himself lost in the Sahara desert looking for rare potion ingredients, one man had a worm like creature in his stomach that had eaten almost everything he’d put in his mouth for weeks, another had some sort of magical malady and she looked like a twig.

At first I could hardly believe I’d been put in here with patients so ridiculously skinny. But these same skinny patients looked at me sadly with “tsks tsks”. And “You poor thing, they’ll fatten you up.”

They didn’t know why I was in here... That I’d gotten this way from sheer determination... I don’t think they would have been able to comprehend anyway...

I guess that was my first step to recovery. The day I looked at the charts attached to the end of their beds. I weighed at least 5 kilograms less than most of them...

How could it be that when I looked at my fellow patients, I saw grossly bony, withered bodies, thighs that looked like sticks and ribs that poked out- and they frightened me- and when I looked at myself I saw fat?

I mean I guess part of me saw that I wasn’t obese or anything but it was like I honed in on everything wrong with me. My arms were still too flabby, my stomach not concave enough...

But to everyone else, I was skinnier than the man lost in the desert for a month...

How had my perception become to warped? Smart, sharp witted, clever Hermione, couldn’t even see the truth in front of her...

When they first described to me, the treatment I would be receiving, when I heard they needed to fatten me up... I was scared... I thought I would fight back at first. I thought I’d stop them at any cost to make me put on weight. I thought I’d kick and scream to stop them ruining the good work I had done. Or that I would meekly comply until they let me go and then when I was released I would be free to go back to my old habits, undo the damage they would have done, just lose it all again.

I thought there was no way I would comply.

Tell them I was fine, there was nothing wrong with me.

Except now that I had the care I needed... I could no longer deny what I had...

The thing that scared me the most... My body had failed me. I had had a heart attack!

I’d abused my young strong heart enough that it failed. It didn’t have enough of what it needed to survive.

And me, clever smart Hermione, had gotten so caught up in the world of starvation that I hadn’t even really thought to research the long term effects of my abuse.

My body would never be the same. I was lucky to have survived...

If I didn’t do something... I would die...

‘But they get paid?’ Hermione said. ‘They holidays, don’t they? And-and sick leave, and pensions and everything?’

Nearly Headless Nick laughed so hard his head flopped off, dangling gruesomely on the inch or so of ghostly muscle that kept it attached to his neck.

‘Sick leave and pensions?’ he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. ‘House-Elves don’t want sick leave and pensions!’

She pushed her plate away from herself. She refused to eat the slave food. Those poor little creatures, slaving away all day to make the whole school every single meal... And she’d been unknowingly taking advantage of them for years. Every single day, three meals a day, she’d eaten food cooked by servants! They didn’t get paid anything, they didn’t even get gratitude! How could the entire Wizarding community take advantage of the poor little elves!

Well she wasn’t taking part in it. She looked at the boys, shoving their faces, trying to entice her to eat... Oh gosh she was hungry. But no, she had the strength to refuse! To refuse the hams, the sausages... the delicious mash potatoes... Dessert would come later...

She sat up in her seat proudly. In her mind she chanted. ‘I have self control!’…

Those first few weeks, I struggled, boy did I struggle. When they put my first full meal in front of me, I panicked. I felt anxious, I was shaking and I had butterflies. I could barely lift the food to my mouth without shaking so much that it fell off the fork.

For the first time in months I was going to put a decent amount of food inside me and not have the option of throwing it up...

But I managed. Just as I had managed to refuse my body’s hunger, to ignore the pains, to deny myself fuel for so long, I used the same determination to deny the need for hunger. And it was scary, giving my body so much control, after having my mind make the shots for such a long time.

My doctor approved but knew not to push me too far. To make sure I took it slow. Unlike my own attempts to help myself, where I went mad for the food and then hated myself after, they monitored me and made sure I didn’t gorge myself, just as much as they made sure I didn’t deny myself. They only gave me fruit for dinner after that first meal.

I panicked when I first started eating meals, I was gaining weight so quickly! If I continued at this rate I’d end up a whale. That was when my doctor calmly sat me down and explained that after being so starved for so long, my body was storing everything it could. She said that if I continued eating healthily and ate a steady rate, my body would realise it didn’t need to worry anymore and my weight would even out again.

And I believed her.

I tried not to think of the night I had collapsed. Everything was in the open... And Malfoy had said...

But I couldn’t focus on that. I had to focus on letting the doctors help me.

So many times I wondered, why bother? Why let them help me? Why not starve till I die? I’d been so close already.

I spoke to my psychiatrist, Susan , about this... She said the suicidal thoughts came from not eating, from depletion in serotonin, the happy hormone in our bodies, from sheer exhaustion, she said the starving came from depression and probably spawned from my already obsessive nature. I liked to keep things, neat, orderly, managed and under control.

She said it was about control, she said I’d probably started starving just so I could control something, that I’d felt chaotic and at least my eating was something I had 100% control over. She said the body’s natural pain-killers were also addictive.

So when I’d described to her how I felt like a drug addict, that I needed that gnawing hunger inside me, fuelling me like a roaring fire that burnt all and left nothing, she said that I was addicted to the chemicals my body was releasing in response to the hunger pains and all the other pains resulting from not eating.

I’ve never had a professional to talk to and she was nice. She didn’t treat me like a silly child who refused to eat. She’d seen straight away that I was a smart witch and treated me thusly. She said it made perfect sense for someone as intelligent as me to get swept away by the power of my own mind.

She’d said something like, ‘You’re brain is like a horse and cart, you can’t let it get too carried away or the horses will break free and you’ll be tumbling along the road at top speed, ready to crash at any moment.’

After a few months, for the first time ever I spoke about the fight against Voldemort with someone other than Harry and Ron.

I thought I’d been dealing, I thought I’d handled it fine. I thought we’d all come through fairly unscratched. Psychically yes, but psychologically maybe not so much. It had been shorter than we’d thought it would be, it had all happened in the span of a few weeks… It had happened so fast and so many people had died. I’d SEEN so many of them die. I’d been tortured by Bellatrix…

I’d blocked that memory out. When she asked me how much I thought about those few weeks, and I realised that I barely ever did, I preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened… but I dreamt about it all the time.

I dreamt flashes of it all the time, dreams I forgot upon waking. They had me at Stonehedge, Bellatrix employing Umbridge’s tactics… holding me at wand point while I was forced to scrawl Mudblood across parchment over and over again while my chest seared over and over again. And then when I didn’t crack, didn’t tell her where Harry and Ron where, she’d performed Crucio on me until I felt like I was bleeding tears…

I held it together in the beginning talking to Susan… and then I recalled the things I’d blocked in my mind the moment they were over. During that holiday in California right afterward, I’d made sure to focus something on completely irrelevant and tried to make it relevant.

The moment I thought Harry had really died, I’ll never recover from that, I’ve been filled with fear that he really will die ever since then. I’d lost him once, what was to stop me losing him twice? I can’t explain what it felt like. Only that it was the most hopeless moment of my life. ..

I’d started crying then, right there in the clinic, for a good ten minutes I was inaudible, just sobbing and muttering to myself. Susan just sat there sadly, not saying anything, but offering me tissues and letting me sob.

She told me how brave I was, and that it was a shame that no one thought to offer any of us counselling after all of it. That she had in fact read the Prophets article, but they’d beaten around the bush, hadn’t described the gory details that I was telling her now.

She told me that she’d never met such a brave young woman. And that I really was the most brilliant witch of our age.

I’d burst out crying. ‘That’s not true, because I’ve given in to something so stupid and meaningless after all of that! I helped defeat the Dark Lord and yet I can’t even defeat this stupid urge not to eat for Christs sake!' I was desperate, I felt like I would never smile again.

'I’ve let my fear and hopelessness take over! I’m a fuck up. I might have acted bravely and brilliant but I’m not, I bottled it up, pretended it didn’t happen and I still couldn’t cope and as a result I tried starving myself to death! What kind of brilliant witch would fall to her feet because of food?’

And then in the midst of my tears I remembered something I’d forgotten moments after it had happened, I’d forgotten because the Order had shown up, the memory had been swept away and overwritten by the battle, by my own pain and exhaustion, by Harry sacrificing himself, and Neville slaying Nagini and then Harry duelling Voldemort…

Bellatrix had me in the centre of the circle of Death eaters, while they all watched me being tortured, Narcissa, Lucius and Draco Malfoy included. I’d been screaming from the Cruciatus curse until my voice was raw but I still hadn’t given in. The moment Bellatrix let up, I collapsed to the ground in agony, and slowly raised my excruciating head.

I’d met Draco’s eyes at that moment and in shock, amongst my pain and despair, I’d noticed wet streaks down his cheeks, he met me squarely with his stormy grey eyes, they were filled with some sort of emotion I’d been to shattered to recognise.

And then my attention snapped back to Bellatrix when Voldemorts voice commanded. ‘It appears the filthy Mudblood isn’t giving anything away, perhaps we should free her of an appendage to loosen her voice. ‘

The face of Bellatrix Lestrange lit up with glee, she licked her lips excitedly. ‘What will it be Hermione? Should Potter’s girlfriend lose her feet first or her hands?’

My eyes had expanded in sheer terror.

‘No!’ I heard the shout first and then my head snapped to the side and I saw Draco burst forth from the Death Eaters ranks.

‘Draco no!’ Narcissa Malfoy tried to hold her son back, to stop him from going to his death but he had broken free and was suddenly in front of me, arms spread.

His voice had cracked and broken in desperation as he addressed his aunt. ‘No! You can’t. I won’t let you.’
I couldn’t see Bellatrix’s face behind Draco’s body but her voice was breathless and shocked. ‘Move aside boy! Have you gone mad, you defy the dark lord for her?’ she spat the last word out.

And then the air around us crackled and fizzed and the Order began to Apparate all around us, and I got swept up in the fight… The Death Eaters spread out to fight, Voldemort disappeared and then Ron arrived, shoving Malfoy aside and handing me my wand which he must have grappled off Lucius Malfoy….

My tears flowed freely. How had I forgotten? I had just shoved that memory aside, like all the others, it seemed so unbelievable anyway. I’d forgotten, all the fighting with Draco this year and I’d never even thanked him for doing what he did. I hadn’t even recalled it myself. I’d kept asking him why he even cared about me starving and he’d never even said anything, never even used what he did as a defence, never held it against me. It must have hurt him so much, added extra confusion to his mind…

‘He,’ I gasped, ‘Draco Malfoy, he tried to save my life…’ And then it all came tumbling out. All of it. I told her everything…

I wasn’t allowed visitors at first, in case I became upset and triggered what they called a ‘relapse’.

Mum and Dad were an exception one time only. They didn’t understand.

I tried explaining but they couldn’t fathom what had made me get to this point... Why was their daughter so thin? And she’d knowingly done this to herself?

The only thing they really got was when the nurse said I was severely stressed. They hugged me anyway and told me they loved me and were proud of me. The moment they left, I cried and cried until I fell asleep.

It was Harry, Ginny and Ron that really drove me to want to get better.

They didn’t send me a letter. Instead they sent me a photo album full of photos of all of us, newspaper clippings that Mum must have given them showing things like me in primary school grinning proudly while holding a public speaking award or as part of our local choir. They had even included funny little letters and pictures that Harry or Ron must have kept that we’d written in class throughout our years at Hogwarts.

When I flipped over the pages, I saw the three of us grinning nervously in our first year school photos. Photos of us in second year, looking like scrawny little things; I was still taller than Harry. There was a photo of us at Diagon Alley in our third year. We all looked so happy.

There we were, first year to fifth, still smiling despite all we’d been through. They had even included the huge article we’d reluctantly agreed to be interviewed for with the Daily Prophet in the weeks after the downfall of Voldemort.

We’d shared so many memories. Gotten out of so many scrapes.

I remember them constantly teasing me in a loving manner about being so clever and bossy.

And then they’d put in pictures from this year. They started out normally. There was a lovely one of me hugging Crookshanks and laughing while Ron’s gobstones exploded all over him. And then there was one of us sitting by the lake, I had my books out diligently studying, while Ron and Ginny mucked about. Harry must have taken the photo.

And then I started to look more and more unhappy. A few photo’s later my clothes looked baggier and although I didn’t want to admit it, I had bags forming under my eyes. As the year passed in photographic memory, for the first time I saw myself as my friends must have seen me.

I smiled less. I got noticeably skinnier. I was scowling in a few photos. In one or two, my usual study was replaced by me scribbling in my food diary (although the boys wouldn’t have known this). The last few, I could hardly recognise myself. My face was gaunt and pale and unhappy.

Harry had been right. I had turned into a zombie.

What had happened to smiling, clever me?

I wanted that back more than anything....

My name is Hermione Ganger. Recovering anorexic. Or at least I hope recovering. I just spent six months in hospital. Today they want to let me out. They think I’m ready to face the world again, and all the food that comes with it. I’ll be starting my seventh and last year of school in 3 weeks.
At first they focused on making me get to a safe place weight wise, to make sure my heart was ok. And then they’d starting working intensively on my mental health. I was diagnosed with depression, anorexia with bulimic tendencies, obsessive compulsive disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s a lot for a witch to handle right? They put me on a potion to help my body balance its chemicals, finally deciding on a muggle anti-depressant, figuring that that is what they gave anorexic patients in muggle hospitals.

After my head had started to clear, I realised just how much my education had suffered and when the doctors saw how stressed this made me they had Hogwarts send in my study. In my mind I was relieved because it meant I could still do my exams, that I could still salvage the year, I could go to school normally again with all of my friends. The doctors were relieved that it gave me something to do and focus on.

I had a few bad moments, when the fear just became too much again, when I felt I was expanding too rapidly. Near the start of my treatment I threw up one of my meals into a jar and hid it beneath the bed. Gross right? That’s how unclear my thoughts were. When I got the chance I’d sneak it to the bathroom and pour it into the toilet. I got away with this a few times before they cottoned on.

I had times when I felt so desperate and alone and everything was so grey and monochrome, times when I felt like there was no point to anything, when I wished I could crawl under the covers and sleep forever, when my emotions and my reasonable mind were in separate worlds, when food was no longer the enemy, the world was, I had nothing left to control and now my world was left to chaos.

And I hated myself for reasonably knowing that it was worth fighting but still struggling so damn much. And I worried about people worrying about me and then I’d worry about my worry and it would escalate until I had to hide under my covers and pray that the monsters would go away.

However the sun still rose every morning and the bluebirds still flitted by my window, every single day at St. Mungo’s a new life was born. I was still alive, miraculously, and I still WANTED to get better, no matter how much I struggled.

I just wanted to have a clear mind again, to be able to function normally, stop being so psychically and emotionally worn out, every moment of every day.

And then I’d look at the photo album my friends had given me. I’d remember what things were like before and see how much things had changed, I’d wish and wish for them to go back to the way they were, exactly the way they had been.

And then one day when I was absolutely spinning out in my mind, trying with all my will to eat the small bowl of Puttanesca I’d been given for dinner, I started to cry and get frustrated that I was so torn, I KNEW I had to eat but I was just so scared, so scared of giving away my control and even of getting better because then there would be a chance I’d fall back into the same patterns. And the second fall might hurt more than the first…

I closed my eyes and wished and wished I could go back to how I used to be, back to old familiar, bossy, ordered and driven me.

And then when I gave up and put my fork down, gave in to the things tearing me up inside, it dawned on me.

It wasn’t going to happen, things weren’t going to go back to “normal”.

Even if I recovered, I wouldn’t go back to the “old” me. If I honestly asked myself, I wasn’t even sure I’d want to. As much as it pained me, all the stuff that had happened, the starving, the fighting, even the stuff with Malfoy, it was all something I wasn’t sure I would wipe out given the choice. Maybe all this starving was about something bigger. Maybe I needed to go through this to get to the other side, maybe I had to fight all these little demons to get to the really big one, whatever it was.

Maybe I’ll come out the other side stronger. I’d be something new, something forged from the battles and pains of anorexia, someone who had battled with demons almost too strong to fight. The urge to starve would never fully go away, but I could learn to keep it at bay. I’d come out with scars. However if I beat this, then all those scars would be nothing but that- scars. Scars to remind me how I had been but no longer am, to show me how strong I’d been, to prove that I’d persevered past the point when I thought I could persevere.

In that moment I no longer felt afraid or ashamed of having scars. I wanted them! I wanted them so I could show myself and others that no matter how much a wound hurts at the time, physically, mentally or spiritually, no matter how unbearable the pain is, if we can endure it, all scars can eventually fade…

And then this image began to form of what “new” me would be like. She’d be just like old me, but with tougher skin, better coping strategies, someone who didn’t always need to be in control ALL the time. She’d be healthy, have healthy body image, she’d work hard but not so hard that she’d suffer in other areas like her relationships, she’d be smiling, she’d take time to smell the metaphorical and the actual roses, she’d make jokes again…

The more I spoke to my psychiatrist the more I saw things I’d never thought about before. I started to realise that starving was just a way to cover up and smother my emotions, a way for me to focus on something else instead of facing them head on.

She suggested that maybe there wasn’t one big huge thing wrong that I needed to face, but that the way I was now was just an accumulation of things, trauma, witnessing violence, self-doubt, the need to succeed even if it’s detrimental to me and especially having such a fast brilliant mind but struggling with how to work WITH it, that I AM my mind but I’m also my body and my spirit, I get so focused in the mental world that I sometimes disregard other things.

She gave me strategies; she tried to teach me to be mindful of my emotions, not to ignore them but to acknowledge them and to let them out in a safe way, instead of bottling them until they detonated. She suggested things like painting, music, poems, outside activity etc. Things I guess I already knew but where just too hard to face in my state.

I was quite sceptical at first but seeing as I had not much else to do in hospital, I took her advice and it did help. I know that ultimately, she didn’t “fix” me, she just listened and was the outside voice that helped me unravel knots in my own mind, she just found and showed me the end of the piece of string so to speak, and I did the rest myself. I worked – still am- working hard to help myself.

Slowly with treatment the pains, the aches, the lethargy began to go away and my mind began to clear. From that point on the healthier I got the more motivation I had to get healthier.

Now they think I’m ready to face my problems. I still get relapses, if I let myself get hungry; I am tempted to let it go further. There are certain foods I won’t be able to face for a long time. I still get nervous sometimes before I eat. I still can’t see myself in the mirror the way other people see me.

But whenever I think this, I look at the second last picture in the photo album my friends gave me. It was the photo Colin had taken of me by the lake, the photo in which I’d mistaken myself for a ghoul. Even I couldn’t look at that photo without cringing. I was nothing, I was emaciated, I was a skeleton…

And the scariest thing was that I hadn’t seen it. It’s taken me six months of intensive treatment to see how sick I had been.

Looking back now, I understand better why I did it all. Back then, six months ago, when I was admitted, I could never have imagined myself here today, 2 kilograms over the minimum weight for my height, by my own doing. I would have thought myself a fat pig. Except now, looking back, I can hardly recognise the person I’d become during that time. I had been in a dark, dark place.

But I’d fought my way out if it... God knows how... I guess with the help of everyone around me, even Malfoy. I guess I was brave in lots of ways; I eventually did let people help me, despite my pride and my fear. I took the hand that they offered and made the choice to try to solve my issues.

All the starving, the cutting, the despair, I guess ultimately, it was my way of coping, even if it was a bad method. I needed to learn better ways. Although I never realised, it was also a call for help, it let myself and others know that I did have other demons to fight, that it was real and that it was really awful. I needed my family and friends and even the professionals to show me that I had to fight the real demons...

I knew that Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Mum, Dad, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley, even Dumbledore, maybe even…….and everyone else who supported me, they all loved me and believed in me and that helped me love and believe in myself.

I’m still in a dark place but it’s not quite so dark anymore and it’s getting brighter with every passing day.

All I know is that I never want to go back there again.


Only the epilogue left....

08 April 2011 @ 02:19 pm
So many ideas spinning around my head. Good story ones. Everything that happens I'm just channeling it into.

The Amnesia of Sovadore. Ahh.
22 March 2011 @ 09:04 pm
So this is my current inspiration,all still drafty and stuff. NextChap of Perfection will be up when other computer is fixed.

This story just keeps haunting me.

The Amnesia of Sovadore

Two centuries ago, the world woke without memory.

When the sun rose, the night watchmen dropped their spears and scratched their heads, the farmers woke next to their wives, nameless. When the scholars picked up their books, they saw only strange marks and squiggles, cooks halfway through making breakfast suddenly stopped, clueless as to where they were or what all the half-prepared food was doing scattered around them.

No one knew who they were or what they did.

Nothing could be recalled, not their mothers names, their history, their town, nor the story of their lives

The world woke to chaos. The amnesia left no one untouched. Rules were forgotten, songs left behind forever. But a lived life cannot be completely forgotten.

Voices remembered words, blood remembered close kin, noses remembered the unforgettable smell of lovers and hands remembered hard work. And although everything was hazy, the world confused, turned up side down and forgotten, people pieced together their lives.

When the tailors picked up thread, their fingers, remembered their old dance, the biceps of blacksmiths remembered how to reign down on heated metal, children remembered their duty to play. Work of a lifetime was picked up quickly, although some never chanced upon that crucial moment of memory. Herbalists on hunts for rare plants found themselves just outside the city gates with no idea which house was theirs, why they had a pouch full of weeds or which season it was. Any livelihood that survived on memory was useless.

Curious fingers and logical minds figured out matches, oil lamps, doors, bridles, and indeed most everyday human contraptions quick enough.

The scholars walked into their workrooms and explored and after few years of wondering and poring over paper, even they began to decipher their trade, the written word and much history was regained.

There were many travelers who perished in the plains, having no memory of which direction to take, quests were forgotten and left alone. Fairy folklore was forgotten, without iron, salt or tilhalls, the eldritch wreaked havoc, household brownies were angered when no milk was left out, kelpies claimed more victims than ever before without the stern knowing warnings of grandmother to grandchild.

Together the people of the land formed a strange council, an assortment of men and woman, from thieves and gallant knights, noblemen and rich merchants, to chamber-maids, and stable-hands, all of whom now had different identities only weeks old and the inability to use their now forgotten prejudices. This council, chosen by the people, who had not much to go on save their countenance and manner, instated laws that seemed fair and necessary. Do not murder, do not rape, do not steal.

And in time a rough currency was figured out based on the round little pieces of metal that everybody seemed to have jingling in their pouches.

The only people who really had access to their past were those who knew or could afford to hire the few people who had figured out ink. Most of these were people who had woken in stately homes and it appeared had also had the coin to spent on preserving history in ink and buying rooms full of these cherished books and scrolls Before the Amnesia, now they were one of the only links between the past and the present. Those who had woken in poorer conditions had a much smaller collection of written history and some people none.

Scholars and monks inspected huge libraries filled with books, filled with pages, filled with ink.. It was soon realized that most ink contained nonsense anyway, amusing stories, songs and tales however less than half appeared to actually be a record of events gone by. It seemed to the people that for most of them, their history must have simply been remembered and passed down, taken for granted that would always be there.

Like a slow trickle of honey, laws and customs were passed back out into the public, flooding into holes and sticking in the mind. Ink was taken as truth, or at least the closest they could get and therefore would have to do.
Some knowledge was kindly given to the world by the folk in castles and manors who hired men to help re-create the worlds memory, and other knowledge was given by those who’s cunning lingered on past the Amnesia and who used their wealth to spread false history and laws upon their local life.

Within 50 years the chaos began to fade. New rituals and beliefs began to grow and spread. Slowly and dangerously eldritch beings were figured out, those malevolent and those benevolent. Towns were given names, some stumbled upon in olds maps and in those more isolated towns, not discovered until some time after the Great Amnesia, names formed naturally and became fixed. New history began to form. New generations began to form their stories. The Isle was named Sovadore and the people began to grow once more under it’s name.

Many questions were left unanswered and many people were lost without a sense of self. People, as people tend to do, moved on and worked around the innumerable inconveniences set about by the Great Amnesia.

A patchwork history of the past became firmer and firmer with every passing year.

Nevertheless oral history was completely lost never to be regained and so it was that no one knew why the Great Amnesia had come upon them to begin with.

So I don’t know how to explain this to you. It all seems quite outrageous really, even to me.

I guess that’s why everyone has bought the lies coming from Polks. Well, everyone has always bought the lies from Polks. I’m only just starting to see that they are lies.

I’m on a ship at the moment actually, trying to avoid officers from Polks.

Ok yes, it is a pirate ship, so I guess that really doesn’t help my case.
They’re hardly pirates anyway, it’s all a big misunderstanding .

I haven’t done anything. My reputation was fine before all of this, not necessarily “perfect” but at least I was well liked and trusted. I was just minding my business, selling and training my felines and drinking in taverns with friends every other night. But having such well trained cats and having too many friends in too many taverns is exactly how I first trod in this sticky mess.

I’m getting well ahead of myself here. I don’t really know how to do this or where to start. I want to write all of this down because I’m trying to figure it out myself and I want an record of exact events in case something happens to me.

I know the Council in Polks must be corrupted and I know that I’ve done nothing wrong. Now I’m just trying to figure out what it is that made those in Polks need to convince the rest of Sovadore that I’m guilty of something I’m not. All I know is that now I have this stupid crystal pendant that someone high up in Polks wants and that none of this would have happened if it weren’t for my cats.

Cats. Fluffy, adorable, graceful creatures, everyone wants to one. Especially my cats…

I sell cats, you see. I travel in a wagon across Sovadore with 5 cats. I breed, train and sell them. Apelle, Ella and Bulga are a very rare breed of feline called a Scray, scrays vary from your average cat, they are more intelligent, easier to train, they are slightly bigger, they also have a much more inquisitive sense of taste and most importantly magic things just happen to happen around them, if you get my meaning.

Apelle was acquired as I was just starting to make my way in the world, in Otone, a few years ago. I got her off a lovely old lady who had been looking after her for a few months after she was found, a starving feral kitten playing in her garden. She’s the sweetest softest ball of gray fur you’ve ever seen, even if she was a little chubby and timid.
Bulga, a beautiful black tom, I bought outright from a man in Vecks, who obviously had no idea how lucrative scrays could be, but mostly could no longer handle the toms rough manner. Taken away from the man with cat scratches all over his arms, Bulga is a complete marshmallow.

Ella is my most remarkable pure Scray, she’s white all over, except for a ginger patch of what looks remarkably like a lick of flame. I fished Ella out of Lake Luck, why she was in there to begin with I’ll never know, but I took a shine to her and she took a shine to me. It didn’t take long for me to realize that she was infertile and therefore could give me no kittens but she turned out to be such a smart useful cat that she travels with us anyway. Hell, who am I kidding, even if she did nothing but cat-nap I’d probably still let her travel with us.

I don’t just breed purebred scrays. Traveling with us is Figs and MusMus. Motley MusMus is a brown cat with a very strange but beautiful pattern, sort of like one of the BigChats. This was because MusMus’ mother was half Scray, half MountainChat; her father was a tough tomcat from the little mining village near Vecks. She cost next to nothing with the bonus that her previous owner could in fact name her heritage. And then of course there is Figs, cute white and fluffy and 100% your average cat.

MusMus and Figs litters go are my cheapest wares but anyone hoping for one of Apelle and Bulgas little whiskers should be prepared to empty their pockets.

And I don’t just sell to anyone. I’ve denied lots of sleazy characters and nasty little children from buying my kittens.

That's all I have at the moment. Still not sure if it's even going to be in 1st person yet.

Let me know what you think?
17 December 2010 @ 03:57 pm
I got into childrens Services cert 3. I feel like I have a path ahead of me now.
10 November 2010 @ 01:06 pm
Cert 3 in childcare costs $1800 but I really wanna do it!
08 November 2010 @ 07:05 pm
How long does it take to recover from a broken heart? Is it better to jump back into dating or spend time alone?

Time with friends. No romance. And even if you want to be friends with your ex, gives yourselves time to cool down.
04 November 2010 @ 06:52 pm
Chapter 29 - Part Two

Paper Bag

Chapter title and lyrics from the song "Paper Bag" by the inspiring Fiona Apple.

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love


Hermione shook her head. ‘No, no, no.’

 No, not now.

‘Granger is that you? Hang on,’ There was a rustling behind her and a whispered ‘Lumos.’

The light shined straight onto her butchered arm.

‘Oh my god Granger!’ Within seconds Malfoy’s face loomed before her, kneeling in front of her, horror written all over his face.

‘What happened- did someone- oh Merlin- are you ok?’

She shook her head, her sobs uncontrollable.

I will not let him see me like this.

Hermione stood up, making sure to keep her weight on her left leg. Her arm was stinging unbearably. She discreetly wiped her face.

‘I’ll have you, please Malfoy.’ Her voice croaked as she said his name. ‘To leave me alone.’

She began to walk past him, trying her hardest not to let a single sob escape from her chest.

I can control this, just enough to get to the lake...

Her ankle folded again, her arms flying in the air. She shrieked in agony, feeling the pain turning from sprain to fracture. Malfoy reached out as if automatically, to catch her. Within seconds his nice clean white shirt was soaked in intense red. He looked down in horror.

‘Granger, your arm-’

‘I know, let me go.’

Malfoy’s blue eyes bore into her.

‘What ?’

Hermione tore away from him and half hopped, half limped a few steps toward the lake.

Malfoy was there to catch her, his arms balancing her when her ankle gave way again.

‘Granger, you can’t walk. You need to keep your foot still. Look I’ll go get Pomfrey-‘


‘But Granger-‘

‘I said no. Just leave Malfoy!’

Malfoy looked at her in bewilderment.

‘I can’t leave you here- like this- just tell me what happened- did someone attack you?’

‘No, look I’m fine, just let me...’ she tried to limp away from him again. She felt pains shooting up her ribs.

I’ve got to get rid of him. He can’t see me like this...

‘I’ll take myself to the infirmary. I don’t want you getting in trouble...’

‘You’re joking right?’

This is wrong, all wrong...

Gingerly she limped forward a few more steps.

‘Granger hold on, stop.’ He rushed forward when she swayed, wrapping his arms around her, to stop her from falling again.

‘Leave me alone Malfoy! I’m fine.’

He stopped and gripped her shoulders. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he turned her face to look at him. ‘What happened to your foot? Why are you out here?’ he paused, his eyes searching hers and then is eyes widened in disbelief.

‘Granger, you weren’t trying to exercise were you?’

She remained silent, not sure what she was supposed to say to him.

‘And what happened to your arm?’ before she could pull it away, he’d grabbed it and shone his wand on it.

He gasped and looked up at her.


I’ve got to get rid of him. I can’t let him take me to the Hospital Wing.

Like lightning she grabbed her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at his throat. ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing out here. I’m fine, no one attacked me. It’s not like you care anyway. Now leave.’

Malfoy brushed her wand aside. ‘I’m not leaving you like this.’

‘I’m serious Malfoy!’

‘No Granger, I don’t care if you turn me into buffalo. I’m not leaving you. You can’t even walk.’

She threw her hands in the air. The cuts on her arm were burning. She ignored him and stubbornly continued to limp forward.

He can’t see me like this. He already thinks I’m pathetic. Why, why did he have to find me like this?

I want everything to end.

And here he is...

Malfoy just stood there shocked. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Maybe I am.’ She called behind her.

I am. I’ve gone batty. I don’t care about anything anymore.

I’m a waste of space.

Everything is too much.

She heard footsteps behind her, she felt his arms hoist her up and twirl her around and then his lips were on hers.

And she melted.

For a few blissful moments, time stood still, just him and her under the full moon.

She forgot about the pain in her body, she forgot about the pain in her mind. She forgot about food, she forgot about excercise. She forgot everything but the smell, the feel of him.

And then the moon went behind a raincloud.

No, no. I will not let you give me any reason to have hope.

I am a lost cause.

 Furiously she pushed him away.

‘Am I mad? Are you mad? What on earth is wrong with you!?’

He seemed shocked by his own actions. ‘I just - I just want to help...’

‘Help? How is kissing me helping? You just confuse me Malfoy. This whole situation is wrong, it’s wrong!’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- something is happening. We can’t keep ignoring it. We can’t keep pretending like it’s not happening!’

I don’t want it happening...

Everything is too much...

Hermione shook her head. ‘No Malfoy. Not now. You don’t understand, you can’t help, you can’t.’

And then she burst into tears.

‘Leave! Leave!’ She was practically shouting, hysteria rising inside her.

‘You need help! Look at yourself! ‘

Her stomach rumbled loudly and she gasped, clutching at it.

He stared at her. ‘Good god Granger, when was the last time you ate?’

‘It doesn’t concern you!’

‘You’re crazy. You’ve got to eat!’

‘Shut up! Shut up! Why the fuck do you care anyway? I’m not going to die,’

Unless I can help it...

Then she added. ‘And what’s it to you if I do anyway?’

She was shaking with rage, her voice rising louder and louder.

‘I care Granger, I fucking care. Can’t you see?’ He was bellowing at her now. ‘I do fucking care and I will not sit back and watch you kill yourself! I’ve never wanted you dead. And if the rest of those arseholes can’t see you- their friend- falling and crumbling apart, then screw them!’

‘Oh yeah!’ She jabbed him in the chest. ‘Maybe the reason no one is noticing is because there is nothing to notice!’

‘Nothing to notice? Nothing to notice! You’ve wasted away; you can hardly even stand for crying out loud! You need to eat!’

She really was screaming at him now.


‘You’re sick Granger.’



They both stood there panting angrily.

Hard as she tried to contain them, tears were still dropping from her eyes.

Too much. Too much. I want this to end.

Hermione put her face in her hands and shook her head.

Malfoy moved closer, his voice unsteady. ‘Gran- Hermione, I don’t understand any of this, but the thought of this- thing- eating away at you... It scares me...I know you won’t listen but... last night... I can hardly live with myself... Being inside my own body, hurting you, it was killing me. Then I heard you’re voice, pleading with me, it woke me up, made me overcome the curse... You’ve woken me up... nothing ever used to matter, and now things matter – Oh I feel so stupid - when I see you, I feel strange – I hate it- but the closer I am to you, the more right everything feels, even when we are fighting...’

He was shaking his head, looking away, fiddling with his blood stained shirt. ‘Just please let me help you... Seeing you starving yourself to death, it feels the same as being stuck in my body, unable to stop myself from striking you. I feel helpless. Everyone around you feels helpless...’

Hermione moaned.

Too much... too much...

Head held high, crying like the sky, she started limping toward the Entrance Hall.

He sounds like he...

No, I refuse to have hope...

If I hope... then I won’t have the courage to leave...

And I want to leave...

She could hear him catching up to her. ‘You hassle me all year, taunting me, making bets,  irritating and bothering, meddling in my business, stealing my property! ’ she shrieked. She was getting closer to the stairs every second. ‘Then you had the nerve to –to – kiss – you say you care, how can I believe that Malfoy? You’re a sodding liar. We should never have let things get this far.’

Her ankle was straining under the weight. Her whole body felt like torture, her arm was on fire; her ribs were aching from hunger pains.

She’d reached the steps. She felt raindrops begin to fall on her. There was no way she could get up them.

Malfoy came up behind her and lifted her up with ease, as though she were nothing but a feather.

‘I’m glad they did.’ He said not looking at her while her carried her up the stairs. ‘I regret a lot of things, but I don’t regret making love to you.’

He put her down gently at the doors. The sound of dinner chatter drifted from the Great Hall. The rain was sprinkling onto the marble floor from outside the doors. Malfoy’s hair was dotted in fine raindrops.

‘Making love?’ She croaked. ‘We had sex Malfoy.’

Steel blue eyes gazed at her, unsure and scared. ‘You may have had sex Granger...’

‘What is that supposed to-’ she took an unsure step backward.

Footsteps sounded from behind them. ‘Hermione!’

Hearing Harry’s voice, Hermione spun around. Her foot slipped on the wet marble, she heard a faint crack from her foot and then she felt herself falling. Malfoy caught her.

 ‘You didn’t even come to dinner! Hermione, we can’t let you keep doing this-’  And then Harry’s eyes went from Malfoy supporting Hermione, to the blood covering both their shirts.

‘What’s going on?’

Too much... Too much...

Ron rushed out of the Hall next. ‘Did you find her Harry?’ And then he too caught sight of blood. He howled like a wounded wolf.

‘What did you do Malfoy!? What have you done to her?’  Ron’s fists were curled dangerously.

‘Stop!’ Hermione screamed. ‘He didn’t do anything!’

‘Then why are you bleeding?’

‘You weren’t at dinner-’

‘What happened Malfoy?’

Malfoy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. ‘I don’t know, I found her like this, I think she was trying to exercise-’

Harry looked exasperated. ‘Exercising? Are you demented Hermione?’


Ron cut her off.

‘He’s lying Harry-’

There were more footsteps and Ginny began to descend the grand staircase. Her voice was like fire, pointing at Hermione.

‘You can’t lie any longer Hermione!’

Ginny looked mad. She hardly even regarded Harry, Ron or Malfoy’s blood soaked shirt.

No, no, no, no.

Her chest felt tight with panic. She could feel it filling with uncomfortable pressure.

Ginny descended angrily. ‘You haven’t eaten anything have you? Oh but wait, you did eat dinner, right before you vomited it all up again! Parvarti  found it in your bathroom! And all those chip packets you’d have us think you were eating? In the bin! ’

Ron’s fists were still clenched. ‘Malfoy did something to her,’ he grunted, nodding toward them.

‘Oh,’ Ginny’s voice was manic. ‘Didn’t you tell them Hermione? Too busy starving yourself to death?’

‘Tell us what?’ Ron asked looking between Ginny and Hermione.

Too much... Too much... All too much... I don’t want to be here... I don’t want to be alive... If Malfoy hadn’t come along...

Harry cut Ginny off before she could talk again. ‘We love you Hermione, you’ve got, GOT to let us help. You’ve got to get better, or else you’ll die!’

‘Tell us what?!’ Ron demanded.

Too much... too much...

Hermione felt her heart rate rising rapidly. She felt panic swirling through her insides. She tried to back away, stumbling on her ruined foot, the blood on her arm was dripping onto the rain streaked floor, mingling together and running out the door.

Ginny looked sadly at Hermione. ‘Why won’t you let us help you?’

‘I can’t,’ Hermione’s voice was faint. She shook her head stumbling backward. ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...’

‘WHY HERMIONE?’ Ginny shouted.

‘TELL US WHAT GINNY?’ Ron insisted angrily.

‘No.’ Hermione whispered looking pleadingly at Ginny.

Her breathing was becoming heavier and heavier. Her chest hurt. She was straining to breathe.

Malfoy moved toward Hermione, visibly intend on helping her stand properly.

The world was starting to shake. She couldn’t get enough air in. Her left arm felt numb. Pain was spreading to her shoulders.

I must have lost blood...

Ginny pointed at them accusingly. ‘Didn’t she tell you she was fucking Malfoy?’

There was a moment shocked silence. Ginny’s words hovering in the air.

And then the hall exploded.



Ron rushed at Malfoy, fists flying.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘How dare you Malfoy?’

‘Calm down-’

‘If you ever fucking touch her again-’

‘Ron you idiot!’

‘Great Weasley, look what you’ve done!’

‘You scum, you filthy scum-’

Too much...


But none of them heard her, they were too busy yelling at each other about her.

Hermione closed her eyes. She heard them shouting but it washed over her.

Everything is too much...

I can’t handle it...

She heard scuffling. She heard shouting over the top of shouting. She heard voices running together.

Her chest was searing painfully, she felt like she was trying to breath underwater. She began to drop to the ground, trying her hardest to support herself. Her whole world was filled with pain. She felt like the centre of her chest was swelling uncontrollably. She was gasping, struggling, moaning.

Too much...Too much...

‘My heart hurts.’ She whispered quietly.

Her world blurred. And then it went out.


Draco knew something was wrong when he saw Potter’s head turn. Malfoy’s heart dropped as he followed Potter’s eyes. Everything moved as in slow motion. Hermione was collapsing, gasping for air, her hand clutching at her chest and then she fell completely, her head cracking against the ground.

‘HERMIONE!’ he screamed, rushing toward her. He felt as though his heart was being ripped out.

He’d seen a collapse like this before. A long time ago, his grandmother had collapsed the very same way when.... she had had a heart attack...  But Hermione was so young ... It couldn’t be...

The world stopped.

It was impossible...

I'm so proud to be so close to the end. Review!!