So I’ve been blog neglecting some more. I’ve been having a pretty stressed with my presentation (on Reproductive Labour in Gendered Development Projects if you’re interested. You’re probably not though). Not that it’s even part of my grade, but I still freaked out a whole load though. Standard. On top of this, I’ve had some major life stresses that are probably all too personal for an all too public blog. Especially as they don’t just involve me. Needless to say, my head has been entirely caught up in the busy world of stress, anxiety and blind panic for a while now. Sorry if I’ve been a neglectful commenter – I’m hoping to more about again. Guess we’ll see.
Now there’s going to be some numbers and generally freaking out in this post, so if you’re not a comfy number person, duck out here.
Lots has been happening though actually. Maybe I’ll go chronologically.
Firstly, it was the Mam’s birthday. Again, another famo celebration I let my eating disorder ruin a little for me, but not as much as it could have been. The hang over didn’t help much (I was waaay too fucked the night before. Mixing substances is always fun. At about three in the morning, me and my friends danced happy birthday to her, then we danced it in makaton and everything. It all got a little ridiculous and I didn’t end up in bed till about six am maybe? Did manage make up removal, piercing cleaning and full pajamas though so I think I was an ok amount of out of it. Not remembering parts probably means I was a little bit more than ok out of it, but I’m chosing to ignore that). I did manage a birthday lunch with her, but couldn’t hack the idea of a famo dinner and movie. Unknown calories and changes to routine just didn’t want to happen on that day. It made me pretty sad actually. Hopefully I’ll be in a better position to deal with it by the time the Dad’s birthday comes around. I’m not sure though. Everything seems to take longer than I hope.
This was quickly followed by my birthday. The big two-three. Urgh. I hate birthdays. Don’t get me wrong, I love presents, but I hate birthdays. Birthdays mean having to eat cake and changing routines and nice meals and organising being social and stress. The few days leading up to it I was utterly miserable. To me, they just feel like some sort of popularity contest where you have to prove how many people like you by getting them all in one place or having a lot of wall posts on facebook or something. I’ve got a lot of bezzies, but not all that many friends. And I hate looking unpopular. So I didn’t tell anyone about it and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. Turns out everyone knew anyway, but it didn’t cheer me up really.
Saying all this though, I did manage a properly nang food day. I had lunch out (chicken tikka baguette and black forest gateaux!) and an Indian take away for dinner! This was a massive deal for me. Indian take away is food I’ve been purging since before I even identify myself as having an eating disorder. Many years earlier in fact. I’ve purged large, calorific meals for around nine years maybe (I duno, it never seemed like a thing until the recent binge/purge episode), but never out of guilt or fear or after something I considered a binge. More out of misguided desire to not get any bigger as I’ve always felt huge, but it was nothing like the purging that came with the fully formed eating disorder. Not in the slightest. And it didn’t linger on my mind or bother me in any way. It just wasn’t a thing that happened every few months and I didn’t think it was strange in any way. So indian food has been something I’ve been avoiding for fear of purging since the start of recovery. But I managed it! I had to half my food with the Mama, but there was a lot of it so I think that’s fine. Lamb dhansak, rice and half a naan. Sooo good. Followed by two segments of birthday bug cake for good measure (the Mama picked one which was in little individual segments so I wouldn’t worry about portion sizes. I love her for that. Very much). And absolutely no urge to purge. I just moved on and forgot about it over a naff pub quiz and a few drinks. It was hard to make the choice to eat it, but the eating, enjoying and dealing with it part were just a bit of a non-issue, which was really really nice. After all, it was my birthday. I didn’t want major stress and I didn’t get it.
What I did get was some serious pressies though! A shiny SLR camera (even though I’m notoriously rubbish at taking pictures) which I love so much it’s ridiculous. It’s basically with me at all times, even though it’s so huge and clunky. I’m taking a hella lot of pictures right now. And a blender! Now I can make smoothies! Anyone have any good recipes for blenders for me? I’ve never had a blender before – it’s super exciting (yes I know it’s a foodie thing, so possibly a little disordered of me, but still). And a build your own mobile solar system! And a necklace with a tiny harmonica on it you can play! And many other bits and bobs, but they’d probably bore you (standard – make up, clothes, bags, jewellery, DVDs, books, cosmetics etc.), Oh and a really good CD that made me so entirely happy. I think I might be a little bit in love with about eight people because they are just so unbelievably good to me. I don’t know how I managed to wind up knowing the people I do. I have seriously aces friends. I’ll never get how I deserve that :D.
All in all, the birthday was a bit of a misery anti-climax. I actually had an alright day.
Last week I got the results to a PTSD test I did for the psychologist. Apparently it’s something I really need to work on. I kinda think it’s slowly getting better on its own and I don’t need to spend valuable therapy time on it, but the therapist wants me to start tackling this issue. Which means talking about it – something I’ve been avoiding since the immediate aftermath of it all I think. And I’m shit scared by the whole idea. I don’t want to be forced to think about something I hate thinking about that wastes too much of my time as it is. And I do genuinely think it’s slowly clearing up of its own accord. I’m still avoidant, but much less so than I have been, I’m having less of the really distressing symptoms these days. Plus winter’s kinda ended so it’ll be less dark, which will make it all easier as the one thing I’m most scared of is being outside in the dark. And bikes, but there’ll always be bikes.
I also asked the therapist to start getting aggro on all this eating disorder shit. To which he replied “Well we’ll start by letting me weigh you.” Which got my defenses up. I honestly can’t understand why I need to be weighed more than I am already. I’m a pretty good weight right now, which is only going up and up so I’m not in any physical danger. Plus he has access to all my treatment notes so knows my weight. He thinks that I need to be less avoidant of it, but I do know my weight and although I don’t like it, I’m comfortable with it going up. I never really weighed myself before university and don’t really see why I have to start weighing myself more again. It doesn’t seem like a normal step to me. I hate being weighed. I really hate it. I hate my weight. I don’t think I have to like it though, I think I have to accept it, which I do. All of these arguments I make and he says are just “the eating disorder talking. It’s not what you really feel.” It is a little bit eating disorder talk yes, but it’s also rational I don’t want to be triggered by my weight or have to worry about it any more than I already do or freak out because it’s yet another person who I have to do something I find horrific in front of all of which make eating more difficult for me. I don’t really know what to do at this point. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong here and I’m not sure whether to take a stand about it or just let it happen and hate every second of it. I might just bowl up tomorrow and just get it done. Or I might just pretend that conversation never happened. I really really hate being weighed. Any opinions on this would be really useful.
On top of all of this other rubbish, I’ve upped my calories to 3,000 a day for the past week or so. It’s incredibly difficult, but I’m fed up of doing this so slowly and just want this done. I want to have some periods so bad so I can fix my bones and just give up on this gaining weight malarky and get to a point where I can start trying to move past this all. I still feel so stuck in this eating disorder as I’m still so stuck in food and eating and weight. I don’t want to be anymore, so I made the choice and upped the calories. I feel rubbish about it really. It makes me more anxious and more panicked and I think it led to some water retention as I feel all swollen up, though my weight hadn’t jumped as much as I’d thought at my dietetics appointment today. I’m now only 4kg away from my initial target weight and my bmi is up to 19.8. Yuss! 2.2kg in four weeks! That feels like a good amount of gain. I feel good about that actually. I may have to get to a higher weight than my target for the ever elusive periods to return, but until then, I’m not going to try my hardest not to worry about it too much. I’m not sure, but I think that at the start of uni, my bmi was around 23.5, so it might need to be that high again, but at the same time, I’m hoping it won’t. That’d mean a whole lot more weight gain. It will probably be require though – somehow, I still fit into size 6 (albeit much cosier) and I was always a 12 before all this began. I can’t see how anything less than a 10 could possible be a healthy size for my height. I am starting to get definite signs that my hormones are on the up and I’m getting general period excitement as I’m so hopeful. I literally cannot wait for the living hell that is the dreaded period to return. And as the dietician says, that could actually happen at any point now. Until that point, it’s 3,000kcals a day minimum. When I started all this back in June, I really thought I’d be weight restored by Christmas, then my birthday, and now I’m hoping for before Easter, otherwise we’ll be closing in n a year of gaining weight and that just seems like such a long time.
However, it’s not all good. Definitely not. My body image is horrific right now. I see myself and all I see is fat. It’s like a case around my body. It makes me cry. A lot. And hate what I’ve done to myself. I don’t look like me anymore. I look so so big. It’s really hard to get used to how big I’m getting. I haven’t been this big in years. I’m struggling with incessant urges to purge, invasive urges to self-injure and a marked upsurge in my desire to restrict. And exercise. Oh my gosh exercise. I’m just want to run. I keep having to force myself not to run every single morning (I even got as far as my doorstep on one occasion). And weight training. How I long for weight training. I mean seriously – who even really likes weight training? Apparently I do, but I’m pretty sure it’s a chore for most people. And gym classes – aerobics, step, power pump, boxercise. They all sound like heaven right now. Thankfully, none of that has got the better of me yet, but it’s all causing me to have to fight for this harder. It’s exhausting. Physically and mentally exhausting. Especially as I’m not really sleeping still (thank you God of Caffeine!). Personal stuff and uni stuff and treatment stuff are all a little overwhelming and I’m struggling to be ok, but somehow I’m managing to be (it feels like by the skin of my teeth). Right now, everything is painful, everything aches and I constantly feel like I’m going to be sick from stress and exhaustion and food.
And walking. It’s not really getting any better. I walk too much. I know I do. Many hours. Everyday. I do it to relieve so many different types of stress. Stress hits me physically like a tonne of bricks. I get all tightly wound and don’t know what to do to make it go away. The only things that work are physical things and of all of them, walking is the least destructive. I don’t know what else to do though. It feels like a vent that if I don’t vent, the pressure will build and worse will happen. I’m scared of what’ll happen if I don’t walk. Which is bad. I just don’t know what other options there are.
I literally cannot wait to be done with this all.
I feel like a planet I feel like a planet I feel like a planet. I’m huge and fat and ugly and horrible and everyone knows I’m rubbish and I’m stupid and I’m failing and I’m boring and I hate myself. It is most definitely not ok.
Constant noise I swear. Right now, the only thing that makes even a smidge better is listening to the B-52s really loud and dancing like an idiot (it involves a lot of jumping). I save them for really sour times so they don’t get wasted.