Taking you on a journey through my life and documenting the triumphs and trials that come hand in hand with having an eating disorder. Hopefully, one day i will be able to look back on this and see just how far i have come.
My Nanan is 86 years old and has just recently been moved in to a long term nursing home. Dad, my auntie and uncle went to clear her house out today (the way that feels when she's still HERE is a whole other post) and they have strong suspicions that a member of the family has been and emptied every penny out of her home. She saves money religiously and has always said, 'if anything ever happens to me, check everywhere because there's money hidden all over!' They've been today and have found £6. Six fucking quid. I'm so angry but we can't prove anything. I swear I hope karma comes in the form of razor blade diarrhoea.
The worst part is that my nanan would have just GIVEN it to him if he had just asked
Old age takes the piss. Not as much as sick fucks praying on the elderly but still...
How the heck do you do it? How do you remember to eat every meal time?
Its 4:30 in the afternoon and i just realised i hadn't had anything since my frozen muller light this morning. Obviously i jumped right on board and shoved a sweet potato in the microwave along with some vegetarian chilli. Burnt my poor fingers in the process but thats partly to do with me being a bit high on lorazepam right now. I even added Lurpak lighter to my potato. Theres literally hardly any food in the house so god knows what I'm doing for dinner but the fact is that i am having something.
i keep repeating to myself, 'i do not want to go in to an inpatient unit.' That sounds dramatic but its a very real threat right now. The only reason I'm not locked up is because they're waiting for a gap to become available for an assessment. Its a good job i don't NEED it right now because I've been off the medical ward for two months or something like that. If it wasn't for me pulling my finger out of my arse and deciding to hatch this master plan and actually get better then id be up shit creek without a paddle.
Ive had a wobble this past couple of weeks and its made me have to reassess what i want and use every bit of willpower to get back up on that chuffin' horse and get on with it.
Ive decided to sack of going to be weighed. Its utterly counterproductive. I can't cope with seeing the numbers go up or go down. I want them to stop moving at all now. Im at a healthy BMI and thats a big thing for me to confess. Ive struck it out so its not really there but it is.
I had such a good chat with my sister last night and told her how much I've been struggling and her advice was to wait until Friday and speak it through with the dietician and say i don't want to be weighed anymore. See what she has to say about it.
In short, I'm back on the horse and only prepared to go in one direction and thats to eat my way as far away from York as possible. I AM NOT GOING INPATIENT EVER AGAIN
Im sat here with time on my hands. Loads of the chuffing stuff. Time to fuck up or time to fail, time to succeed and time to fly.
Im at a really pissin' annoying part in recovery where the decisions i make now are the ones that really matter. OK, that first sandwich and first slice of pizza was a ball ache as far as decision making goes but now i have to decide whether or not to sustain this. To keep it going. That would sound like a really easy decision for a normo to make; do i starve myself to within an inch of my life again or leap in to the unknown and carry on doing this when i don't know where its going to lead. There are promises of a better life but when it comes down to it, my head is still in the 'i need to be thin for life to be better' frame of mind and i don't know how many weeks and months of diet plans and forkfuls of food it is going to taketo change that. ]
I miss blogging. I don't even know why I'm writing this because i don't feel like people read what i have to say anymore.
all i know is that I'm finding this much harder than I'm letting on and i guess i just need to verbalise that somehow. I guess this is how i choose to do it.
to post or not to post...
There has been radio silence on this blog for ages now and to be honest, its been so long that I've been afraid of posting and i don't even know why.
Shit has been going down in the past year or so; too many hospital admissions to even count, one lasting for 6 months.
On the cards now is a long-term (in my eyes) 6-9 month stay at The Retreat in York. I AM NOT READY FOR THIS.
When will i ever be ready? That question is a valid one and i can see why people would want to put that to me- to make me think about what is going on now and what i am doing and whether i am ever going to be ready enough for this to happen, thin enough, motivated enough...
At first this question sent my head in to a spin and i guess it had the desired effect because it made me think long and hard about what makes me ready for something like this. But then, i started to look back on my past specialist eating disorder admissions and i realised that yes, i have felt ready before. Hell, sometimes, i have even felt excited about an admission because of what it means to me and could possibly do to my life.
Right now, my head is in the eating disorder zone and nothing can break through that barrier right now. I don't think my family and friends steamrolling in on a tank would do the blindest bit of difference which many would consider to be a reason why i need help right now and i don't need to wait another (x) months...until things are worse and ...well, i don't know.
All i know right now is that i am not ready and nothing anyone can say or do is going to change that for now. So please, i beg, just accept that for now. Be there for me when i need you and encourage me, heck, even try and motivate me if you want but please don't make me feel like I'm backed in to a corner.
I am so lucky to have the people in my life that i have. My sister's unwavering support and encouragement is priceless and practically indescribable. My Dad is trying his damned hardest to understand and i appreciate that so much. I am lucky. So, SO lucky. So, thank you
I write this from a place of despair. I hate you but I am trying so hard to accept you, trying even harder to love you and to accept your flaws as being something that you have to deal with just to be human.
For as long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with pulling you this way and that, hitting you with various forms of abuse and never accepting that there's nothing I can do to change you to the extent that I crave. Somehow, I need to accept that this is the hand I have been dealt and that I am lucky to have you.
Dear Feet, thank you for holding me up when I have stumbled. I don't thank you for your lack of co-ordination because that dents my pride when I fall and smack my knees on the floor. It'd be nice if you sorted that out but I can handle that being the only issue I have with you.
Dear Ankles, thank you again for supporting me and for holding up the weight I place on you. I thank you for keeping me up at the times when I have done so much damage to my body that you would quite happily buckle and leave me face down on the floor.
Dear Legs, you amazing creatures you! Thank you for your discombobulated ways. Thank you for helping me on the various journeys I have taken you on. Thank you for allowing me to walk Bambi, albeit with pain and discomfort...you still hold me up and you still allow me to travel. Take that as a metaphorical reference or a literal one. I have grown and shrunk you in size more times than I care to remember and you have always been there.
Dear Stomach, its hard for me to look at you and think positively but for the sake of this exercise, I am going to thank you. For years I have abused you. I have starved you to crisis point and filled you until you could have, quite easily, popped and yet you have put up with my abuse. Thank you for your magical insides; your intestines that have been truly put through the mill with hundreds of thousands of laxatives and diet pills; the liver that has been pickled in vodka and other alcohol over the years. Thanks Kidney, you have had more electrolyte imbalances in the past 10 years than you deserve in a whole life time but you have never fully packed in. You have been close and have been in danger many a time but always somehow managed to cope. So, Stomach, I don't know whether I can thank you right now because I have days where I would gladly give you away, but I applaud you, you hard motherfucker. You are hardcore, so well done on that.
Dear Boobs, recently you have shown me that I am not actually as flat chested as I once thought. Ive always seen you as something to try and ignore but you're really quite spectacular. Thank you for not being down to my knees and thanks...erm...I feel weird writing to you because you annoy me sometimes. I can't run as a general rule but you don't make it much easier with your banging about. Ta, though.
Dear Head, you're a bugger with your serotonin levels and your various mental disorders. Its been difficult for me to accept your recent diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder and your long-standing Anorexia Nervosa. You cause me so much discomfort on an hourly basis but I don't stop to think about the positives you hold. You have a brain (shh to the haters. I do have one believe it or not!) and it controls all of the numerous bodily functions. You control my nervous system and I can't even begin to imagine how hard that job must be. Thank you for my imagination and for being the source of my sense of humour and various personality traits. You're one of those things that deserves so many 'thank you' messages but I don't even know where to start. You are the one that sends the signals to my limbs. You help me to walk, talk, even sit in my not-so-straight positions.
Dear Heart, you're the best of all. You are so passionate and you have been the one that I have so often put in danger. You've had to work your hardest to keep me going on so many occasions. You are bloody brilliant, really. Thank you for allowing me to love and for showing me loss. Thank you for allowing me to break you and then being open to being put back together. You're a beautiful organ that doesn't receive enough recognition.
So, Dear Body, I applaud you. I will still probably still despise you at times but I also thank you from the bottom of my heart. I so often treat you like an enemy when you really are a friend that should be valued in its own right.
I think it is safe to say that, right now, clothes are my worst enemy. Its the one major trigger that is really getting to me.
Even at my illest, i wore clothes that were ridiculously too big. Seriously, some of my tops and cardigans are a size 20-22.
The problem i am having all centres around the way that my clothes fit. I have a few things in smaller sizes that i used to wear to be baggy and they now are tight as fuck. My stomach constantly looks bloated which i know is all part of recovery and about weight distribution and blah blah blah but this does not detract from the fact that i would happily burn them all.
However, i have decided to list them all on ebay and pray that some poor sod buys them and i get a bit of money in the long run. im going to need it if i have to buy a whole new wardrobe.
ive taken my tablets and cant be arsed to type anymore so this was more a little ramble...
next post will be more coherant, i promise!!!
Im quite in to reminiscing and holding on to dates, comparing then to now and this to that. I wouldn't normally post a blog about it though. This is a bit different to the post-holiday reminiscing where you think. 'this time last week, i was in universal studios baking to death'.
On this day last year, i was discharged from eating disorder treatment. I was discharged with no experience of overnight home leave and thinking 'WHEN CAN I LOSE WEIGHT?'
I downloaded an app a while back which, truth be told, can be a bit annoying but when i got the notification last night, it really made me muse over the past year and really give myself a metaphorical high-five for how far i have come.
This year could have gone a little better but it could have gone a whole lot worse too. Ive been out of treatment for two months now and am managing to keep things above water. Some things are harder than others, i wont lie, but the things that are better far overshadow the shitty bits.
Im now three months laxative free. THREE MONTHS. In three months, with my rough calculations, before i went in to hospital, id have taken 8,400 laxatives. Let me just let that sink in for a minute. Wow. I don't think i need to even comment on that right now. Thats just...well, wow.
Im struggling with self harm but managing to keep myself out of danger and am sticking to my meds every day which is something i haven't done in a long time. I never used to take them because i couldn't see the point in anything. This time, it feels like they're helping and i am being listened to and ... i don't know. i guess its what comes from a change in psychiatrist and a willingness to make things WORK.
When it comes to leaving the house, things arent as good as they could be but i am trying. Ive applied for a couple of voluntary jobs and am waiting to hear back from those and i am making a real effort to say YES when people ask me to do something.
This past week, my mum has been critically ill in Intensive Care and, if this was the me from last year, that would have been the perfect excuse to ditch it all and go hurtling downwards, in to that old, familiar rabbit hole where everything is backwards and my life revolves around purging and restricting and using my eating disorder to numb down my feelings. Admittedly, this past week has not been the best and i have had a few stumbles but i haven't fallen completely and you know what?
Im fucking proud of this past year
I think i might finally be starting to pull my shit together
Today, i had my first appointment with the new shrink at the eating disorder service and i'm not over-exaggerating when i say that i was a mess. I was having nightmares all night and it took three Diazepam to get me out of the door.
When i got there, i was remembering just how awful the last psychiatrist was and how many really horrible experiences i have had with her. Thankfully she is now on maternity leave. Thats where the new lady comes in.
I went in and she was one of those people thats a bit too happy for words. I get put about by people that are that happy. Its not normal. But all judgement aside i just went in and told the truth. It took most of the appointment to build up to opening up about how unstable my moods are to her and i was expecting to get another door slammed in my face and to leave feeling demoralised and completely unheard.
Much to my surprise, she listened, asked the appropriate questions and then gave me a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder - something i've known i've had for years.
A few people have asked how i feel about it, maybe expecting for me to break down and cry, leaving others to clean up the aftermath. But i'm relieved. Ive waited so long for somebody to hear what im saying and to recognise that this is not just Depression and that something else is going on.
So many people look at getting psychiatric diagnoses as being similar to being diagnosed with cancer or something. But its different. Mental health is almost always treatable and getting a diagnosis can sometimes open doors rather than leave you rocking in a corner wondering which way to turn. Thats how it feels to me anyway. I know that some people struggle with it and part of me can relate to the fear of being put in a box and pigeon-holed. This is different though.
I just feel so relieved. I have a name for what is going on. I am not 'just depressed'. Theres a reason the billion SSRIs i have taken over the years have not worked.
As well as changing my medication to include mood stabilisers, she discussed how crippling the anxiety has been for me and has said that once i have adjusted to the medication, if anxiety is still a problem, we can talk about Beta Blockers which i have been on before but was taken off when i was ill because of the effect on my heart and so on.
Heres to being listened to and my new shrink being the bees knees!
This past week has been a strange one. I was discharged from Inpatient care on Tuesday and it feels like it was about a million years ago. I cant believe it has been less than a week.
I wont lie, things are bloody hard on the outside - especially when you have spent the last 12 weeks of your life surrounded by people and, when you havent been, you have had 24 hour around the clock support. Its a bit of a shock to the system, i wont lie.
However, considering how much of a big change it has been, i have not been doing too badly. There have been a few wobbles but eating disorder-wise, ive actually been doing better than i have done in a long time. And NO LAXATIVES. I am not even going to say 'yet' because i honestly am not even planning on touching them.
When you consider that a few months ago, in just five days, i would have taken 600 laxatives, im pretty proud that i have taken none.
The only thing that is worrying me at the moment is that my mental health is teetering right on the edge. Im dissociating constantly and it scares me. The other day, i made phone calls to my team (none of whom were at work, apparently) and then had a barrage of returned calls. I was so confused because the only record i have of making any contact with anybody is in my call history.
This scares me because, when im dissociating, thats when shit can go really badly wrong. I keep having panic attacks over the most ridiculous things. Like, for example, i went to the supermarket with Dad the other day and the fact that he was buying 24 packs of bloody sweets sent me in to a raging panic attack. I don't have the slightest bit of understanding why because i would never normally react like that.
In the past, when ive been dissociating to this level, ive ended up in some really dangerous situations with no memory of how i got there.
It kinda scares me...not gonna lie
All in all though, ED-wise, i reckon this week has gone as well as it could. Its not been a perfect 100% but ive never been one for getting top marks at positivity and could always do that much better.
Plan for this week:
attend every appointment without fail
open up to the people i have around me if i am struggling
get out of the pissing house and stop ruminating
get hold of some bastard wool to finish my blanket (random!)
When i take time to look back at this past year, i think id be forgiven for being kind of sad about it. This time last year, i was determined to make recovery work and was in an inpatient unit for my eating disorder. This year, im in the same position but my words have something behind them. Im not one for bigging up recovery and starting with the whole ninja spiel but i am one for trying to be truthful with myself and, when looking back at last year and where i was, i can't help but want to give myself a hug. I wish i could have been prepared for the fall and for the disaster that followed but what is it that they say? 'Hindsight is a wonderful thing'
Well, thats wrong. Hindsight sucks.
I would do absolutely anything to turn back the clocks even to six months ago and to stop myself from hurtling downhill. Id do anything to go back to a year ago and tell myself that recovery is going to take some fucking hard work and to pull up my socks and get on with finding it rather than waiting for it to find me.
I am sick of making excuses for my disorder and for what it turns me in to. When i strip it all back and peel off the layer of bullshit from the top, it comes down to me making false promises and getting my hopes up and waiting for some big revelation that will mean i don't want to lose weight anymore. Fuck that. I need to be realistic about this this time and accept that, yes, i do want to lose weight and yes, restricting makes me calmer but it does fuck all good for my life. There is not one positive thing that hasn't been somehow tainted by my eating disorder in recent years and i am not prepared to let that continue.
Lerring my friends and family go through this, helpless in their positions and devastated with worry, is one of my biggest mistakes. Losing my girlfriend because i couldn't just TRY is definitely my biggest regret and i don't think i will ever be able to forgive myself for what i did to that relationship and how much pain i caused.
I am now in a completely different mindset to last year though, which is good. I haven't gone all 'recovery ninja' or anything like that and would rather eat a crusty toenail than turn in to that kind of person.
When i look back to where i was last year when i was about to be discharged, i just remember how not ready i felt. I wanted to stay in the cocoon of the hospital because, if i'm honest, i knew something was going to give and it was going to be my recovery. I was unhappy with where i was living and HATED going on leave back to my flat. This time however, i have Bambi and i have my bungalow where, despite how tits up this past few months have gone, i am happy. It feels like a home which was never the case with where i lived before and i love that. I love the feeling of actually wanting to be in my home environment and more or less demanding to have more and more leave.
I feel ready to leave this unit now. I feel like i've milked it for all it is worth and like the only way i'm going to actually know how to make this work is to live it and to find ways to fill in the chasm that my eating disorder will leave behind.
Im not saying i am happy with my body because that is far from the truth and 99% of my thoughts right now are surrounding the need to lose weight but the difference is that i am trying my hardest to resist these thoughts as much as i can...
I guess all i can do is jump in first and just keep trying, no matter what...