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Receding


I have had much better weeks, but I have blocked out the thoughts with Smirnoff. I doubt that it will help in the long run, but it is better than lying awake at night. I have been around family a lot lately, which should cheer me up, but it has been in parties where I am expected to eat. This angers me as all the effort I make trying to maintain my shape for peace of mind gets trampled on and I now have to start over.
I have not yet been sent an appointment for my next meeting with the psychologist, neither have I received a letter to attend the eating disorder unit, so I have had many sleepless nights dreading the morning post. The wait, as always, is unsettling and thought provoking. I just want it all to be over with.
I have stopped taking my anti-depressants. They only add to my insomnia, which is the very opposite of what I had hoped them to do. I am plucking up the courage to revisit the doctor to ask if I can get a different anti-depressant, only our local GP is the Anti-Christ, so I am waiting for the nice doctor to return from her holidays.
What I want from an Anti-Depressant is for me to feel sleepy in the nights. A good night’s sleep helps more than anything does and now, I just want to lie in bed all day long. I feel lethargic, worthless and out of control on the tablets that I have been prescribed and I cannot seem to shake it.


Shattered…


I have kept myself busy today. I have shopped, cooked, spent a nice day with my loved ones and decorated the house ready for Halloween. This morning, I woke up satisfied with the knowledge of my brave leap, which I took yesterday and smiled for the first time in a long while. However, my day did not go faultless. Somebody very close to me upset me.

Yesterday, I told my parents that I have been diagnosed with Eating Disorder. They already suspected, but I have always put on a brave face around them, so saying it aloud was very difficult and is something that I have worried about doing for years.

Today, in a conversation with my Dad, he stopped mid-sentence and said, “Have you been eating? Your face looks fatter. You are looking healthy.” The room fell silent. My mother and partner looked horrified and I did not know where to look in fear of hurting his feelings by showing that I was hurt. My heart pounded hard. I knew that there was nothing that I could ever do to un-hear those words.

I do not blame him for speaking the truth, as he always has done and it is a part of his charm, but those three sentences automatically joined all the other echoes on my mind. It was like stepping onto a weighing scale, which I have avoided for many years, or trying on a pair of jeans, which I cannot bring myself to do. If my father knew that he had upset me, he would worry for weeks over it. I could not put him through that, so I changed the subject. I did not want to let it get me down, but by the time I got home, those words were screaming in my mind and I broke down in tears. I feel guilty for that.

I cannot stop thinking about it. My father explained to me that he meant that a few weeks ago, I looked very ill as I had lost so much weight, but I was looking healthier today. I know that was what he meant and I know how much my parents worry about me when I look unwell, but the voices cannot be satisfied with that and I now feel that I have made one leap forward to be knocked two leaps back.

It is almost 5am and I am too scared to stop writing and go to bed as I will drive myself crazy analyzing the conversation. What is worse, I ran out of Anti-depressants two days ago and my prescription will not be ready for another day, so my nerves are very shaky, too.

I have always been an optimist and tomorrow is another day. If I can get through tonight, then today will already be behind me.


A Sliver Lining.


I did it!

My first appointment with the Psychologist was nothing as I had imagined. It was very informal and my partner came into the room with me. The Psychologist was very laid-back and friendly. She was waiting for me when I arrived and she gave me a very warm welcome. My nerves were so bad that my head was noticeably shaking; my mouth was dry, my hands fidgeted and my head pounded. On her desk was a pouch of tobacco, a cigarette rolling machine and a lighter, which immediately made me realise that she is human. The room in which I had my assessment was light and airy and the three of us sat around a table in a circle.

She asked me questions on my eating habits, my anxiety, my thoughts, my past and what I would like to get out of the support that they offer within the unit. The questions were brief, so I did not have to go into too much detail. She explained that she has spoken the Occupational Therapist who had referred me and to the dietician whom I saw last week, so she knew the details of the questions that I had already answered. I found that I could speak with the Psychologist much easier than the Occupational Therapist and the Dietician. She laughed at her light jokes and so did I, which took my mind off reading everything that she was writing down in her notes.

After just half hour, she told me of the help, which was available. I will be regularly seeing a Psychologist one-to-one in the same unit, where they will help me try to distinguish the reason of my thoughts, I will receive help with my agoraphobia, I will receive counselling, group therapy is available to me and she is referring me to the Eating Disorder Clinic. I told her that I am not ready for group therapy, as my social anxiety will probably stop me from attending. She seemed to understand and assured me that I will not be pushed into anything that I am not comfortable with.

I am more relieved than I can find words for. After almost 20 years of feeling the way a do, today somebody seemed to really understand. I now have to motivate myself into attending the appointments as I find schedules very difficult due to social anxieties, but I know that there are people who can help me and that has put my worries to rest for the meanwhile.


Step 5… A Step Back In Time.


How does someone get so low? How can a woman get into such a state? It all began when I was 8-years-old. I was a healthy child with chubby, rosy cheeks. I was always bigger than my older sister was and I was strong with my weight. Then I had Colitis. I still to this day do not know what Colitis is, exactly, other than I was very ill for two months. Weight dropped off me dramatically and all family members mentioned it often. When I recovered, I felt the weight gain. I felt my arms wobble, my legs wobbled and my jeans rubbed. I was just 8-years-old and my body made me feel sick. The feeling of that wobble has stuck with me for 19 years. I fear it. I hate it. As I have mentioned in an earlier post, it is not a vanity issue, but a sensory issue. I do not know if this is the case with others who fight these demons.
I was not a ‘girly-girl’ in the slightest. I was always competing with the lads. I was a member of the football team and the second fastest runner over-all in my school. I always wanted to be more like the boys than the girls. I compared scars, raced my BMX and jumped in muddy ponds collecting frogs. I have not changed much. My partner is my best friend. We play football together, climb mountains, race around in cars and swap hoodies. He is my soul mate.
My Dad has always teased me with the nickname ‘Annie’, short for anorexic. Not in a cruel way. My family have always commented on my weight as a compliment. However, not everybody comments with the same sincerity. I have never understood how commenting on a person’s weight is a compliment. Neither have I understood how people who say that skinny girls are unattractive do not ‘get’ how hurtful and damaging that can be. I CANNOT gain weight for the fear of suicide. For me, putting on weight is as difficult as a bigger person losing weight, if not, harder.
As much as I live for my son, pregnancy was a nightmare. The body-change was far too much. After my son was born, I was still 9st 6oz. I was young and I had no idea that my figure would change so significantly. I worked out for 6 hours everyday until I could fit into a size 10. Within 6 months, I was 8st.
Now, I am a size 6 in clothes, so why on earth do I feel so heavy, so lethargic, and so bloody huge? I have tried and tried, but I cannot lose any more weight. My stomach aches for food. My head hurts from crying. 19 long, unhappy years. As I am aging, my body seems hungrier more often. It is getting harder to live off so little. I have promised to try to stop making myself vomit. If I could lose just 7lb more and maintain that weight then I could be happier… Maybe…


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