Tuesday, 27 January 2009


Oh why oh why does he have to be a locum?
He listened. He replied. He actually told me what is going on, and he offered to send me a copy of my report [which I accepted]. And now he is going. Sob*.

He couldn't access the system due to a fault, so he did ask me some things about my past history, but not to repeat every sordid detail. He didn't want to know the colour of my socks, or piercingly stare whilst enquiring whether I was "compliant".
I like LocumShrink.

He also has an idea of what might be going on in this little brain of mine. It's just an idea at the moment, we'll see what happens, but it could explain why Prozac and Citalopram didn't agree with me. He thinks I might be Bipolar II, as after going on Prozac I had what is suspected to be a hypomanic episode, and possibly also following my brief spell on 'Tally.

Bipolar II, for anyone not so familiar, is depressive episodes with a few hypomanic episodes thrown in. No fullblown manias, just probable hypomania, periods of excessive everything which to be honest can be quite enjoyable if a little unpredictable. Well. More than a little. After the Prozac kicked in [and kicked me up up up] I was in a bit of a whirlwind for about 6 weeks. When I came out of it, I had started a nursing degree. Now, I love what I do, but prior to that I hadn't even considered it.

*The good looks and soft Irish accent helped. LOL.

New Shrink

Eeeep eeep eeep.
Meeting the new mind-doctor today. Let's hope he does more than the last one did!
Important things -
Assigning him a new name, for use on this blog.
Remembering to take my diary - although I'm not quite as dependant on it as I have been.
Working out what to wear - too tidy and I'm discharged from services, too scruffy/smelly and I risk admission, not to mention my pride.
Oh. Holy fuck. I have pride in my appearance again. I actually CARE. This is great, fantastic, but also scary, as it is already expressing itself as a desire to LOSE 25 POUNDS NOW.
I hate these appointments.
New shrink usually means having to go through the last 19 years, and with my slightly squiffy memory, it's not that easy.
Fear of a BPD diagnosis - hmmm, young female who selfharms? What could that be.....
I will tidy this post up later, I'm just all in a muddle and I want another fag and I want to see Boyfriend for a good luck kiss but he is Oop North again :(
Half of me wants to let the numb feeling slide over me and crawl under the duvet for a few months, and the other half wants to skip and dance and tra la la la la all the shit stuff away.

Monday, 26 January 2009

Where The F*ck Are My Hipbones?!

Let's just bear in mind the fact that I've never really lost that much weight. My BMI has never been under 15, and I cut no skeletal waif-like figure even then.
I just can't stand this weight gain business. I'm almost back to my previous normal weight, and it sucks. It's shit. I hate it.
Oh, yes, it has it's advantages. I'm capable of working, I can study, I can get out of bed in the morning, and I haven't had a black eye from fainting and smacking my face on the toilet bowl in recent months. I haven't cut since November, and I haven't purged since before Christmas. I have more energy, I am not suicidal and I have breasts again.
I'm not special. Before I had something, something I cherished and nurtured like the life-sucking little parasite it was, but still it was mine. My special thing. It defined a lot of what I did. Now, I'm lost without it.
I know that my disordered eating only really comes into play when I am unwell, so the recent weeks have reflected me being much better than I have been in a long time. I also know that messing around with my eating greatly increases my chances of a relapse into depression, as the two tend to strike together. I know all of these things are good signs, that I am getting more and more stable, and yet I WANT HIPBONES. I want bones. I want jutting bones and paper thin flesh and I want purity and all that is good and the effort of day to day living to show. I want to be special again.
If I put half the effort I have expended on disordered eating into something productive, I would be special by now, and yet that just makes me want to lose 25lbs even more?

Thursday, 22 January 2009

My Size Zero Is Better Than Your Size Zero...

Or the wonders of so-called "vanity sizing".
I usually wear a pair of lowrise jeans, bought from Asda, which claim to be a UK size 4. They are getting a bit tight now, but they stretch a bit after an hour or so of wearing them. Today I bought a pair of leather trousers [for motorbike rallies and the like] from The Gods Of Clothing, the almight Topshop. They are a UK8, however they seem quite tight. Part of this is because they have a higher waist, and I have high hipbones, however they compare more to a size 6 in most of the other high street stores. I also tried a higher waisted pair of Topshop jeans in a UK10 [!!!], which hung off me, and made my mother grimace and comment on how I "need feeding up".

A UK6 in New Look still fits relatively well, although they seem to think I have the thighs of a UK14. Boots are never small enough on my calves. Most clothing stores seem to think I have no breasts [I have them again! Back to a 30DD! Mwa ha ha ha ha!]. Although getting a longer leg length is relatively easy, getting tops to fit my [ridiculously] long upper body is still almost impossible, and for someone who HATES their stomach, this is very frustrating. I tend to buy t-shirt dresses, or get men's band t-shirts and sew up the sides.

Shirts are a nightmare. The arms and body are never long enough, and if I get clothing from the "tall" section, I need a UK4/6 which is hardly ever available.

What is the deal with this vanity sizing business anyway? Why can't everything just be available in tall as well as petite? Almost all the hghstreet stores cater for the *ahem* fuller figure, with Plus Size clothing getting it's own section, designs and even name, yet tall clothing is limited to one rail, if there is any!

The only options seem to be paying extortionate prices at specisalist online stores, which usually don't do smaller than a UK8, gaining lots of weight [Noooooo! This is big enough!], or having life changing surgery to shorten my body and arms, so that I can wear normal clothes!

Next clothing rant: How DARE La Senza stop selling 30-inch back sizes!? Now, I have to buy from specialist, not to menton expensive brands such as Freya. Or spend hours at my Mum's sewing machine removing inches of excess material.

Monday, 12 January 2009

Funerals can be FUN!

My Nan's funeral was hilarious.
The priest was Welsh, and my Nan hates welsh people [something to do with a long ago camping trip and an obnoxious welsh shepherd, apparently].
He kept calling her by my Mum's name, and then went off on a huge rant about sinners, Jesus and the Gaza strip.
We had requested a simple reading, only one hymn [all things bright and beautiful], and minimal religious bullshit, but we got several other hymns and plenty of bible bashing.
My Nan would have had a coughing fit.
I was rather rude to the poor old bloke afterwards [apparently, he was asleep when the funeral director found him, and they had to wake him to do the service]. I refused to shake his hand, and told him quite bluntly to get the names right next time.
I then demolished a bottle of wine and hid in the conservatory for most of the buffet-come-mourning afterwards.
To be honest, I'm glad that it was funny. Otherwise I would have completely broken down. I thought my little brother was crying, but he was just laughing and trying to smother it. It was better, really. She would have liked it, I think.

I got home last night, and did something quite strange. I got drunk with my housemates, and actually, they aren't so bad. I'm just perpetually grumpy at the moment.

Tuesday, 6 January 2009

Late night paranoia and plotting revenge...

If I am accused of stealing coffee or failing to empty the tumble-dryer filter one more time I am going to hurt someone, most probably myself.
I've been here the longest.
I showed you how to clean that sodding filter, remember?
And the reason I was being quiet was because a) I'm ill b) I'm being considerate and c) it was 11pm.
I was not "sneaking" around, I was showing some f*cking consideration for people who may have been sleeping. Turn off you f*cking Akon crap and try doing the same?

At the same time, this may just be my paranoia. Or maybe I just hate you and your annoying habits.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll stop cleaning, and I'll start playing music loud with my door open? I'll pop in and distract you whenever you sit down to eat, and I'll make extra sure that I have an annoying little brat so that you can get woken up nice and early too.

I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, I know, but I've put on nearly 10 pounds, I'm pissed off and these ignorant, insufferably mind numbingly boring individuals are not helping.

Monday, 5 January 2009

I'm feeling a bit better

I got up to visit the bog [ain't I lady-like?], and thought I heard something coming through the letterbox, so I headed downstairs. My foot hadn't even touched the first step before mature student housemate appeared, peering up and grinning like an amused overweight vulture.

"Oops. I made a mess. He he he he he."

Turns out the noise was not the letterbox but the aluminium mop handle knocking into the fridge, as he cleaned up the vast number of muddy footprints covering the route between the back and front doors.

Now, why that struck him as exceptionally funny, or made him think that my ill, dressing gown clad self would find it hilarious, is totally beyond me.

I do have , honest sense of humour, honest. But seriously, is what he does funny? Am I just a bitter twisted girl? To be honest, I enjoy dry bitter humour, and think Nemi is a goddess, but living with his alien sense of comedy is driving me up the wall.

GG - "Oh, Right. Um.... Any post?"
Mature Student - "He he he.... Oh, post? No, nothing for you. He he he."
GG - Oh, ok. [Heads back to bed].
M/S - You can come downstairs...
GG - [What, and put up with your humour?] "No, just wanted to check if there was post."

He can't understand why, at 2pm, GG thought there may have been post. GG has to explain that she thought she heard the letterbox banging, which he denies happening, so GG has to explain why she said she thought she heard it, but is aware now that she was mistaken. He flatly denies making any noise at all. GG returns to bed to write this. At this moment he is repeatedly running the hoover up and down the wall outside my room, despite the fact it isn't his turn to clean.

Sunday, 4 January 2009

Snuffle Splutter Snuffle

I have an awful cold, courtesy of my wonderful housemates, so apologies if this is rather boring, and peppered with references to coughing up lime green slime.
I want to move house.
I have sent a text to my Connexions PA begging for help in finding somewhere suitable, and I'm prowling the Internet for a job delivering leaflets. I plan to be sneaky, sign up to several companies, then whack out 3 or 4 leaflets at each house - therefore greatly increasing my earnings. This is also clever, as it means I can pace the streets without people worrying about me, my weight or my mind.
Getting back to the point, I need to move house.
Not only does delightful mature student think it is vastly amusing that they have passed on their plague, he still seems peeved that I said I felt ill, and did not want a conversation. I mean, surely I can snuffle my way downstairs and rest my head on the table while I wait for the kettle to boil without being subject to his abysmal sense of humour? Seriously, it is like having your soul sucked out through a too-small orifice by a half-hearted anteater.
Second housemate has a child. Yes, a small noisy creature, which of course hates me, and decided that early this morning, when I had finally got to sleep, that the best option was to cry. Loudly.
It stays over most weekends, which was most certainly not what I signed up for when I moved in. If I wanted sleepless nights and screaming children, I would have had my own and got a nice cosy council flat, right?
Also, if he uses my facecloth to wipe his kids arse again, I am going to literally hit the roof.
I am quite annoyed at the moment. I'm like this when I'm (physically) ill, I get grumpy because I feel like shite and every time I try to do something, my nose starts running. Particularly if I'm up to my elbows in washing up.
I've done nothing to my Insight project over the holiday's, but I've had a bit more on my mind, what with Nan being ill and then dying, Boyfriend getting himself kicked out the other night, and desperately needing to move.
I think they've got the point that I don't want to talk right now, they haven't knocked on my door since I went down stairs and made the point that "it's half ten, can you at least turn the music down if you insist on listening to that shit?!". They've tried talking, but I once again pointed out that I'm ill, I don't want to talk to you, I just want to go back to bed.
I need some sleep but I can't breathe properly, I'm so stuffed up, and lying down makes it worse. I've got my eye on a little flat in Hornchurch, but I don't want to call the estate agents if all I'm capable of saying is "Uggg".
Well, I hope you are all feeling better than me, and that you avoid the Winter Lurgie...