Progression 

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. 

I did it 

I did it. I ate chocolate ice cream. I managed to eat it. Yes the guilt was awful but I did it. I didn’t back out. I could have changed the flavour but I didn’t. I kept it as chocolate and did it! I really challenged myself in menu choice today. I went with what I would have gone for in a restaurant rather than the ‘safe bet’ I also had snack out again today. Today’s been a positive day buf I’m worried this means they’ll be a fall back. My consultant is back tomorrow and I’m going to talk to her about moving to the progression ward. But she’ll probably say no and knock me right back. But I feel I’m ready. I feel I need it. I feel I need to progress and it’s what I need. We shall see 

Chocolate 

I love chocolate like 99.9% of the population do. But I haven’t had it in months. I can’t remember the last time. It’s a massive fear food of mine. Before my admission if I was craving chocolate I would take a bit, chew it and spit it out. So I got the flavour but not the fat or calories. But…….. today I’m facing my fear! I’ve chosen chocolate I’ve cream on the menu. Now I know this doesn’t contain bits of chocolate but the word itself is scary and it’s going to taste like chocolate so will contain the guilty feeling! But I’m pushing myself. Challenging myself. I’ll keep you guys ousted on how I get on!
Happy Sunday 

My leash 

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.

Robotic 

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. 

Challenges….

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!!

Family 

So this blog is aimed at two very special people in my life who without them I don’t know where I would be. And they are my motivation to beat this bitch of an illness. 

They have supported me and still do support me through everything. They work long hours and have only recently married but they still always find the time to visit me after work and at weekends. They are always on the other end of the phone and they are always there to pick me up when I am down. 

I am blessed to have them and I can’t thank them enough. I worry I annoy them and I worry I’m a burden. But they assure me I’m not and there just doing what any family would do. But I’m not used to it. I’m not used to feeling loved and having the support I have now but I am so damn lucky to have these two amazing people. I will be thankful for ever and can’t show them how grateful I am. When times are low they are there to pick me up when times are good they are they with smiles and laughs. They are always there always helping me always listening to me. And I just wanted to publicly say thank you to them. 

Cutting the tether 

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 

Photos 

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! 

Weigh in 

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.