Home leave 

So I get to go home this weekend. I get to spend 4 nights at home. 4 nights in my own bed. 4 nights with my family. 4 nights away from hospital. 4 nights being normal. 
Except I won’t be normal. I’ll be stressing over food, stressing over everything I eat and everything I should be eating. Stressing over breakfast lunch and dinner. Stressing over coffees and drinks. Stressing over it all. Part of me is excited to be home. Part of me is seeing it as an excuse not to eat. I never do well when I go home. I always manage to skip meals I’m always sneaky. I always lie. I make hot chocolates with water instead of milk, I skip the butter in sandwiches. I eat sugar feee baked beans I buy skinny bread. I cut corners left right and centre. And hats on he stuff i eat. On top of cutting corners in the things I eat I often miss meals altogether. And part of me is excited that I’ll get the opportunity to skip meals. I see going home as a place to lose weight. But at the same time I’m terrified. I’m doing just enough in hospital to stay on the ward I am and be discharged in January but if I lose weight they’ve made it clear that they will send me backwards and supervise me even more. I don’t want to go backwards. So here’s the tough situation. I use home as an excuse not to eat. It’s so easy not to eat. It’s so easy to fall back in to the bad habits. But if I do and I come back to the hospital having lost weight. They’ll send me back. So what do I do. Here lies the problem. Do I eat all I should eat and ruin my weekend with stress and the guilty feeling of eating. And spend the weekend ashamed with myself for eating meals. Feeling fat. Feeling guilty. Feeling repulsed with myself but gaining weight and getting nearer to discharge. Or. Do I spend the weekend cutting corners and missing meals. But being happier within myself and enjoying my weekend. 

The ideal would be to eat. Gain weight. Enjoy what I eat and enjoy the weekend. But that’s not possible. So it’s a matter of either or. But either way I’m stuffed. Either I out weight on and hate myself or I loose weight and go backwards. Either way what should be an enjoyable weekend will actually be a stress filled one 

Discharge. 

Yep. You read that right. Today I got told I would get a discharge date in a couple of weeks time it’s looking like I will be discharged in January. I should be extacic. I should be jumping if the ceiling but instead I’m sitting here writing this trying not to cry and wishing my suicide attempt worked the other day. Why you may ask? Well I don’t know.  I really don’t. I’m sitting here tears running down my face when I should feel happy I’m getting discharged. Instead I’m terrified.  I’m kidding everyone. I’m fully aware going home means being depressed even more alone than I am now and I know full well hat I will slip back and restrict my food. I know the weight will just fall off. I’m dreading going back to work. I’m dreading being on my own. I’m dreading living in the family home. I’m dreading it all. 

This weekend will be a test. I got framed home leave. I’m going home. To the family home and spending all weekekdn there. This will be a massive test. I’ve never felt loved. I’ve always felt in the way. This will see how I manage to cope. If j can carry on eating. If I can put weight on. If my mum and dad talk to me if the show me love. If they want to do stuff if they care. This will show me alll this stuff. But deep down I’m dreading it. I know I’ll be bored I’ll know struggle to eat and grant myself permission to eat. I know I’ll be alone. I know I’ll fall backwards and take several steps back. Everyone should look forward to getting home leave. They shouldn’t dread it. But I do. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just want someone to cuddle me and tell me it will all be ok. I’ve wasted so much of my life and now I’m getting discharged next year I should be happy but instead I’m just dreading it. I’m dreading life. I wasn’t meant for life. It scares me. It terrifies me. It confuses me. 

Day 200

Yep. I’ve been in hospital 200 days. 200 days of eating. 200 days of being alone. 200 days of medication. 200 days of feeling fat 200 of calories. 200 days. 

If someone would have told me in the middle of the year that I’d have been admitted to hospital and would spend over 200 days in there. I wouldn’t have believed them. But it’s happened. 

As much as I hate my time here being in hospital I also have to thank the NHS. For all the bad press they get I probably wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale of it wasn’t for them. They literally saved my life. And are still saving it. I battle with them everyday but the long and the short of it is that they have saved my life. They’ve given me time to spend with my family. They’ve shown me who actually cares about me. They’ve fed me up. They’ve made me put weight on but they’ve given me my life back. It may not feel like it right now and I might hate the amount I have to eat. But they are helping me. They are saving my life. I can’t fault them for that. 

I’ve spent 200 days alone in hospital. 200 days of wishing I wasn’t here. 200 days out of work. 200 days eating food after food after food. 200 days trapped in the four walls of the hospital. It’s not been an easy 200 days. It’s been beyond tough and I don’t know how many more days I have left. A fair few is all I know. But I have to say thank you. Thank you to the NHS for saving my life. I fought you. I’ve tried to take my life 3 times it hasn’t been easy but I’m grateful that they’ve fought me and kept me alive and are giving me the opportunity to live. So thank you. A massive thank you to the NHS. I may hate you most days but deep down I know your doing the best you can for me. 

Weight gain 

So yesterday I fought for my place on transistion. I promised the staff I would eat. I promised them I would gain weight. I promised them I would do everything I could do I did not have to go back to progression. I promised them I would do it.

So. I am. 

Today I woke up and had breakfast. And added in extra. I’m so petrified of going back that I’ve been scared into eating. I doubled my breakfast. Which I should have been doing everyday but had stopped and was only having a single breakfast. But the p work popped in and scared me into eating. I then had a main dessert. A whole 350 kcals. Which normally I would skip and only have 100. But not today. Today I’m terrified. I’m terrified of going backwards that I ate a main dessert. That’s one way to get me to eat. Scare me into it. 

I’m still very much of the opinion hat I’m eating my way out of here. As soon as I leave I’ll diet and lose the weight. I’m still thinking like that. I hope that one day j wake up and the switch in my brain is flicked and that feeling will disappear but at the time being it’s still very much there. But at least I’m eating for now. I was told I’ll be blind weighed and not told about it so I can’t fabricate my weight. I’m told if I don’t put a significant amount on I’ll be sent backwards. So for now the scare tactic is working. I’m eating. I’m scared. I’m eating. Let’s see if it’s enough!! 

I have a plan.

So I’ve come up with a plan. A plan I’m going to stick to and follow through. A plan which will help get me through the next tough few weeks of weight gain. 

So what’s the plan I hear you all say. Well here goes…… my plan. 

I’ve been told i need to put more weight on as I’ve been losing weight and need to gain before I can maintain. So this is my plan. My throughly thought through plan. My way out of here. My answer to all my problems. The solution I’ve been looking for. Dropped like a penny hitting the floor. I sat there, it sprang into my mind and now I’m determined to stick to it. 

Phase 1 of the plan. Eat. Yes you heard me right. An anorexic saying eat. I will eat what they want me to. I will eat enough to gain weight. I will eat enough and gain enough so I’m at the weight that they want me to maintain. Which is 54kg. So phase one. Is reach 54kg. Phase 2 of the plan is to maintain 54kg for a few weeks and show them I can do it and I’m ready to go home and be discharged. And phase 3. We’ll phase 3 is the stage I can’t wait for is the stage that is making the other stages bearable. Stage 3 is the final stage and makes the other stages doable. What’s stage 3 I hear you ask. Well stage 3 is restriction. Yep. You read correctly. Restriction once I’ve maintained 54kg I will get discharged. And then I can diet, restrict and lose weight. I can loose the weight I’ve just put on. I can get back to a skinny person. I can get back to 40kg or less. That’s my aim. As soon as my feet step out of this front door and I’m discharged the restricting will begin. This place hasn’t made me better hasn’t changed how I feel about food. Hasn’t changed anything. I still have the over powering need to restrict and now I’ve sorted out how to do it I just need to get the balk rolling. I’m just going to have to suck it up these next few weeks and keep looking towards when I’m home and the restricting can start!!!  

How I look 

So long story short, I had to go to hospital (a and e) last night as I did something stupid. Whilst I was there 2 people. The nurses. Looked at me and had to ask me what I was in hospital for. They had to ask why I was an impatient in a hospital. It wasn’t obvious to them that I have anorexia. They looked at and asked why I was in the hospital. I replied saying I have anorexia. But the fact they had to ask me shows how I must look normal. How I don’t look skinny any more. How it’s not obvious that I have anorexia. All did this jus made me feel worse. People used to look at me and could easily tell I was underweight and had anorexia. But now people look at me and question what’s wrong with me. Whereas before it was obvious. Yes I want people to still look st me and see my bones and no why I’m there but when people question it, it just makes me feel fat and a fraud. I hate my life. Hence my suicide attempt last night. I hate it. I just want to die 

Failed 

Well that didn’t work. I took 14 paracetamol and nothing. Nothing happened. I wasn’t even sick. Thats how pathetic I am. I can’t even do that job right and proper. I’m just wasting my life. I really am. 

When will something right happen. When will something go my way. I’ve had a very tough hard day today. I’m feeling so down and so low. I feel rubbish. I feel sick of feeling like this. It’s not fair on my family I don’t like being like this I don’t like feeling like this. I don’t choose to feel like this. I don’t. It just happens. I just feel so low. So lost. So lonely. When will it change. When will it turn around. When will something go right. When will something good happen. 

Today all I’ve had all day is staff on my back. I wasn’t allowed out by myself I wasn’t allowed to eat by myself. What they don’t realise is by doing all of hag it actually makes me feel worse. I’m in the ward where we have more freedom yet there taking it away from me. Today is the lowest I’ve felt in a long time. So alone. So lost. I just want to give up. I’m not living in mereley surviving. It’s not worth the agro. The hassle. It’s really not. 

Lies

Lies lies lies and lies. Yep. I’m a massive lier. Not directly me. But Ana makes me one. I lie about everything. About how I’m doing. About the food I’ve eaten. About anything. Today I went to do my breakfast. Which should have been cereal and toast but I always get away with just doing cereal because of the ward I’m on. I’m on a ward called transition which means I have the freedom to make my own meals and I’m not watched by staff. But today a member of staff came up to me and said I needed to have a double breakfast. Which means toast as well as cereal. I went mad at the member of staff. They shouldn’t be telling me what to do because the ward I’m on means freedom. So I sat there. Ate my cereal and made my toast. I say there picking at my toast and the moment the staffs back was turned I picked it up and through it in the bin. Twice. And then the moment the staff left I lost led it out of the bin and snuck it into my room and the bin in my room so they wouldn’t see it. That’s how sneaky and like a lier ana makes me. 

I’m so fed up of being in hospital now. I’m so lonely. So bored. So fat. I’m being sneaky with food. Buying ready meals under 500 kcals and I’m spending all my time alone. I bought laxatives so now have them in my room. I’ve also snuck in alcohol and paracetamol so can easily over does if I get the guts. I’m sick of this life. It’s not a life at all. I’m longing for company. I’m longing to be normal. I hate my life. I really really really do. I just want it all over with. I’m sick of being bored sick of being alone sick of it all. 

And to make matters worse my dad saw me todag and said he can clearly see I’ve put weight on. Great. I’m now looking fat. So I’m Alone. Fat. And depressed. What a life 

Hello laxatives 

So today I went out with my brother. We had a lovely time. Bar the phone calls from the ex trying to ruin the day. 

We went to Brighton and had both lunch and dinner out. Lunch was a kiddies sandwich from Pret A Manger and dinner was a skinny pizza from zizzi. This on top of a normal breakfast before leaving has made me think I’ve over indulged. I feel like I’ve eaten far too much and been a fat piggy. So I’ve taken laxatives. 3 to be precise. To try and counteract it. When will I be able to eat normally and not worry about feeling fat or putting weight on. When will I just be able to eat.

Memory 

So. I had another round of ect yesterday and it really is affecting my memeory. Not just short term either. I’m forgetting loads of things and it’s so frustrating. No one can imagine what it’s like to loose your memeory until it Happens. It’s scary. It’s strange. It’s lonely too. As I’m forgetting loads of things. There is one thing I would happily forget though but it doesn’t appear to be vanishing. I want to forget all about my controlling ex, the abusivse relationship I was in. I want that to dissapear so badly. I’d happily forget all of that. Maybe if I did forget it I’d be able to move on once and for all. Instead of forgetting where I put my shoes why can’t I forget my ex. Just if we could pick and chose 

I have had 4 ects now and they want me to have a minimum of 6. It’s not getting easier. It’s getting harder. I cry every time and come round not knowing where I am or why I’m here so my brother has to call me up each time to exponent. It’s very scary. I’m getting headaches where I’m cramping my jaw shut tight it’s horrible. And on top of my ect I now have the dietician on my back checking every inch of my menu to make sure I’m eating enough to put weight on. What she doesn’t know is I’m lying on my menu. I write down what she wants to see and what they think I’m going to eat then I don’t eat it and do my own thing. I’m really really in a pickle I’m stuck. And I don’t know how to get out.