Tag Archives: walking

home treatment team.

I got a visit from the Home Treatment Team (HTT) psychiatrist and psychologist today. They were here to review my care. They stayed for like an hour. In general, it made me think “Fucking yuss HTT. You’re properly nang!”

For those of you that are less clued in to mental health treatment on the NHS, the HTT are basically a crisis resolution team. They are a short-term team designed to keep people “experiencing serious mental health crisis” (says their leaflet) from winding up being admitted to hospital. This means that they essentially provide all the services psychiatric inpatient facilities offer, but within the home environment for an average of 6 to 8 weeks (though sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on need)  during “acute crisis”. They address you medication, mood, stability etc. daily to make sure you are getting the right level of support (even if that means urgent referral to inpatient services). They have a multidisciplinary team made up of social workers, community psychiatric nurses (CPNs), medical staff, psychiatrists, psychologists, occupational therapists and all sorts. They arrange to see you either once or twice a day, depending on need, with the idea of tapering down when appropriate. They are available 24/7, 365 days a year and provide you with a telephone number to get in direct contact with a member of their team whenever necessary for either phone support, an immediate home visit or to arrange transport to their offices or a medical or psychiatric facility if needed. You are seen by a psychiatrist twice weekly, weekly or fortnightly in order to review stability and medication needs. You are only given the exact dose of any medication needed on that visit and have to take it in front of them to prevent medication hoarding (something I’m really guilty of). They liaise with any other services you may be engaging with, as well as refer you to any further services they think will help you with your long-term needs is they think necessary (tending to lead to referrals being processed faster than when received from other sources due to the urgent needs of their service users), as well as alerting any relevant employers or education providers of your situation and helping you gain the correct support from them. They shape their care package to your needs and rearrange visits in order for you to keep up your daily activities so that your crisis experience has as little disruption to your normal life as possible. Due to the nature of the service, it can be quite difficult as you often end up seeing different people each day (which I find quite hard as inconsistency can make me panicky), but that’s understandable given what service they are providing. Essentially, they are one of the best ideas ever. I didn’t really know about them till a week ago and I honestly cannot stress how fantastic I think this service is. Seriously. The NHS is a constant source of joy and surprise for me. I had no idea anything like this existed before and I just find the whole idea inspired.

Today, they were really great for many reasons.

Firstly, I think I might just be in love with every single psychologist I meet. They are so good at dealing with me I swear. I kinda wish I was a psychologist so I knew how they do it, but I actually don’t want to be one so I guess I’ll never know. It’s ridiculous though. They make you feel so much less stupid and useless and dramatic and undeserving. I cannot stress how much I appreciate the existence of psychologists. Yesterday and today they made me feel so much less fucking stupid. I appreciate all people who make me feel less stupid.

For instance, I was telling them how I’m really not miserable all the time and I really don’t understand my emotions, so I never feel like I deserve to call them up when I’m in need because I don’t know when I’m in need or what I’m in need of, and probably am in less need than their other clients who are obviously much worse than me. Whether it’s true or not, he told me that he thinks I am actually in a somewhat more serious position than lots of other users as I’m so disconnected and unpredictable that I could actually end up in a lot of danger without even realising it. thinking about it or comprehending the consequences. Apparently that’s incredibly serious and dangerous. He understood just how powerful self-destructive behaviours are at connecting yourself and re-establishing your presence, but also just how that escalates and if left unchecked, ends in suicidal behaviours. He says I should just call them up as soon as I start to feel myself getting worked up and agitated. They’re going to leave instructions for others on the team to just talk to me and help to ground me. And also they’re leaving notes that “watch t.v./read a book/have a bath” aren’t acceptable types of advice for me so should be avoided, instead chosing to visit me or just talk to me. Do you know how good this made me feel? Like seriously. I felt like I was being taken serious. And like maybe I actually need this and am not just manipulating everyone. It was nice to have someone actually recognise just how scary these feelings, beliefs and emotions are, rather than just tell me it’s normal and ok. I think I liked him. I felt like he really actually recognised and understood what I was saying and how I felt and he made me feel comfortable and deserving.

And also, he actually sat and talked to me about what the fuck is wrong with me. Quite often, people avoid answering that question. He told me that four separate psychiatrists and he himself believe that I have borderline personality disorder. A couple of members of the HTT had noted that was what they believed so he specially did some research and reading before coming to see me so he could be more sure and everything, and having spoken to me says that actually, my feelings and experiences are fairly typical of BPD. Apparently it is fairly difficult to treat, but with correct treatment and my active engagement, it is possible to recover. He also told me he’s going to find me some good, informative websites to look at. BPD has a lot of haters and there are a lot of sites with people bitching and moaning and blaming and calling people with BPD cunts. He said it’s best I just don’t look and he’ll bring me the links for more accurate sites next week, as well as special sites to direct the Famo to. Serious G.

I talked to him about IMPART and how I wasn’t optimistic that they’d take me on and that I was waiting for something I wouldn’t get. He was very clear in saying that he would be shocked if they didn’t take me on and actually is pretty much positive that they will. He told me how great they’d be for me and how I’ll be given a key worker that I’ll be able to call 24/7 to help me manage my destructive urges in order to help me break the cycle and things. Because (and this is a quote) “It’s incredibly complicated and difficult to break the reliance on self injurious behaviours, so it needs a lot of intensive care and support to manage appropriately.” Again, proper G. Apparently IMPART only take people with “severe” personality disorders and he thinks that I have BPD which affects my life strongly enough to warrant their care. He has been chasing them up for me and because it’s a crisis team doing the badgering, they are trying to see me earlier. Apparently my assessment should be in a matter or “weeks, not months” which is pretty speedy for the NHS. They offer intensive, long-term support with DBT group therapies, CBT individual therapies, mindfulness group, anger management group and anxiety management group. That’d be cool.

So yer, I think it’s basically fact I have BPD. Which is scary. Very scary. I won’t know for 100% sure till my assessment by IMPART, but everyone seems to be pretty clear that they fully expect me to be taken into their care. I duno maybe it’s not so bad. I’m going to try get used to it.

Both him and the psychiatrist (who was also a G, but not quite as much) think that right now, the most important thing is to stabilise my emotions. Quite often, I have no idea if or what I’m feeling because I feel like I’m only performing it and I don’t feel it at all, but I’m performing with so much commitment that it burns me. I have no idea when or why or how to predict this happening, but I get completely overwhelmed  and confused and lash out at myself in order to connect myself to reality and my body again. It calms me, but it’s only temporary and puts me at a significant amount of risk. This idea is stabilising and muting these emotions for a while until I can access the correct treatment, though nothing they can offer is a permanent fix as what it essentially means is I’m just dampened. Intense emotions can suck, but intense excitement and joy are fantastic, so it’s sad I need to be dampened for safety purposes. Their fix is essentially to quadruple my diazepam prescription, keep me on zopiclone and start me on the SNRI duloxetine (which is still an antidepressant, but slightly different to standard SSRIs so hopefully won’t end up with me suicidal. It might, but if I’m being monitored twice a day by the HTT then they hope they’ll be able to catch any negative side effects before they become a problem).

Oh and they also said I could tie in my walking to go see them in their offices rather than have them visit. As long as I organise it with them, I could go in to see them in Walthamstow. That sounds so good to me I swear. It gives me something to do and it gives me some control over their visits. I’m only allowed to once a day, so they’ll still have to come in to see me (their psychiatrist decided I definitely need twice daily visits), but it gives me somewhere to go and a reason to my walking and it just feels nicer.

The nurses that came this evening were also great as they talked to the Ma about their role. what’s been going on etc., as well as further explaining to me what was happening. I like that I’m having things explained to me clearly. It calms me.

So now I’m just dosed up on Valium and seeing what happens. I’m worried about duloxetine, but it’s meant to be weight neutral so I’m hoping that won’t freak me out. I’m also worried that I’ll end up doing even more damage to myself, but I’m hoping it’ll be fine. It’s all just to stay stable enough until I’m getting settled in the right treatment, and with the Psychologist at my EDU keeping on till that point, plus the HTT there to help me navigate my way out of crisis, I think I might be on the right track. And I don’t need to be psychiatric inpatient so that’s good. I mean, as long as I don’t wind up in A&E again. I honestly have no idea how likely that is.

Everything is scary right now. Scary and new and hard.

It’s ok though because I bought an anklet with bells on so now I jingle everywhere I go. It’s lovely. And I bought my favourite perfume (The Smell of Weather Turning from Lush). It smells like rain in the countryside. It’s such a calming smell. Fresh and musty and lovely. And some other silly jewellery. I spent way too much money today, but it’s what I do when I’m anxious. I think it’s ok though as I’d been saving for Istanbul with the Fam, but they cancelled that (which makes me feel awful as I’ve single-handedly ruined my family’s summer because I’m a fucking mental liability. Urgh).

All in all, I hope maybe I’m ok. I hope all of this is the right treatment and course of action. I hope I’ll finally be put in a place where I can actually get better for good, rather than jump from one issue to another. I have a lot of hope. Maybe today has been positive. Or maybe I’ve just been dosed up on enough Valium to dampen all my feelings enough for it to feel that way. I duno. It’s better than yesterday, and though I’ve still had seriously destructive urges, I haven’t acted on them.

Yet I’m still scared they’re just going to reject me and tell me I’m making it all up. Because it still feels like I am. Nothing I do is true because I’m not true. I’m ideas of a person. A construct.



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Filed under home treatment team, recovery

damage limitation.

I am literally so bored with the Queen. She’s a kinda tedious old lady. Plus I really don’t think that having all those boats was such an impressive deal. I was expecting really great, entertaining boats with funny statues on and stuff. Instead, it just seemed to be a lot of people rowing. Yet somehow, that was the only thing on the news from the moment I woke up this morning. Still, I won’t pretend I’m not jealous of those people who got Fortnum & Maison’s lunch at the Piccadilly street party. Though saying that, they did have to meet Prince Charles and sing the national anthem which I don’t think I would have handled with anything but contempt. Instead, I watched Charlotte’s Web, which is a terrible adaptation of a book I actually really like. Next up is Celebrity Deal or No Deal with McFly. Sunday’s should be better than this. Maybe I should change the channel. If I’m lucky, Come Dine With Me will be on. Come Dine With Me is always on. And I really don’t want to do any work. I worked all yesterday, and all it made me was angry. Researching the EDL makes me want to spit a little bit.

So anyway, I know I’ve been a bit of a moany moaner these past few weeks. I’ve been feeling pretty low and haven’t yet found a way to feel less low. So I continue to feel low and try to limit the damage. It’s not exactly ok, but I think I’ve got to start playing the damage limitation game to keep myself functioning. I keep doing things that I know will make me feel worse in the long run because it seems easier in the short-term. For once, none of this is about food, though I will admit one of these things is walking. So here are the tips I’m going to try to follow in order to keep myself as healthy and well as possible until I work out what I have to do to actually fix the things I’m finding overwhelming and painful. None of this is exactly a long-term fix, and some of it is purely avoidance strategies, but right now, I have to do something.

  • Don’t drink alcohol or takes drugs. I know this sounds like an awful, no fun Ellie idea, but I actually think that this might be necessary. In fact, it’s this point which is my main reason for posting this – other people knowing about it might mean they’ll help me to not get trashed. Every time I let myself give a little, I end up completely trashed. Even if I’m positive I won’t. And it’s basically every time I see anyone. I know I’m using it to be less self-conscious, but I need to keep that level of self-conscious to not hate myself entirely for days and days. It stays with me and it’s all I can think about. I hate the person I am when I let my intense amount of self-policing and anxiety lessen slightly. I hate it and it makes me feel horrible. It makes me hate seeing my friends. Thing is, I know I’ll probably give up on this as soon as someone offers me a drink. But on some level, I know it’s not actually worth it. And it’s not forever, its temporary management of my mental health. It used to be worth it. I think I just more time to look after my brain rather than frazzle it a couple of times a week. We’ll see. I predict failure I won’t lie.
  • Keep myself in situations I feel safe in. This basically involves staying the fuck away from anything I know I’ll find stressful. I have real problems with social things and I know that, in general, I’m going to have to work on this. Thing is, I’ve been trying. I’ve been putting myself in situations I know will be hard for me, with people who I feel particularly judged and disliked by in the hope that I’ll get over my hang-ups eventually. Well apparently I’m not getting over it any time soon and it’s making me feel awful. People are so difficult and all I can do for days and days is go over exactly what I did wrong and why evenyone will hate me now. I always just dissociate from the situation. I don’t feel in control and all I feel after is shame. And I really don’t cope well with any of this. So safety first. I don’t want to isolate myself entirely, but maybe it’d be better to keep my socializing within small groups of people I know pretty well. Stay away from scenarios in which my brain panics and I stop being able to keep track of what’s happening. Sometimes that happens with people I know well, but I think fully isolating myself is only going to make matters worse.
  • Use my support systems. Use the support offered from the CMHT, even if I don’t think it’ll help. Maybe it will. Call Samaritans if I need to. Call my friends. Speak to my family. Other people can help diffuse the moment. They might not be able to fix the problem, but if they can help me get out of destructive cycles, maybe it’s worth it. They might all judge me and think I’m awful and dramatic and lying, but I think there’s a net gain as when I’m left to my own devices, I start getting worked up and fast headed and panic.
  • Look after myself. When I’m start feeling bad, I let my routines and self-care slide a bit. I’m going to try to keep on top of this. Shower, wash my face, tone, moisturize, put on comfy, but still socially acceptable clothing, take my medications, chew as much nicotine gum as I could possibly want, get out the house every day, eat enough and eat regularly (with lots of good, nutritious food), don’t skip out on yoga etc.. All of these things make me feel physically better and if I do the things that make me feel physically better, I’ll give myself fewer reasons to feel mentally worse. All these little things build up and once I let one slide, others start sliding. If I don’t leave the house, I might not bother wearing nice clothes, so might not bother properly looking after my skin, so don’t bother with my acne medications, etc. Keeping on top of it will only help.
  • Minimise repercussions of SI. Obviously working on stopping is the way forward, especially as recently this has been getting more of a problem again. This involves spending a pretty hefty amount of money, but I think will be worth it. For me, this means, good wound care and good scar care. It’s worth spending extra, and the effort and expense are deterrents. Menolin pads, microporous tape, steri-strips, Savlon Advanced Healing Gel (I swear by this product), Savlon Wound Wash, gauze, TCP, Duo Derm (I swear by this too) and crepe bandages for the immediate care. Bio oil, vitamin E squeezed out of its capsules, heavy-duty foundation, concealer and powder, a little bottle of Elnette and a good foundation brush for scar reduction and speedier fading. All these products cost the earth. Seriously. But worth it if I can actually get my body out at some point over summer. And I’m doing good at SI reduction right now – 10 days free so far, so maybe I won’t have to buy much more.
  • Journal. Whenever I start having a worse time, I start journaling less. This doesn’t mean I write less though. Instead of giving myself specific journal time, I start catching parts of my day. I’ll stop halfway through something to scribble a couple of paragraphs on nearby bits of paper. All that I end up with is a pile of incoherent babble that doesn’t help me work through my emotions, but rather records a whole load of desperation without any insight. When I’m feeling more stable (which unfortunately corresponds well with eating less, so most of my journals from the past few years are pretty one track minded), I journal every day, right now, with my general mood, plus alcohol and drugs thrown in to the mix (I tend to journal at night), I’m lucky if I make time twice a week. Making the time will help me work out my emotions and hopefully give me a better idea of the what I’m actually finding so difficult.
  • Keep walks to an hour or less. Going for an emotional stomp is pretty much a necessity in my life. It’s not just for the calorie burn, although that does play a part in it. It’s mostly an escape. It’s better when I run, but I’m still not sure I can do that too much without consequences. I love running, but every time I try I start to obsess and beat myself up for not going far/fast enough because I don’t feel I’ve pushed myself enough. This has left me kinda scared of it. Even though a 15 minute run would be the same as an hour walk in terms of stress busting, that’s not enough. I duno. Walking isn’t the same though – I’m already good at it and I don’t get the same almighty rush so it’s less addictive. Maybe I should start doing mini runs to save time. I duno. The point isn’t about what exercise I should or shouldn’t introduce, but the fact that I heavily rely on physical outlets for difficult emotions. Getting a good stomp on is an avoidance strategy, but it’s one that works and is a lot less harmful psychologically and physically than SI or restriction, as long as I keep it low intensity or relatively short. My body is strong enough to handle it without doing damage and I’m not losing weight. Just as long as I keep it to more reasonable timeframes. Once we start hitting the three-hour of walking mark, I get blisters and my joints ache. It’s not worth it.
  • Take some days off of work. I probably work too much and my deadline is in September, so I have time to take a day or two off each week, or even just having light work days. Rather than stressing myself out constantly because I’m not getting enough done due to my difficulty concentrating, so working pretty constantly and giving myself no chance to recharge, stepping back sometimes. Today, I am recharging. No work. At all.
  • Do something nice for myself every day. Be it a nice bath if I can manage it, painting my nails, spending time doing something pointlessly crafty, making some special food, buying myself a cheap present. Whatevz. Just one nice thing a day will probably do me the world of good. I often forget. This will actually be really hard. I tend to treat myself pretty awfully sometimes.
  • Stay away from confusing people. I’ll probably fail at this one.
  • Get that piercing. I’ve been wanting it for ages and it’ll make me feel better. On my list of things I like about my physical appearance, my piercings are number two. It’ll only give me more to like.

So there you have it, my list of damage limitation ideas. It doesn’t address the problems, but it’s caring for myself enough to get through this difficult bit and hope I’ll be able to find ways to actually deal with it soon. A lot of it is avoidance, but the kind of avoidance I hope leads to me treating myself a little better and putting myself in situations I feel safer in. It’s not a perfect and it might not work, but right now I kinda feel like I’m making things worse and just ruining any chance I have of feeling better. So I’m hoping this’ll lead to a more manageable set of emotions rather than giving myself reasons and opportunities to freak out. We’ll see. What do you think? Do you reckon any of these are really bad ideas? Or do you have any to add to the list? I’d like a couple of opinions please.


Filed under general, recovery

overly worded, inconcise reflections from an overly foggy head.

So I’m going to do a proper post as well. I’m going to fill your eyes with my words today apparently. Not that I have all that many interesting facts to say or anything, but because in my very limited world, lots of things have been happening.

Heads uo – trigger warning.This post contains dress sizes. If that’s not for you, duck out.

Tuesday was traumatic. Why? Because I needed to buy clothes. Sometimes I hate recovery. Most of the time, I feel kinda ambivalent, but happy that I’m able to eat food. I’m not over the moon about my body and right now, I certainly don’t feel mentally better. I’m more engaged, but that just means more engaged with the things that make me feel negative emotion. Most of the time, when I feel like shit, it’s not because I’m fat or because I had a biscuit, it’s because I fucked up/I stopped knowing whether my thoughts or actions or words are actually real or something I want to think is real/I feel like nothing really happened/I think everyone is laughing at me or hates me/my face doesn’t feel like my face and I’m so self-conscious I can’t look at anyone. It’s not like the eating disorder stuff is gone. Anorexia still likes to make me feel fat every morning, makes me judge my size in comparison to the size of every woman I see, makes food way more of an issue than it needs to be etc., but it’s often not the predominant fact of the day. Wednesday it was. Yesterday it was.

There is nothing like the feeling of having to buy clothes a size smaller when your trapped in anorexia. Nothing. It’s not something I’m proud of and it’s doesn’t make it worth while, but it’s not like anything else really. It’s not just that you’re happy, but it’s a huge relief. It’s solid fact that you’ve done something right. You may have messed up a couple of times and eaten too much/not exercised enough, but it’s solid fact that you’ve done enough and for a whole hour or so, a massive weight is lifted because you know you’re doing it right because you have evidence. Pure relief that everything is ok. That lasts up until the next meal/work out when suddenly, it’s not enough anymore and you’re back to the standard high levels of anxiety. And there is nothing quite as horrible as the feeling you get when you realise that you can’t buy clothes anymore because you’re too small. That still feels like relief, but at that point I knew that it could not possibly be good. For me, there was a lot of disbelieve and trying to rationalise evidence saying I was small with the fact that I was definitely too fat to be worth loving. You can’t rationalise that though and I freaked out every time, not believing it could possibly be true. It also hit me with a whole load of fear. Fear I couldn’t listen to because the fear of food and weight gain were bigger.

Clothes shopping was traumatic, and as far as I can tell, doesn’t seem to get less traumatic at any obvious pace.

I’ve grown out of a whole load of my clothes. Clothes I absolutely love. Clothes that were bought for me and were always too big, but I saved for when I gained weight that I now don’t feel comfortable wearing. Clothes that entirely missed opportunities to wear. Clothes I spend quite a bit of money on that are in perfectly good condition. I went through my entire wardrobe, storing 4 pairs of trousers and jeans, multiple shorts, a few skirts, dresses etc. It felt so horrible. I can’t bring myself to throw them away, so instead store them in a drawer under the bed in the spare room. I know I should remove them, and I intend to, but the pile has been slowly growing during this whole weight gain thing and I just didn’t want to have to do it more than once. I think that was a convenient lie I told myself though because I do seem to be maintaining alright now and yet I’m still holding on to them. Just in case. In case I can fit my small person clothes again. Even though I know I absolutely never can. I don’t know what to do about them. They’re there though, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. Maybe one day I’ll be able to completely destroy them. I could give them to charity, but the idea of someone else being able to fit them makes me really upset and seems so fucking unfair. I know it isn’t. I know it’s irrational. I don’t care enough for those facts to change my gut reaction though.

So essentially I needed some new clothes. Jeans and shorts to be precise. I’d like to feel comfy with the idea of charity shopping again, but when it comes to bottoms, I really need some sort of regular sizing. I’m kinda unsure of what size I am and trying on different sizes from different times and different shops seems too stressful. English sizes used to be way smaller, so like a 12 would be roughly equivalent to a 10 or 8. Marks and Spencers clothing fits about two sizes bigger than H&M, though H&M are incredibly varied in sizes. An identical pair of jeans in a different colours can come up in very different sizes from there. Plus only one size of everything in charity shops. Seems like way too much of a mind fuck for me right now. But I actually needed to buy some clothes that fit and on some level, kinda felt I deserved to buy clothes I could feel good in now I’ve gone through all this fucking drama of changing my body to be healthier. It’s not like I really wanted to change physically, but I had to. So I thought I should just spend a whole load of my benefits on some jeans and shorts. And a few tops and some sunglasses but that’s beside the point. I wanted to look nice.

Topshop is hell. The big one in Oxford street makes me kinda want to die. I know that’s over the top and dramatic and I don’t really mean it, but I feel dramatic about it right now. I wanted some black denim shorts. I tried them in a 10, They felt snug. I honestly don’t know how clothes are supposed to fit seeing as I mostly wore clothes that were far too large during the worst of my restriction, but also before that too I think, though I can’t remember properly. They felt weird. I hated it so much. I tried them on over and over. I got a 12, but they were well too large and fell down, but the fact that I even tried them on made me cry. I tried on the same two pairs of shorts over and over again, trying to work out which ones were best for me. I took loads of pictures of me in them because sometimes I’m better able to judge photos than my reflection. I sent some of these picture to my friends to ask them whether the shorts looked to small. I spoke to the assistant and asked her. I ended up sitting on the floor in the changing rooms crying. Genuinely crying. Like such a dick. I was in there for over an hour. I ended up getting the 10s ad feeling shit because they weren’t an 8 even though I have been aiming to be bigger than an 8 for a while and have been refusing to buy bottoms in smaller than a 10 for a while. It’s just that when I bought the other items, the 10s were still big.

I also picked up some jeans. They are really nice – pale blue and white vertical stripes. I’d tried them on before, but at that point the 10s were too big by quite a stretch so I resolved to buy them once I had grown. Whilst I was in there for shorts though, I saw one pair on the “Last Chance to Buy” rack and they happened to be a 10 so I picked them up to try on. I was scared I’d be too fat for them. Like terrified. Turns out, they’re still a bit big and fall down a bit, but they’re a more baggy fit so they look fine and they don’t actually fall off. I cried about them too though because I didn’t really have the money for them and they were the last pair and I have absolutely no sensible, plain jeans so I kinda need them more. But I was waiting to grow for them because I’d liked them so much I didn’t want to grow out of them, so I figured it’s going to be getting warmer now, I don’t desperately need sensible jeans in the sun. In fact, I hardly ever used to wear jeans. I had one pair and that was fine because I only wore them once a month ish. Skirts and dresses were the way. That changed in recovery though. I think I just got pissed off and hormonal so wanted to dress more like I could get in a fight and win, even though I definitely can’t. I don’t think I really achieve this, but when I feel close to tears so often, I don’t want to look girly. Which is kinda sexist of me and makes me feel bad, but I want to look more like I can hack being alive so that other people don’t think I’m pathetic. Plus it makes me feel more unapproachable, which makes me act more unapproachable, which means I end up never talking to anyone I don’t know so feel a little bit safer.  Dressing up is the one. Seriously.

So anyway, I got the stripy jeans even though I don’t have much money. Then proceed to buy floral cycling shorts, two crop tops, a £14 plain white t-shirt (it is really nice for a plain white t-shirt I promise. Plus it’s baggy so covers all the discomfort. Not exactly worth it, but I wanted something that’d hide me too) some sunglasses and some golden nail polish. I can’t really afford it, but I felt like shit and wanted to buy some nice things. Plus I can’t afford it because I’m saving my benefits as much as I can, not because I don’t have the money in the bank, so I figured what am I saving these benefits for if not for things that make recovery more comfortable? Clothes that fit make recovery easier. I still feel insane guilt. I’m wearing the jeans now. They’re actually pretty comfy, but they’re stretching as denim does so I might need a belt. In a bit of a sadistic way, I really hope they do.

I then sat in Costa and waited for Samani to finish work and get to me so I could try on my clothes for her and she could verify the fit. If they were too small, I was right next to Topshop to take them back. She said they all looked good and were fine.

Fucking clothes. Fucking body. Fucking money. Fucking weight gain. A whole load of fucks because they really all do deserve it. Maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s more ‘fucking anorexia’, but it all gets kinda confused. All the frustration and anger gets directed at all these things, but I wouldn’t need to spend money on new clothes to fit a new body if I’d never had this illness, so really, it’s the root fuck. It’s hard to blame the illness though when the things that need to happen in recovery are the things that make you feel like shit.

Anyway, armed with new clothes that make me feel shit right now, but will probably make me feel better in the long run, yesterday was another day of recovery nonsense. In fact, it was actually just really productive for me. I woke up early, got into uni to see my supervisor. I’m narrowing my dissertation topic. Now I’m beginning to focus in on public discourse surrounding the “crisis in British identity”, especially looking at the EDL (his choice, not mine. Critically analysing the EDL is like, the Ex’s job, and he works in one of the foremost institutes in this area in the U.K. Which means I’ll be spending a lot more time with him. And he’ll probably be referenced in my dissertation seeing as he publishes on the issue). I also finally bothered to see a disability advisor as my concentration is entirely shot again. I can literally spend a whole day doing nothing but reading, and only get through about 10 pages with only the vaguest idea of what it was about. She’s going to apply for financial aid to get me a mentor over the summer. They’ll basically be someone I meet up with regularly to go over my academic difficulties and needs who’ll help me find ways of planning and executing everything I have to do, motivating me and helping me address any needs and difficulties as they come up over summer. I think that actually sounds pretty ace. I even spoke with my senior tutor to find out about anything I may need to do if it becomes apparent that I’m going to struggle with my dissertation. Basically, I can defer my assessment if I need to, push the deadline back to the spring term. All I’d need is a doctor’s note verifying why. And best of all, I can arrange that within the week of the deadline. I hate extensions. I think in all of university I’ve used one for assessed work, and one for compulsory but unassessed work. I hate them because it just means you have to work for even longer. And they kinda mean failure and not being good enough. Luckily I don’t have to decide til the very last moment though. I even got to my NHS stop smoking appointment. I’ve gone down a patch today because I’ve started stage two. So many weeks smoke-free! And my CO levels now only read at 2ppm. Yuss!

Recovery wise, yesterday had a few important steps and also a whole lot of internal negotiations and confusion. Last weigh in, I weighed myself at home to get a comparative weight as the scales are different (I way about a pound more at home, naked than I do in hospital, in all my clothes) in preperation for home weigh-ins.  Armed with what my scales should read near, I was prepared for the worst at my fortnightly weigh in I’m allowed to do at home whilst still finding my way maintenance wise. I’d completely stopped, but I only have two more appointments with the dietitian due to staffing cuts and my progress (she’s now the only dietitian in the EDU, and what with the inpatient needs, outpatient services are really suffering. Which is fucking awful because only those so close to death they might die get dietetics treatment right now. It’d cost less of the government’s money and actual people’s lives to treat them as soon as possible, rather than waiting for them to be sick enough. This really makes me so angry. But anyway) so I’m going to have to be in charge of my weight monitoring almost entirely soon. I’m set to be an outpatient for a lot longer (it’s very long-term at my EDU, but the appointments become every six months) so I’ll have access to her if I end up freaking out and needing it. I hope I don’t. To be honest, after Tuesday I was convinced I’d be huge. The prospect of weighing myself actually kept me awake because I was so scared I’d have increased by amounts that I wouldn’t be able to justify and would end up having to restrict. Turns out I’d dropped by 100g, so I’m still within the range my team say is normal fluctuations. I’ve gone up and down the same pound since starting maintaining so I think it’s fine. All in all, I felt so relieved. It was that same “phew. Everything is going to be ok” I got during the worst of restriction every time my weight dropped. My weight can still dictate my entire day, so although this attitude is awful, it set me up to feel a little better.

It also meant that I allowed myself a really good dinner. It was our last famo therapy session yesterday so I convinced the Mutz to take me to one of the bangin’ Turkish restaurants near the hospital and we proceeded to get through two bread baskets, a mixed mezze platter and a large lamb shish between us. I don’t really like baklava or that rice pudding stuff that Turkish restaurants have for dessert, so we then went to Costa and got coffees and cake. Cherry bakewell muffin. Really good cake. To be honest, it wasn’t exactly a full on eating day. I could only manage it because I knew I hadn’t had any snacks that day. I’d been busy and conveniently allowed them to slide in preparation. I was still probably over my usual intake though, so I wasn’t worried.

Until I ended up trashed and walking around the streets with the Brother for.. I duno, maybe six hours. I have blisters and my joints hurt. I didn’t do it to burn calories, but I let it go on for longer than I would have normally because I’d eaten so much for dinner.

All of this. It’s not very disordered. It’s not like it was before, so although I know some of these attitudes aren’t healthy, they are improvements. They won’t really impact upon my physical health in a negative way. It’s still disordered though. Hopefully I’ll get myself sorted eventually. I think I’m going to need a lot more practice though.

Today though, due to the sorry state I’m in from being up until seven am, entirely bombasticated and confused, I haven’t really moved from my bed. I just watched the IT Crowd and Noel Fielding’s Luxury Comedy on the internet. I generally kinda hate comedy, but my brain honestly cannot deal with much else right now. I’ve had four hours sleep and completely tangled my brain. I feel ok about it though. Because I walked so much yesterday. And because I napped through a snack. And because I know all my food choices were kinda conservative options so I’ve probably not eaten as much as I usually do. It’s ok though because I’ve not moved and I ate so much yesterday. Plus my stomach is the size of a pea I swear. Hangovers of any description kill my appetite entirely. I feel so lazy and disgusting. If I don’t leave the house I’m lazy and disgusting and a complete waste of a human being and a life. I’m completely awful. Purely because of one day when I felt bad so didn’t leave the house. That’s black and white thinking for you. I did shower and get dressed though. I’m not such a bad person I stayed in my pjs. I haven’t had a day in pajamas for a long time. I really wish I could feel ok enough to relax for a whole day and just sit in pajamas. And maybe bath. I still can’t bath. Looking down at my naked body for that long makes me fucking miserable because I hate it so much.

Argh. Fucking anorexia. Consistently able to ruin my fucking life at any given point I swear. And I’m actually pretty far along recovery wise. At least physically and behaviourally. I’ve been in treatment for almost a year. Jesus. How long does it take for your brain to stop negotiating and calculating? Or is it just going to be this way forever?

My God I don’t shut up do I? I’ll stop now. Sorry. Goodnight.


Filed under general, recovery, university

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I wasn’t going to post today. I wasn’t even supposed to be home (I was planning on heading partyward this evening). In fact, I was thinking that my next post would be a long overdue eats report tomorrow so it’d be all positive and full of accomplishments, but today has been really difficult and really testing for me so I thought I’d get it out of me and try to get some perspective. There will be numbers in this post so be wary if that’ll bother you.

Today started badly. I was out last night, then ended up spending a few hours cotching with the Mam when I got in, so didn’t wake up today till around noon. I know this shouldn’t really bother me, but when you have the looming “Shit – I have so much eating to fit into so little time” feelings, if can make your whole day tense. Part of you wants to make a big effort to eat a huge breakfast to catch up a little so you can maybe drop a snack and get back on time, but another part of you hates the idea as that’d mean eating scary food combos in one go, so you can’t really win the scenario in a mentally settled way. For the past few days, I’ve been trying to make the move to real cow’s whole milk rather than unsweetened soy. It’s not something I do comfortably due to the calories and fat content, but I’ve come to the opinion that actually, it’s the best kind of milk for me right now so I’m just going to go for it. To make matters harder (but better obviously), I decided to have to normal sized slices of seedy toast with Spectuloos instead of my usual muffin with Nutella with my cereal and that really whacked the calorie total into seriously uncomfortable territory for me and it actually effected me more than I’d expected, especially because it made me so full. The fact that I’d drunk last night made this even worse as alcohol always seems to destroy my appetite.

Despite my discomfort, to get back on track with my eating times a little, I had to snack an hour later. I was still painfully full and uncomfortable from my breakfast choices, so I went for this Tesco finest white chocolate and raspberry yogurt in the fridge. I thought it’d be good because it packed a calorific punch due to all the heavy whipping cream in it and the fact that it was small and soft. However, it just freaked me out more and left me feeling even more uncomfortable. It seriously added to my internal fat intake count and made my brain start to seriously freak out. I felt awful.

I think part of the reason food was so hard for me today was because I’d bought bagels, smoked salmon and full fat cream cheese for the obvious, but incredibly tasty, lunchtime treat and in my mind, I’d planned to have that today. Bagels, salmon and cream cheese are all major fear foods of mind due to the fat and general calorie content of each seperate item, but I brought them a couple of days ago when I was having a strong moment in my recovery and I didn’t want them to go stale/off, so I knew I had to at least try today (I really hate food waste). However, as I was so late, I was in a rush to get on my plans for the day and still so stuffed physically and mentally unsettled that, although I did manage the bagel, I missed out the rest of my lunch. Salad with dressing, crisps, yogurt and fruit all got ditched to soothe my mind and get me out the front door. I felt horrible, but I figured I’d get more hungry soon enough and could pick something up whilst I was out as I was heading to Westfield and there’s bare food there for whatever mood you’re in.

Now, this is where my day starts to get ridiculous. It was a stupid idea really, especially considering how distressed I was already becoming about my eating today, but I was getting antsy. There are these jeans in River Island I absolutely love. They are skinny jeans with thick powder blue and white vertical stripes. I’ve been putting off buying them due to weight gain, but I’d been thinking about them so much I just thought I’d try them on, buy a size bigger then I am now and style them out till I grow. They only had one pair left, and they were a 12. I tried them on, along with some size 10 shorts in the same design, realised the 10 was way too big and the twelve was ridiculous, so figured I’d just head to Topshop and check out their stripey jeans.

Big fucking mistake.

Topshop has always been the barometer by which I size myself. I compare my measurements to their measurements, consider their jeans to be an accurate portrayal of my size and generally just use them as a way to monitor my weight gain/loss. Last time I went (only about two or three weeks ago), I tried on some shorts. The 10s were too big, the 8s were a little big and the 6s fit snuggly, so I figured I wouldn’t buy any shorts as I still had to grow and cursed myself for still fitting into a 6 then went on my way unphased. Today, they had some aces jeans with spaceships on them, but only in size 16 or size 8. I figured the 8s would fit, but I was completely wrong. I was bigger than an 8. I also tried on some stripped jeans in a 10, and they fit fine. This really, really got to me. I had to leave the shop as quickly as possible and promptly burst into tears and found a corner to sit on the floor and hide in. I was there for at least half an hour, just crying. On my own. In a shopping centre. Like a dick.

See, pre-eating disorder, I was a Topshop 32 inch waist, so a 14 in their jeans. I promised myself a long time ago I’d never look that dumpy and horrible again, and considering I’m still gaining weight, that is a distinct possibility if right now I’m already a 10. I also think that a size 12 is really dumpy on me so basically hate the idea of that too. At this point, it didn’t matter that I’d tried on all my jeans and skirts the other day and fit into all but one pair of jeans I didn’t even buy (including the XS ones and some Topshop size 6 chinos) and many were still too big. Even so, I felt huge. I felt like an absolute failure at life and I just couldn’t cope with it. It was the first time in weeks I’ve serious considered restricting. I mean, I’ve thought about it a lot and I’ve wanted to, but today I was really actively considering it for the purposes of rapid weight loss, not because food just felt difficult. Now, it’ been meticulously planned to the extent where I actually think it would be really easy and actually quite comforting. So I sat there for a while, crying and looking like an idiot with eyeliner all down my face. Then I made possibly the worst decision I could have made in that scenario.

I went back to Topshop.

I tried on every single cut of skinny jeans in the shop (and a few pairs of shorts for good measure) in size 8 and size 10 so I could really know what size I was. The jeans I’d previously tried on were the Leigh kind, so were meant to be stretchy, but the patterns on them I think were like printed on, so they lost a lot of stretch. I therefore decided that it wasn’t truly representative of whether their sizing was store accurate, so I decided to check. And I really, really did. It took a long time but I got through each and every style of skinny jeans in the shop, along with a couple of types of hot pants. My testing paid off slightly seeing as I’ve now decided that I fit a size 8 snuggly, but could get away with a 10 now. Even in the normal, non-print Leigh jeans. I have gone up one size since Christmas. It still made me feel like shit because I’d gone up a size, and I still refused to buy any of the things I tried on, but I won’t lie, I wanted to die a little less. In my mind, a size 8 is still small, but a size 10 isn’t. A size 10 is normal size and I don’t want to be normal size, I want to be small. I want to be small because being small is pretty (I don’t apply this rule to anyone else. Just to me). I know it’s vain and I know it’s unhealthy for me and I know that I won’t be this small in a few weeks so I should just suck it up but it scares me. It’s fucking terrifying.

So to make myself feel better, I picked up a cardi I’ve had my eyes on for a few months from Primark and got some nang dark purple lipstick and stay put black eyeshadow from MAC as I’ve been after purple lips for ages and my usual Benefit eyeliner has been discontinued, then headed home. Retail therapy in every way.

This whole fiasco took a really long time and (apart from the time I spent on the floor), I’d been walking, with no food stops, for 5 and a half hours. All I’d had in over six hours was a black coffee, but because I was upset, my appetite had drifted even further afield and the last thing I wanted to do when I got home was eat. I made myself though, even though it made me cry (again. I swear I’m all tears and tantrums right now). It was a relatively safe meal (stir fry prawns with rice and veggies) though, which was entirely unhelpful as it meant I still had over 1000kcals to make up for after dinner. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would, but I’ve been eating my evening snack for an hour now and it’s almost done. When it’s finished, yes I’ll feel monstrously sick, but at least I would have hit my target.

I’ve mostly been writing this to keep myself distracted from the food I’m eating and to keep myself from caving in to the million and one negative urges that are running through my head right now. I feel so sick it’s ridiculous. My self-esteem is pitiful right now. I’m staying home because I’m too fat for parties. I’m desperate to never be dumpy and big again and it kills me inside because I think I’m going to have to be because of my genetic bad luck. I hate that I have to be huge to be healthy. So many other people are healthy at smaller sizes than me. I hate hate hate it. I feel awful. I haven’t felt this distraught in a long time.

So today has been pretty bust recovery wise. I did manage to eat my calories, but in such a stupid way that I now just feel physically sick. My body image is critically low right now and I’m really not sure how much longer I can keep this up. I’m desperate to know my weight and considering buying a battery for my scales tomorrow, but I don’t think that’s actually wise. I’ll just hate the weight and want to lose it even more than I already do right now. I haven’t weighed myself in at least half a stone (at my last weigh in so nearly two weeks ago now). I’ve probably gained since then and it probably means I’m over nine stone and the idea of being over nine stone makes me want to die. I’m embarrassed to even type that weight. It’s an embarrassing weight really. I know I’m being dramatic, but as I’ve said before, my brain is Lord of the Overstatement and overstatements seem to be all I’ve got right now. I know full well that I haven’t been this big or heavy in an incredibly long time and I hate myself for this weight gain. Still no fucking period now though so on it goes. I’m so desperate for the horror that is periods now. I don’t ever want to reach my pre-anorexia weight again and if I’m over nine stone, it’s probably only about a stone away. I know this is all disordered and I know if I’m going to be healthy I just have to see what happens, but I’m struggling. A lot. I’m still having the odd good day, but it’s rapidly becoming the odd good day again, rather than the mostly good days I had been having. Today, I walked for way over my alloted two hours, which is bloody terrible really. I didn’t even try. I just walked and walked and couldn’t just not. I also measure ever aspect of my evening snack. I measured milk, weighed berries, weighed cereal. Apart from the cereal, I haven’t done any of this in months now. But today, it was back. Which is a bit of a fail.

I just hate my body. It makes me so upset. It’s not even legitimately small anymore. Even if I’m wrong in thinking it’s huge, you definitely couldn’t call it small. It’s disgusting. I can literally feel the excess tissue crawling under my skin.

I’m all doom and gloom right now. Sorry. I just feel like I’m starting to fall apart. I’m not ok right now. I’m really struggling to want to recover and I’m not entirely sure I can keep this up much longer.

I haven’t cried this much in a long time. Pathetic really.


Filed under general, rant, recovery

“the next right thing.”

As expected, the world picks up the bags and moves on and I do with it.

I’m actually getting better at catching myself before I let myself get carried away in moods, which is pretty great actually. I had a few days of moping about. I cried in Costa because I didn’t want to eat a muffin as I’m already too fat, tried on every pair of jeans, shorts and skirts I own in order to throw out everything that doesn’t fit (which by the way, was one pair of jeans that I borrowed off the ex-boy when everything I owned was too big. That boy is tiny I swear), watched way too much Supersize Vs. Superskinny (it is a well documented fact that this program is an emotional minefield for those with eating disorders. It’s compelling because diets and bodies and food are obviously compelling to those with eating disorders, but it’s also really triggering. During anorexia, I’d watch to pick up “tricks” from the undereaters. In recovery, I watch the undereaters with such jealousy, but equally cannot help but compare my diet to the overeater and think I’m ridiculous and fat. It’s seriously awful T.V. and it plays havoc with my mind) on 4od purely to feel bad about my life and turned my phone off for a couple of days so I could ignore people better. Then I realised I was being an idiot, turned on my phone and started moving back into a more wholesome existence again. It takes a lot of effort to get out of a mope, but I can actually do it and it is obviously better when I do. This might seem bare obvious, but a couple  of months ago, I wasn’t convinced it was worth it at all so I was basically always moping.

Now though, I’m beginning to get to grips with what pulls me out of my negative moods. The phrase “the next right thing” makes perfect sense . When things start to go a little bit pear-shaped, stop, think, then do the next right thing. Some of these things I think that help me are –

  • Spending some one-on-one time with a close friend. I find it easier to be social if it’s just with one person at a time. Too many people overwhelms me and I end up uncomfortable and end up disconnecting from the situation and freaking out. One-on-one, I’m able to stay more grounded and engaged in the scenario. Plus (consciously or not), my friends are pretty supportive socially and are able to carry the conversation along without me feeling too pressured. In groups though, I have the option to pull out of the situation, so I do, which just makes me feel worse about future social activities.
  • If a meal or snack is particularly hard and I end up pushing it back incredibly late, relying on safe food or missing it all together, make up for it as soon as possible. If a cake is making me cry, put it to one side, but come back to it later when I’m less emotional and finish the damn cake. Sometimes eating is too painful for whatever reason, but I always feel better if I make up for any slips during the day before I go to bed, even if that means eating over 1000kcals half an hour before I go to sleep. Otherwise, it carries over to the next day and its even harder to motivate myself, especially now I’m well within the healthy weight range so find the need for more weight gain hard to accept.
  • Spending a few days eating foods I’m comfortable with. I don’t mean safe foods or under-eating or relying on rituals and obsessions, I just find that sometimes if I’m I get really moody, eating a lot of restaurant foods or let my eating get too chaotic or things like that makes me feel even worse, so taking a few days to really stick to the meal plan, working really consciously on the challenges my team have set me and eating at the right times of day help make me feel more positive about my recovery. Then once I’ve built up my resources for coping with challenging eating scenarios, I’m better able to start trying them again . These challenging scenarios are becoming more and more regular though. Now, if I go more than a few days without eating something more difficult for me (such as takeaways or restaurant meals), I start really wanting  to get out there and push myself some more. Mostly because the food is tasty.
  • If things are really bad, calling someone up and having someone to talk to as soon as possib;e. There are a few people who seem to make time for me whenever I need (and obviously I hope I do the same), helping me navigate my moods and thoughts with a lot of positive reinforcement, helpful advice and generally just being about to show me they care for me. These are my crucial people and generally at least one of them can be available in an instant if needs be. As long as I remember to use this incredible support system, I generally start to feel better. Getting out of my own head really helps me. Often, I forget that the views and opinions of others may be both different, and more rational than my own.
  • Wearing ridiculous clothes. If I start getting uncomfortable in my body, the worst thing I can do is start covering it up in baggy t-shirts and layers. I start to feel like that’s what I should be doing and it just makes me feel more miserable and ugly. When I’m feeling self-conscious about my belly, the best thing I can do is put on a cropped t-shirt or a really tight dress. If it’s my ginormous thighs that are causing me problems, tiny shorts and skirts only. Manly shoulders and fat upper arms? Time to go strapless. Generally, if I keep wearing ridiculous clothes (which usually leads to me to look pretty trashy) and showing off the bits I hate, when I get compliments, I feel like it’s because the bits I think are bad aren’t so bad after all. Plus it gives me a chance to really work the parts I hate, forcing me to get comfortable with them. It’s like exposure therapy and it works. Fake it ’till you make it init.
  • Working extra hard at my uni work. It makes me feel less tangled up with the eating disorder, shows me how far I’ve come in regards to concentrating, I feel all productive and I get real satisfaction out of it. Finding non-eating disordered/recovery ways to be productive makes me feel a lot better.
  • Listening/reading/looking at/using the things my friends and famo have made (or on occasion, bought) for me in the past few months. It reminds me that actually, for reasons that are unknown to me, people seem to care a whole load about me. It always cheers me up and makes me antsy to want to get back to being more social with them. I’ve said it before, but I am super lucky to have people around that give me so much time of day.
  • Sometimes, I start to worry I’m losing myself as I stop leaving time for things that help me feel like me. I get caught up in other things, which definitely isn’t a negative by any means, but does end up with me losing sleep as I don’t leave time to wind down properly. However, when I worry I’m really losing touch with who I am and want to be, I plan. I plan my day, making sure I have time for all the things I need to do to get back to myself (like journalling, my bed time routine, therapy work, creative things etc). In just a few days I start feeling more like me and am better able to prioritize my time and make the most of my days. Sometimes I start to forget to take the time to care for myself properly, so I just need to really actively remind myself of that.
  • Pampering myself with vast amounts of face masks, nail varnish, conditioners, exfoliants, moisturisers and other silly cosmetic bits. Making my body feel absolutely lovely and giving myself a reason to really appreciate why it can be fantastic to have a body at all is always good.

Right now, these things take a conscious effort to remember to do when I start getting really down about life, but I’m hoping that if I keep doing them, they’ll become second nature ways to care for myself and I’ll find even more things to add to my list.

With regards to my ongoing challenges, I alerted my team to my walking issues and have been given set targets and goals to work towards. This week, I have to cut down to two hours maximum walking a day. I actually think that’s quite prohibitive (for instance, what about if I want to go to a museum/shopping/other actually fun task?), but I’m going to try my best to stick to it. Yesterday was quite bad – I got very anxious and wound up, I got a massive upsurge in urges to engage in other seriously destructive behaviours and cried a bit. I just tried to distract myself a lot till it was time for bed and although it took a while, I eventually got to sleep. Today won’t be so bad because I had yoga this morning, but tomorrow is a day I’m seriously not looking forward to. I’m unsure of how I’ll manage this to be honest. Imposing a maximum scares me a lot because what if it just isn’t enough? I hope I’ll be ok. I have lots of therapy work to do this week so I guess it’s not going to be to fun for the next few days, but I’m just going to try to give my challenges my all.

Seriously, sometimes my whole life feels ridiculous. All the things I’m being taught to do – exercise less, eat more in general, increase my fat intake, increase my processed food intake, eat out more, eat more meat (especially red meat), spend more time looking after myself, gain weight etc. It’s so counterintuitive. What I’m trying to achieve seems so different from what the news/people/the vast majority of the internet etc. applaud in people. Sometimes it gets to me as it makes me feel all backwards and like I’m doing everything wrong. Got to remember to trust in my team and the people who care about me. Right now, my needs are actually different from the needs of those whom all this advice is aimed at. I have to remember that. Sometimes it is hard and I feel like a failure.

Other times though, I kinda think “PAH! Look at all that hard work! I totally have to do the opposite. More chocolate? Om nom nom.”


Filed under exercise, recovery