fucked.up.royally.

See how im tying in my mental brain with the Jubilee there? Clever as a box of spanners, me.

Lets dive right in.

This week has been another bucket of crap-covered pigeons. It started off as a 'normal' week which, by definition, is about as far from normal as i could get at the minute. Yeah, started off with the 'normal' routine and then everything went speeding downhill, got hit by a passing train, shat on by a nearby flock of killer birds and eaten by a dinosaur.

Basically, i have been feeling like a right royal poorly arse. Fainting, dizziness and low blood pressure has now become a part of daily life but, on Thursday, things felt much worse. Everytime i stood up, i went dizzy and if i didn't sit down in supersonic ninja time, i passed out. I passed out in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom and while talking to a paper delivery man at my front door. Fun times. It all ended up with me calling the GP collaborative in the evening and with them telling me that they were sending an ambulance straight away, which would be taking me to A&E. I called Dad and he said he would meet me there.

The next few hours are a bit of a daze really. I remember bits and bobs but, to be honest with you, most of it was spent waiting around for a Dr or for blood results of one kind or another. After a gazillionbillionmillion years of waiting, they decided i wasn't safe to go home because my blood pressure was going through the floor whenever i stood up and was already low enough when i was resting. I was dehydrated and in serious need of some fluids and then, just to top of the shit cake, my blood sugars decided to drop dramatically.

When the ambulance arrived, they were 4.7 which obviously isn't ideal (they like them to be at least 5) but i'd live. By the time they did them a few hours later, they had dropped to 3.6. Cue the suggestion of some sort of carbohydrate or a bloody devil hypostop drink thing. No chance. My head was fuzzy with the ED-ness of life and i just was not having it. Plus, with the mention of the possibility of being admitted, they could swivel if they thought i could manage eating summat and not being able to take laxatives. Not going to happen. They decided to stick me on a bag of glucose. I thought that that would be it and i would be fine and dandy. Nope. They stuck that bag through in supersonic speed and then whacked another frigging bag of saline on, or whatever its called.

So there i was, googling bloody nutritional values of plastic bags of see-through liquids, crying over not being able to work the shit out, when the Dr came back to see me. They did my blood sugars (bm) again and they had gone up to 17.7. Then comes the panic attack from me. OMG SO MUCH SUGAR. WHATS IT DOING TO MY BODY. GAIN GAIN FAT FAT FAT FAT. twat. They quit on the fluids for a bit and i was left in the MDU until they could find me a bed on a ward. It was the blood pressure results that were the deciding factor on them admitting me because i was simply not safe to be in my flat on my own.

Sidenote: they actually asked if i could go and stay at my parents house. LOL. If you knew my parents, you'd know what a piss funny suggestion that was!

I can't remember if it was just before or just after I went up to the ward, they did my blood sugars again - 2.6 this time. No other option than to speed another bag of Glucose in and then whack me on a bag through the night. My head was going mental.

I can't be arsed with explaining the next day. Basically, it just consisted of my blood sugars going up, down, down, down, uuuuup, down, down. They were all over the place. My bp was consistently low but had raised by a little bit since having the fluids. They wanted to keep me in for another night. No way was that happening. I managed to get them to agree to let me go as long as my CPN was up for the idea. My CPN being the bloody badassmofo that she is, broke me out of the joint after making me promise to eat something or risk her wrath. Job done.

I got home Friday night and i don't know whether its the whole control being taken away while i was in the hospital or what but ive basically not stopped bingeing. I haven't actually properly 'really' binged in weeks and yet now, since i got home, i haven't stopped eating. Well, i finally did a couple of hours ago but only after having one of my 'pour vinegar on everything and throw it all away' moments. Classic.

Now im panicking that ive gained like a bitch. Im worried it wont come off. Im worried it IS all real weight. Im worried about the bloating. And the mirror- the mirror is fucking me off. Its like it actually has changed which is all too easy for people to contradict and say 'oh no. thats your ED talking and blah blah fucking blah' but it doesn't feel like that. God knows ive bloody tried to say that to myself- to calm me the fuck down- but it's not working. Its all very well saying it's not going to be 'real' weight but HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT? How do you know what my body is going to do with these calories? How do you know that its going to go away? How do you knowwwww?

ARGH.

My head is doing my nut in. I just want it to shush so i can get some rest. All i am constantly doing is worrying, counting, comparing, googling, calculating, worrying, comparing...you get the picture.

So now my behaviours are completely out of whack. Ive overcompensated with the bloody laxatives which is obviously a bloody brilliant idea. That can't end badly, can it?! Ive overcompensated with 'plans'. Im plotting and scheming and i want it to all just

shut

the

fuck

up

and end rant.