Life

Life. Some people live it and love it. Some people don’t. Some people excel at it. Some people don’t. Some just get by, some struggle more than others. Some find life a battle. Some just plod through it some fly. Me. Well I fail. I wasn’t born to live. Life wasn’t meant for me. I’m massively failing. Letting everyone down. Being alone all the time. Having no one to talk to. Feeling like a tag along or a spare part. I can’t even eat. I have to go to hospital for that. I’m just a mess. I really am. Tonight I tried. Tonight I made the effort. I went to a party on my own. But it’s just made me feel worse. Made me feel more alone than ever. More uncomfortable. More awkward. I want the grits to swallow me up. To fall asleep and never wake up. Life sucks. Well mine does anyway. I hate it. I swear I wasn’t meant to live. I’m just a failure. That’s me I’m sitting here writing this alone at a party with scars all up my arm and on show. I’m a catch right. Fuck life. I hate it 

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 

Food food food and food

Food food food and food. It’s all I think about. I even dream about it! For 2/3 nights I’ve dreamt about food, dreamt I’ve eaten so much then woke up panicking and realised it was just a dream!
Food is pretty much my only thought of the day. It’s constant. It takes over. I can’t think other things because I’m thinking of food. Thinking of what I can eat, what I will eat, how to get out of eating, looking at food and wanting it but not being able to have it, from not fancying anything to fancying everything but still not giving in and having it. I plan my next days food, or lack of food, and when I will and won’t eat the day before. 

I’m away at my grandparents and they were out today, they got back and asked if I’d eaten. I fully informed them I’d eaten out. Had mushroom risotto. When in fact I’d had nothing. But telling them this little white lie will make them believe I’ve eaten and as it was a cooked meal at lunch time will mean it will be acceptable to nibble my rabbit food at dinner time. They asked if I want cheesecake later, my reply “I’ve gone off cheesecake” I bloody love cheesecake but can’t eat it. I lied yesterday too, telling them I had chicken and chips so didn’t need anything. I planned my eating and my lies before I came. I was fully prepared to buy a ready meal, cook it and throw it away whilst they were out to make them think I’d eaten but instead I said I ate out. 
My costa is now no longer a skinny hot chocolate, it’s a a quarter of a bottle of Pepsi max. Determined that the whole bottle will last me all day, or at least till dinner time.
I hate lying to people but it’s only white lies and i can’t eat so I have no choice but to lie I can’t let On To them I’m not eating so a lie keeps the peace. I already know tomorrow I can safely get till about 6 without food. I’ll just have a drink and I’ve got some jelly sweets I can have if I need a sugar rush. But I’ll limit that and then beat myself up after eating 6 sweets. Just like I did today. 

When will this stop. When will I be able to eat what I want, not have to lie, not have to pre plan my food my lies my eating stories. When. 

Im fine

So yesterday I had an appointment to see if I was suitable to attend a day clinic. Full time, Monday-Friday, 9-5. They said I am, they want me to start, my community worker wants me to go. But it’s just not going to happen. Several reasons. 1. Work. I’ll be off work, for a minimum of 4 weeks up to 16 weeks. They won’t accept that. 

2. I can’t afford it. With no income I can’t afford the commute there and back every day

3. I’m not that bad. I don’t need to go to, what I referred to as , ‘eating school’ you have set meals times, “games time” afterwards, and others groups. You have a timetable. Like school. 

4. I couldn’t admit to my family that I was attending “eating school”

5. I won’t be able to stick to the regime 

6. I just don’t need it. I’m fine. 
This meeting lasted about an hour, and was full of emotions. I was crying one minute laughing the next. (Laughing is my defensive mechanism)

Talking about it, talking about how I can’t eat. Sounds so stupid. But the fact is I’m surviving on not much and I’m still here. Therefore I’m fine. I always will be fine. I saw someone who wasn’t and that made me feel fat. Made me realise that I am more than fine. Yes I’ve barely eaten for 48 hours, yes I take laxatives everyday but yes I am fine. 

I no deep down I’m not fine. But I am that’s all I ever say. When anyone asks me. I’m fine. I live at the blood centre getting blood tests done, obs, appointments but I am fine. 

I’m a ghost.

Wow. So much has happened in the last 48 hours, it’s been very intense and I can’t get my head around it all yet. So for now I’m just going to focus of a topic of discussion I had yesterday with me counsellor. 

she asked if I wanted to get better. Of course I do. She asked if I wanted to end up in hospital. Of course I don’t. But do i?! All my life I’ve felt pretty invisible like I’m no one to anyone, people would easily forget me etc. But this past year, or if I’m honest few years I’ve been really struggling. But I’ve just carried on plodding along. Putting myself in the background like always. But if I ended up in hospital I think maybe people would start to see me. Maybe they would realise just how much I’ve been struggling for years now. Maybe I would finally be visible. 

It’s close. It’s very close. I struggle with my breathing. My chest hurts. Etc. I’m notattention seeking. I’m not that kind of person. If I was I would have told everyone about the other day I wouldn’t have swallowed all those pills. I’d have just said it. But I did I. And I still think of doing it. Become the actual ghost I feel like. 

I indulged.

So……. I haven’t really eaten all day. Let alone all week. No dinners. But today I had two mushrooms for dinner with spinach then I masssivelt overly indulged I had some Ben and jerrys. 

This was followed by frantic sit ups, one and half laxatives and already decided I’ll be going running tomorrow morning! 

Wasn’t even the whole tub, or even half, but to me regardless of how much I had I still had ice cream. And failed myself. I failed myself for caving. Failed for eating ice cream and for that reason i will punish Myself. I will take the laxatives, run tomorrow suck my stomach in all night and vow not to eat much at all tomorrow!
What has my life become 

Another appointment

Had the doctors today. Not much to say really. He said it got to the stage where I have no other choice but to take medication. To help my mind which will help me eat. I’ve been prescribed anti-depressants before and I’ve never kept up with taking them. I don’t want to rely on a pill to be better. So I don’t see how I’ll get over that this time. 

He weighed me. Which he always does. And I’ve lost weight. Which I always do. I’m now under 7st weighing around 6st 10lbs with a bmi barely hitting 14. I was shocked with this yet slightly pleased. Slightly feeling Accomplished. If I had stood on the scales and my weight had gone up I’d have been annoyed. But it gone down and I was relieved/pleased. So I’m now dangerously underweight but can’t stop this. I need to get out of this. 

He said he’ll have to send me for a bone scan soon if this carries on and is desperate for me to take these meds. And eat! 

I don’t know how to get over this or why I have it. I’m so drained today and fed up I’m getting in. Pouring myself a drink and going to bed 

Admission

So today I had my 2nd meeting with my eating disorder lady today. I’m not sure how I feel on the meeting but we talked loads and I admitted stuff I was scared to admit I was thinking. 

So I’ve lost more weight, and admited that I get an acheivement out of losing weight and not eating. I’ve always been a failure and for once I’m a good at something. Not eating. And that’s an achievement. She said I don’t have an eating thing as I call it. But I have anorexia. 

It’s been labelled. But how in my messed up mind to I find that some sense of achievement. 

She asked if I want to get better. What a stupid question. Of course I do. But how do I. How do I eat more when I feel achievement when I don’t eat. She mentioned admitting me to hospital. A day centre or even full time. I’m adamant that I’m no where near that, I’m adamant I’m fine and I don’t need help. She’s adamant that’s not the case. She said I need motivation to get better. I said I have zero. She said you’ll end up dead. I said I couldn’t care. I’m worthless. And waste of air. 

I’m surprised how easy it was to talk to her. She wants me to eat a yoghurt a day. Sounds stupid that that’s hard! She wants me to tell my parents. She wants those things and to see improvement or I’m in hospital. 

I’m scared but not scared. It’s like it’s just a threat. Just to frighten me. She’s not really going to do it. Im not there yet. But I know if I was there I’d be visible. Unlike this invisible thing I am at the moment. So maybe I do want it. I don’t know !!!!!!!

Constantly at war with myself

Ok so here goes trying to explain it all. Well the food side of things. It’s like I’m constantly at war with myself. So I’ve lost loads of weight in 6 months. I look at pictures now and I’m disgusted with how I look. I look awful, I look ill. You can tell I’ve lost weight. And that there is the problem. So I look at these pics and see I’ve lost weight and see how Ill I look but I look at them and get a sense of achievement too. I’ve acheived something, I’ve lost weight. I’m almost proud. Well I am. I want people to comment and say I’ve lost weight. I want people to notice it. But then that’s crazy as I look awful. I’m ashamed of them I look so hideous but weirdly proud too. And I want to carry on achieving. If ive achieved that in 6 months what can I achieve in another 6 months. I want to beat myself. I want to carry on. 

It’s like when people ask if I want to get better. Yes. Yes I do that answer is simple. I do. It’s a stupid question to ask. Of course I want to get better. I don’t want to live like this. In a prison. In hell. I want to eat normally I want to go out for dinner I don’t want to be controlled and defined by this. But at the same time. I don’t want to put weight on. Im Petrified of that. Petrified of gaining weight. Its like it’s a challenge. It’s like I’ll feel I’ll have failed if I gain weight. But I need to. And I want to get better. I do. I know it sounds like I don’t but I do. I really do. It’s horrible. Every thought is food. I don’t enjoy going out for dinner. I’n hungry all the time. My body is screwed. I’m ugly. I’m hideous. I’m a failure. 

This illness is horrible. It’s a constant war. A constant battle. 

My best friend

The laxative 

Yep the laxative my best friend. I’m addicted. I can’t cope, can’t function, can’t live without it. It’s me. 

I used to only take it if I’d eaten “properly” is say properly that could be salad for lunch and soup for dinner. But now I’ll take it regardless of what I’ve eaten or not eaten. It’s part of my day to day life. It’s habit. 

So yesterday I had salad that was all I had all day. Until I went out and got drunk and got the nibbles. But then all I ate was the grilled chicken out of a kebab and the salad. None of the pita no chips nothing else. In fact I feed the pita and spat it out ( I do that a lot lately, Spit food out) so it’s not like I over ate it’s not like I had breakfast lunch dinner and a kebab. I had a salad and the grilled chicken and more salad. Yet I got in and took 2 laxatives. On top of the half I’d already taken! 

Why! What am I doing to myself. I can’t stop my self. It’s habit. It’s my life. It’s my addiction. This thing this eating disorder is ruling my life. Is taking over. Is becoming me.