I took this picture today. It near enough 6 months ago. Just shy of. I took it for myself. To see. To make a direct comparison but also I took it as I thought maybe it would help.
I’m quite proud though I can see a difference in the two pictures. But shocked too. I don’t know really know how I feel. I’m proud I can see a difference. I’m proud I’ve lost weight. But then I look at the pic I took today and I look awful!!! Disgusting. Horrible. So how can I be proud. I’m so confused.
But if I took today’s picture and couldn’t see the difference I’d hate it. I’d be annoyed. So I wanted to see a difference I wanted to look at it and see I’ve lost weight. But I hate how I look. I look ill. Hidioeus. Horrible.
When food becomes a daily debate with yourself you know you’ve got a problem. Everything I eat I debate over before hand, everything I eat I try to justify. Today’s debate, and the debate I have most days is ‘do I really need dinner?” Followed by ‘is my lunch of carrot cucumber and tomato enough’ ‘or even possibly too much’ ‘would a tin of soup make me fat and should I just skip it’ ‘how about a skinny hot Chocolate for dinner’ ‘or I could just have a Pepsi max and go to sleep’
These are my daily questions. Every day. Every night. These exact same questions go through my mind. Over and over and over again. I like it when I’m busy, too busy to eat, it’s perfect. The hunger just passes me by and I “forget” to eat. Or in reality have pre planned I won’t eat. But when I’ve nothing to do, nothing to occupy my mind, food occupies it and drives me mad. The constant thought of food and what I can and can’t have what I fancy but won’t have and ultimately what I will have or even will refuse to have makes me so hungry. But I try my hardest to avoid it and go with as little as possible and then if I indulge in soup and practically cardboard crackers then that’s a massive achievement!
This thing. This horrible horrible thing is slowly taking over my life. I’ve spent this afternoon running to and from the toilet, I know I have a problem but I can’t seem to find the strength or anything inside me to help myself.
Food, toilet, can I still feel my hip bone, food , toilet. Food. It’s all I bloody think about.
So my week in a blog.
Well, it’s been a pretty odd week. Not a great one at all. I’ve had lots of arguments with my friend, we seem to clash a lot and worry too much what the other is thinking. But that asides it’s still not been great.
I just don’t know what I’m doing with my life, I have to purpose, no reason. Im just mearly floating, plodding along, unnoticed, passing people by in a bubble.
I went to to the doctors this week, I saw my doctor, who knows everything and is amazing, but even that had changed. He didn’t seem too interested, tried to fob me off, and seemed angry and fed up with me. It’s made me realise I’m helpless. People don’t really care, even the doctor can’t notice how much I’m struggling, not even the figures he has written down: 7st 2, addicted to laxatives, bmi of 15 he still doesn’t seem to notice. It would appear I’m in that stage when no one notices me. No one cares. I just pass them by. Makes me think even more so they wouldn’t notice if I died.
My boss was back this week, no thank you, no well done. No acknowledgement of my hard work I’ve put in when he’s been away, yet I’m still the one who goes in early and is the mug people take advantage off. I’m a door mat, they just walk on and over me. That’s what I am a door mat, or the piece of rubbish that gets left behind stuck in the bin, with a new bag placed over the top of me.
I’m not sleeping, you guessed it, I’m still not eating, I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what. I think I’ll forever be waiting for a sign, I’m so bloody lost in life!!!
And then I get told I look better a year ago, ouch. That doesn’t make me want to eat to get back to that weight. It hurts. Like I’m not attractive now. I hate myself. The way I look. Everything. But for someone to say I look better back then and they wish I looked like that now. It hurts.
Anyway that’s pretty much my week, another week just passed me by. Another week and still lost.
So everyone was weighing themselves at work today with the new scales. I hate weighing myself. Hate it. As if I’ve put on weight I’ll just want I lose it. But I took the plunge and did it!
So I’m 5″7 and should weigh around 8st 8 minimum to be classed as healthy. Instead I weigh 7st 3. I felt two things when I read this on the scales. My first thought was ‘yes, I haven’t put on weight’ but 2nd was ‘shit, that’s the lowest I’ve been’
Now I’ve gone and weighed myself and I know how little I weigh I’ve got myself in another whole. As if I eat I’ll put on weight. And although the doctor Says I need to. Weight gain is weight gain. And I’ll hate it. Then there’s the other side of me and to see if I can lose more, not more as such but just not gain.
I’ve never weighed that low but I still feel fat. I’m repulsed by my stomach! And I was so stressed today I had 3 chocolates which I’m now hating!!!
I don’t know what to do, where to turn, how to get better and to top it all off today I realised just how much of a mug I am. But I’ll come to that another day.