I’m quite proud of myself. I must say. Despite having a sickness bug I’m still managing to eat. Not the right amount but I’m still managing to put stuff in. And what’s more it’s what I fancy. Not what ana wants. Today I fancied crackers and cheese. So that’s what I had. And went back for more. Today I fancied chocolate. So that’s what I had. I’m ignoring ana. Fuck her. I’ll have what I want. When I want. Saturday was a big day too. Normally I use weekends to skip meals but Saturday I stick to the routine. I did. Breakfast. Snack. Lunch. Snack. And dinner. Then got sick so all my hard work was undone. But I’m not giving in. I’m not giving up. I will beat this. I will. I’ve noticed a change this past week and I’m having what I what. I’m having what I fancy. I’m ignoring anas voice. 1 week ago I wouldn’t have been able to have cracker and cheese. But today I did. I will beat this. I will not give up. I’m sick but I’m still trying. Normally I’d use this as an excuse not to eat but I’m still trying. Still plodding on. I will beat ana and destroy her! She will not win!!
I’m struggling. I really am. Today I got home from day patient, got into bed and wanted to go to sleep. But all my mind could think about was hurting myself. Hurting myself for eating too much. Hurting myself for being lazy and not going for a walk or to the gym. Hurting myself for being a fat lump. So instead of sleeping I got up. Sat on my bedroom floor and plugged my straighteners in. My hairs already straight. I didn’t plug them in for that. I plugged them in to burn myself. To feel the sting. The pain. See the burn. I needed to punish myself. To relive all that I was feeling. To rid myself of my demons. I’m having a rubbish week. I really truly am.
I don’t know what to do. I’mStuck. I’m clueless. So many options. Too much to choose from. Some scary. Some “safe” to be honest I think I know what I need to do. I’m just scared.
Edict (eating school) in other words day patient. Isn’t working. In over two months I’ve got nowhere. I’ve actually lost weight. I weigh less that what I did when I started here. How’s that possible? And mentally. Well nothing is changing. Here they don’t do one to ones. Though that’s what I really need. Here they “don’t have time”. Here they do group therapy but half the groups aren’t even eating disorder based or even mental health based. There pointless. I’ve just spent an hour debating gender and what society thinks. How’s that any help!? It doesn’t benefit me At all. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t help make sense of all the shit that’s in my head. I think I need to leave but I’m scared. I’m scared about work. About what I’ll do. I’m scared about life. I’m scared about eating. Here is a “safe” place. Life seems easy. I come in 8:30-4 go home, gym and watch tv. Then it’s bed. Simple. Easy. I don’t know what to do. I wish I knew what was next. What to do. What the future brings. I wish it was simple
So what if I eat. So what if I get to a size 12
So what if my thighs touch
So what if my stomach has rolls
So what if I’ve got bingo wings.
So fucking what!!
I’m trying so frigging hard these past two weeks to stick to my meal plan. And eat. My meal plan has increased once again but I’m determined to knock anorexia on the head. I will beat it. I will ignore the voices. I will live a life. So what if I get bigger. Who actually cares?! If judged on my size then I don’t want those people in my life. If people judge me by how I look that not worth the hassle.
It’s been a year now. A year since my first overdose and a stay in a&e and what a year it’s been. 4 overdoses, a trip to a&e with a messed up heart, 8 months as an inpatient, 2 months in day care, a job lost, friends lost and so much food consumed. I’m still in day care. Ad I will be for a couple more months. My body still has a long way to go till I’m “recovered” mentally I don’t think I’ll ever fully get there. I think part of ana is going to stay with me for ever. But it’s all about silencing the voice. Standing up. And taking control. Ana has controlled my life for too long now. She’s made me loose friends, nearly miss my brother getting married, she changed me. She made me evil. I lost a relationship I lost everything due to her. And I’m slowly getting it back. I’m slowly learning it’s ok to eat. Don’t get me wrong every day is a battle and some days are impossible. I feel guilty after consuming any food and I’m getting addicted to the gym. But I’m getting there. I’m making slow progress and I’m determined that 2018 will be the death of Ana.
I’m exhausted. And I can’t quite work out why. When I say exhausted I mean completely and utterly exhausted. I could sleep for days. Yet all I do all day long is sit on my (now fat) arse and attend groups and therapy. How does that make sense. Mentally I think it’s taken it’s toll and catching up with me. My weight is all over the place. I put on half a kg Monday and today I’ve lost that half a kg. And I can’t quite work out why!? I’m Also becoming addicted to the gym. Yesterday I went. I forced myself even though I yawned the whole entire time walking there. And tonight. I’m shattered yet I’ve booked myself on a class. I need to burn calories. It’s all I look at. Not the time. Just the calories. Going up and up. Burning off my dinner. I need to. It’s like it justifies my eating and makes it ok. I’m Also craving food like never before. All I want to do all day is eat. I’m so hungry and have a massive appetite. But do I feed it. No. Do I listen to my rumbling stomach. No. Instead as soon as I’m home from day patient care I go to the gym and just have a low calorie soup. I’m left feeling empty. Hungry. Wanting more. Wanting dessert. Wanting something “naughty” a sweet treat. Something delicious. But do I. No. All I think about all day long is food. It’s exhausting. Im either thinking about what I’ve eaten, what I’ll eat next or what I want to eat but won’t allow myself. I want to binge. I want to eat so much stuff. Chocolate. Dominoes. Garlic bread. Cheesecake. Indian. Chinese. You name it. I pretty much want it. But can’t do it. I really can’t. I’ve never thought about food so much. The thought of having soul does nothing. It’s so insignificant. I don’t enjoy it. I just have it as it’s liquid and low calorie. Anorexia sucks.
So yes I’m fat. It’s official. My weight has gone up. I’m now much heavier. I guess that’s what eating out at the weekend does. Twice. All I think about all day long is food. My next meal. My next snack. I’mConstantly hungry. Constantly craving food. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m meant to be anorexic. I’m meant to be Starving myself but instead I’m just piling on the pounds getting fatter by the day. Heavier by the hour. It’s so hard. I’m enjoying my food. But feel so guilty afterwards. And then when weigh in happens it just knocks me down. Crushes me. Ruins my day. I feel fat. A fraud. Horrendous. Yes today I’m in my new size 6 jeans which I got on without even unbuttoning them. But that means nothing. My brain doesn’t register that means I’m small. All my brain registers is I’ve put weight on and I’ve got fat. The gap between my thighs is Shrinking. The rolls on my stomach are becoming more prominent. Yes to leave here I need to put weight on. Yes to live my life and get on with things I need to put weight on. Put to hear it. To see it. Is so hard. So so hard
This week. Well where to start. We had meal out this week and we went to Wagamamas. Which was already hard to begin with as I’mNot a massive fan of the food. I picked two options. One I would like but hover calories and one I wouldn’t like but really low calories. And I’m pleased to say (and proud of myself) I took a massive step forward and went for what I would like more. I chose taste over numbers. And for that I’m proud.
Yes I got full half way through and still had to finish it. Yes I felt as guilty as hell during it and for the foreseeable future after it but I did it. I went for taste over numbers. So that was the beginning of the week. I’m struggling with weigh in and numbers going up and yesterday I had meal review and they told me my weight isn’t increasing how they would like it so I need to be consuming 3500 a day for two weeks. It was safe to say my eyeballs nearly popped out of there sockets. How an earth im going to mange that I don’t know. I’ve also been going to the gym a lot. Which I need to try and stop.
This week has been a week of firsts. I felt full for the first time, I went for taste for the first time and my tummy rumbled for the first time.
All steps towards recovery I guess. I’m trying to remain positive but it’s very hard!!
Im a fat cow. A fat obese cow. That’s me. I’ve put on so much weight. I stood on the scales this morning for weigh in and the numbers have rocketed. They’ve shot up into a completely different number. Not just a decimal point. A whole new number. I feel awful. Dreadful. That doesn’t even cover it. I feel ugly. Hideous. Grotesque. Words can’t explain how I feel. There are no words strong enough to explain how I feel. That’s how bad it is. I know to leave day patient care I need to put weight on. But seeing it is just awful. I knew I would put weight on but wasn’t expecting that much. It’s so much. I can’t cope with it. I know tonight I’ll go home and cut myself. Punish myself. Slice that razor across my stomach. My horrible fat bulging stomach. It deserves to me sliced. For blood to be seen to drip down my stomach to feel the sting as it submerges in water to feel the pain. I know I will. I need to. I deserve it. It deserves it. I also know I’ll go the gym. Watch the calories tick up on the treadmill. So how many I can burn off. Go up through the hundreds. Ticking by. Burning off food I’ve eaten today. I Also know my evening meal won’t be anything. I’ll have to eat. My mum will make me. But it will be the smallest portion possible. The fewest Calories. The least fatty. It will be minimal. It will be liquid. It will be soup. With barely anything in. I hate myself. Beyond belief. The stack of pills I have at home are coming even more appealing. The thought is there. I could just swallow them all. All 60 of them and see what happens. This would all be over with. Done. Finished. I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel anything. I won’t to feel nothing. To feel numb. Anything but how I feel now. I did this to myself. I bought this on. I need punishing. I ate over the weekend. I put the weight on. Therefore I need to punish myself. I need to. I have to. And I will.
So today I’ve eaten. A lot. Today I had lunch and dinner. And sweets. Today I’ve pigged out. Today I feel fat. Not just even a little fat. Obese fat. Today I’m convinced I’ve put on so much weight. Instantly. Today I feel a fraud. A lier. Guilty. Today I feel horrible. Today I wanted to eat but now it leaves me feeling like this. Is it worth it. Is it not easier just to not eat so I don’t have these feelings. Some days I think I’m fighting this battle and winning. And some days like today I think I’m failing. I’m longing to take laxatives. I haven’t been to the gym. I’ve just grown. The gap between my thighs had shrunk. My belly sticks out. It’s horrible. Why eat if I’m left feeling like this.
So today I cooked a meal for my mum and Dad. And for me too. We all had the same. Pasta bake. I knew I was having it so I made sure I skipped breakfast and lunch in preparation for it. But. And here’s the big but. I did it. I had a plate full of pasta bake then went bake to the dish I cooked it in and had some of the left overs. And I didn’t feel guilty. I didn’t feel bad. I enjoyed it. I liked it. Yes I may have starved myself all day but I ate a normal dinner. Cooked it and portioned it out. And on top of all of that I ate it and went back for me. It felt good. I felt normal. I actually enjoyed a dinner and that’s a massive step