I’m doing fucking awful at blogging in general at the moment. To be honest, I don’t even know why. I guess it’s not distracting enough. I know that sometimes, blogging is a great release from a whole load of ugly thoughts and working stuff through, but right now, I don’t really know what I’m working through.
As far as recovery from anorexia is concerned, I think I’m doing quite well. It’s not that I’d consider myself fully recovered, but I don’t actually think of myself as having anorexia anymore. I’m not restricting in any way and will happily nibble on chocolates and cake and bread and hummus and crisps and apparently a maple pecan danish which I had for the first time yesterday and they were so completely excellent. I went to a picnic with my friends and got riotously trashed and on vodka, wine and gin (sometimes even with juices as mixer) and actually had a really nice time. I nibbled a lot a lot and have no idea what my calorie intake was and it hasn’t bothered me all that much today and everything. My BMI is normal at around 21 and that doesn’t bother me too much. I mean, it bothers me, but it gets easier and easier to handle and I think my body is still kinda slim maybe. I hesitate in writing that because I’m scared that people who read this will think that I should think that was too fat, but realistically, I even out at a size 8 and that can’t be too big right? I still feel like Jupiter, but I’m getting more able to rationalise it and it doesn’t bother me 24/7. I still get multiple issues per day with my body, my shape, my weight and my size, but it’s not all day every day. I do still have problems with eating, but I’m managing it without it having a negative impact on me physically, and it is improving so I guess that means it’s improving psychologically too. Like I always have to make my own food and stuff and I haven’t got close to eating intuitively, but I eat nice foods and I have a lot of variety in my diet and sometimes I cook really nice things with lots of time and energy and sometimes I throw some veggies, grains and pulses in a bowl because I’m tired and can’t be fucked. I think it’s getting closer to normal every day. It’s good. I still walk a lot, but apart from yoga I don’t do any other set exercise and I would rather see my friends and wind up with a killer hangover so skip yoga if it seems more fun at the time. I very rarely get sucked into food porn and health or diet websites. I’m no longer using eating disorder forums really. I almost except that my weight was actually critically unhealthy and that I could possibly be or look better or more healthy now so that’s an improvement. And not being fully obsessed with food and numbers and calories and weights which I guess is good. It leaves my brain for much more horrible things, but at least it isn’t quite as boring. Clothes shopping still makes me want to die but still. I get a lot of compare and despair thoughts when I see people or just generally realise I am no longer small. I also want to restrict my food quite a lot. These things don’t make me do it though.
This week, I had a weigh in with the ED psychiatrist. It was pretty distressing as I weighed more than I’d expected. Granted it was in the afternoon so I’d actually eaten two meals by this point, but I was a whole 3kg more than I was at my previous weigh-ins. At the time, that bothered me the most. There was more though. Like the fact she told me I was selfish for taking an overdose which made me really fucking angry and I shouted at her. I don’t think suicide or attempts at it (not that this is what I consider my overdose as) are selfish. I think that it’s an act of people who are incredibly unwell and don’t see other options. It’s sad and horrible, but not selfish. It’s like calling any mental health issue selfish, which I completely disagree with. She told me I was too angry in general, which fucked me off. She also told me my weight gain wasn’t normal and I should work out why I’d gained so much so I could stop gaining and gaining. On top of this, she stated that she’d be happy to discharge me. I guess I should be happy with this, but I freaked out because it’d mean I couldn’t get access to a dietitian or the Psychologist or anything at all and no one takes me seriously and I hate it because I need access to this help if I need it so I told her no, then stormed out, fell into the grass in the middle of the hospital and hit myself in the head whilst crying. In a predominantly mental health hospital, I don’t know if this kinda behaviour is more or less acceptable in that kinda location, but it happened anyway. For about 15 minutes. After storming out of therapy the week before, I seem to be making a habit of the dramatic exit.
Anyway, the next day, I had my first period in 4 years so that’d explain the unexplained weight gain, as well as the extremely stupid emotional responses. And also it means that I’m actually a healthy weight and that I’m probably not infertile or anything. It’s a good thing I think. It’s kinda weird. I’ve never really had normal periods. They’re not a bother or anything for me, which is pretty lucky, but they started pretty late, have never been regular and I went on a POP pretty much straight out the door so they got less and less regular and easy to understand. I don’t know what to expect really, but I guess I’ll figure that out if they keep going. Who knows really. I know this is all a little TMI, but I don’t care. It’s my blog and if people judge me as a weirdo, so be it. All in all, it’s probably a good thing. I feel slightly ambiguous in that eating disordered way of “If I have periods, I’m not small enough” which likes to rattle around in my brain till it keeps me up at night. That’s what diazepam is for I guess.
So yer, my body works, my eating disordered thoughts are lessening and my behaviours are lessening. All in all, that side of my life is improving.
The HTT also think I’m doing well. They plan to discharge me within the next week so they must do. I don’t feel any different from when they started seeing me really, but I didn’t feel deserving of them and didn’t use them as I should. They honestly don’t know much about me or my mental health. I can’t call them because one time I called them drunk. I don’t trust them to be able to help me. I don’t think they take me seriously. They don’t believe me that I burn. They don’t see and I failed because I didn’t show them. I have all the time in the world to show everyone, I just haven’t found the right way. But I was never deserving and never that bad anyway. They were supposed to turn up yesterday, but they didn’t so I didn’t get my medications and they’re so late this morning I don’t think they’re going to show up. I probably should call them, but I don’t because they don’t like me anyway. They blatantly forgot me on purpose because they see me as a waste of time. If they ever come again, I’m thinking of kicking them out. I’ll probably change my mind but I’m really pissed off and they’re leaving me anyway so I want to get there first so it’s on my terms. Or do something dramatic so they’ll stay. I’ll probably cop-out of everything.
Same with the Psychologist I think. He sees me as a waste of time. I can tell each week he’s finding me more and more annoying and awful and can’t be fucked with me. I’m seeing him this week, but then he’s taking leave for a few weeks and I’m thinking of firing him before he can fire me this week. He hates me and thinks I’m undeserving so I have to make him think I don’t give a fuck about him and couldn’t care less if he ditches me or not so I’ll get there first. I keep getting more and more worked up about therapy
But anyway, eating disorder wise and I guess crisis wise I’m doing well maybe.
It’s everything that’s left is what bothers me.
I’m so full of emotions and thoughts and I can’t contain them. I can’t contain my brain. I know brains are weird and how consciousness is contained is a little bit strange to think about, but technically it is entirely contained within my body, predominantly inside my skull. It doesn’t feel like that though. It feels like my brain just spills out of me all over everything I touch. It goes either way. When I’m happy, I spill my happy all over my thoughts and all over my surroundings. I can’t concentrate because my mind is agitated by my mood and all my thoughts jump around possible happy things like when I do well and people like me and I’m funny and beautiful and get the boy and get a first in my degree and wind up becoming a medical doctor because I’m amazing and could do anything I want and I have a puppy and it’s a good hair day and I’ve picked an exceptionally good nail varnish combination. When I’m comfortable, I’m so comfortable that I can share anything with anyone and I should call them and tell them that I miss them because they all care for me and I care for them and why don’t people tell this to each other often because it always makes you feel better and all my secrets should be shared and it’s ok if I’m silly because people like silly and I hold hands and hug and get all up in personal space and feel safe. When I’m desperate, I’m so desperate my whole world sinks and I can’t bring myself to talk or eat or sleep because I’m the ugliest, stupidest, most boring of everyone I know and any compliment is a backhanded joke at my expense and it was a fluke I even have a degree and I’ll be unemployed forever because I have no skills and suck at life and there’s nothing and no one likes me and I’ll always fail and be low functioning forever. When I’m scared, everyone is leaving because they can’t see that I’m serious and no one realises I’m burning and I’ll burn forever because burning on the inside isn’t as deserving as burning outwards and no one will believe me and they’ll all go and there’ll be no one left to help me and I’ll just keep on burning and burning. I could list more emotions that spill and spill on my reading and my work and my social life and getting dressed in the morning and every other second of the day. I can’t concentrate at anything at all and I can’t commit to anything and I’m wasting my life with all the mess it’s causing. The diazepam doesn’t help with the concentration aspect, but it does stop me getting so frantically worked up in an emotion (good or bad) that I can’t cope and act out. I think my moods are elevated since the duloxetine kicked in, but it’s equally uncontainable and unrestrained. The good is really good, but even that gets too much to handle. It’s kinda like being a child, except a lot more destructive.
And at the same time, I don’t feel any of these things. It’s all just constructions I create in my head to try convince myself there’s any person left since I so completely killed off anything real and all that’s left is lies I have to perform will full intensity to try to force myself to believe it. I’m performing so hard it’s bursting out of me and I burn. Nothing I do or have ever done feels like it really happened. Sometimes I actually lose time and don’t have memories of what happened. I have no consequences so anything I do or feel has no influence on what comes next. Nothing is real. Except I know it is, but I don’t experience it as real. Watching life happen whilst everything is lies and nothing has consequences but with it turned up so loud that it’s making me raw.
This kinda distracts me from the blogging universe as well. I find it hard to read through posts, I write posts in sections over actual days because I cannot keep my mind in one place. And what makes it more difficult is that I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know what actions to take. Recovery from anorexia involved a clear course of action. I had to change the behaviours, no matter how fucking horrible it was for every attempt I made for the best part of a year. It’s only through changing behaviours over and over again that I could challenge the thought processes and fears that kept me stuck in my completely damaging eating habits. It’s not more or less simple than recovery from other mental health problems, but the aims are clear. Concrete behaviours ruled by fear are bastards to change but at least it’s concrete. There are no concrete steps I can think of now. I know there are all these mental techniques, but I find that much harder to engage with or even contemplate than physical action. I like to see change, imagining it seems ridiculous to me. I know that it’s actually not, but it all feels so…. holistic therapy or motivational life coach to me and even though there’s real evidence that the techniques I’ve researched work. I’m just better able to contemplate the physical over the mental I guess.
So I feel kinda stuck. And I don’t really know if I should just be posting the same thing over and over because I’m not making any progress and I don’t want to have this “woe is me” kinda blog and seeing as really, I’m waiting for the next round of treatment to begin, not much seems to be happening.