Thursday, 29 August 2013

In What Way Was That Supposed to Help?

I was going to start this post by stating how much at the moment I am struggling with my body image. Then I stopped and thought about it; and of course the truth is there hasn't really been a time in the past years that I have had anything other than a bad body image. Never have I wished to not be smaller. Never have I felt good enough.

But that aside yes, at the moment I seem to be shining an excruciatingly bright spot light on myself. my flesh in particular.

In April/May time, after years of the Derbyshire community ED team whose care I am in pressing me and urging me to do so, I began attending DBT therapy. DBT stands for Dialectical Behavioural Therapy. It is a lot like CBT except it is a group therapy. Originally formulated to treat Borderline Personality Disorder it has also been found to be helpful in the treatment of eating disorders. I think mainly anorexia but I'm not positive.

There are a few reasons why I took so much cajoling to attend. Firstly, I see any sort of therapy (with the exception of my one revelationonary Brief Solution therapist about a year ago in hospital 1) as 'namby pamby wont work for me only suggestible people'. I know this is grossly naive. Secondly, I hate mindfulness. Thirdly, I am notoriously bad at therapy which involves written homework. It just will not ever get done. Fourthly, I have no desire when I already feel fat to sit for two hours straight with nothing else to look at besides fucking thin anorexics.

Whatever- I agreed to start. It hasn't really helped me in the sense that I use the therapy itself. I blagged the homework sheets and always scribbled them in starbucks 20 minutes before sessions. And I managed to cope with the anorexics bit because there weren't any extremely thin bodies there. I continued to go because it filled up Wednesday afternoons and I liked to have a chat with the members who were actually pretty nice. Basically at that time I had nothing better to do. Once you sign up anyway it is quite hard to execrate yourself until the module ends.

I completed my first module and we just had a 'summer break' of a month or two. Yesterday was the first session of the new module. We had already been informed that as well as the existing members (bar one girl who's gone to uni) there would likely be new members. Surprisingly I naively gave this little thought.

So yesterday off I bobbed to DBT. I entered in a pretty ok mood. I left nearly crying and wanting to murder someone. This is why:

I was sat in the waiting room, first to arrive. Old group members polled up and we had a friendly catchup until one of the two 'therapists' (I use that word with one eyebrow raised) came and introduced the first new member.

Oh hello skeleton number one! Great. Did it matter that she was fairly old, not attractive, obviously physically compromised as she was using a crutch-no- because all I saw was bones. Bones, bones, bones. The first nasty twinges of jealousy and hate rippled through me. Not a great start.

So imagine my horror when the door opens and this grass hopper like person lollops over to us on her sticks, sticks riddled with tendons bulging around her protruding balls of knees. She was a tall woman, full of spiky angles and hollows. She immediately engages in conversation with the old group members- clearly they already know each other. I sit in my own bile of hate and disgust. Anorexia tearing me apart with insults and mocking at my comparative hugeness. If my actions were physically personified. I would be sat there tearing at my flesh and flogging myself whilst yelling hate filled insults.

I don't know how to describe the twisted nature of my body envy- it is exclusive to anorexia in its absolute freak absurdness. I am going to have a hard job explaining it. I hope I can. While I attempt to you are for-warned- in order to be honest and truthful I am going to sound an absolute evil bitch when I am talking about these women who are probably lovely, kind people. But anorexia does not care about personalities.

These women were not attractive. They were more than not attractive. They were both old. They posed no other advantage besides their emaciation. In anorexia's eyes this is the only thing that matters. The first woman was physically disabled, probably in pain. I doubt she had a job. She was not pretty or well dressed. But I was staring at the calves emerging from her three quarter jeans- they were sticks. The second woman had severe kyphosis, pretty much guaranteed to be the result of years of malnutrition fuelled osteoporosis due to anorexia. The deformation of her back caused a contortion of the torso resulting in the appearance of a protruding lower abdomen. But all I focused on was how this thrust forward displayed her parallel ridges of hips. Her face was the worst. Some people, no matter what weight they are, will have an unfortunate physiognomy due to the bone structure and this itself gives the impression of tight, gauntness. Add severe weight loss to this and you have the most extreme facial features imaginable. The horse-facedness was further hampered by her thin, wispy hair, as short as mine and unstylable. Her whole appearance was vulture like. Had I had the strength the look up I would have undoubtedly seen all other people gawking at her. That sort of body turns even the most unturnable heads.

So you see, these woman were (I hate to let this ugly word come from me) ugly. To society they are poor, ugly, ill, freaks. To a girl driven by anorexia they are purely markers of achievement. To anorexia their bodies become the sticks with which you beat yourself up over your inferior body, your hideous excess flesh.

I had to sit in that room for two hours and endure every imaginable mental torture anorexia could put me through.

Perhaps the worst feeling was the horror that my mind was so rotten. Insults and evil were racing through my mind. If I had tourettes then JESUS could you imagine??? I wanted to spit out venom at them. I sunk in my chair, slowly being torn apart by anorexia's self hate at my body and my own self hate that I was generating these evil, vile thoughts about two innocent people.

I was mute and rebellious the whole session. I must have looked to everyone like the most moody, ignorant teenager.

I was the first one out of the door.

My over riding feelings are hate at the 'therapists' (one of whom sees me on a regular basis and knows my body image struggles) for putting me through that.

I am seeing said therapist today and I plan to tell her I wont be attending and my reasons why at the very beginning of our session to give me no chance to become timid and not do so. I am NOT putting myself through that again.

What stings more than anything is the fact that the people who are monitoring me and telling me any small loss now will result in compulsory admission are the same people who put me in that room with those skeletons. The whole situation was like dangling a carrot before a rabbit on the very verge of starvation and putting it behind glass. What I mean in explicit terms is- the same people who are telling ME . cannot lose any more are also monitoring these women who are so obviously lower weights than me.


Tuesday, 20 August 2013

High Hopes and Expectations

Hopefully this will be a brief-ish post because it is late and I'm tired but I felt I really needed to update this, especially because I'm going away for a couple of days.

First things first; today I had my interview for the Access Course I hope to get on which, if I do well on, could, fingers crossed, get me into uni so I can study Journalism.

I've been shitting it all week. I kept revisiting the course specifics and requirements and each time I seemed to see more areas and stipulations that I was sure I wouldn't fulfil. By this time last night I was panicking a fair bit that I would arrive and be completely stumped and have a mind-blank. I was sure that my usual 'bullshit my confidence until I believe it as well as them' approach would flop on its face. Plus it didn't help that when I was gathering all my certificates together yesterday I discovered I haven't got my AS certificates. I have never needed them before now. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if a reckless 18 yr old me didn't chuck them out in an act of self mortification and shame. I'm clinging onto a hope that I just never picked up the officials although I can't honestly remember ever being contacted to do so. Anyway I'll sort it...I hope.

To cut a long story short the interview went a lot better than expected. What I thought would stand in my way actually worked in my favour. I left with an offer of a place on the proviso that my maths and english screening tests are good, but the interviewer assured me that from what she could see of my academic history I shouldn't have too much to worry about there. Rest assured I will still worry!  I have to wait for a letter to tell me when to go for the tests and enrolment is on the 29th. Finger, toes and other extremities crossed for me please!

Also, tomorrow I'm off to London to stay with my sister and her boyfriend. I'm going with mum because Claire is taking her to the Proms for her birthday present on Thursday night. I am to be left with her boyfriend the whole frikkin evening!? I like him a lot, I think he is lovely and all that jazz but we don't really...well...gel. There is nothing bad between us- the problem is there is nothing between us! I never have the foggiest about what to talk to him about and he (in the classic style of the male race) feels no obligation to create conversation. But I HATE awkwardness. My solution is usually alcohol and night clubs...somehow I don't think that tactic will be appropriate on this occasion. God knows what I'm going to do with him.

Anyway, awkward men aside, I have taken rather a big decision for me. I am going to London for two nights and I am going 'naked'. I.e: No special foods (except my evening meals), no portable kitchen scales, I won't weigh myself there, I'm not taking any special crockery, I'm not taking any 'safe' foods like a bag full of sugar free jellies, lettuce, cucumber, fat free this and that.

I would normally arrive for even the shortest visit with an inventory of all my 'essentials'. The last holiday I had taught me this is a mistake. No one else has a problem with it, everyone accepts it as 'me'. This no longer helps, in fact I realised it bothers me that anorexia has been accepted as part of me. Over recent months I have been more aware and consequently more frustrated and upset by the hold my strict rules around food and routine has on my behaviour and life. When I went away to Wales I saw it as a time where I would escape routine and my life for a few days. I didn't consider that by taking ALL my 'comfort' things and foods with me I was obviously planning to try and instil that very routine I wanted to get away from in this new and fresh environment. Thus I contaminated it as soon as I arrived with all my paraphernalia.

When I got home I was full of frustration and anger that I had wasted that opportunity to show myself I could cope without all the things I revolve my day and nights around. I could have had a little taste of what independence could be like. Don't misunderstand me- I know I wouldn't magically be a normal, happy person and for those days not be an anorexic. I wouldn't suddenly sit down and join in with the BBQ sausages and creamy puddings. But I would have had my own little victory and that in itself would be a massive step.

So tomorrow I am doing what I should have done then. Yes, I am very apprehensive. Yes, the jellies will be calling me from their cupboard as we leave. But god damn it they're all staying there!! I want two days that I can say I managed without things I have fallen into the trap of relying so heavily on.

Wish me luck!! Night Night Pumpkins!

Saturday, 17 August 2013

Is This The Voice Everyone Talks About?

So many people with ED's talk about 'the anorexia' (in my case) having a distinct separate identity to themselves. I hear a lot of 'but the anorexia/but ana was telling me...' 'ana doesn't want....' and they seem to identify it as a definite different/alien part of them.

I have had little or no experience of this. That statement fills me with doom because inside when people tell me 'but it is anorexia that wants that, not you!' I am left nodding quietly but inside thinking 'I wouldn't be so sure...I'm pretty sure there is only one person in my head'. I am afraid it isn't as simple as conquering the anorexic voice because what if it isn't ana- it is just me? What if I AM ana?

So the idea of irradiating ana is pretty scary if I'm honest. What would be left if ana was exorcised? Just a fat shell.

Anyway I wanted to make this post as an experiment. This morning I am making some decisions and I would like to try and describe it where there ARE two identities fuelling my thoughts. I sort of hope that seeing it in the screen will make it magically clearer. Perhaps make me hope that perhaps there is someone else inside.

I should explain quickly the situation with me taking my fortisip:
           When I have my prescribed fortisip I have to have it as soon as I'm up. In the past, if mum knows she wont be here she has left me a long note reminding me the importance of taking fortisip and encouragement, sometimes she even takes a bottle out the fridge and puts it on top of the laptop. She knows what time I get up and usually texts me to see where I am at with taking it. This doesn't make it easy but it makes it a lot 'easier' if that makes sense.

I lie in bed brooding about whether to weigh this morning or not. There is a voice telling me I should because it hopes the number has sorted itself out after yesterday's 1kg gain. I think that must be Ana Another voice telling me not to because if it hasn't done what I want I will feel shit and it will colour my whole day. I guess that's Katie.

I go to the toilet, I strip, I drag BOTH sets of scales out and weigh, double check on the other set. Fuck. I'm only down 0.5 kg. Not good enough at all. Ana is angry and Katie is upset and disgusted.

Pj's back on, go downstairs. I know my mum is out until twelve and it is only 10am. There are no texts on my phone from her, there usually is by now- telling me/asking me about fortisip. There is no bottle put out. There is a tiny envelope, that's all. I open it. It is a very tiny loving note but all it says is she is proud of me. 

It is so lovely but inside Katie screams 'IS THAT IT??' Katie is so angry. Katie wants to take her fortisip. Ana jumps in and laughs and says 'Hahaha fat cow- you were looking forward to that vanilla milkshake weren't you, fatty?'  Katie says 'I will be starting a habit of not having it then I will lose weight, it will happen, and I will be back to the same situation as a few weeks ago where I am threatened with a forced admission to hospital'. Ana says 'don't be stupid, you gained 1kg from NOT having it those two days so do you seriously think HAVING it is a good idea???' Katie says 'But what about the low weight I achieved when I had been taking it??' Ana replies 'Fluke! pure fluke. The only weight gain that is really believable is weight gain. And you still need to get that gain OFF!' Katie is despairing with Ana's refusal to believe it will end inn hospital. Ana carries on 'That figure on the scales is revolting. You first need to lose that kg then you need to lose about another stone to be anything NEAR good enough'.

There. I'm still not sure I believe it but I am more inclined to do so now. I still struggle with the fact I worry that I take fortisip because I like the taste- like a milkshake (and imagine how long it is since I had one of them!) and not because of it's other benefits to my life. This makes me feel a fraud because everyone is telling me I am drinking it to stay well, inside I'm thinking 'if only you knew...'

Oh god I'm a mess. It seems the facts are thus; I can never quantify recovery unless I am constantly being told to do so. I won't eat unless I am told to. Why am I so twisted?

I am so full of hopelessness.

How can I ever recover if I am only doing 'recovering' things when I am told to do so. Surely it has to come from within?

I guess this is what is so different about trying to do this at home and not in a ED unit. I hate them but you know every single day you have no choice but to eat. The voice telling you not to is forced to be quieter, at least for that time. But as soon as your alone it unfurls, starts sniping at you until its as loud, if not louder, than ever before. Well that's the case with me anyway. With all the successful ED people they tell it to fuck off. It still snipes, but it isn't as loud or as powerful as their own voice.

I don't quite know if this post makes sense or is even a 'post' and not just a jumble of this mornings bad thoughts. So apologies if you've read this far and are confused or feel you've wasted your time!

Friday, 16 August 2013

Trapped and Slipping- Who is really winning here?

My mood has been drip, drip, dripping recently. A gradual slide towards this morning's crowning glory as I stepped on the scales- A gain of 1kg. Tears. Panic. Disgust. Injustice (I had not had my fortisip for the past two days so WHY has it leapt up??)

I think my biggest fear is loneliness. Pretty confident in saying that is my biggest fear. Consequently I am very sensitive when it comes to thinking and talking about friends and socialising. I am constantly scared that I am going to lose them because of the way I behave. I need them. Without them I'd kill myself because having friends and relationships is my only way of measuring my own worth, or just my existence at all. I don't have many friends. I don't have the lose sort of network of 'casual' friends a lot of people my age do. Generally my little bunch of friends are my best friends and anyone else I talk to who is not them I class as an acquaintance.

I beg you not to think I am being dismissive or ungrateful or anything like that. How many times have I heard 'it is quality not quantity' and generally people telling me they'd kill for 4 great friends instead of lots of superficial ones. And I swear to you I would not give up the ones I have for anything, ANYTHING.Thing is, the people who quote the 'quality not quantity' probably have never been in the situation of only having those small group of best friends so have no real idea what it feels like. I'm sure to them it's not all that terrible and I should just buck up. But it stings. And these past few weeks have been a chain of angry wasps and I'm getting very sore.

Now, I severely doubt there is anyone out there with an ED (or many other MH issues) who hasn't been told (or asked themselves) who is in control- them or the illness? The inevitable reaction ensues; sufferer bows head, sighs and admits it is the illness controlling them. We are used to the idea of every decision having to be vetoed by your ED, very much aware that most choices are alter motivated. You no longer are excusing yourself from a social situation early to go and clean a genuinely messy house- you are now bowing to anorexia and leaving because food is going to be involved and your thinness may be at stake and that is the most important thing right now. YES! I am not denying that happens all the frikking time.

However, I have a dilemma. After having a MH issue for a long time you will usually have been in cycles of therapy and now are incapable of thinking anything without analysing it- digging through the 'hot thought' tracing the 'chain' to the 'result/behaviour' -I know that is the case with me. I wouldn't have so much of a problem with this if I could be sure that my analysis's were correct. But I'm not. I don't have a spell check on my brain and I don't have a window for someone else to peer in and check for me. If I was suddenly endowed with mind reading abilities I wouldn't zoom off to read anyone else's mind- I'd be straight there with a mirror trying to find out what the hell was really going off in my own brain!

Because I am hyper aware of any declines in my social life I have been horrified to find I have ended up cancelling two things with friends this week. One I kind of have an excuse for- last time we met I was really upset by her attitude to me. She shocked me with her harshness and lack of empathy. I left her feeling genuinely hurt and it's still bothering me now. Also it would involve food and if I don't eat what she deems appropriate we will have a repeat of last time and given my feeble emotional state at the moment I chose not to put myself in danger. It wouldn't hurt but I know she can be such great company. We make each other laugh and we've been friends for years. I don't WANT to lose her. Everyone who knows about me cancelling her agrees with my reasons but I am also worried I'd still have be tempted to cancel even all that shit aside.

Anyway, The other friend- I was supposed to be staying at her's tomorrow, the night and then a bit of sunday. I was worrying so much about this the closer it came. Other people keep telling me it is not my weakness so much but my awareness that I will probably end up restricting (definitely no fortisips) because in these situations I have to err on the side of caution and usually this results in big restriction- and this is really not a great idea when I'm still on a sticky wicket it the ED team about my weight. Luckily she understands me fantastically. Of course she is probably pissed off, and has every right to tell me (she hasn't) but instead she didn't have a go just suggested we meet up in the day and rearrange the sleep over.

The reason I am so stressed is because when things like this happen to me it is never just 'a bad week', or 'bad couple of weeks'- no, it is 'ohmygoddd this is the start of the slope towards the bottom. rock bottom'. I think most people who have had depression will empathise in the sense that you no longer have 'bad days' that are written off when the sun goes down, no instead you automatically freak and think it is the depression returning.

CONFUSION! I am so upset and confused because for the first time in my life I am increasing my intake at home- technically taking control, doing things that do not please anorexia, and yet I feel more trapped than every by anorexia. In my head I am still not 'choosing' recovery- I'm 'choosing' not to get sent in to hospital- does this still count as taking charge?

I feel like I am finally being honest with everyone- metaphorically standing on the roof tops shouting 'I am doing this because I hate myself and anorexia is in control and I don't care about my life' and everyone looks up and shouts back 'No! don't be silly! You are doing this because you want to live!' In other words I feel I've finally come clean but people don't want to hear it. That makes me feel even lonelier.

I've started new medication- Venlafaxine. Got it yesterday, and the first thing I check is if it is harmful in overdose. You will be pleased to know it isn't. That thought made me sick. My disregard for my family, my almost childish irresponsibility and more than anything living with this person who is so sure life is no better than death and is forever tempting me with ways to find out... In punishment I'm suffering rather grimbo side effects.

I hope tomorrow is better. In my honest anorexic, black little heart I just hope the number goes back down. I hope people will forgive me and love me even though I've done nothing to deserve it.

What a Jolly old Bean I am today!

Sunday, 11 August 2013


Yesterday was my mum's birthday. I wont say which number but suffice to say she is my little fossil!

This is the cake I made her. For any poor, poor, deprived person who has not experienced Despicable Me; this is a Minion. The cake underneath was a rather yummy (yes I had a crumb or two :o) was a plain sponge made with addition of greek yogurt and one of my precious Vanilla Bean Pods. She is worth it!

Anyway I thought this would be a fitting opportunity to make a post that for a long, long time I have felt needed to be made.

Until about a year ago I had spent my life professing that I had such a wonderful, fantastic and pretty much perfect Mother. It wasn't bullshit either because I genuinely believed it. Me and mum do not fall out much, I mean probably never more than 4 times in a year. Of course this was different when I was little because kids will have tantrums however perfect they are. But in my older we basically never really 'fall out'. Naturally she will annoy me sometimes, and no doubt I really, really annoy her sometimes but it never results in a conflict and it is very transient.

So imagine my reaction when I had a therapist tell me I was deeply angry at my mum, and not just that but that I apparently felt she had hurt me deeply and the wounds were still smarting. This is what happened about a year ago.

I reeled at this insinuation. I spat back my denial. I defended her without ever allowing myself to even really listen to my therapists argument never mind entertain that it could be even minutely true. We spent maybe 5 sessions in this tennis match of abhorrent suggestions and venomous defensive reactions.

I honestly can't remember how this stage of therapy transformed into what it did become. It doesn't really matter, all that matters is that I stopped proverbially covering my ears and shouting 'LA LA LA' and I realised he was a very, very clever man and that he was not just not talking shit but that actually; he was spot on.

I was furiously angry at my mother. Frustration, hurt and rage sprung up in the well I had capped for all these years whilst I had been telling everyone how much of a wonderful, ideal maternal figure she was. I don't need to explain the reasons for all this suppressed hurt. It would bore you and seem completely irrelevant.

All that matters is I realised that what I had been wanting all my life was my oh so perfect mother to stop being oh so perfect and FUCKING WELL SAY SORRY. Admit she had hurt me, admit that she had been wrong, see how much she had wounded me and see how much salt she allowed the fall into those wounds that I have spent my life frantically trying to cover.

A couple of weeks ago we were sat in a beer garden and I just started talking and suddenly the five year old in me sprung up and spoke the words and shed the tears that she never had. And you know what; for the first time in my life (and probably hers) my mother was dismayed. She did more than apologise. We left that pub on a plain we had never before inhabited.

Now I will say: My mother is not perfect. But then she finally said she was not perfect. She didn't just apologise- she repented. Then she became more perfect than ever before.

If I could give all those people suffering mental illness a mother like mine I would.

How many of you want someone just to listen to you, not to try and rationalise everything you say?

How many of you would want someone to have never forced food upon you because they know the most likely result would be not a cured anorexic daughter but a bulimic daughter?

How many of you would like someone to come into your room in the middle of the night when they see your light on and you sat shaking from hours of agonising panic attacks, and not bring you a cup of milk and go back to their room, but instead come and sit with you until you fell asleep or simply to make you feel less alone? Even if that meant all night.

She is repairing all those years of hurt by how utterly selfless she is being now. That's enough for me.

Wednesday, 7 August 2013

It Is Not What Happens In Someone's Life That Causes Mental Illness It Is About The Person It Happens To

I increasingly think 'Mental Illness' should be termed 'Mental Condition' or 'Mental Disorder'. The word 'illness' gives the impression it is short term, that is has a horizon, and a horizon that can be movable with the correct treatment or medication.

Unfortunately I have come to the realisation (that I think most sufferers will in their own time) that sadly, it is likely to never be completely irradiated from you. This by no means implies that it will continue to control your life, or that it will run at the fever pitch that it is at when it is at its most severe. But yes, it will always be a part of you. It is much like a skin condition such as Exma that can fade for months at a time with the right conditions/cream etc, but can easily flare up and make life miserable and itchy and sore once more.

By the nature of it's longevity there will be ample chance for you to experience the damaging effects of some peoples unsympathetic misunderstanding of your condition at some point in your life. I guess I always knew it would happen to me at some point.

This week it happened.

What really bothered me though was because it didn't come from someone who didn't really know me. That wouldn't have been nice either but I think it would have stung for less time. As it was it came and smacked me in the face from someone I am quite close to. Someone who knew me before Anorexia moved in. Someone who continued to be close even when I was suffering. Someone who claimed to have experienced (in a smaller portion but experienced none the less) much of the mental distress I suffer/suffered.

I am not going to go into details of my personal experience, firstly because it will probably bore the pants off you, secondly because it will only make me upset and angry again- I prefer to try and let it scab over for now.

 Instead I just want to write a little bit about the common misconceptions of what it means to suffer Depression or any other mental condition.

You have to have had some major, easily identifiable trauma which 'validates' your condition...
No one has to have died, parents don't have to have split up, you don't have to have suffered physical or sexual or physiological abuse or any other noticeable horror in your life to develop a mental disorder. Of course there is a trigger (usually a combination of little things) but it does not have to be anything as shocking or dramatic as anything like the above listed triggers. I, myself have known many mentally tortured people who I thought came from Chocolate Box lives...I was forced to reassess my own misconceptions.

You CHOSE not to see the good in your life or your own assets/ qualities/talents
Many people with depression would be able to tell you things they are 'good' at. Many would have jobs they know they do well. Many will have families they adore. The problem often is these things do not outweigh the negative things and problems that they perceive with yourself and life. I mean, look at Marilyn Munroe- she accepted her icon image as a Sex Symbol and seemingly embraced her body; but people only considered that she could have problems when she committed suicide.

It is acceptable to point out all the other 'worse off' people
One of the worst things to do when communicating with someone with a mental disorder is to say things like 'but at least you're not starving to death' or 'at least you're not short of money' ANYTHING like that is not only hurtful but also very destructive to the sufferer. I think I wouldn't be wrong in saying an awful lot of people who's suffering is in their mind would gladly have a 'real' physical problem to deal with rather than the inescapable, constant battle in their own mind. All it does is make the sufferer feel ashamed and now even more guilty than they already did.

People with mental disorders don't see or don't care what it is doing to their loved ones
Ok, so sometimes you might not know the entirety of the extent to which your suffering is affecting those close to you, but you are rarely unaware at all. It just hurts even more to be constantly told how much your actions or behaviour is pulling those you love to pieces.

Depressed people or 'properly' ill people always look sad, always feel shit and have no life
Some people do seem to always look depressed and they are the few that the stereotype has unfortunately been built on. I was the opposite really- when I went out with my friends or was in any social/work environment I always had a happy face. I smiled and acted normal. It wasn't even a conscious thing. I only realised I did it by the fact that as soon as I was out of that situation it was like I'd walked back into my empty house that I hated. So in many ways the play acting in a sense turned into temporary reality; I believe this is what saved me from further decline.

So there a a few, sadly there are SO many more.

What misconceptions have you been faced with? How did it make you feel?

Saturday, 3 August 2013

You've Got A Week, So Drink Up

The fortisips have returned. Dun Dun DUNNNNNNNN!

And guess what- I'm actually taking them. To explain the last bit; last time this happened- just before I was carted off I asked the Pro's for a prescription for some to make them think I was serious about sorting myself out. I did it primarily to get them off my back, buy me some time, a teensy part of me entertained the idea that I probably should take them and at least try. But they all ended up down the sink.

But this time they've gone down me instead of down the sink. Well, yesterday I only managed half because it was the first day of them and they're so damn rich. But still that was 150 calories in a few sips that was not easy to take. As I write I am sitting with the second half of one next to me waiting for me to drink. I need my mum to remind me it is ok to drink it, that it doesn't make me evil or dirty or instantly huge.

I deliberately picked the flavour I hate (banana) because it makes it 'easier' to take. I don't know if you ever feel this way but if you don't enjoy the calories then it is less painful. Don't get me wrong drinking 300 cals in one go is never going to be a rose garden, but if I feel a smidgen less guilty it makes it that little tiny bit easier. It is twisted isn't it? When I was in hospital and I got to the stage where I could pick my snacks I used to pick the horrid, vile, chewing on pebbles fruit and nut packs. To enjoy it would have made me feel I 'chose' to eat it and that I was eating it for the pleasure of taste not function. And that is NOT what a 'real' or 'good' anorexic should do.

When I picked the fortisips I wanted I had a choice between flavours. I very, VERY nearly had an honest to god Gollum moment. I really came very close to blurting out 'the fat cow wants caramel! Fat greedy piggy isn't she?'. I didn't. Wonder what reaction I would have got? But jokes aside; that is how my mind works.

When Vick and Anna went back the other day I was torn apart. I put off and put off going back home because I dreaded what I would find (or would no longer find) and how foul I was going to feel. Unfortunately it wasn't a case of I didn't know how bad it was going to be until it happened. No, I knew from the day she arrived I didn't ever want her to leave me again. Then she did go and it WAS that bad plus more. I came home and felt hollow, empty, and displaced. I had lost my rut- everything was different and wrong. And I was god damn lonely.

But shut up, Katie and man up.

I have chosen to put my fortisips in Anna's little beaker she left behind. It helps remind me why I am drinking it- to get well enough to go out there and ultimately be biologically able to have my very own little Anna.

What I am doing is terrifying me. The thought of losing the bones I have achieved makes me feel sick. I often feel like I am never going to stop feeling the need to be thin. Skeletons are my only route to satisfaction. BUT the prospect of hospital, the prospect of losing everything I have achieved (The Homeless place etc), the prospect of being taken far away from my family, the prospect of subjecting my friends to yet another cycle of this stupid charade, and the horrific prospect of being made to stay longer and get to an even higher BMI than I have ever had to before (this is what I have been told will be the case this time) is all a big fat NO. I will kill myself before I go back in anywhere.

So drink up, chickadee, and stay home.

PS whilst writing this I have finished the other half. :s :#