How long...

I am just sat here wondering. My head is full of some sort of tornado of thoughts, emotions, single words. They all jumble together in to some sort of word broth that i can't seem to decipher. If i could separate this thought from the last then i would probably get some idea as to where the hell i need to start but they're all just mushy. Everything is tainted with a shade of grey, the whole world feels really bland and tasteless. Everything is so obviously bad and i can't be bothered to hide it from anybody anymore. If you ask me how i am, you wont get lies, you wont get to see my facade anymore because i honestly don't have the energy to lift the mask up to my face and smile sweetly. I am not going to pretend, i am no longer the pretender. I am hurting and i am not ashamed of the pain but i am ashamed of the situation i have gotten myself in to.

I called my eating disorder therapist because i didn't know what else to do. I tried calling my CPN but she isn't in. She never is fucking in. I couldn't be arsed to leave her a message because i wouldn't know what to say to her. Last time i left one, she didn't call back until the following week and i can't be bothered to contact them.

I called the ED therapist (Andrea) and spoke to her. I didn't even know wtf i was going to say but i felt like i needed to share, share the pain with someone and hope that they would give me a magic solution. I get like this every so often. Things are bad and i make deals with myself that if i call a therapist or a shrink, they will fix it and they will make everything better and happy. They will inject me with a magic rainbow and then everything will smile and be sparkly and people will be skipping and singing. We will all be dancing around in circles and playing together.

Unfortunately, it hasn't worked yet.

Instead, i was told i need to get out more and i was informed that this is all my illness. Well duhh. I knew that. I want magic pills. I want a magic fix. I don't mind if it is just one day but i would quite like to travel back to that time so long ago and yet not so long ago at all. The time when i could wear tight clothes and buy nice things. The time when i quite liked my boobs and when my stomach did NOT even bother me. We are talking tight, small sized cotton longline vests. They were not forgiving and i don't know if they looked nice but it felt good. I felt like i looked nice. I feel like that is so much more important. I don't actually care about looking nice anymore. Its overrated. I don't care about whether other people think my stomach is flat or my arms are flabby. I care more about how i feel and about how i see myself.

If i feel ugly then there is no point in you saying you disagree because the feeling is still inside me and i am still believing it.

eurgh i am not even making sense but i am going to post this anyway because i need to vent and to do something.

I don't have an appointment until Tuesday. That one will be with my support worker. I don't count that as being a 'proper' appointment though. My next 'proper' one is on either Thursday or Friday (i don't remember) and that one is with my shrink. Cue gay comments. I am not in the mood to put up with any shit or any sort of comments that are considered to be unhelpful or inappropriate. I can't be bothered with them. And i am mad with my fucking eating disorder and because i can't tell that, i am going to have to focus on something else for a bit.

I don't know what i have even written in this blog, i am just going to post it and not even read it back because i am scared of what i might have said or not have said and i can't be arsed...

hm