tha sonas ga feitheamh

Documenting my life and recovery. Raw, honest, not always pretty but trying pretty hard

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Recovering medics

Attention Tumblr.

Is anyone out there an ED sufferer but also at medical school in the UK? If you know of anyone who is (or recently was) and wouldn’t mind me having a chat with them, please do let me know.

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Life right now is so incredibly hard. I haven't felt this dreadful, crushing low in several years, and it's frightening.

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I sat in my pyjamas for 2 hours this morning. Which is a big thing for me; it’s absolutely insane that I will happily sit fully clothed, but if I sit about in my pyjamas I feel lazy and useless and horrible and my mood plummets. I managed to tackle that this morning by forcing myself not to get dressed until I actually had to go out. Yay for me.

Unfortunately I have run out of clean clothes so have resorted to a pair of very pretty but very uncomfortable light jeans. I hate wearing light jeans anyway, but these are particularly tight and it’s making me want to tear my hair out but I’m trying to sit with the discomfort (mainly because I hate wearing leggings even more and they are all I have left except these..)

It’s a day of challenges. But that’s good, right? 

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I could not feel more anxious if I tried tonight. Dry mouth, heart hammering, hands shaking, thoughts churning.

Having been home for a few days, I’ve returned to my flat alone and can’t stand the anxiety. I’m terrified of both other people and of myself. I’m trying to tell myself that this is a natural reaction after being in the safety of home, but I can’t see how I can sit with it. How do I sit with it? 

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How do people buy and eat Creme Eggs in public? Am I the only person who eats them in a way that is totally unacceptable for public viewing!? 

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Earlier today I found out that a friend is pregnant and I am thrilled for her. As I walked home I had serious words with myself; I need to grow a pair and get properly healthy, there is no room in my adult life for an ED. I decided I needed to work seriously hard to get my period back (and not freak out about it once it happens), banish remaining behaviours and start growing up a bit.

But by the time I got home I’d swung violently back to ‘But what’s the point?’ I started to think about my lack of relationships and the fact that something must be wrong with me for me to have never found anyone special. Why work hard to get a period back when there is no prospect of it ever being useful? (Yes, I’m aware of all the other reasons why getting my period back is a good thing, namely bone health) In fact, maybe I’d be as well going backwards, retreating back to the safety (lol, ‘safety’) of my illness and professionals and low expectations. No one can expect me to be a functional adult if I’m sick, these scary responsibilities and expectations melt away. 

And then I swing again, in the space of 15 minutes, to ‘Give life a chance!’ and it’s exhausting. Sometimes the only thing to calm my mind is planning my relapse, and then I expend a whole load of mental energy fighting that urge, but at other times there is a voice shouting ‘What if better times are right around the corner!?’ I hate the amount of time I spend thinking about the bad old days, my mind romanticising what was a truly awful time in my life. Can’t I just want the best for myself rather than constantly imaging the worst, constantly thinking I’m unlovable and hopeless? 

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Life

The Lloyds bank advert makes me cry. It’s the music. Am I a loser?

Being an adult sucks (lol tell everyone something they don’t know)

I don’t know how I’ll scrape together enough money this month.

I spend too much money on food, but if I start trying to be frugal I’ll end up making myself too guilty to spend any money on food

I also spend too much on heating but I hate being cold, if I’m cold I’m totally miserable and more liable to stop functioning. 

I ran for a role that required an election, which was a very brave and bold thing for me to do. But it backfired because I didn’t get elected in and now I’m convinced everyone hates me, especially because people keep commenting to the people who did get elected saying “You were so passionate about the role and you’ll be so good at it” and it makes me think people think I’m rubbish. 

The weather has been beautiful lately which is a good thing and I notice myself smiling a lot more when the sun is out, even with my other stresses.

Lately I’ve got totally into Sudoku which I think makes me an old loser but I’m having too much of a good time to care ;)

People who walk along the street staring into their smartphone should be herded into a large pen and deposited out at sea. 

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Trying a new breakfast cereal should not cause this much anxiety in someone who thinks they are ‘quite recovered.’

But I did it. Would definitely recommend Cheerios Cinnamon Oat Crunch. And mixing up you breakfast choices now and again. 

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Potentially incoherent ramblings ensue.

I weighed myself for the first time in ages this morning. I had a number in my head that I thought I was; while I haven’t exactly been ‘restricting’ restricting lately, I haven’t always been eating as well as I should. So when I weighed myself and saw that I weighed 5 pounds more than I thought I did (and have not, in fact, lost an ounce) I was shocked. 

At first, I admit I was mad. Mad that I hadn’t lost weight. Mad at my own greed; I cannot (because part of me doesn’t want to, perhaps?) restrict like I used to. But as the day wears on I’m slowly getting over it. Imagine I did weigh 5 pounds less. So what? I’d only want to lose more. And it’d only be more painful to gain it all back again, which is what I’d have to do if I ever wanted to get healthy.

I swing between ‘I need to lose 5 pounds’ and ‘I need to gain 5 pounds.’ I’m 5 pounds off the target initially set for me waaaaaaay back when I first started treatment. These tiny, insignificant pounds would probably make no noticeable difference to how I look, but might make a world of difference mentally, however actually gaining them makes me recoil in horror. Why? I think it has something to do with not really wanting to be healthy, not really wanting to let go of the last disgusting clutches of this illness. It’s a comfort thing, but one that isn’t actually bringing me any comfort. If I hate it so much when I see the scales say X stone X pounds, how much more horrendous will it be when they say Z stone Z pounds?

What’s even crazier is that I don’t really like how I look at the moment, the rational part of my brain is well aware that I’d look much better with a bit more flesh on me. So what’s holding me back? Why am I so frightened? And how do I get over it? 

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Has anyone else seen the article in The Times today? 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-35797158

I cannot even begin to describe my anger. In fact I actually started to cry when I was ranting about it earlier. 

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Tired of my own head tonight. I swing violently between wanting to get better; to be completely behaviour free, to have babies, to order what I want in restaurants and not be tormented by the thoughts in my head. Then in an instant I want to lose weight; I'm planning how I'll do it, how easy it will be and how calm I will feel. It's exhausting. Why do I do this?

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Mmmm this sounds good

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Trying to drink 2 pints of water before my scan. Around an 80% chance I’m going to be sick. 

It’s a beautiful morning though, I have a Christmas jumper on and the Weetabix advert has just reminded me that my body is incredible. Ta, Weetabix. 

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Things that made me happy today:

Watching James Martin on the telly 

The sun kept poking out and it was warm

Caught up on all my washing, clean clothes yay

Butternut squash soup with a squashy brown roll

Call The Midwife tonight (although apparently it’s sad!)

Tomorrow I have a pelvic ultrasound scan, which will no doubt be as fun as it sounds! I’m not sure if my lack of periods is due to long term pill use or anorexia or both, but the idea of a scan terrifies me because it means facing up to the very real consequences of my self destruction (I don’t blame myself for my ED, don’t get me wrong, but I know I could be doing more in my recovery from it...). Everyday I shove the health problems - the hypotension, the amenorrhoea, the osteopenia - to the back of my mind, but tomorrow I have to confront the fact that I am, essentially, infertile right now. Not sure what, if anything, will come of this scan, but I’ll go along anyway. Just to enjoy drinking 2 pints of water before 9am...

I also have my first appointment with a free, short term counselling service. I don’t need or want short term counselling (I need something much more stable and long term, really) but I made the appointment ages ago and may as well go along and see what they say. I want to scream I NEED HELP. I DON’T LOOK LIKE I DO, BUT I DO. 

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When I was plunging headfirst into eating disorder oblivion a few years ago, I used to spend hours browsing the aisles in M+S Food. I’m sure most of you know the routine; picking things up, putting them down, treating the dessert aisle like a zoo, gazing wide-eyed at the offerings but not touching anything. I used to leave with a children’s ready meal. 

Today, I found myself doing the same thing. It’s been so long since I’ve done that. I found myself getting that familiar panicky feeling as I picked up countless meals for my dinner tonight, only to put them back with shaky hands after reading the back of them. What’s going on?

I asked myself the same question as I trudged down the streets with my broken bag of cleaning products, refusing to get the bus. What’s going on?

Despite my weight remaining steadfastly the same, I feel like my behaviours are gradually getting worse. For every ‘good’ recovery related thing I do, two more ‘bad’ eating disorder things seem to pop up. It’s absolutely crap. I say it has to stop, but will I actually stop it? Only I can decide. What I do know is that my quality of life is sliding and I KNOW I don’t want that, so..... 

I need to get a grip. Fast. 

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I’m so fed up of thinking about food all the time. There was a time when these thoughts didn’t blight my life so much, but they’re back and it’s so completely exhausting planning everything and calculating all the time. 

Recovery feels incredibly difficult right now. 

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Remembering the all encompassing depression. The bone aching cold. The handfuls of hair that fell out, and the lifeless strands that remained. The inability to concentrate on anything at all. Writing ‘I feel so disordered’ on a piece of paper after making my mother cry because I wouldn’t eat a slice of toast. The overwhelming guilt, but being unable to stop. The long nights spent crying into my pillow because I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep.

Today I’m remembering all of these things because I feel on very shaky ground. Part of me wants to lose weight so badly. I’ve suddenly realised how vulnerable I am right now; no support system, no one watching my meals, no one nothing what I do with my time. It would be so easy. But I absolutely cannot let it happen, and a small part of my brain knows this. I would lose everything I have worked so hard to rebuild over the last 2 years. Everything.

Today I will eat well. I will have cereal and toast for breakfast, I will have a substantial and proper lunch, I will have an afternoon snack. I will come home and cook a balanced and proper evening meal, followed by dessert. I cannot afford to risk everything just to see a number on a scale go down.