Today is Monday which means I got woken up (I was already awake) for weigh in at 6am. Monday weigh in is the only weigh in we’re allowed to know out weight. I get weighed twice a week, once on a Monday and once on a Friday, but we never find out weight out on Friday. We choose on Monday weather we want to see or not. It took me a while to first decided what’s best. But I’ve opted to see it. I do every Monday. It effects me massively but if I didn’t find out I wouldn’t know how I’m progressing and when I did eventually find my weight out it would have increased massively so would have been more of a shock.
We all have to go the toilet before weigh in and strip to our bra and knickers, taking of all Jewellery too. I stand there arms by my side, weight for the beep and then look at my weight! Increases again. I’ve put on yet more weight. Which obviously I knew I would as I’m in the weight gain programme, however it still effects me, this week is the least weight I’ve put on since I’ve been here, the aim is to put on a kg a week but this time I only just put on half a kg. Think it’s the exercise I keep doing. However it’s still a gain and now I’m petrified next week I’ll have put on loads and loads more.
I instantly check my bmi. It’s rocketing up! I’m miles away from the pink ‘critically dangerous’ section and rocketing up to healthy rapidly. I’m still in the anorexic bmi range but it’s going up each week. Each day even. This is a good thing for recovery but my anorexic mind hates this and thinks I’ve failed and tells me I need to fall back to the pink section and that I should be ashamed I’m in the blue section now. I’m nearly at a bmi of 15 which means I can drive again which means I’m surely fine. This is playing on my mind loads. I feel extremely fat, guilty and ashamed. My bmi is rapidly increasing and the more it increases the better the recovery but the worse the anorexic shouts at me as says I’m a pathetic excuse of a human being who is now getting extremely fat and heavy. And my comfort blanket that anorexia gave me is slowly being pulled away and I hate it. I don’t know what life without it is like. I’m scared. So scared. But can’t admit this as people think that means I want to be ill. I don’t want to be. I just don’t know what life is anymore. What direction I want to go in or who to be “normal” anymore. I’ll just fall back and be invisible more invisible than before. The anorexia gave me a purpose it was something I was good at. It hid things and covered things up and now it’s going I’m like a toddler taking its first steps. It’s all unknown territory.