So yesterday was the big meeting, ward round. And I got it. I’ve moved wards. I’m no longer in the acute ward I’ve moved to the progression ward! They are pleased with how I am doing and feel I’m ready for progression. I spend the day bouncing of the walls so happy. I phone my mum and Dad just to tell them (which I never do, we don’t really talk about me being in here) and they are so happy for me too!
But it’s change. I’m not complaining. I’m glad I’ve moved. I wanted to move for a few weeks now. But I’m scared of change and find it unsettling. So I spend the evening feeling rather down and kind of missing acute. But that’s wrong. I shouldn’t feel like that. I know it’s just the change making me feel like this. I’m sure I’ll be ok once I’ve settled in. It’s like the first day of school but everyone else started weeks ago. I’m just scared and exhausted. I’ve moved rooms so packed and unpacked I had a full on day the day before with family therapy sessions and one to ones and another full on day today! So I think it’s all a combination of everything making me feel low. But don’t get me wrong I’m so happy I’ve moved. Just need to get on transition now. But one day at a day. One step at a time.
It feels like I’m on a prison sentence. It feels like I’m on a leash. It feels like I’m on a bungee jump and Where ever I go I always come back. Come back to the hospital 😦
I hate how hospital is “home” now. I hate how I get 8 hours out but have to come back. It’s like a tease. This is what your life could be like. But those 8 hours. As a amazing as they are they seem like a fairy tale land. I can’t ever imagine my life being like that. I can’t imagine not coming back to the four walls of my room on the ward. I can’t imagine life. I feel like I’m Alice every time I get leave. I fall down the whole. Have a lovely time but it’s all make believe. I still Can’t imagine my life. I can’t see the future. I talk about it. I want one. But I just can’t imagine one. I’m
So grateful for my brother and sister in law. And the staff for letting me have the 8 hours. But saying goodbye and going back to hospital when there going back and having a Saturday night like everyone else is, is hard. Seeing everyone going about there day to day life. Getting dressed up for a night out. Sitting in a bar. Having a cocktail. Shopping till the want. Meandering around. Just doing life. Or the normal things. Nothing special I want it. I want to drink I want to watch films I want to date. I want to eat in restaurants. I want to but my pjs on snuggle up on the sofa and order takeaway. I want to sing out loud on my front room. I want to dance in the tables. I want to go out till my feet hurt. I want to come back from a day out kick my shoes of and unwind, have a glass of wine. Put a film on. But I can’t. Instead I have to go back to hospital to eat a two course meal followed by a snack, feel fat and greedy and fall asleep in my hospital bed to wake up and live another day as an inpatient. It’s soul destroying. But I can’t think
Of anything else I can imagine my future. I’m forgetting what life is every day. The longer the stay the more distant life becomes and harder to imagine. Will I beat this. Will o move out. Will I get a job. Will I be single. Where will I live. What will I do. Will I be lonely. How do I live. How do I cope. How do I start a fresh. A million questions. And no answers.
That’s me. I’m a fat greedy pig. Massive. Round and fat. But above all greedy.
I always finish first at meal times and snack times. And have to wait 10-15 for others to finish. I don’t have most of the bad behaviours regarding food that the other patients have. Today everyone struggled at dinner. One patient walked away and left there meal. Where there is me eating mine and finishing it all. Then sit and wait for everyone to finish.
Im not anorexic. I’m a fat greedy pig. I feel disgusting. I feel a fraud. I feel greedy. I am greedy. Im disgusting and a failure of a person. I always fail at everything so it’s no surprise I’m still failing. I scant even be anorexic anymore. I’m just a fat fucked up greedy human being who isn’t worth anything and doesn’t deserve anything.
I feel like a robot. I feel my life (well not really a life) is so mundane, repetive and robotic. I’m fed up of it. I feel I’m constantly being fed food and medication and that’s it. I don’t feel there’s much help at all for my mental state. I’m not coping well with the weight gain at all. I’m so fat. I’ve grown so much. Too much. It’s horrendous.
I feel like I’m just eating, sleeping, in supervison or eating again. I’m sick of it. It’s meals supervision. Meals. Supervison. Meals supervison. It’s the same every day. It’s not a life at all. I’m sick to death of it. I’m so fed up. I’ve been thinking about discharging myself but for what. I don’t have a life waiting for me. I have to create one and I don’t know how to. And that’s scary as fuck. So meanwhile I’ll be stuck in here. Stuck being a robot and treated like a kid. Stuck feeling guilty and fat. Just stuck.
I hate it.
I’ve always felt like I’ve been left behind. The one that’s forgotten about. The one know one notices. Partly because I’ve always felt my parents favoured my brother, partly. To do with friendships and lack of them. Or the Ines I had leaving me out and cutting me out of there life’s. Dropping me and forgetting about me. Always cancelling on me always leaving me out.
And to this day I still feel left behind. Fiends just drop me and forget about me. They no longer include me. I text them and they don’t reply. They don’t message me. I’m just cast aside. Everyone I know is either pregnant, engaged or getting a house together. And I’m stuck in hospital all because I couldn’t do a basic function and eat. It’s pathetic. I’m a pathetic ezcuSe of a human being who is now getting fat. I have rolls my belly pertudes and apart from my amazing brother and sister in law and my one true friend I’m alone and forgotten about. I have no idea what life is. I merely exist. And right now I’m struggling to see why I exist. What is the point.
Anorexia gave me purpose. It gave me a reason it made me feel good at something now that’s going it’s taking away everything and I feel lost. Totally lost and I don’t know where to go or what to do.
Wow! Today has been challenge after challenge. And I’m quite proud of myself yet quite ashamed to. For the exact same reasons if that makes sense. Today I had 8 hours leave (woop woop) and spent the day with my AMAZING brother and sister in law. It was lovely. So nice to feel (and i hate to use this word) ‘normal’ and do ‘normal’ things. This means I was allowed two snacks out and my light meal too.
Challenge 1: menu choice this morning. Massively limited as I was eating one main meal out so only two options to choose from and no choice in dessert. I just had to go with the option available. It was tough, but I managed to remain breathing and choose.
Challenge 2: first snack. My first snack out. I bought te food item with me (a banana) but bought the drink out. I decided what drink I was getting and didn’t look at the calorie label at all! It felt more normal and I didn’t feel too bad about it. Although it was playing on my mind I had had breakfast and snack and ben and ruth were only just having breakfast. But I told myself it’s fine. It’s only a banana and juice. And people always eat different things.
Challenge 3: (and the biggest one)
Lunch! My first lunch out ever since I have been admitted. I felt anxious. Clamy and stressed. I faffed over the menu, two-ing and throwing between this option and that option. Mentally working out which option is healthier and has the least amount of calories in. I change my mind a million times and we end up ordering whilst we’re still waiting for my brother to turn up as I start get anxious and worried. I order. It’s done. I can’t change it now. I order a chicken sandwich with no salad. It turns up. And the chicken is BREADED! Omg. Omg. Omg. I sit there. Instantly see its breaded and start to panic. I try to sit in cafe and pick the breadcrumbs off. My brother helping too. BUT sit there feeling stupid and know this is ana talking and winning. So I say fuck it. Leave them on. I’ll just eat it. And I do. I eat it. And it actually tasted, dare I say it, nice. I then have to have my dessert. This challenge is the longest toughest challenge but we get it done and out of the way. We go to this posh ice cream place and I have two scoops of vanilla. Which is what I would have had in hospital. But I’m aware this ice cream is probably richer and more indulgent. But I do it. And it tastes good!!
Challenge 4: next snack. By this time I’m fretting over what I’ve already had and feel I’ve over indulged. But I dig deep. Order a latte. A normal one. Drink it normal chatting over coffee like everyone does. I did it. But this also brings another challenge. It means my 8 hours is nearly up and I have to go “home” (hospital) the end of being normal.
So that’s my day. Challenge 5 is eating when I get back to hospital and Cancelling out the ruminating going in in my head. (Wish me luck)
So I feel proud I did all of this. It’s a massive step. Humongous infact!! It’s a punch to ana. Quote a big punch. But then I feel ashamed. I feel guilty. I feel because I’ve managed all of that I shouldn’t be in hospital. I feel guilty I’m in hospital. I don’t need to be in hospital if I can eat out. I’m a fraud. I feel like a fraud. I’m fine. I can eat out. I did eat out. Therefore I shouldn’t be in hospital. I’m taking up a bed. I’m lying. I am fine. Evidence shows I am. I feel more guilt than proud. I feel guilty over the food. I feel guilty I’m in hospital and I feel guilty for having a ‘normal’ day and smiling and laughing. I’m a fraud. I’m a massive fraud. I’m not Ill I’m normal. So I sit on the train writing this. I do feel guilty. But despite that. I had a a lovely day spending quality time with my awesome brother and sister in law!!
It’s Friday it should be good day I should have that Friday feeling but no. I feel crap. All because of one stupid thing.
I’d like to think I’m a nice person. I’m always polite, I like to think I’m kind and thankful. I’d like to think I’m considerate and grateful. I’d like to think I’m friendly and honest. I’d like to think I’m all those things. But I don’t think I am.
Several things make me think otherwise. I have only one friend. People always cut me out of there life they leave me behind and forget about me. Even to this day this happens. I’m 27 years old and feel like I’m back in school. Yet again I’m left behind and ignored. Therefore if this is still happening after 27 years surely I’m not nice and kind. I’m the underlying factor so it must be me. I must be a horrible person no one wants to be my friend. Then there’s the guilt I feel. I feel like all of this is my fault. Like it’s karma. Maybe I am a horrible person. I feel responsible I feel this is my fault. I’m worthless of life, I’ve said some nasty things (like everyone does in the heat of the moment) maybe I didn’t say thank you enough maybe I didn’t show how grateful I was for everything maybe I’m not the best daughter I could be. Maybe I’m too ugly for people to be my friend. Maybe I am just a nasty person.
If I am a nasty person it would explain everything. It would explain why I’m lonely it would explain why I am ill. It would explain why people always cast me aside me it would explain why I’m single it would explain everything . There is no other explanation for all of this. If I was nice then surely I would have friends. My mum and dad would be proud of me. I wouldn’t be ill. I wouldn’t be single. I wouldn’t feel the way i do. Maybe I didn’t do enough, show my appreciation enough. Say thank you enough. Maybe I dint say the right things to people. Maybe I’m not polite. Maybe there embarrassed to me seen with someone so ugly. Maybe they think I’m rude. Maybe my shenrss comes across as rude. Maybe everyone is just better than me and they don’t need me or want. There must be something for people to always leave me behind. Boyfriends always blame me. Four ex’s in 5 years. That says something. Clearly I’m not nice or loving I wouldn’t have four ex’s otherwise. One friend in 27 years. Surely I’m not nice otherwise I’d have more than one friend. What is so wrong with me.
It’s me. It’s all me. Everything is me. My fault. Me. I’m to blame. Me. Horrible ugly fat me. I’m nasty I’m awful. I’m a poor excuse of a human being. It’s all me.
So I need to cut the tether. But I’m scared. People ask me if I want to get better. Of course I do. I dont want to remain like this. But this is easy. It’s easier to remain like this than recover. Recovery is hard. It’s not just that though. It’s life. Anorexia covered up problems and shielded me. It controlled me ever hour of every day. It took everything from me but gave me a purpose and a direction. And now I’m fighting it it is shouting at me that I’m failing. I’m so scared of recovery. I want a new life I want a future but I’m petrified. It’s like learning to walk all over again. My security blankets that I’ve cocooned myself in for the past year are slowly shirking and exposing me. But I’m scared I don’t know who I am and I have to start from scratch. I’m like the butterfly coming out of the cocoon. Wondering what to expect and what this new life.
So yes I do want to get better. I’m just scared. But everyday I fight and I Shink the blanket day by day. It may only be a tiny but each day. But a bit is a bit
So I hate my belly I don’t shower because of it. Don’t look in mirrors. And keep my eyes closed whilst getting dressed.
I was told to take pictures of myself as photos show me what I actually look like instead of the distaution that the mirror says.
So this morning I took picture. Back front and side. And my word I’ve put in sooooooo much weight. I instantly compared these pictures to the Ines I previously took before my first admission. And wow! I look totally different. I’ve got a massive belly. It bulges out. I look fat. I look like I shouldn’t be here I look like I don’t need this place. I don’t need to be in hospital. I look like I need to go on a diet!
So today I caught it in the mirror. Today I saw my belly. Today I saw the bulge. Today I saw it.
I feel ugly. Hideous. Grotesque. Ashamed. Guilty. It’s horrible. I feel disgusting. If i was a celebrity and the paps caught me in my bikini they’d be rumours I was pregnant. That’s how much it pertudes.
It’s taken me forever to put my outfit on today. Every thing I wear makes me look big. Weather it’s my thighs or stomach. I have to wear baggy clothes I can’t wear anything clingy. I find a shirt tucked in and pulled loosely out works best at hiding my stomach.
So here’s today’s outfit. A million outfits and so much time wasted. And I still think it makes me look big