Tag Archives: medication


I’ve had a nice day the other day. It was hot, but not too hot. It wasn’t sunny. I went to St. Katherine’s Dock and had some really nice food and walked about, looking at all the posh yachts and things. I accidentally found the Denmark cultural market thing (lots of countries have cultural markets dotted about London during the Olympics). I walked from Tower Hill into the city to do some vintage browsing and a little shopping in Brick Lane, then grabbing a tarte aux fruits from Patisserie Valerie.

All good things. Except none of it feels like it happened. I know full well it did. I remember it. The memories don’t seem real though. The feel like someone else’s memories. It wasn’t really me. I wasn’t in control, I wouldn’t want to act that way, the things I said are things I don’t think etc. I have problems feeling connected to my memories and past feelings and thoughts. It’s not just past events and actions, it also happens in the moment. My brain starts questioning my actions. It’s most scary when it starts questioning thoughts and feelings. Everything becomes lies, except I’m not lying. It’s like I can’t not lie. I have to because there’s no facts and no truths and no person. Just stories I started telling myself years ago so I could pretend to myself that I wasn’t so terrible. Now whatever person there may or may not have been has gone and all that’s left is the narrative. It’s such a hard thing to describe and I keep trying to, but just can’t seem to find the right words. It’s just so distressing. It’s like suddenly you zone in to what’s happening and you’re doing something you don’t really feel is true because you’re not in control. You’re saying words that aren’t your words and don’t describe your thoughts. Then you start to try to work out what your thoughts are, but there are none. Each thought you have isn’t true. Even the thought that your thoughts aren’t true isn’t true. And because nothing is true, you have absolutely no choice but to keep making things up and pretending and lying because without the falsities, there is literally nothing. No thoughts, no actions, no emotions. You just wouldn’t exist. You become something entirely constructed. But the construction isn’t perfect because you just can’t create concepts that tightly mesh to make a coherent whole. The concepts don’t fit together properly and you get terrified people will push at the cracks and expose the fact you’re nothing and then they’ll laugh at you. So you panic, covering cracks with more concepts, digging the hole deeper and deeper. And the person you’ve so consciously, yet so entirely unconsciously, created is rubbish too. You’ve failed to make someone worth being and killed the truth completely. You’re just completely unable to be or feel anything true. You’re only a performance of a person, constantly performing even when you’re all alone.

It’s really horrible.

The Psychologist wants me to keep an authenticity journal. Every time I do or think something that feels authentically me, I’m meant to write it down to keep a log of what keeps me grounded. The problem with this task is that as soon as I reflect on whether I was authentic or not, I start questioning myself and my reality. It becomes lies. The question becomes how the fuck do I even start this task? I start freaking out about the task itself. I’m so stuck.

I play with Juno because I love her. But do I love her? Or do I pretend to love her because it’s nice and girly and cute to completely love baby animals and I want to believe that is who I am and I want others to believe it to so I’m just pretending to love her because I think that’d make me better? Do I really want to self-injure, or do I just want people to think that I’m not coping, even though I am, because then they’ll want to help me more? Did I ever really have an eating disorder, or did I actually just want to believe I did so that I could get attention? Every section of my brain becomes something to doubt.

On top of worrying about all this nonsense, I still have to actually worry about it. I have to worry when I’m lying in the dark, calling people up to tell them things I know I shouldn’t and might not even be true with no control over my actions. I have to worry when I’m running down the road, pounding my feet on the pavement till my whole body aches so I feel more present and can rid myself of the burning emotions I don’t know if I feel. I have to worry when I’m shouting at the people I love. I have to worry when I’m tearing my room apart.

But that’s why I’m getting a blood test tomorrow. The HTT are putting me on mood stabilizers to try to dampen my moods. They have to check my blood levels first, but then I start a new medication on top of everything else I’m taking. I’m scared of them. I don’t want to dampen all my moods, just some. I like when I feel great because I get really excited and jump about and cannot contain my happiness. It can be good to not be able to contain an emotion, but it can be awful too. In some ways though, I think it might be good to contain some on the good emotions too because then I’ll do less things that with hindsight make me feel so much shame. I like to share all my uncontainable emotions and although the good emotions are great, it’s in the sharing that I find the shame. So much shame. I never understand why I do and say things. The Pa is organising for me to have some sort of terrifying conversations with my Uncle about what mood stabilizers are actually like. He’s suffered from bipolar in the past and had a lot of experience with those medications, plus seems to be pretty darn stable so might have positive stories. I’m already feeling shame for that conversation and it hasn’t even happened.

To add to it all, I’m really struggling internally with my eating. I gained some weight I think, which should be fine seeing as I’m on new meds and cutting back my NRT and still have no periods so probably need a bit more weight anyway. It makes me feel awful though and it makes me want to control my eating more. I’m struggling to keep up my progress. I am obviously eating more than I need to, but I’m also hungry quite a lot and I don’t know what to do about it all really. Restriction keeps playing on my mind, but I don’t restrict. I keep eating regardless so I don’t wind up going backwards. It’s hard though. Like actually. I really badly want to lose weight. Really badly. My thoughts are getting more and more caught up in food and diets. I’m ugly and I suck therefore I must lose weight so I can be prettier and people will like me more. Whether or not this is actually true is neither here nor there. It’s not logical, but it’s how I feel. I feel dumpy and ugly.

It’s hard to eat. It’s hard to not exercise. I’ve spent a good portion of today looking up adult gymnastics and ballet classes. I want to be strong and flexible. Yoga isn’t enough anymore really. I’m not getting pushed enough. I’ll probably not follow-up on it, but today I’ll dream of exercise.


Filed under eating disorder, home treatment team, Juno, life, recovery, rubbish

graduating dietetics.

I had a long and annoying day today.

Firstly, I had to get to my EDU bright and early in order to get to my final dietetics appointment. End of an era I swear. I’ve literally been seeing a dietitian for a year. Today though, I realised I don’t really have all that many questions to ask about food and weight anymore. I don’t count calories, I don’t obsess and weigh everything, my meals are pretty well-balanced etc. It’s good. I’ve come a massively long way. I’m kinda glad to be done with those appointments as it means one less person weighs me. That makes me happy because now I’m only weighed every two months, which is a lot less stress for me. Who’d of thought I’d say that? Who’d of thought I’d ever think being weighed less was less stressful – it used to be the complete opposite. I still am period free though so there is a possibility I’ll have to gain more weight. I’ve been referred for a womb ultrasound scan which should show whether or not that is the case. I don’t really know how it works, but depending on the results, I can go back to see her for advice on further weight gain if I need. I’ve now graduated from two aspects of treatment (this and famo therapy). Sure I seem to be enrolling in more than I’m completing, but I’m going to focus on the good.

I eat well enough to not need a dietitian. My weight is stable and well within the healthy range. Nutritionally, I’m doing fucking excellent.

This all sounds nice and positive, but it wasn’t all good news. I’d dropped 0.6kg in the past two weeks. I think that’s kinda understandable as I’ve been in hospital and generally going fucking nut bag. In fact, I’m pretty impressed I’ve not lost more. Saying that though, I was also convinced I’d gained weight in hospital so I didn’t see that coming. I worked really hard to keep my eating whilst on the various wards, but during an acute overdose of aspirin, you get really feverish symptoms and feel really sick, and this nausea stays with you for days. Add that to the fact that hospital food sucks and eating is an issue. I did eat though. I had veggie cottage pie and rice pudding and fish and chips and apple pie and egg and cress sandwiches and cereal and porridge and crisps and yogurts and sugary coffee (severe aspirin overdose can cause critically low blood sugar levels – these were literally forced upon me. Really really sugary coffee after really really sugary coffee) and biscuits and custard. And I made the fam bring me a date, banana and oat smoothie for easy, tasty, snack calories. And about 4 chocolate bars. And some peanut butter sandwiches. And toast with hummus. I was entirely sedentary in the hospital as well. Literally. In the ITU I wasn’t allowed out of bed at all even. I purely lied down for 24 hours. I even had to wear those silly compression socks to prevent blood clots. But the whole experience messed my eating up ridiculously and it’s taken me a until yesterday to claw back some sort of structure and comfort in what I’m eating. So although I ate a whole load of food I thought would make me hugely fat, it actually wasn’t enough. I did try though.

On top of that, I had my height measured in the hospital. I’ve regrown the height I lost during restriction. That makes my BMI slightly lower. Not much though. It was less than an inch. It just gives means that a little more weight isn’t a bad thing, but it’s still healthy.

My plan is firstly to get my eating routine solid and up to scratch again, then just to eat as I had been, trying to improve on my variety and head towards intuitive eating as much as I can until the scan. Once I’ve had the scan, then I’ll know what to do next. If I gain in that time, so be it – I won’t try to lose. I’m not actively going to attempt to gain weight unless I have to though. I’ll have to if my ovaries need me to or I lose any more weight from where I am right now.

And you know what? Go me for keeping myself eating as well as I am right now. Go me for actively trying to get my eating back up to scratch after such an uprooting. Go me for keeping my weight up as much as I have done considering I had to spend so long without the foods I like or being able to prepare foods etc. Go me for asking the fam to bring me extra food into hospital because I knew what they were serving and what I was eating wasn’t enough. Sure it’s not great, but actually, not letting such high levels of feeling shit and being in a really difficult situation keep me from trying to stay on top of my eating disorder. I know that in a lot of ways, it’s the least of my problems right now, but I’ve not given up. It’d be easier to, but I haven’t. I’m not proud of my recent life, but I am proud of my recent eating efforts.

I was so hungry after my weigh in that I got a journey home Starbar, so I am showing progress. It was really tasty.

I went home for a few hours, only to have to travel back to my EDU in the afternoon for therapy. I was absolutely dreading therapy. The Home Treatment Team told me they had alerted my EDU, but I wasn’t sure if the Psychologist knew seeing as he’s not in on Monday’s and I’d only medically cleared on Friday evening. Turns out he didn’t know. Also turns out he takes it deadly serious. Literally you could practically hear his head ticking over everything, working overtime to work out what to ask and what he needed to know. I don’t know what to make of it all really. For the first time in all of my treatment with him, he actively wants to medicate me. He can’t himself seeing as he’s not a medical doctor, but he’s going to talk to people who can. He asked me what I’d comply with and I think he’s going to work on getting me a prescription for antipsychotics which don’t cause weight gain. At least that what he said he’s going to try to do. He said that’ll help with the racing thoughts about how much of me is true and whether or not I have consequences or feelings. If it works, it should calm me down and make my brain more manageable. I don’t know if such a medication exists, but he was going to try see. He asked a lot of questions. I think he was quite shocked as he told me he didn’t think I was in that sort of frame of mind. He then made me give him the number of the Home Treatment people so he could call them up to talk to them about me straight after my session. Apparently he’s concerned for my safety and thinks I need greater support. I’m a bit annoyed about that as he said he’s going to tell them what he knows about me and maybe recommend in-patient care. I asked him not to, but he said that if he didn’t do that, he wouldn’t be caring for me and would just be letting me down. I don’t think it feels like care. I duno.

Still, we’re not tapering our sessions down any more so maybe he does give a fuck about my wellbeing. Mostly I assume he views me as a number that he has to get to a certain point to keep himself employed and living in a nice house in Islington or somewhere, so he pretends to care, but really he hates me and finds me annoying and dreads our sessions and can’t wait to dump me. I still think that, but now I also think he does care about my safety and wellbeing. He was all like “Can you give me the number right now? I’m going to call them as soon as you leave.” I think he thinks I’m still at risk. Maybe I am. I’ve never felt at risk. But nothing feels real and I have no consequences so of course I don’t feel risk. Nothing connects with anything else.

I just really hope I don’t wind up in hospital because of him. Really really. I don’t think I will, but I don’t really know how it all works.

Thinking about this all kinda makes me want to cry. I won’t cry because I try not to. I hate crying. Even if no one sees. It’s just he took it so seriously. I struggle so much to see it as a serious thing. It’s just not a big deal to me. I duno. At the same time though, I’m glad someone is actually noticing how much I’m fucking screaming. I try to hide the fact that my insides are screaming so loudly from just how much my emotions seem to burn my thoughts. Having someone seem to realise that actually, I’m not coping and it’s not a small thing, is something I appreciate. Even though I pretend to him I don’t and try to style out how I don’t give a fuck. I’m probably a really frustrating patient. I know this all sounds so convoluted, but it’s how I’m feeling. Maybe I’m just completely up myself.

So anyway, seeing as I’d dropped in weight a little, I made the Dad take me to lunch. I got falafel and couscous salad with a lot of hummus and veggies and dressing, followed by a banana and chocolate waffle with whipped cream, ice cream and icing sugar. I am now so full it’s ridiculous. Seriously. If I never eat again it’ll be too soon. I hurt a lot. It was worth it thought because it was all so fucking yum. I was so hungry as I’d only eaten a bowl of cereal and a chocolate bar since I’d woken up at 7 am and it was then 4 pm, so I definitely over-ordered, but I don’t even care because this slightly sick feeling is good once in a while when the food is so tasty. I then had an “I’m so full” nap. Totally worth it. Sometimes I really like how far I’ve come in terms of my eating disorder. I have been in recovery for over a year though so what else should I expect. This time last year, eating so much I have to lie down just would never happen and sometimes it’s nice. Not everyday, but some days. Oh my gosh I’m still so full though.

So yer that was my day.

I’m writing about the events rather than anything interesting because I don’t think I can really talk about what’s happening in my head. In general, I’ve been trying to see my friends a lot so I can keep myself occupied. I’m less destructive in company than I am alone. I’ve been enlisting support. I think that maybe that’s a positive thing. It doesn’t stop me from going into full-blown crazy mode though. It’s so hard to explain. It’s like I keep tuning in and out of myself and realising that I have no idea about what I’m doing or thinking or anything. Like I get caught up in feeling and find myself huddled in a corner on the train then think “shit. How the fuck did I end up huddled on the floor? Why am I down here? Everyone is going to think I’m crazy.” To be fair, I probably am and they probably do so that’s not all that irrational. I just feel like I’m losing it a bit. I’m so caught up in my own thoughts and mind and feelings and identity and numbness and constructions that I’m zoning out of reality for longer and longer periods of time and it’s scary. I don’t really understand what’s happening around me sometimes.  I get hit with wave after wave or emotion I don’t know if I really feel or I’m making up. I start speeding up and my mind gets faster and faster till I react without thinking and am making people hate me. There isn’t enough Valium in the world to keep me settled right now and it kinda sucks.

All the people who work to help me say that this can get better, but that I need to get DBT. In my area, DBT can be accessed on the NHS through a team called IMPART. They work with people with personality disorders, severe self harming behaviours and emotional dysregulation. I’ve been referred, but that’s just a referral for an assessment. I have to pass to get in and I don’t think I will seeing as my problems aren’t all that. It’s underfunded so these problems have to “severely impact” upon your life. I don’t know what that means. So right now the only hope anyone is giving me is that in a few months I might get let into a long-term course of treatment that may help me change a long time after it begins. It doesn’t make me feel that hopeful.

Tomorrow morning the HTT doctor is coming to visit me to review my medication. It’s probably good that the Psychologist talked to them today as maybe that’ll help me get the right prescriptions. I’m scared about it though. Plus I told the Psychologist things that I didn’t think he’d tell the HTT, but he said he would so I’m going to have to suffer the consequences. I’m already feeling scared and therefore combative. I’ve saved some Valium for the morning though so maybe that’ll help chill me out enough to deal with it all without going on the defensive. Probably won’t though as I don’t really think it does all that much.

I’m really going to try to get back into being more of a social blogger and I apologise for being a bit absent in my comments and emails recently. I’m sure you all get that I’m kinda struggling right now. Sorry for being a bit of an online flake and thanks for understanding. I am going to try to get myself in gear again though because I actually think it’s helpful to engage with others and be part of this little corner of online support. Sorry.

I duno. I babble. I fuck up. I get everything wrong. Sorry.

Time to pop some Zopliclone and try to sleep I think. I’ll never sleep otherwise. My head is way too messy right now. I’m feeling way too destructive to think being awake is positive.

Shit I’m scared about tomorrow. My brain is whirring.


Filed under home treatment team, recovery, rubbish