Today I have eaten two slices of toast, some yogurt and muesli, and two packets of Poppets.
The Poppets were compulsive. We have a box of 36 packs on the kitchen tables, and all I want to do is cram the whole lot down my throat.
I'm back to the point of having almost no proper food left, just some tinned soup.
I have some sauces, pasta and rice, but they aren't allowed.
Poppets are though?!?
I don't even like the toffee flavour ones, yet that is what I'm eating.
I have an exam on Friday, and I just looked at some past paper questions and have absolutely no clue. No surprising, as my attendance is awful. My counsellor keeps saying I shouldn't be doing this course, but her idea of the alternative is to go and get a job. I can't make it to lectures a couple of days a week, how am I going to work enough to live? How am I going to hold down a job, concentrate and be productive? I lost my last job after missing two weeks of work following the A&E incident, but I'd been a complete mess for quite a while prior to that.
I'm reasonably functional at the moment, I'm out of bed by midday and I washed some clothes this afternoon. I'm dressed, I need a shower but I'm not filthy, I can't cook but I should be able to microwave some soup later. I'm drowsy and a bit lightheaded, but I haven't collapsed.
However, I'm aggressive and agitated by the smallest thing, and I am not usually that sort of person. Every little thing winds me up, particularly human company. I'm snapping at people, I'm increasingly sarcastic, patronising and short tempered. All I want to do is turn round and say "for fucks sake, can you just fucking LEAVE ME ALONE???".
I want to make something of myself. I want to make people proud. I don't want to be like this.
I've wanted to do this City & Guilds Corsetry qualification for ages, thought I could make time to do it once I'd qualified and then maybe sell some handmade corsets and lingerie online, as a hobby at first but see where it leads. Now, I'm too scared to do it because how can you run a business, and complete your orders correctly and on time, when you can't look after yourself? Sometimes I just want to crash and burn, so that people around me will understand the effect this actually has on me, on my life, so they can understand some of the things I've done and the mistakes I've made. I'm not trying to rid myself of all blame, but some things are related to my illness or my medication.
I have this image of myself in years to come, where I'm happy. Socializing in a club with friends and acquaintances, handing my card to the girl in the toilets who compliments my corset, measuring eager Suicide girl look-a-likes in the back of my boyfriend's record store, sewing perfect seams on frozen winter evenings while he plays guitar, and we are both so happy. I don't spend days in bed, I don't push him away or hold onto him too tightly, instead we can both be ourselves, but better. A day when I don't longingly gaze at pots of turquoise hair dye or lust over piercings and tattoos which aren't suitable for my work.
I love what I do, but now I wonder if it isn't much too close to home. After all, I am a little bit jealous of people I see who get an inpatient admission and leave us with support, fixed. I know that's probably not true, and most cases are much more ongoing, but sometimes.... Well, at least they get taken seriously and not as attention seeking, pessimistic, moaning GG, 19 years old and still can't stand on her own two New Rock clad feet.