wanting

My EDNOS is 19 years old. It started with Anorexia when I was fifteen. Then I progressed to Bulimia, otherwise known to some as a failed anorexic. You do the maths. I’m too ashamed to get my calculator out.

My weight fluctuates between slightly overweight, slightly underweight and somewhere in between. Which proves that my methods of losing weight aren’t that efficient, but this is not about logic. This is not about doing the right things like eating less or exercising more. This is not about being sensible or healthy or a shining example of mental health. This is not Jamie Oliver and his organic pig testicles.

This is not about looking good on the beach or wanting to be a supermodel. This is not about wanting the cute guy in the coffee shop to beg for your telephone number. This is not about sliding a pair of skinny jeans over your hipbones and laughing all the way to the check out till.

This is not about wanting attention until complete strangers force feed you Black Forest Gateau and siphon double cream into your skinny latte. It is not about deliberately pissing off the nurses by hiding your peas under your fork and stashing butter in the bed pans. It is not about starving for all the children in Africa. It is not about reading the magazines and pining for the Body Mass Index of Paris Hilton’s pet Chihuahua. This is not a conspiracy created by the Patriarchal system to oppress women.

This is about having the self-esteem of a gnat’s arse. This is the polite way of committing suicide. This is about having no life because it’s impossible to order a bowl of dry cereal in a restaurant and ask them to hold the raisins. This is about weighing pasta, cereal, raisins and anything that passes your lips, including toothpaste. This is about secrets and lies and shame. This is about not wanting to admit that you need to eat. That you deserve to live.

This is about being scared. This is about being terrified. Of everything.

This is about control. This is about sex. This is about putting relationships on hold until your thighs don’t meet in the middle and by then you have no libido anyway. This is about hiding under layers of clothing that are mostly black. This is about “Please don’t look at me and cover all the mirrors with black crepe.” This is about avoiding the camera, even at your sister’s wedding. This is about intense self hatred.

This is about needing so much that you can’t stand it. This is about having emotions that bubble up and spill out all over the carpet and stink up the whole house. This is about having too many choices and too much pressure and isn’t it easier just to keep it simple and obsess about the amount of calories in a small cantaloupe? Instead of making big scary choices that might crush you to a pulp?

This is about wanting to be safe. This is about wanting to curl up in a nutshell like Thumbelina and ignore the big bad world that’s too noisy and dangerous and can’t be trusted. This is about not trusting anyone and relying on food (or lack of) to give you an all enveloping comfort blanket when the medication bloats you up like a corpse in a river.

This is about really crappy coping methods. This is about making a choice that will quite possibly kill you. This is about failed relationships, waiting lists, devastated families, waiting lists, becoming vegetarian, becoming vegan, becoming lactose intolerant, developing a wheat allergy and more waiting lists. This is about infertility, rotten teeth, and hollow bones. This is about cardiac arrest in a shopping centre. This is about being sick. This is about not being sick enough. This is about finally being sick enough for a bed in a unit until you drop down dead and you get a mention in the local paper for being such a model student.

This is not about food

(found on this tumblr: http://-shine-a-light-.tumblr.com/

I was doing my normal stalking on Tumblr just a few minutes ago and i stumbled upon something i really...well, let's just say it took me by surprise. At first, i saw that stupid first part and thought, 'oh for god sake. not another one', half expecting to click the link and see yet another one of those pro-ed related posts where there are a load of 'thin commandments' or something along those lines.
However, upon clicking, what i found was quite different. It sort of surprised me like a bullet in the head. I read it. I re-read it and then i read it again, not quite believing what i just read.
I know that it might all be cliche and that we will have all heard snippets of things like this before and thought 'yeah yeah, course i feel like that. don't we all. big wow.' but i honestly do feel like i have been wowed; like someone has just come along and rammed something in to my stomach and pushed the wind right out of me, blasted up from my oesophagus and sent it spewing out of my throat. I feel like i need to gasp for breath.
I mean, come on...we all know i have been in this game long enough to know that its not all about food and its not all about weight. We all know that 'its not about food, its about feelings' but sometimes, for one small piece of writing to 'get you' like this...it sort of brings things back in to perspective.


My life at the moment is literally a constant pattern of one disordered habit followed by another. I eat in a structured way, beat myself up afterwards, make plans to change it, take a bucket load of laxatives, feel bad, eat in a structured way...


It is like once this spin cycle is over, i just rinse and repeat it...I don't get anywhere, i don't move forward but it feels like that is my goal. It feels like by my doing this and by me repeating these behaviours, one day it will change. That's what i keep telling myself; what i keep telling my disorder. And i sometimes even find myself saying that i will be able to change things when i want to.
I want to fucking change things now but i aint doing shit about it.


I guess i don't want to.
I want to want it. I don't know...it sounds like its all much of a muchness but i guess you really do have to want change enough. And i guess i don't. Eurgh. God thats depressing...
Sorry.

"One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. 'Which road do I take?' she asked. 'Where do you want to go?' was his response. 'I don't know', Alice answered. 'Then', said the cat, 'it doesn't matter.'"

Today, i swear i have seen my bathroom door more than i have seen anything else.

All i have done is run back and forth. I shat myself twice, cried once and went so dizzy on the way to the toilet that i fell in to the door. I had to sit down in the shower because i went dizzy as fuck and i have a funny feeling something might be slightly wrong. Not because of all of the above but because of something else.

I don't want to go in to it too much because i am thinking i am probably over-exaggerating things in my head and so i am going to see if it calms down before i say anything. Too many people read this for me to just whack out something and expect people not to worry about me and about the effects that this life is having on me right now.

Bloodyhell, i was thinking back earlier. I was only thinking back as far as the beginning of the year. I wasn't 'well' in the way that i WAS taking laxatives and i was bingeing on a daily basis and puking but, in my head, i would say i was healthier than i am now.

I remember New Year really well because i travelled down to spend a week with a really close friend. It was the first time we had met and so obviously it was all really exciting. Things were far from normal in that i was still very aware of myself and of hiding my body from everyone but, as bad as it felt then, it is nothing compared to now.

Now, i am in the house maybe 6 days a week. I am taking laxatives every single day, restricting what i eat and feeling the intense shame when and if i do have something. I am so consumed by this thing that i can't hold up a conversation. I can't leave the house some days. I can't look in the mirror. I can't wear anything that shows my figure. I can't wear old clothes because they scare me. I don't know what i am scared of anymore. I don't know what triggered this to come back so strongly

I don't know what it is going to take for me to stop this. For it to stop. Is it going to take me having some sort of heart attack? Losing part of my intestine? Pooing blood? Blood pressure problems? Fainting? Death? How fucking far am i actually going to let this go? Seriously?

I wish i knew the answer. Or maybe i do and it is the answer that i am so scared of.

Often, my sister wonders what is worse; Anorexia or Bulimia. I want to have an answer to the question but, in reality, they both feel like the worst when you're so in them that you don't see a way out but then when you are in the other side, you can't imagine feeling any worse. Does that make sense? Probably not.

Basically, right now, i am going to ignore the FEELINGS of my eating disorder because i know that they are going to be very dominant anyways, like always. And they are going to feel worse now because...well, just stick with me on this. I am finding it hard to articulate what i am trying to say. What i know to be true is that things, behaviour-wise, are worse than they have ever been. Ever.

I was thinking about things today and i was thinking about how stuck i feel and how obviously sad i am to be in this situation but i am holding on to it for dear life. I am still working to be thinner, because being thinner is going to make me happier, isn't it? No. No it is not. I just wish i could snap out of this mindset and in to some sort of healthier place. I wish i could say to myself that being thinner is not going to make me any happier. Well, i can say that to myself if i want to. Saying it is the easiest part. It's the believing part that i am struggling with.

How do i make myself believe something that is so foreign to everything that goes through my mind right now?

Even writing this i feel stupid because i am thinking 'what a load of shit. a fat girl can't say these things' but this is my blog and i can say whatever the fuck i want so i am riding this out. I need to get something down on ...not paper, but you know what i mean. I need to see the pixelated remains of my mushed up brain; to see it in front of my very eyes.

That's probably the question. Do you have to see something to believe it? Or do you have to believe in something before you can see it?

A torture session

On Tuesday morning, i had an appointment with a new psychiatrist at the ED unit. I arrived there a little bit late but i had called to tell them that this was going to be the case and that seemed fine. I was wearing my stupendously large 'OMG that's the biggest jumper i have ever seen' jumper with black 'suck it all in' tights, black pumps and my big furry vagina coat. I had a scarf on too because it makes me feel better if people are distracted from my thighs with a nice, long scarf.

I arrived there and i was waiting until about 11:45 (the appointment was due to start at 11). I got up and went to the reception desk:

'Does the Dr. know that i am here?'

'Sorry, she was on the phone'

So, then the receptionist called back up to the shrink's office and she was not on the phone anymore. She told her i was here and then she came down, along with my ED worker i have been seeing for a few months. I didn't know that she (Andrea) was going to be in the appointment too and it came as a bit of a shock. I also didn't know that i was about to be put through one of those beloved fucking torture sessions.

'Do you mind if we do a physical first?'

'What? I'd rather not.'

'Well, we're either going to have to do the physical now or at the end. Shall we just do it now?'

So, we start walking towards the clinic room. I hadn't noticed that Andrea was there until this point. I glanced around and it pissed me off that i had not been informed and they they had automatically assumed that i would be fine with being put through a physical and with being watched.

'So, i have an audience?'

Andrea: 'Okay. I understand. I can go and wait in the meeting room until you have both finished'

So, we (me and the Dr.) went in to the clinic room and my first question was, 'am i going to have to be weighed?'

'Well, it IS a physical'

She was a right fucking moody bitch. I didn't like how threatened...no, INTIMIDATED i felt by her.

She asked me to take off my coat, jumper and scarf, as well as my shoes. I said i didn't want to but she pushed it to the point where i was shaking, nearly crying. I was trying to be covered. She weighed me.

'Ah. I see. Is that what you expected?'

'Well. yes'

'Ok. Underweight'

I made an 'ugh' noise under my breath. I hate such big, important things being treat like a piece of lemon, sour to even say. I don't understand why they feel they need to state these things to me anyways. I think i know my own fucking weight and i am aware of my B-M-fucking-I. Fuck sake.

So then she wrote that down and asked me to go over to the bed where she would check my chest. Haha. Gutted, she couldn't find the stethoscope. Fuck her life.

So, i thought i had got out of it. No such chance. I was told to lay back on the bed and lift up my top.

'I have done everything else you have asked but there is not a chance i am lifting up my top for anybody.'

'Ok.'

She had to feel my stomach, which was a noticeably painful experience for me. She took my BP whilst i was lieing down, got my to stand up, took it again and asked about how i go dizzy and shit. Yeah. Great. Eurgh

She then locked up the clinic room and went to hand the key in, when she FOUND the fucking stethascope. Oh joy! So back into the clinic room we went. She checked my back and chest and said it was okay.

We went back out of the clinic room and walked into the room where Andrea was waiting.

I can't remember much of the appointment. Well, i can. I just can't be bothered to type it all out. Basically, she said there are no major physical signs (thanks, ill try harder) on the outside from the laxatives but that these things don't have to manifest for them to be a problem. The probs are mainly internal and i could end up having a case of low potassium, cardiac arrest, rectal prolapse etc. She then mentioned the possibility of sudden death.

This had not actually been allowed to enter my mind and although people have been saying that they are scared, i had not allowed myself to even think about this as being a possibility. It shocked me but not as much as the next bit.

The words 'Anorexia' and 'Anorexic' were mentioned. I was like 'huh?' but i didn't say anything because i didn't want them to realise they had made a mistake and for me to make them feel like twats or for me to be made to feel stupid. I decided i would wait and see if i get a write-up of the session in the post and, if i do, i will know. If i don't, i will just make sure that i ask Andrea in the next session.

She mentioned the horrible words loads of times in the last session too.

Confused the crap out of me.

So, here i am.

Scared, confused and stuck

I felt threatened in that horrible meeting and just felt like i was drowning. It was horrible.

I kept trying to cover myself up in the clinic room. Not to protect myself but to protect her from how much of a joke it is that i was at that damn place. She said, 'Its not that cold' and i snapped and said, 'I'M NOT COLD. I JUST. I DONT LIKE IT. I DONT LIKE IT' and i was saying it in my pathetic whiney voice that i get right as i am about to burst in to tears. I was shaking. My eyes were darting. I wasn't listening to what she was saying because i was panicking too much

Now i just feel like a whale considering i have had two days in a row of a lot of food compared to normal, not good foods and just sad times.

I feel stupid. I feel like a failure. Like an idiot

I have to go to get a blood test really really soon. I am meant to be going up to the hospital for one tomorrow but i can't. I have to...i don't know. I just can't go. I am too scared. I can't let people see skin. No. not real people, real skin. No

I am going fucking mad.

I love life. I hate life.

I wish i could plan blogs. My life is just so interesting and hilarious that i can't ever just pick one thing to blog about. It is just too difficult. The first thing i do want to do is to tell you a few cool things from the past twenty-four hours.
1 - I woke up this morning, still drunk, on the sofa and having wee'd myself. Mint.
2 - I shaved my vagina for the first time in eleven weeks. (My 'real' one, not my coat).
3 - I did the cotton-eyed-Joe dance in the middle of Sheffield Fargate, to an audience, and a live band.
4 - I got drunk three times and suffered two hangovers.
5 - I wee'd a bit too hard on the toilet and sprayed it all over the floor.

Mint.

My new favourite word is 'mint' and 'boom' and erm...

Anywho, back to the topic, Lil-Dawg. Errr.

Eating disorders? hmmm. Oh yeah. I remember. So, today, i have been thinking about the ways in which i can lose weight (shocker, eh?) before my appointment at the eating disorder (ED) clinic. Hahahaha. The irony and pure fucking idiocy of this disorder is ridiculous. I concluded that after today, i am never eating again, again. And i have scheduled in a laxative binge tomorrow, which means that calories today do not matter. Now, either i lose at least 20lbs before the 12th of April, or i cancel my appointment and decide that cake is way more important that 'recovery'.


Geri Halliwell was on that Piers Morgan thing tonight and i feel sad. I didn't watch it, Dog no! I did, however, get fucking mad. I feel like shit right now and celebrities playing the 'I was closer to death than you' game is just rubbing vinegar in my wound. I am so sick of that game. Plus, if Robbie Williams saved me, id have ended up killing myself anywho. Like, seriously, your Bulimia was cured by a druggie? Are you trying to get a story in Pick Me Up?

I have mood swings like a bitch right now. Today has been a good example of this. I have been giddy as a bitch all day and then i came crashing. Oh my Dog. I googled 'mood swings' and it mentioned something about ADHD. I really hope i have ADHD because then they prescribe you speed and speed makes you lose weight. Dog, i would bum being speedy. I wont lie to you (LK ;)), i have been tempted to go on speed many times, to aid weight loss. Erm.

On a side note, i bum the 'Would you rather...' game, and Florence & The Machine.

I have a question. Why, at school, did my teacher always say that you should never ever use a comma and then say 'and' afterwards. Is that an actual rule? I think it is stupid if it is. I mean, i know how to spell and i know that i use small i's a lot but there is reason for this. I can smell (haha, spell) because i am good. I put little 'i's' instead of big ones because when i was in the heaven (also known as Anorexia *spittts*), i didn't want to be big and so 'i' made more sense than 'I'. hahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahah. I haven't typed that before. I only ever explained it to Condom but she gets me. Thank fuck.

The end.