Marine Snow

Sometimes life just happens, doesn’t it? No matter how good our intentions and how strong our resolve to get better, and to get out, life just gets in the way. It’s that annoying, dithering shopper, who stops dead in your path, when you are running for the bus. And lets be fair, sometimes we are just left hanging by our support networks (not just NHS bashing please) So yes, sometimes recovery is like trying to knit sturdy foundations with fog.

However, we have to pick ourselves up, and move on when we can. I’m not referring to Pilate’s and pulses, or walking in the country and fish oil. Alternative medicine and pagan rituals are not for me. If you choose to get in the nude and dance around the town square on a full moon, smothered in virgin giraffe blood and a cape made of ivy, then that’s your business. Personally I just want the hardcore medication. But it’s on it’s way, and I need to be patient. I need to dig my toes into the sand, put my head under my jacket and wait for the sandstorm to pass by. The bit I am having the issue with, is the amount of time it will take from starting a new medication to feeling half normal again. But I’m promising to stay safe as best I can.

I am scared of medication by the way. I am scared that people will begin to suggest anti-psychotics. They like to prescribe AP’s for anorexia, because they promote weight gain. It’s all the rage, this gaining weight for Anorexia treatment! Also I wonder what they will make of my ice-cream van stalker, if I mention that too.

A quick note about how badly the wheels have fallen off recently – apologies because this may trigger, or just irritate you. There will be time after the lecture, for questions, and for you all to pelt me with rotten fruit/vegetables of your choice (Please no pineapples or coconuts)

I’ve been throwing up too much, despite my dodgy throat, nasty molar and shit blood pressure. I’ve not been bingeing, but obviously this has resulted in serious dehydration, and I’m guessing (although I can’t know for sure) some weight loss. There are bones apparent again, where I had only just covered them. Even to me this is not a good sign. Because it’s mostly water loss anyway, and I feel like shit warmed up. That’s a nasty thought – microwaved or heated in a pan? I am ricocheting between fury at everything, and terror at being so out of control. Is this the slide that the hospital warned me of? And it feels reminiscent of every other harsh November. So now, enough already. Damage control.

Actually it will have to stop after today, there will be four of us fighting for one bathroom upstairs. My housemate, Tam went into hospital yesterday to have her tonsils removed (she is 29 so feel bad for her, it’s not a good op for adults) but her Mum is coming to stay. Four people confined to a space the size of a broom cupboard, is not conducive to keeping an eating disorder under wraps! So enough. On the plus side of course, it will be nice for once, not to be the only one who monopolises the fridge for storage of sugar free jelly!

I’ve managed to curb the desire to get hammered completely off my head on vodka or wine, mainly due to my fear of calories, and desire to bury my fingernails into control, and cling tightly. I bought a cheap bottle of wine, with a view to complete destruction. I refuse to get shitfaced on my expensive glass a night variety. I like good wine, and do not like to waste it. Last night I opened the bottle of Shiteau De Mingwar bought in hasty shame from the supermarket special offer shelf. One sniff was enough to burn nose hairs, and I figured it would be far better with salty chips. But obviously chips were off the menu, so I poured it down the sink. This appears to have left the stainless steel quite shiny and free from limescale, so I am relieved I never drank any myself. Later on I may write into Woman’s Weekly, and try for the £25 readers bonus, with my tip for limescale removal with cheap nasty wine. Or perhaps how to knit foundations with fog?

I have been cutting though. I’m annoyed with myself, because I do not cut when I’m well. It’s an activity I partake in only when depressed. I am irked at my sneakiness too. I threw out my selection of sharp things in January, I buried them at sea, down the drain outside my house. I gave up self harm, because I was happy.

Foolishly, I had kept one just-in-case, in a box full of bandages and plasters, just one stupid blade. On the positive side, I managed to do little more than scratch myself. Next time I should throw myself into a hedge, it would do more damage. Rolling about in the brambles may have been more impressive. So yes, I think I have moved on from self harm. Also it is tricky to cut oneself, if your arms are like skin covering bone. One false move and you could leave yourself with a nub. I don’t fancy walking into A&E with an arm in one hand and a stump wrapped in a tea towel:

“Excuse me, I’ve had a teeny mishap” I’d say, “any chance you can fix this?” Gesturing with my butchered limb, and leaving a spray of blood across the receptionists window. Perhaps not. Time to down tools and put on a long sleeved jumper. Possibly with steel amulets.

I over did the temazepam last night, determined to try and knock myself out. It certainly made the ice-cream van drive away and I fell asleep for 12 hours. I think today may be written off though! The binge hangover and drugs combination, is not really the best incentive to get up and get going, combined with depression, it will be duvet day for me. That is the lay of the land. Other news from the front line?

Christmas is approaching and I had as yet failed to book any time off. Slightly worrying seeing as I have made arrangements to go Ooop North and inflict myself visit Jake. So I put in my leave request for Christmas Eve/Day/Boxing day. I also had to use up the rest of my days before the end of the year So I booked the lull off between Christmas and New Year. Essentially I have booked time off to do nothing. It’s a time consuming business this doing of nothing. Not enough hours in the day to fit in all my doing nothing into.

Thanks for all your lovely comments over the past few days, and for listening to my rambling memories of stupid mistakes. Writing helps so much, and comments mean a lot, probably too much, but hey, at least something still means something.

Lola x

PS – Have a look at this post which Lubinka recently wrote.  Well worth a read, if you get a chance. And Lubinka thank you for your lovely emails.