Packing…..

So yesterday I packed my case. I ran up the stairs. Yes you read correctly. I A: ran and B: went upstairs. Two forbidden activities  but it felt good to disobey them, to pack. 

I flipped. I’ve had enough. My boyfriend came to visit and we were told to sit in the hallway. When everyone else could have some privacy of a private room, sit in the lodge or the therapy hut. I get the hallway. This was the tip of the iceberg. This then ruined the 1st hour and then after lunch when my boyfriend came back we sat outside as the sun was out and got told to move to staff could watch me. I lost it. I flipped. I ran full pelt upstairs and starting frantically packing. I didn’t leave. I’m still here. But my case is still packed. I want to leave. I’m just petrified of the alternative. Petrified. It literally is the only thing keeping me. How scared of the alternative I am. 

after the conversations we had yesterday with the staff I thought they would learn. They didn’t listen. Later that evening I got told to move yet again so staff could watch me and then I got told I’d been in the sun too long so could I move out of it. I’m 27. I know when I’ve had too much sun. I’m not 2. Then this morning I was told to leave the bathroom door unlocked and got checked up on if I was ‘too’ long. It’s a joke. It’s crazy. 

My case will remain packed. 

It’s not being unpacked. 

Today I’m deciding. How today goes decides of if I stay or not. Then it will be only day by day. This place is making me crazy. 

Maybe I’ll run again today maybe I’ll run up the stairs again. Disobey them. Annoy them Like they annoy me. See how they like it. 

Day 13 ……. the unlucky number¬†

Woke up feeling like shit. Just can’t be atsed feel so crap. My stomach hurts, its full already but it’s only morning. I just want to cry but I’m out of tears. Woke up and my roommate gets bought a drink in bed. Me nothing. See. No one thinks of me. I don’t have ‘friends’ in here. They hate me. They think I’m weird. They judge me. They talk about me. I know they do. I want to go back to sleep and never open my eyes. All my positivity from yesterday is gone. Fuck off life. And this is before I’ve even got out of bed 

I feel like I’ve been punished because I’m ill. I feel like I’m in prison. It’s bank holiday weekend and I can’t do anything. I’m stuck here. I can’t go sit in a beer garden I can’t go out and can’t do anything. How’s that fair. All because I’m ill. You don’t get punished for breaking your leg. You still have your freedom. They give you crutches or a wheelchair to help. Here they take that away and instead give me a leash as short as anything and watch me like a hawk. Why couldn’t I just break my leg instead of getting this ūüė¶ 

Snack….

So I don’t really find any meal times ‘easy’ but I guess that’s why I’m in here. If I did then I’d be fine and wouldn’t need to be an inpatient or even have an eating disorder. I do however find some meal times easier than others and I find some extremely hard. Snacks being the worst, snacks being near impossible. So the routine is breakfast (cereal) then snack (smoothie/milkshake/or the worst…..home baking) then it’s lunch (cooked meal)  followed by snack which is half snack at the moment (300ml of juice and half a snack, cereal bar, crisps or chocolate) followed by supper then another snack (300ml juice or 200ml milk)

My nemesis is the snacks. I’m more scared of snack than death. I’ve got into the habit of downing the juice at bed time. As this means I get off supervision sooner and can go to bed sooner. Morning snack is very hit and miss, sometimes it’s done in a second sometimes I just can’t do it. If it’s home baking then I’m screwed. I just can’t eat a cake or something. No way. But the biggest hurdle snack wise is afternoon snack. 300ml of juice and half a cereal bar or similar. I’ve barely managed to complete it in the two weeks I’ve been here. The word snack is horrible. I don’t need a snack. I struggle with breakfast lunch and supper let alone coping with snacks. Snacks is something that if people diet they cut out, snacks aren’t essential , snacks are treats and I don’t want or need a treat. I can’t seem to get over this hurdle. And then today the support worker saw me struggle and gently went to run my arm. Well that was it. I was off. I find that so patronising I don’t need a gentle pat. I’ve told them this. So that was done. I walked off. Another snack failed. Yet again. It’s so hit and miss. God knows how I’ll cope when all my other meals increase to include ‘afters’ like yoghurts and fruit. I’m already dreading that. Already fearing that. I struggled to take the first increase from 1/4 to 1/2. But one day at a time I guess. One meal time by one meal time. 

Still waiting for it to hit 

Still waiting for this to all hit me. When will it hit me that I’m an inpatient in hospital. Full time. It just hasn’t. It seems to pass by in a blur like I’m Waiting for someone to pinch me and wake me up. It doesn’t feel real it feels weird. Dream like or should I say nightmare like. It seems fake, fictional, not reality. It really hasn’t sunk in. I can’t describe how it feels but it defineltly hasn’t hit me yet where I am and for potentially how long I will be here. Days just pass by, life just doesn’t exist it’s all a haze all very weird. All odd. Like I’m floating waiting to fall waiting for something but not sure what. It’s strange. 

Harder than I thought

Just a mini blog……..

Each day I’m learning this is harder than I thought. YesterdY was the lowest and toughest day I had. I won’t go in to details but I ran out of the hospital and ran away…..only to walk back in 30 minutes later. That’s how much of a failure I am. I can’t evidence run away I come walking back. That’s how f****d up I am. 

Every time I smile I feel guilty, I wash my hair I feel guilty, I eat I feel guilty. I feel fat, I see fat, I feel disgusting, horrendous, hideous. And fat. I  don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I seem to just be stuck. Stuck staring, stuck isolated, stuck here. I hate it.

My head is messed up. It’s all over the place. I hear voices, I get so much vent up anger and agitation, my mind is in over drive. I had to cover my ears Earlier from the noise. But the noise was my head. I’m going mad. I swear. I don’t know what to do how to win how to even start my recovery. I just don’t know 

Fighting Annie. 

Today, day 7 of being and impatient and it’s the first day I’ve washed my hair. The first day I’ve felt marginally clean marginally fresh. The first day I came downstairs and spoke to the nurse as I took my medication. The first day of hopefully many. But it’s so hard so confusing. 

I’ve done this. I washed my hair but it feels wrong. It feels so wrong. I’m disobeying Annie. She likes the fact I haven’t washed I haven’t clean I’m down and moody but I wash my hair and she hates me. She’s annoyed at me she’s angry at me. But all I did was wash my hair. It feels good but yet so wrong how can it be this hard. I’m so confused as in what to do. This fight has only just started. It really isn’t as simple as I though. It’s not as simple as eating. It’s the mental battle. The battle you have every time you mange a smile the fight you have with yourself every time you do something normal. Annie is tough she is so strong but can I be stronger. I don’t know. I’m fighting. I’m trying. But I don’t feel I’m getting anywhere. My head feels worse. It’s all over the place. I’m scared. Annie’s been my best friend my comfort blanket and now I’m losing her I’m losing it. How can be this hard. I’m scared but I’m fighting. I am. I’m trying. 

Slowly going insane 

Today has been the worst day. I swear I’m getting worse mentally since I’ve been in here. The stuff I’m doing. The person I’m becoming. The things I’m thinking. Everything. 

I’m isolating myself completely. I just sit in the chair. Staring. Sleeping or crying. Then it’s meal time. Then it’s crying over meal time then it’s staring then it’s make to another meal time. I don’t get involved in anything. I just sit and stare. I don’t talk. To staff or patients. I’ve had a catch up today with staff. Told them I was fine. Patients ask how I am. I tell them I’m fine. I just want this to all be over with. 

I’m trying so hard but it doesn’t seem good enough. Nothing seems good enough. I’m tired. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of how this is effecting people. I’m tired. 

Day 3 

I really don’t think I can do this. I really don’t think I can. I’m crying over juice and drinks and now the way I’m doing can’t be healthy. I’m lieterally downing everything just so I can get away from the table. It’s either, in down and out or in sit and cry, shake, pull my hair then finally down it. But either way I guzzle it. Surely that’s not healthy. I hate this. 

I’m isolating myself I don’t talk. I’ve barely muttered two words all day. My stomach hurts. No one has taken me a side and had a word with me about how I’m settling in. I haven’t been told when I can have visitors I wasn’t even told till 2 mins before I had a doctors appointment and what it was for. No one has sat down with me and explained groups and what they are. I signed a piece of paper yesterday saying I had no staid access and couldn’t walk in the garden. This wasn’t told to me. I’ve no idea what I’ve got to eat till it’s shoved in front of me I don’t know what I can and can’t do. I’m just sitting there. I spend hours just sitting there then every two hours trying to eat or drink something. The next hour thinking about that the next hour thinking about the next meal and how the fat is just sitting on me. I’m not talking to staff nor the other inpatients. I want to leave. It’s horrible. 

I asked for a shower last night only to be told I couldn’t go up till bedtime. So I waited for bed time and asked for my razor so I could have a shower. I didn’t want a shower I just wanted my razor. I wanted and I needed to cut myself to feel tha cut to see the blood. I’ve eaten so much. I needed to feel it.

Prison sentence 

I hate it here. I hate it. It’s like I’m a kid in school but in prison. There so patronising I have no independence at all. I’ve sat all day long. I can’t even walk up the stairs to get my coat and shoes. It’s horrendous. I hate it. I’ve cried sitting in front of a milkshake for an hour, and or she juice for 20 minutes and cereal for 30 minutes. I hate it. I’m agitated over the next snack already already playing on my mind. They threatened to pick the glass up for me Earlier and feed me. I’m 27. Not 2!!!

I’m now sitting here feeling fat. Hating myself. Sweating. Feeling fat. Planning how to de fat. Laxatives, secret exercise. Anything. I hate this place. Tomorrow will be worse. I know it. I want to die. I want to not wake up. I’ve felt so weak all day. So patronised so child like. I hate it. I’m an adult. I don’t need mantras repeated, the table planned changed so I have two staff opposite me and everyone else on another table. That makes me feel worse. More child like than ever. I’ll be out soon. I will. I’ll walk out I’ll show them I’m fine 

The worst day 

Today has been the worst worst worst day. Ever. The worst. 

Today was admission day. My admission time moved backwards due to an eventful evening last night and I tried to get out of being admitted today but that didn’t work. I was then all packed and just heading off to then get the news a family friend who was like a nan to me had passed away. And then I still had to go a get admitted. 

So here I am. Sitting in the lounge. In “supervision” after taking an hour and half to eat my way through one half of a tuna wrap. I did it. I only ate it to shut the support worker up who just kept patronising me. “This is your medicine” “just start” “your body needs this” over and over and over again. 

I’m now sitting here frantically jiggiling away not sure what to feel or think. I’ve too many emotions too many thoughts to even make sense. I just want to sleep. Sleep forever. And ever. And ever. And not be here. Not be here not be here in prison trapped all independence gone.