Saturday, 30 November 2013

A little Day in Brum

I don't usually do 'normal' posts. I.e.:posts where my life is not appearing to end or I am not on the brink of suicide or complete euphoria.

So breaking the mould with this one and just going to share a little one...

I went to Brum today to meet my lovely friend who is at Uni in Coventry. I was meant to be staying the weekend with her...but...not surprisingly 'anxiety-anorexic-stuckinthemud-routine head' ruled over the heart and I wimped out. I am fortunate that she is a very understanding (and long suffering) friend and was not at all perturbed when I begged a compromise of a day in Birmingham instead.

If any of you lovely readers are au fait with the UK, then you will know of the wonderful Bullring; the massive shopping centre (mall) in Birmingham. Man, I love it. One thing I DO know I enjoy is shopping. The world of Fashion, the superficial, aesthetic, skinny-modelled world of fashion is my haven. Vintage, retro and that sort of edgy sect is my forte. I long to be dirty stinking rich so that even if my life doesn't ever get better, I can live out depression and anorexia in beautiful clothes surrounded by beautiful things, with beautiful hair, with a beautiful home and smelling of beautiful perfumes. However I believe the notion of anorexia allowing any such financial success in life is rather skewed.


Had a great day. Birmingham also has its annual German Christmas market on and we happened to be lucky enough to be there on the weekend it is set up. The market extends for several streets, each stall is in a faux log cabin, adorned with loops of bright fairy lights. The allies either side of the stalls are absolutely rammed, and you hold your bag close and shelve any notion of politeness if you have any brains. It is a case of who barges the most forcefully will get to their destination the quickest, and timid 'excuse mes' have no place in such surroundings. Sharp elbows and stampy feet in sturdy boots are required.

All around you German 'wursts' (sausage) are strung up from the gables of the stalls, looking in my opinion like rows and rows of amputated, shrivelled penises, but no doubt still very tasty ones at that. The sound of sizzling rises above the human hubbub. I was tortured by the wafts of so many fried delights and festive German bakes. Sausages, cured meats, pretzels, pastries, sugared nuts, Lebekuchen and huge decorated gingerbreads. And how could I forget the honeyed alcoholic beverages being served everywhere in traditional German flagons (said beverage accounted for much of the in-car entertainment provided by pissed-out-of-their-brains boys on the train journey home).

Everything was so pretty. Personally, I hate Christmas but this was an exception. Everything seemed very happy and cheery and twinkly. Maybe this, too, was down to the rather prolific and generous provision of alcohol and rib sticking foods; the two things that are eminently appealing to Brits.

If only I had not been bone numbingly cold we could have stayed out longer. The meaning 'I am frozen' doesn't really mean much to someone who hasn't been anorexic. I could fill a whole post with the experience of an anorexic's winter. I will, one day whether you like it or not. Suffice to say it is truly horrific.

Anyway here are some snaps...

By now you should know which one I am- in case not- I'm the one with short one least hair and gold around my neck ;)

Tuesday, 26 November 2013

A long Break and a Bad Day

I've been so incredibly busy that blogging fell by the way side. College is manic. Manic in a good way. When you live in a world of private, irrational eating disordered manicness; normal crazy, academic stress is like the cool-pool-dip after a spell in the sauna- a sharp, breath taking, painful flash- but absolute bliss. Even this has it's limits though, and I have been stretched. Finally I have been forced to face the mental toll anorexia has had. This is not fun. Feeling like a retard, scared your quest for thinness has actually done some real damage, having to entertain the possibility that your skinny quest may turning a perfectly good brain into something more and more resembling a dried out walnut is hard to accept.

So I don't. I'll carry on pretending.

Today I write because today, finally, the assignment bombardment is taking stock, saving itself for the next wave of assault.

So how am I rewarded from this prolonged spell of hard work, relentless study and mind numbing essaying? Peace? Satisfaction?


Today has been a bad day. Hellish. Once again I allowed myself to run short on my medication, all too often I find myself having timed it wrong, or not timed it at all- the pills are all gone and its friday evening- and in the UK you're not allowed to have an urgent problem (and you can just FORGET having a MH condition ok??) outside of the hours of 9am-5pm Monday to Friday. Got that? Crazies have to take a weekend off being crazy, depressed, suicidal, anorexic on state holidays, it is simply not convenient. How very British.

Mum reckons that she can tell instantly when the meds have drained low in my system. She says the change in my mood is nothing short of alarming. She says it only takes a day or two. Maybe she's right. Who cares. At the end of the day, a day like today the 'why' doesn't matter. The world is black and shit, so who cares why.

Got my script first thing, before college. Took my pill straight away. But by now I'm used to the pattern, the timings; it wont change anything for a day or two. So today was a bad day.

Today I start the day stripping down to the bear, socially acceptable minimum in the Boots pharmacy near college. 50p down and a ticket out of the weight machine later, the tone for the day is set. Shit. Not good enough. Regret. Stupid girl. You knew you'd not had a decent crap yesterday or this morning, you knew you felt bloated, so why the fuck did you just pay 50p to get a print out testimony of the damage? You've just ruined the whole fucking day.

I eat nothing at college, yet as the day progresses I feel myself getting larger. The stomach rumbles more, yet simultaneously is less and less deserving of food. Lips tighten and communication with friends becomes less frequent and more and more stilted, yet the arguments and noise in my brain gets louder.

Today, all day I was miserable. It just got worse. Every comment I relate back to myself. The girls could talk about anything, the promiscuous mating habits of barn owls even- and I would find myself convinced it was somehow linked to my lack of thinness. Everyone was out to judge what passed my lips so I made sure nothing did. At lunch, as usual, I stare and salivate over the hot food counter as I linger by my peers in the queue. The usual wistful, hungry words about the deliciousness of the crumble or the pasties slip over my lips like they always do, but today as soon as I have spoken I wonder why no one tells me that I should eat it, that I need to eat it. A few seconds is all it takes to convince myself that their lack of reply to my dinnertime commentary is a kind way of them hinting I don't need that food- clearly I could do without that slice of pie. Obviously I do not look thin enough any more. Too fat for pie. Too fat. Just too fat. You hear that, Katie?? YOU'RE TOO FAT.

This was today, and it got NO better. Imagine  that.

All day starving. All day FREEZING. (I mean it- I literally was so incredibly numb with cold from beginning to end). All day the force within me draws me to every mirror (every fucking reflective surface actually)just to show me just HOW much excess there is, just HOW many cm's of thigh too many are hiding in those jeans.

I plan to get the 4 20 bus back after college is finally done. But I miss it because by now I'm sat in the toilet cubicle crying. Staring straight up at the ceiling, trying to keep my eyes wide because my mascara and eye liner is not waterproof. I think I have stopped, but then I remember the image of myself in the last mirror I looked in and the number of the Weight print out, and the BMI, and the tears well back up and spill over. I miss the next bus too.

Eventually I get back to Derby.Tired, almost deafened from the voices. They're tired by now because perhaps the pills have broken down on the empty (but still far too big stomach). Who cares. They've done their damage. Once you're in this state it doesn't matter if the voices shut up because you're beaten into the ground. You're spent. They don't need to shout at you any more because they know they've won. They know they've got their way. They can rest now, sleep now, because they know you're all defeated, knocked out good and proper. Metaphorically lain in the gutter, torn up, battered and bruised. You aint gonna get up for a good while yet....and when you do they'll be ready for you, strectching themselves, yawning as they step out of the shadows for an easy round 2.

Days like today I wish I were dead. Days like this keep happening.