A Review of Me, Myself and Blogging

Do you think the people at My Therapy are going to be celebrating their success this weekend? "Look at all the people who have signed up - our online diagnostic tool is BRILLLIIIAAAANNNNNNTTTTTTT!"

Such a shame.

I think tools like this are good for two things -
a. A bit of a laugh
b. Double-checking that yes, you are still a MENTAL.

So... I took their survey, and according to my, possibly unrealiable answers, have been diagnosed with;

- Bipolar II (Depressive)
I was diagnosed during my one-before-last episode as having "severe recurrent depression on the Bipolar spectrum", so this sort-of-fits.

- Schizophreniform Disorder
This was based on my rather unusual ideas during episodes of high and low mood, and around food. I'm also a bit paranoid in social situations, but I think that is more to do with low self-esteem. I have been monitored for "emerging psychotic symptoms", but think I can safely say this isn't a correct diagnosis.

- Agoraphobia without History of Panic Disorder
I think this because I don't go out when I am depressed. Which I think is a pretty common experience. So, incorrect, again.

Overall, not too inaccurate, considering it is a computer. It might be on par with one Consultant I had the misfortune to be allocated too!


In other news, I'm questioning whether to continue blogging. It served a purpose during my last-but-one severe episode of depression, but I spend much more time readng blogs than I do writing mine. I'm not sure yet, but I am considering a hiatus.

I've also got a new hobby, or rather, revived an old one.
I've started part-loaning a pony, a couple of days a week. He is lovely, safe and has already started increasing my confidence greatly. It is also another reason to say "NO" to the eating disordered thoughts, as well as any suicidal ones.

I'm going to try and blog more often over the next few weeks, and then decide whether it is helpful or useful for me now. I can't promise anything, as I'm tied up with two essays which are progressing extremely slowly. I keep trying to write something, anything, but being unable to string together a sentence.

My lungs hurt.

I've been coughing for two weeks now. I really need to see my GP. Supposed to be having a blood test done too.

My "support network" is pretty much gone right now. Was glad when I finished having counselling, felt I'd made progress. Now I miss it, maybe even need it.

I have an Intensive Personal Advisor at Connexions, who basically performs the role of care co-ordinator/CPN, as I don't have either of those. She's left to join another team. I get Connexions support until I'm 25 because of the MH issues, but not sure I want to bare my soul to someone else. She'd been working with me for over 2 years, at times she saw me on a daily basis. She attended my DLA tribunal and is keeping in touch until they allocate me a new person.

Essays are going badly - tutor wants to see my introduction on Wednesday, no chance of it being finished by then. Basing the essays on Eating Disorders was probably a poor choice - I'm a bit over-involved in that area.

Was not impressed that I couldn't use the gym today - my scheme only has one weekend session and that is Sunday evening. Itching to go. Keep not eating all day, then eating junk in the evening.

On a better note, piggies are using new ramps.

Tribunals, and a return to writing.

I'm writing in here again because right now I need it. I don't need anyone to read it or to say anything, but I need to take control again and this is one of a combination of things which helped pull me through when things got bad again.
No promises that I'll be a consistent blogger, or a good blogger, or an interesting blogger.
I feel better just for getting this out.
I've been on my work placement, in an adolescent inpatient unit, and I love it. I love my work anyway, but this is even better. Despite struggling to fit in initially, and having no clue what to write my essay on, I am really enjoying it and really learning from it.
However, I'm slipping quite badly.
It started initially with being nervous, and having no appetite. Then, I didn't really want to eat in front of people, and I'm still quite constricted in certain areas with what I eat. Eating a meal every day which has been prepared by someone else and which I have limited control of is actually very hard.
I've lost 3 pounds in the past 3 and a half weeks, and I feel good, happier about my body, my smaller stomach.
This is me slipping into a danger zone, and I'm aware of that.
I've also been skipping meals, not taking anything except maybe a piece of fruit to eat during a shift, and weighing myself.

My mood has dipped, and I'm having migraines. I've had two pretty bad ones, and so I've missed two days of work, which I'll have to make up over the next few weeks. My self care and the housework have both slipped, and I'm neglecting to spend time with the guinea pigs and with my friends.

I'm constantly exhausted, and unfortunately still bleeding. I've had about 4 or 5 days this month when I havn't been bleeding. The medical verdict is to change my contraception, but I'm getting no guidance about what to change it too, or what may help. It's pretty much try it and see.

I'm managing, and I know that once I am qualified I am only going to work 3 or 4 days per week. 5 days is too much for me, and I can easily manage on part-time wages. However in the mean time, I need to make my 37.5 hours a week. I'm really struggling to do this, let alone manage university work on top.

I've also got my tribunal date for DLA coming up, on November 25th. I've written to them requesting them to get a supporting letter from my consultant, and a copy of my medical records. I tried to do this myself, but my consultant wants them to write to him, and the surgery want £18.30 for photocopying and administration fees. I'm so tired.

I have no idea what I'm going to say at the tribunal, I mainly want to contend the letter from my previous consultant that says I have no history or risk of self harm or self neglect. I also want to point out that I do require ongoing support with bills and correspondence from my Connexions work, and with ongoing low self esteem and the paranoia it cause from my Counsellor. If I got the lower rate of care then I could afford to go swimming regularly, which I have used in the past to improve my mood. It would also help with travel expenses to see my Connexions worker and Counsellor, and with the increased phone bill as I often need additional support from them, or my mum and boyfriend. When I'm travelling alone, such as to or from work, it helps if I can call someone for support as I often feel very unsafe.

I don't see myself as severely ill, but I do think I have a long term problem which means I require a little more support from those around me than most people. I still work, although it can be a struggle, and I'm planning carefully to ensure that I can continue to work in the future. I'm proud of being independent, but sometimes I need to ask for a little bit of help so that I don't become unwell, and therefore become dependant on others for everything from finances to getting dressed.

Praise to the GODS that are O2

We finally have INTERNET.
It has taken numerous phone calls, technician visits and kicking of the wireless box, but I am connected.
I need this blog right now, so I'm bloody grateful.

Talking of bloody, the irregular menstrual cycle appears to be related to it's grand return [it was also on hiatus following my little weight loss episode prior to Christmas], and possibly some effects of the Pill. My blood tests detected nothing - I'm am medically healthy.
I'm slightly disappointed. I was hoping it would throw up a little thyroid trouble or similar, instantly explaining my mood disorder and moving me from "mental" to "a bit physically ill". Let's face it - it would make life easier.

Food-wise, I appear to be having a slip. I came across a dreadful picture of me from a few weeks ago in which I look huge, and it hasn't exactly helped. I'm at my body's "healthy weight", the one it bounces back to whenever it is allowed to eat, and yet I feel like a whale. I have been surveying the pro-ana sites again, buying lo-cal bread and stepping on the scales a little too often. I'm at the top of a very slippery slope, and I'm making sure everyone knows it, because if I try and throw myself down it, I want the f*cking cavalry out to stop me. I am not wasting away under the duvet again. I want to just be happy with my weight, not keep hiring the anorexia videos from the university library so I can admire the competition. "See, you are huge -she is perfect". Bearing in mind that "she" is 4 and a half stone, and on her way to the Bethlem.

Part of the food problem is that I feel like I am always hungry. This gnawing sensation in my abdomen won't go away and it is having a real effect. I can quiet it for a short while by eating, but I'm pretty sure it isn't just hunger, I think it's an effect of the Venlafaxine to be honest. I have been trying to see my new consultant since March, but still haven't had any luck. The secretary is on sick leave, and the scheduled appointment is during an important lecture.

I am totally confused by food and weight now. My stepsister has two young children and is much smaller than me, she must be a size 6. She works out constantly and is so fit. I can't afford a gym membership and I'm too embarrassed to go running or work out anyway. I have no idea what is a healthy, well-balanced meal, I don't know what is a healthy size, and I feel huge huge huge.

It's Been A While...

Hi, and hope you are all well, or as well as can be.

I am on Placement at the moment, which is always a trying time, but Boyfriend has recently moved in and is doing his best to help out. Even if he hasn't got a clue how to work the washing machine, he still manages to make me smile. The flat is full of black ink pen drawings of various smiling cats, and he leaves me little notes if I have a shit day. He loves me.

The fridge has become centre point of the house, with me struggling to stay friends with food. I've lost 7 pounds, accidentally, though neglecting to eat when I'm working, and this has fuelled my underlying desire to look like a stick insect. My eating has been very irregular, often only one meal a day when I do my best to eat 3 regular balanced ones. This has impacted on my mood, which started to dip, and on my physical health.

I am finally getting blood tests done - through all of this depression, no one has ever checked if there is an underlying health problem. My run down state has prompted my new Doctor to request for full bloods, so YIPPEE. Peace of mind over how much damage alcohol and diuretics actually did to my organs, eh?

Physically, I am quite concerned - I have extremely irregular periods, which often stop completely for months at a time, I seem to be getting constipation a lot, and I'm always exhausted. I just want to make sure I'm OK, and try to find out why I can't keep up with everyone else.

Placement has been going really well, although I constantly exhausted, and haven't found time to revise for my exam. I just spent two hours making preparations for my essay, and seem to have got nowhere. However I spoke to a friend from my cohort, and she hadn't started her essay either, so at least it's not just me. I'm not lagging behind completely.

Oh. My toilet is still leaking. It has been leaking since I moved in, and the plumber has replaced the pipe twice. Argh.

On a lighter note, when you turn on the kitchen light, the electric shower in the bathroom comes on as well???

Poltergeists, me thinks.....

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?

Uni tomorrow...

Time for a fag, a cup of tea, and a vague attempt at sleep.
AbsentUncle has taken over the selling of Nan's house, and is keen for her to go into residential care. I think that is the best route too. I think. I've done a bit of care home searching, hopefully we can get her into one near my Mum's in Basildon.
This is a huge relief, and I need to stop being a paranoid bitch, and finding elements of "ain't-I-the-martyr" in his voice. I'm really not a very nice person right now.
Right. Clear head, get uni over and done with, then shimmy over to the hospital to see Nan. Perfect. Sorted. Done.

What's life going to throw at me next?
Shall we have a poll, or just throw some random answers out there?
I'm voting on developing an allergy to yogurt, leaving me without my main safe food. Now there's an unthinkable disaster just waiting to happen. I might actually be more scared of this than I am of someone dying on top of me during sex. Yes. That freaks me out, ok?

Eat-A-Thon

Or Sunday Roast, courtesy of Mum.

Uggghhhhhh. I feel awful.
I downed a bottle of wine to get through the mammoth meal, and I hate the way she points out how thin I am, when inside I'm screaming that I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT.
I've gained weight again, I'm sure of it. I want the scales, but I can't weigh myself until the morning. I was standing in Topshop yesterday, trying on some ridiculously flamboyant high waisted shimmery gold trousers, size 6, eyeing myself up in the unforgiving changing room mirrors. They weren't hanging off my hipbones. I wanted to cry. I drank two bottles of wine yesterday night, and didn't eat today until the meal this evening.
I'm working on my Shrink to refer me to Mind or another organisation, to see if I can get a free membership to the gym or swimming pool. If I'm doing more exercise, then I'll be more likely to eat little and often. I might even manage breakfast, lunch and dinner for more than two days in a row! My eating habits are ridiculous at the moment, I go from consuming stupid quantities at my Mum's or Boyfriend's house to appear "okay", then I'll starve for a day or so, then it's back to 400 calories of low fat yogurt and cereal, occasionally throwing in some soup or vegetable chilli. Oh, and my drinking is definitely increasing, even though a pint of cider gets me bladdered. The two bottles of wine had a serious effect on Saturday.
It sickens me that the 26 inch jeans I was so proud of squeezing into are now hanging off me, where they once clung in all the right places. I can grab handfuls of material round the bum, and they are so baggy around my calves. I'm dreading my next work placement because nothing is going to fit.

Home Hairdressing

I'm actually quite good at cutting my own hair. I just gave myself a rather fetching fringe, and I'm quite please with the result. I'm also quite pleased that for once I cut my hair because I wanted to, rather than as an alternative to self harm.
I had a bit of a habit of cut/shaving chunks out of my hair whenever I thought that I'd go much to far if I self harmed
I gave myself an all over number 1, pure skinhead chic, when the Citalopram decided it just wouldn't work. I grew to quite like it, but at that point I liked anything which screamed "for fuck's sake just HELP ME".

I'm quite glad I have hair now, and that I've managed to make it look quite, well, pretty.

I also succeeded in eating some noodles today, which have been a banned food for about 6 months, so I'm quite proud of that as well.

I just read Lola Snow's post on TIDYING, and I've been there a few times. Today, however, when I got stressed over revision, I organised my notes - it gave me something to do when I needed something, and tomorrow my revision will be easier.

See. I can find positives. I can be positive.
Hmmm. Fag break!

Poppets, New Rocks and Turquoise Hair Dye

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.

Truimphant and Sickened

Triumphant at the fact that I got into a pair of gorgeous size 4 grey Dollhouse skinny jeans.

The name "Dollhouse" is perfect, everything in perfect miniature, the way I sat for hours arranging the tiny beds and chairs in mine as a child. Sitting in the spare room at my Grandmother's house, rain pattering against the window, perfecting the contents of my Grampie's labour of love. The wallpaper was remnants from the house, so it was a perfect miniature, until the cat decided that she liked to squeeze through the impossible small window and sleep amongst the matchstick furnishings, tail curling out of the front door.

I got into them. However my large high hipbones gave the impression of FAT. Now, I know that if I out on a stone, I would have curvy hips, an hourglass figure. I know that what I perceive as "overhang" is just my hipbones sticking out over the low rise waistband, and not FAT. However, it still looks too big. Fleeting thoughts of "hip surgery", ways of fixing them, if I wear a corset constantly could I force my hipbones further in? Have a bit sanded off the bone? Is there fat cushioning the sockets, and if so by losing more weight will that knock off that extra half inch?

This is sickening. Mum grimaced as the size 6 dress slid down my depleted chest, and she spent the rest of the day coaxing me to eat. I eat around her, just to stop the fights. I only have to do it once in a while, I make up for it over the next few days, and at the time I push it to the back of my mind. There are ways to get rid of a few extra calories, and I use them. My cat is very useful, and little brother can polish off my dessert.

The worst bit is, I'm not even that small.
I weigh myself first thing in the morning, on the same scales, on the same floor tiles. I weighed myself a while ago, which I know I shouldn't have done, as it was 9pm and I wouldn't get a "true" weight. With my dinner inside me, I appear to have gained 6 pounds since Friday. I know this is probably mainly water weight, food and a small gain, but I feel like a failure.

I know I can be down to a beautiful, previously unreached weight before Christmas, and I might go back and buy those jeans as my motivation.

Then again, that's the exact same reason I left them on the rail.

Homemade vs. Tinned

My Connexions PA is lovely, she helped me sort out some debt issues* today, but she doesn't seem to understand that cooking is a huge effort. I mean, come on, I tried to go to uni in my pajamas today [I had my jeans on over them, but still...]. She suggested making homemade soup, but here's the other big problem - calorie counting.
I have enough trouble trying to ignore working out how much my vegetarian chili contains, let alone adding another mystery-calorie food to my diet.
Obviously, there is no logic to eating disorders. One minute I'm crying over the increase in calories of my usual soup, the next I could be binging on whatever unsafe foods I can get my hands on.
Currently, I only eat 3 different meals. Low fat yogurt and muesli for breakfast, although I've resisted weighing the muesli so far, I do use individual 100-cal yogurt pots so I know how much I'm eating.
Depending on how I am, I may have lunch. That's where the soup comes in, with one or two slices of wholemeal super-seedy bread. Nasty fact, but this is to avoid constipation, which is a bitch. No laxatives allowed in the house, I am not going down that road again.
Dinner is the veggie chili, onion, pepper and mushrooms with a variety of beans, pulses, lentils and tinned tomatoes. The beans and lentils contain Tryptophan, which is used to make Serotonin, and then I chuck in lots of chili powder, because apparently spicy food ups your metabolism?
I haven't got a clue how many calories are in a portion of that. Honest. Ok. I lie. I refuse to work it out properly, but probably around 250?
If I'm feeling extra good [or extra faint!] I chuck in some mozzarella cheese. Once it's melted, it's hard to pick back out, see?
Throw in the occasional binge, and the mandatory "see, I eat normally" meals at my Mum's or Boyfriend's house, and you have it.

I originally dropped 20 pounds by just, well, not eating. Now I'm on this, not purging [much], and not using laxatives and diuretics, I feel a lot better.
I gained back 6 pounds in the first week [ouch!] but I've lost 4 of them. I think I was just on starvation mode, plus water weight...

So. I'm now a size 6.
Hmmm.
I was fine with being an 8. I don't like double figures, but an 8 was nice and comfy. Now I'm a 6, all I can think about is dropping to a 4.
That little voice, pointing out the size 4 little black dress in Adsa, "Look GG, you could be in that by Christmas. Make sure you've got a bit of room though, you don't want to look like you've squeezed into it. Fat bitch."

GG

*When they stuck me on Prozac and everything got a bit sparkly, not only did I start my nursing course, I also got some books out of the library. I don't remember this, but I received a £200 fine last week, and found the offending literature under my bed. I think I still have to pay £75, but we'll see if they take pity on the mentally f*cked. What interests me is how I packed and unpacked them whilst moving house, and still didn't realise?

La la la la la!

Babble babble babble.

Anyone else hate being an in-between?
Not mentalistic enough for inpatient or intensive treatment, but just f*cked enough in the ol' brain department to scare yourself?

I was sitting in the kitchen, half-watching Scrubs whilst attempting not to consume the contents of my cupboard.
Enter my housemate. Early-forties, mature student, irritatingly cheerful. Wants to share every little giggle with me, and doesn't really pick up hints.
I mean, I'm sitting here, answering your constant spew of absolute drivel with occasional grunts, with absolutely no interest in having a conversation, and yet you just keep trying to make me join in. You're just making me feel guilty for being "mean" to you, not joining in your enthusiasm over a psychotic cat on Youtube.

I had to get out.

I took a trip into town to meet a couple of friends, and although I was dreading it and nearly cancelled, his arrival meant I was keen to get out. Queue GG, sitting in a pub garden, with a pint of lukewarm water, smoking like a chimney. Oh, and shaking like a leaf of course.
I can hear this tap-tap-tap, and I realise it's my right leg, with a mind of it's own, knocking against the bench. I firmly plant my tootsies on the ground, problem solved, right? Nah. Now it's my hand, then my little finger just won't stay still.

I'm sitting there, feeling like I'm levitating and about to float off at any moment, and my friends arrive. Hmmmm.

Act normal, GG. You aren't mentally interesting. You are mentally concerning.

I managed to hold out for quite a while, although I alternated between laughing hysterically and fighting back tears in the loo.

Walking home from the bus stop was a nightmare. I don't exactly live in the best area, but it's the best of a bad lot, if you get my drift.

I was petrified. Every shadow, dark doorway, and parked car was hiding a multitude of sadist rapist monsters who fancied ripping me limb from limb. I was scared shitless, walking right down the centre of the road, with the local paper headlines for the next week whizzing through my head.

"Local Teen Raped and Beaten"
"Girl Commits Suicide After Assault"
"Body Found In Bin"

There's a little selection for you all.
Why am I such a bundle of nerves?

Hmmm. This Venlafaxine stuff had better improve.
I'm all for sticking it out but I'd rather be the beast-from-under-the-duvet than crazy-girl-attacking-imaginary-foes-in-the-street.

Firmist Butt In Britain

Or possibly just the most bruised.
I am attempting to relax at the moment, but I am extremely restless. I attempted to watch a film earlier, as a break from numerous attempts at completing my essay. I paused it at least 8 times, not for toilet or tea breaks, but just to do RANDOM CRAP. I got up and moved all my DVDs from a shelf to a storage box under my bed. I sorted out the rest of my fire damaged items. I keep finding things to wash. I went to town earlier, and spent ages in the supermarket, almost in tears, because my 3 usual flavours of soup have been replaced, and there are only 2 new ones with low enough calories. I then ate a packet of biscuits, because I couldn't stop. I was just trying to be normal, have a biscuit with my tea, squeeze in a few more calories to make up for my erratic eating. Last night I tried to go to bed at 10pm, gave up after an hour, went back to bed at 1am, was up at 3am, 4.30am, 6.15am, 7.45am, 8.50am, 9.45am, then dragged myself up at 10.30am. over 12 hours of attempted sleep. I'm sitting here, typing this, constantly alternating clenching my buttocks, because for some reason that is something I have to do whilst sitting down. My bum hurts. I can't have a bath, because at the moment if I get a slashy-slashy impulse I'm pretty sure I'd act on it. I keep opening files on my computer, or grabbing a notebook and pen, then wondering what it was that I so desperately had to write down. I don't think I'm manic, I managed to cook a chili earlier without burning the house down [that way I have food for the next few days, I just have to microwave it]. I'm not myself though. Normally I'm pretty happy to curl up on my beanbag with a movie or a book, but today I'm not. I'm really irritable. My housemate was laughing in his room whilst watching a program on BBC2 about people with mental health problems. I wanted to rip his head off and spit down his throat. instead I just snapped at him to close his door next time he wants to laugh at other people's expense. I mean for f*uck's sake I'm a trainee mental health nurse, does he really think that I'm going to appreciate his ignorant jokes?
ARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

When I see my psychiatrist in two weeks, I am going to beg for support getting council accommodation. I can't live with other people when I'm like this, I'm a nightmare and then I just feel so guilty. I'm trying to be civil and "normal", and yet I want to tell them to F*CK OFF!

This is from the girl who turns everything inwards. I can't even do that now. Hiding self harm scars isn't fun, and I promised Boyfriend I wouldn't shave my head again.

There is nothing left to CUT.

The Clown Photo

The sad clown photos were taken by a friend of mine as part of her photography project. I love those pictures, I loved dressing up and messing around with make up and clingfilm and stockings for my friend's photographs. Two of my friends have asked me to pose for them, one for an underwear shoot and the other for a burlesque style piece using a chaise lounge. I really want to do them, but since this photo was taken a few months ago, I've not been very nice to my body. I lost 20 pounds, I've gained back about 6 pounds now because I kept collapsing, but my breasts are ruined. To put it bluntly, they look deflated. My thighs are still large and scarred, and I haven't got a nice toned stomach because I don't have the energy to work out.
I look at that clown photo, and I miss my body when it was just a little bit fat. It had potential, I should have just toned it up rather than starved it. I miss those little dimples on my arms, and the way my body wasn't covered in bruises just from sitting in the bath or crossing my legs. I'm in limbo, and part of me says that if I've ruined it this much, I might as well resume the restricting and exercise, and get THIN. Right now I just look beaten, run down and all I can see is the fat creeping back on. I need to stop hiding in bed and get out there, walk, swim, run. Stop mindlessly eating crap and pay attention to my food. I have to eat [apparently!] so I should ensure that it's the best food, to improve my skin, hair, nails. I need to get back on the multivitamins and drink more water. I'm aiming for healthy and toned.

With more pronounced hipbones.

Also...

I still can't sleep and I have a desperate urge to eat EVERYTHING in the cupboards. However I have no mustard powder, therefore cannot guarantee a thorough purge, and I've already eaten 3 portions of yogurt.

I don't think the void is my stomach, but I can't work out what it is that I need.

I want Boyfriend to love me, want me, keep me safe, but I'm becoming even more of a clingy emotional moody cow every day, and I'm so paranoid that he can't put up with me, he's going to dump me, which just makes me even more needy.

Argh.

I'm working so hard to keep my disordered eating tendancies at bay, when half the time I want to embrace them, let them become who I am because surely that will be better than the inner turmoil. I can't be taken seriously as having disordered eating, because my BMI isn't low enough, I don't purge enough and sometimes I manage "normal" eating patterns because at work or with family, I don't want them to suspect, or to accuse me of attention seeking.

Remember. It's all my head. I'm just like everyone else, and if I really wanted to be happy, I would be.

Can You Make A Career Out Of Starving?

The simple answer to that is yes.
Whether through perseverance, disability benefits or inpatient care, you can "live" with an eating disorder.
However, I don't base my happiness on financial gain. I base it on having time and space. With an eating disorder, all your time is spent calorie counting and fixated on the food you can't eat. You have no personal space, as wherever you are living there are people who are trying to make you eat. And, also, you share all your space with your eating disorder [which takes up a lot of room, while you continually shrink].
You can't enjoy social events, as they tend to involve food, drink, energy... or all three.
You start lying to the people you love, and to yourself.

Today I was honest.
Yes, I'm using diuretics and laxatives.
No, I haven't eaten more than 1000 calories in total over the the past 10 days.
Yes, I'm telling you this because I'm having chest pains, I feel faint, I do faint, I can't get out of bed, let alone go to work. I tried to walk to work yesterday, and I collapsed. Fun, eh?

Dr. Bill Oddie's reply was "for fuck's sake, you stupid fucking girl". He apologised for this explosion but to be honest I think I needed it. The chest pains are because I'm hyperventilating, and my blood sugar levels and blood pressure are very low. My heart sounds ok - for now. The diuretics are making me severely dehydrated, the laxatives aren't very helpful if you aren't eating, and my body is in starvation mode, hence how I put on two pounds by eating half a sandwich. This is because my liver was replacing the starch I forced it to use.

So, I now feel FAT. Very fat. My stomach is not flat. I have consumed food, and it will probably go straight onto me as fat. I went to work though. I completed the whole day, and told them I had a stomach upset. That's why my clothes are hanging off me. I feel skeletal, which is repulsive and gorgeous in the same instant. They offer me food, I have some so nobody suspects the vomiting was self-induced, and I think about what Bill Oddie said today.

I asked what my calorie threshold to keep me above starvation mode would be, and he reckoned around 1100.

That's a big fucking jump.
So, the plan for eating now is to remember, my body needs fuel to work. I'll be on my feet for at least 10 hours a day, walking the wards, and travelling to work.
No collapsing in a ditch in Brentwood.

I'm thinking, I'll have a sensible breakfast, like cereal and low fat natural yogurt, some fruit, a green tea or fruit juice. I'll allow myself 350 calories for breakfast.

My "main" meal will be pasta/rice/jacket potato with some fish/lean meat and vegetables or salad. Either midday, or evening if before 6pm. Allow 400 calories for this meal.

Then I'll have a meal, either lunch or if I'm eating after 6pm, like a sandwich with low-cal bread and filling, or a salad. Allow 250 calories for this meal.

That's 1000. Plus a coffee or two at work, say another 100 calories, and at least 4 pints of water.

There. Lets see how it goes. If I draw up a proper meal chart, I'll let you know how it goes.

I'll post about my placement at the end of the week. Too tired now.
Seriously.
Healthy eating - I'm emphasising both those words, because you can't be healthy without eating.

Although to be brutally honest - I want to get better. I just don't want it to involve food.

Things I Love

I love grass. I love the sky. I love forests, with gnarled trees, the forest floor mottled by the sun shining through the leaves. I love the branches reaching out to touch me, because I am me.

I went to where I used to live, and stayed with a friend of my mum's. We were throwing a party for another friend, and I just got home. I was waiting for the bus near my old house and the forest was just calling out to me. I can't resist nature. It takes my breath away that in the outskirts of London there is this place that is so beautiful. I used to skip lessons and go there to get lost. To lose the world, the worries. To lose myself. I lay there in the grass and for those moments the world was beautiful again and I was so overwhelmed.

My eating is becoming a real problem. I told my mum, she doesn't understand. I don't understand. Telling me I have to eat, my body needs food, stop cutting yourself, why do you do these things, don't do anything stupid.

My grandad commited suicide two years ago. I love my grandad. I think he understood me better then anyone else. I was so angry when he died. How could he leave me to face this all alone, I needed him.

I don't think I would kill myself. I keep myself grounded enough. What would happen to my guinea pigs? They need me. There. One reason to keep going.

This is a really bad blog. I have another bad hangover, and I really shouldn't be drinking on my medication. But I had to tell someone about the grass, the sky and how the world is beautiful.

Tequila Hurts.

I have the worst hangover ever.
Maybe not ever.
But right now, it feels like it.
I just woke up next to an almost empty bottle of Tequila, but luckily I didn't binge in my drunken state. I do vaguely remember having a lot of trouble working out how to use the door key though.

However, the marvellous upside is... 7 stone 5 pounds.
BMI 16.1

I am ecstatic.

While I'm here, I might as well add a quick medicines update. It's 60mg Fluoxetine [Prozac], Cerazette [contraceptive], multivitamins, Boots Diet Pills and the occasional 2mg Diazepam [Valium].

This Ain't No Bell Jar

I thought the best introduction I could give you to my life would be to give you an overview of my week. I ain't no Sylvia Plath and this ain't no Bell Jar. However, that said, I will try and make this as grammatically correct as possible. It might even be vaguely amusing, but no promises there.

Monday tends to involve an appointment with Dr Bill Oddie. He is exactly like Bill Oddie. Except slightly more interested in medicine than birds, I hope. It's the last appointment of the evening, plus over an hours waiting time. I'm not sure if I'm developing OCD tendencies or just get bored, but I do tidy the waiting room. A lot. Magazines by type and date, books by size. They look too messy by author. Anyway, Dr Oddie comes out with most amusing quotes like "what did you do that with, a cheese grater?". This of course referred to my last self harming spree, armed with only a blunt razor and the desire to draw blood. The results were numerous but superficial, all though another observation of Dr Oddie's was that it appeared I had "stuck my arm in a blender". I feel this to be rather exaggerated.

Tuesday means a trip to the chemist, handing over another ridiculous sum for the drugs which can't even get me out of bed in the morning. Unfortunately the lady who serves me is a friend's mum, so while I wait for my prescription I nip down the road for some dressings. Collect the meds (cue a pitying look from the pharmacist, or so I imagine), and it's back to Bill Oddie's surgery. His receptionist leaves several hours before I actually see him, so I have to go back to make the next appointment. She knows my name now. It makes me feel a little bit special and rather suspicious. Are my pathetic problems being shared among the other surgery gossip? Am I Mel, Cheese Grater Girl? I leave the surgery, resisting the urge (and it is STRONG) to chastise the children messing up my carefully organised books. Can't that old lady see that the Woman's Weekly does NOT belong in the Glamour magazine pile?

Wednesday involves even more of what I do everyday, which is stay in bed. I have no reason to leave it (except for, of course, the degree I am failing and the friends I am losing), and I don't. Late afternoon is time for "The Binge". This tends to involve large amounts of chocolate Hob Nobs or a whole baguette stuffed with brie. You see, I know I will go to a rather shit "alternative" night with some friends, to keep up the illusion of being okay, and I will drink and I will dance. Neither is a good idea as the former makes me VERY drunk due to the medication and the later makes me look like a twat. But hey, all in the name of burning calories. How does drinking dispose of pesky calories, you may ask? Well, as I am and always will be rather shit at purging, and am aware that laxatives don't do much to help, I drink and then I have a legitimate and easy way to throw up. That girl who rents the room upstairs throwing up in the bathroom a few times a week is suspicious, but someone purging in a club toilet? Totally socially acceptable.

Thursday (which happens, darlings, to be when I am writing this) is counselling day. I spend a lovely afternoon with my lovely counsellor, who gives me big meaningful "now isn't that a silly thing to do" smiles, complete with "and did that solve the problem?" style quotes. Actually, she's rather good. I can actually talk some of these feelings out of me, but I don't have an answer for why I have no motivation anymore, and neither does she. Also, I'm not allowed a cup of tea when I'm there. It always gets my goat a bit, I mean fair enough we can't smoke inside anymore but surely a cup of tea and a chat solves everything? That's the East End girl coming out in me.

Fridays, once again stay in bed until there is some sort of social gathering, which I drag myself too. I have this great little "Happy Mel" mask I can put on, but recently it's really been slipping. This can be another opportunity for a binge and purge, not on such a large scale, but maybe a bag of chips which I can sneakily chuck up later.

The weekends are a mixture - either visiting Mum, Dad, Nan or boyfriend. Boyfriend is a Viking and lives in Leeds for university. He is amazingly talented, and I don't deserve him, or rather he doesn't deserve the crap that comes with dating me. When visiting family or boyfriend, I am still careful with food, and if the opportunity to purge presents itself I will. However, family would hit the roof if they knew and Viking is rather saddened by it. Also, rather odd rule, but as I am a people pleaser I would rather eat at least some of what someone has made me than disappoint them. Visiting Dad is the worst. It's all restaurants and Pizza Express and foods which I can't even begin to count the calories in.


As to my usual dietary intake - the staple diet revolves around low fat yogurt, low calorie soup and lots of apples. I sometimes chuck in the odd sandwich or jacket potato, then laugh secretly to myself, because they don't realise that I can make a sandwich under 150 calories and that a small potato with tuna isn't much more. Any the reason I eat fish? "Oh, it's much better for you than meat". Bullshit. It's because a piece of white fish has around 60 calories in it, and you, ignorant housemate, will never know.

This makes me sound like a conniving bitch, and I probably am - I don't want to gain weight, I want to lose it, and I mess it up enough by binging without you deciding to force feed me. The worst part of all this is, it isn't really me at all. Really, I know that losing a few pounds is not going to sort me and my life out and will probably make things worse. I'm a Student Mental Health Nurse and I should have more sense than this. I really, really should.