Wednesday, 17 February 2016

Hello blog

I am still here! There is a whole pile of stuff building up in my head - so much has been going on in treatment, I need to get it all down into written form soon. In the meantime, I have done this drawing of the prison I have been confined to. I'll explain it all in due course xx

Thursday, 24 December 2015

Merry Christmas ☺

See this river of chocolate? It's rocky road - dessert for today.

It'll make my kids deliriously happy. And I am going to eat it and not puke it up and it is going to be okay, OKAY????!!!!

Merry Christmas


Saturday, 19 December 2015

Hello! Still alive, still waiting

Finally I have a start date for the new clinic: 29th of December. Thank god!!! It's going to be a raging party for me this new years eve! Me and the nurse's, living it up large. Still, I'm relieved. Terrified too. What will I do without my eating disorder? How will I deal with my emotions? What's going to happen???

I'm hoping to settle in an do some proper writing and painting while I am there. Too anxious and busy to do it now. I have just amped up my anxiety too, because I have commited in my head to eat THE SAME FOOD AS EVERYONE ELSE on Christmas day. For the sake of my children, I want to do this, but I am shit scared.

Anyway, here's a little picture of Santa, perched on my Christmas tree.


Saturday, 28 November 2015

I'm painting while I'm waiting

It's been another nervous week for me, full of all sorts of ridiculous, disordered behaviour. I'm in a therapeutic vacuum -  stuck between one treatment centre and another. I've been swirling around all over the show emotionally, but I did manage to do one positive thing: I painted a picture. Saved by a feather again... Painting keeps my hands and my head busy, and soothes my anxiety. This picture is for a good friend, who has sat patiently through many tears, never judged, and hasn't given up on me despite having seen me at my worst.


Sunday, 22 November 2015

Status update, in short

This will be very brief... I don't actually know what is going on with me. I can't write (I've started about five proper posts then abandoned them), I can't draw, I'm not doing my chores. It has all turned to shit. I have done one thing and one thing only: indulged in my disorder. 100% of my focus has been on body size and shape. My own - which is of course an endless source of disappointment; random strangers at the mall; anorexic you tubers. I've even whipped out the measuring tape and compared my measurements to the Victoria Secret models.


Part of the problem - in fact most of it might be that I am in limbo. I have finished up with my therapist at the clinic I've been going to, and waiting to begin treatment at the new place. I'm in nowhere land with no-one, so my eating disorder and I have buddied up nice and tight.

It is the WORST friend.

Hopefully my brain will kick back into gear soon, and I can resume writing and drawing properly.

Au revoir, until then!



Friday, 13 November 2015

Pictures of recovery

Once I had finished my last post, I kept thinking about what this experience really felt like. I have spent the whole year battling an invisible foe that lives inside me. I desperately want to get better, so why does it take so long? What's so hard about it? Why can't I just snap out of it? On the surface, the solution looks straightforward enough. Step 1: Eat. Step 2: Don't vomit. It's impossible to explain what recovery is actually like, at least in short form.

So here are two pictures, to help show how it is and how it isn't.

 I think some people imagine recovery is like this. It isn't.
This is more accurate.

Thursday, 12 November 2015

Waiting for rescue

The road to recovery doesn't follow a straight line, but twists and turns unpredictably. I've taken the wrong path plenty of times, spent a good while going around in circles, and am prone to moving in reverse. Still, I've made progress. Even in my weak moments, when I wish I could go back pre-recovery, I know it isn't possible. I crossed mountains to get to where I am now, and there's no way back.

The pace I take varies too. Up until recently, I'd been charging ahead at high speed, all fired up with frustration. My brain fizzed and popped - I concocted plans, implemented changes, and made sweeping pronouncements. But my sprint came to an abrupt end when I smacked into a wall and fell. Defeated, I waved my white flag. I give in, I need help.

I asked my therapist for more support. My plea was utterly heartfelt - I practically bled desperation. She said she would start the referral process for the alternative treatment centre, and let my doctor know so that the necessary tests could be organised. But my doctor wasn't told, and the next time I saw my therapist, she approached the subject tentatively. She seemed unsure of my feelings about it, and kept referring to it in uncertain terms - as an 'if' or a 'maybe', rather than the solid "YES", that I told her it was.

I reassured her that I wanted to go ahead with the referral. She seemed happy with my reply, and said she'd prepare it.

Great, I thought. Then I waited.

No word came. I turned up to the next appointment, hoping... for information, or evidence of action. Even an official-looking piece of paper would have helped.

But there was nothing.

My therapist wanted to 'check' with me. Again. Was I sure? Did I want her to do the referral? I have NO IDEA why. Was I going mad? There was nothing ambiguous about what I'd said, I was certain.

It left me feeling angry, confused and hopeless. I didn't want to talk, so I left the session after ten minutes. I had nothing to add anyway - my life was exactly the same as it had been the last few times I had seen her. Every day I diligently stuck to my meal plan, binged, then did my best to vomit up my internal organs. Every day, I despaired. Every day I waited for help.

After my exit that day, the wheels started moving. There is more waiting to be done, but it is a relief to get some traction finally.

As part of the referral, I have to outline what I hope to achieve at the new clinic, so I met with my psychiatrist to discuss it. I sounded rational and sure when I spoke. The things I said were true -  I need structure and more intensive support to blast through. My disordered behaviours need to be interrupted. But while the words came confidently out, the line of conversation inside my head took at different turn. What have you done? You cannot go through with this. They'll make you fat! You will fail! Everyone else will be young and thin and you are fat and old and you will not even fit through the doors you are so enormous and you will knock the poor girls over and they will be appalled at the grotesque fatness!

So you see, the ill part of me is the teensiest bit terrified. I will essentially be relinquishing control over what goes in and out of my mouth, and that is a really big deal. After the fuss I have made, I sincerely hope I don't back out. One thing I am sure of, if I do commit, I'm not going to waste the opportunity. I will throw myself in, boots and all.