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Showing posts from January, 2010

Assessment

I mentioned a few posts back that I was off to have an assessment for psychotherapy on the NHS. So I feel I should update you on how it all went.

Diagnosis: Bulimia Nervosa

(How enlightening!)



Ok, let me stop myself there. I need to say at this point that anything sarcastic/rude/mean that I say about my therapist or my session is just my frustration talking. She actually turned out to be one of the nicest people I've ever had to talk to (out of several doctors, nurses, councillors and other random do-gooders). She was the first person that I have ever spoken to who I did not feel was judging me. I would even go so far as to say that she understood. My words made sense to another human being - it was incredible - in an odd way, for the first time, I felt sane.



So, it was quite revealing - all the stuff I had to talk about. My non-existent, fucked-up relationship with my Mum. My alcoholic Dad drinking himself to the grave when I was a child. As a teenager, the hated of my ugly, putri…

Let me repeat that...

But even on that Sunday evening, as I cried myself sick, as I surveyed my existence with utter despair and hopelessness, I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have ended my life.
I get up the next day, and the next, and I carry on.
Because I AM A FIGHTER.
I've been fighting the odds all my life. I've been fighting against so many people, so many circumstances, so many thoughts... and maybe I dream beyond my scope, maybe there is no hope, maybe I want more than I can have... but I'm going to live this out until the end.

I will always be a dreamer. I will always have THIS dream: that one day I will be so happy, with a man who loves me, a family, a career, a home. I believe I will look in the mirror and see the body of a woman who succeeded. Even though on paper I am the biggest fuck-up in existence, I believe I can defy the odds against me.
Call me crazy, but I really do believe.


I know all of you are here because you're like me. You don't have the ability to give in…

Pain is weakness leaving the body

I don't know what I'd do without you all.
How on earth could I possibly get by without this blog? Without the love and support I receive through this medium?
I just don't know.
My physical 'friends' hate me whenever they see a glimpse of my true tortured soul. I am so sick of this aching, brave facade, but it's not a choice, it's a necessity.


I went away this weekend with 'the club' - one of our weekend camps if you like.
Of course D was there. He spoke to me once or twice in passing, but that was it. It wasn't as if he ignored me exactly, but there was none of the sweet friendliness and enthusiasm that he had shown towards me before. It seems he hadn't told anyone about me visiting him last week, or in fact acknowledged to anyone that we had become anything closer than mere acquaintances. Perhaps on the weekend he felt that he couldn't let the others see him being overly friendly with me? Perhaps he felt awkward? Perhaps he just wanted nothi…

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead, I think I made you up inside my head

There are tears stinging the backs of my eyelids every time I shut my eyes to pause. This world is hurting me so much. The truth is, I'm living, I'm so very much alive, so fit, so healthy, at my peak... except I'm doing it for the spectres that haunt me and keep my blood running so cold. I am a living eating disorder.
That's it.
There's nothing else left in my head anymore.

You know, I'd give anything, to update my facebook status to say really 'what's on my mind'. Don't you ever just want to scream at the top of your voice. "PLEASE HELP ME. Underneath this pretty blush and giddy personality I'm dying, I'm torturing myself, I'm killing myself. Please fucking help me."

I've reached the stage where I can't eat anything without throwing it up. The only reason I'm not losing weight is because my initial intake is so much that I can't be getting even half the calories back up anymore.
I'm 22 years old and my life …

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,

I've told D that I'm going to go to his on Thursday.
But I'm still too fat.
So I may postpone it till Friday. Or Monday. Or never.
Wouldn't it just be so much easier if I deleted him from my head, never heard from him again, never thought of him evermore. Oops, sorry D, I forgot you existed.

I went shopping today, with him in mind. Every time I remembered one of his messages and remembered something sweet he had said, I smiled - a great, big, sunny, daydream smile.
The goddamn boy makes me smile.

And yet, now, I just want to cry.
I binged.
I am too fat to go and see him, too fat to go and wow him.
I am a terrible fuck up.
It is too late, again. I messed up, I missed the deadline, I gave in. I fucked it up.

I will not go and see him at this weight. I would be humiliated. The experience would crush me.

I really want this. God, even just thinking about him makes me happier than I've been since the countryside days I spent with James back in the Summer of 2008. That was the last t…

Ophelia, the hunter-gatherer

According to the scales, on Monday I lost half a stone (7 pounds) in 12 hours.
Yeah.
ERM.
I wish?!
But seriously. That's what both of my goddam scales told me. Seriously. Are my scales posessed or is my body just THAT ridiculous?!

After a lovely 700 calorie session in the gym on Monday and a negative amount of food, I decided to do the same on Tuesday. I hit the gym at around 5pm on an empty tummy. 700 calories later, I left the gym, completely drained of life. I felt like zombie.
On the train home it struck me: Stomach-churning nausea. The most intense and disgusting nausea I have ever experienced. I had to press my hand to my mouth to hold it in.
My body was rebelling. My stomach was being vile. It was screaming at me to eat.
I don't remember walking through the front door, I just remember the bread crumbs when it was over.
According to ABC I was only supposed to consume 100 calories. I had burnt off 700, which meant that strictly speaking I could eat 800 calories. But I lost it with…

Lay her i' the earth, And from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring!

Presenting Problem:
Ophelia presented with symptoms of severe depression and severe levels of anxiety (as indicated by scores of 22 on the PHQ9 and 17 on the GAD7 respectively). Ophelia told me that she is obsessed with her weight and how she looks. Ophelia explained that she will restrict her food for a few days, and then will eat a lot and vomit afterwards. Ophelia said that this is having an impact on her studies, and she won't go out to lectures if she is feeling particularly bad about her appearance.

Risk Issues:
Ophelia said that she often has thoughts of suicide, but said that she would never act on those thoughts. Ophelia also explained that she does self-harm about once a fortnight. She told me that these cuts are fairly superficial, and she has never needed medical treatment for them.

Treatment Plan:
Ophelia and I agreed that I would refer her for a further assessment with one of our high intensity therapists. In the meantime, I have sent Ophelia some self-help materials aro…

ONE YEAR ON

This blog is now one year old!

I can't believe it.
Over 300 followers and still writing.


So I am going to take you back to where it all began...
In the Autumn term of my final year at University I chose a module in Literary Theory and Trauma. One of our projects was to analyse some blogs - so naturally I decided upon an eating disorder one. My google search at the time came up with one: Dying to be Thin - Anaregzig - The queen of all pro-anabloggers. I read it from beginning to end. And that's when I found that a sanctuary for me did exist - here.
I didn't start up my own blog until the end of term, after Christmas. I never intended it to be 'pro-ana' and still don't, really. I just wanted to write freely. I wanted to be able to express exactly what was going on inside my head, exactly what I wanted and believed and exactly who I was, without the fear of social prejudice. My desires then are the same as they are now:
- I want to recover and be normal.
- I want to be t…