Pick The Best Bits
October 23, 2009 at 10:48 am | In Eating disorders, mental health | 19 CommentsTags: anorexia, bulimia, communication, depression, Eating disorders, mental health, mental illness
So I still want to starve.
Amusing when that comes from someone who isn’t underweight in the slightest, but it still stands. But what has struck me in the past 12 hours is that I want to starve, and I want to return to shopping in the kids section of <insert favourite high street shop here>, but I don’t want to be starving. I want to feel freezing cold and shakey and sick, and all those lovely indicators of a day well spent, a successful day according to The-Anorexic-Charter, but I don’t want the falling over and not being able to get out of bed bit. I don’t want to have to give up work, give up college, lie to people, and hurt them. Just like I want people to notice, but really I don’t. I want people to raise an eyebrow and try and intervene, and talk some sense into me, but only so I can tell them to fuck off and leave me alone. And only in my head where it’s safe and there are no consequences. Because in reality that’d never happen. I’d just get embarrassed and bolt for the door and then beat myself up for a few hours about being a skanky attention seeking screw up. I want the certainty of an eating disorder, the plan, the glory, but without an audience. I’d like to stop playing with fire, but it looks so damn pretty and warms me up. I’d like to have the reason I’m feeling this way, to be because I truly believe that my life would be better if my thighs were not so gelatinous. I’d like to have less insight. I’d like to care less. I’d like to be sick but without the bad bits please.
I think in essence I want to put my consciousness in a sealy bag. All of it, warts, dents, dings, shadows, shiny bits, seal it up and give it to someone else. Clap my hands together with glee and leg it. Swaddle myself up in a basonette and leave myself on someone else’s doorstep. Ha ha, not my problem anymore, thanks. And I have a sneaky suspicion that having a relapse is a mighty good way of doing that. Look, this is the problem, the whole not eating thing, see, I’m just not eating, lets all look at that and disregard all other issues. After all with an ED the final destination is handing your life over to someone else, isn’t it. Giving up, sitting down, and surrendering.
I’ve been off work sick for a couple of days. I genuinely thought I had a virus or something. Headache, feeling like I’d been run over by a horse and cart, dizzy and sick. It felt worse than your average, whoopsie-I-cut-back-too-much-on-eating type day. So I stayed off work, trying not to notice those familiar patterns of tired, sad, starve, day off sick. Two days off sick, three days off sick. Considering a doctor’s note. Lying on the sofa shortlisting postcodes. Thinking of anonymous hotels with Do-Not-Disturb-Signs, and whether it really is that hard to find an artery with a craft knife. It’s like that, when you want to go back to the place that appalls you. Get up, sit down, get up, sit down. Four hours to get upstairs to take a shower, and getting back into bed with wet hair and a damp towel. The fact that I still don’t see it amazes me. How many times have I written this paragraph now, and I still only notice how low I’ve gotten after I’ve been trying to cry for a couple of hours and resorted to pulling out my eyelashes to see if it’ll produce tears. I only notice how much I am struggling to eat after I spend an hour opening and closing the fridge door like some demented kitchen bouncer.
Open Door
(Must eat something. Meh, Not hungry)
Close Door
(Am hungry, body is telling me I am hungry, just head isn’t in agreement)
Open Door
(Mustn’t eat. Eating is forbidden and failure)
Close Door
(But must eat something. Something. Something small to keep metabolism going or I’ll get fat)
Open Door
(But everything is too complicated. Everything has calories. If I eat I’ll get fat)
Close Door
und wieder…
I managed to have a chat of sorts with someone yesterday, and wouldn’t you know it my “virus” seemed to clear up afterwards. I woke up feeling like death warmed up again, but any respite is a relief. It wasn’t my standard bluffing through a conversation by talking into my hands and mumbling about being a bit off. The Yeah-like-I’m-not-really-great-but-y’know-that’s-life-probably-all-blow-over-lets-have-a-cup-of-tea-coz-this-is-awkward transactions which in my head stand for communication. Because I’m quite happy to talk about feelings, provided they’re someone elses. It’s made me realise several things, unfortunately, one of which is how I’ve been struggling for far longer than I realised, or owned up to. And moreover how I’ve never really felt understood like that. How recently I’ve felt isolated, increasingly isolated and cut off. I don’t really share a history with anyone, aside from on this blog, most of what passes for history is retained in my head. I can’t just sit down with a friend and say “Hey, you remember that time when I was spending 60 quid a day on food, and never left the house aside from to go to the supermarket? You know when I wanted to rest my head on the rim of the toilet and slam the seat down on skull until I died?” or “Ha, you know I was thinking about that autumn when I had 150 paracetamol scattered across my carpet for 2 weeks and spent every night lining them up in rows and crying. Wandering around in the park looking for the sturdiest tree, and crying into a scarf. The way the leaf debris smelt of decay, and the sky seemed to be crushing me. Good times, eh?”
It made me realise that that something still hurts. A lot. And all the looking the other way, and starving, and drinking, and succeeding in the world, doesn’t detract from that.
I guess I realised that I tend to get along just fine or at least functioning, usually for a few months, not dealing with much of anything, and then quietly meltdown. Then pick myself up, patch myself up, and carry on. It’s evident in this blog, it’s evident in my sickness record. It’s clearly noted in every pocket diary I’ve had in the past 10 years. Fine-Fine-Fine-Fine, CRASH.
I suppose I should do something about that really.
Lola x
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*hugs*
I really don’t know what to say, apart from I hope you’re feeling less icky soon, and you can do something about the eating, though I know it isn’t that easy at all… x
Comment by Kate — October 23, 2009 #
You don’t have to say anything Rabbit, your presence is enough. Will find a way x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 23, 2009 #
Very painful to read — almost as if the starving, and drinking, and succeeding in the world are all really just ways to not hurt. Does “do something about that” mean you have a plan?
Comment by cbtish — October 23, 2009 #
Tricksey. Knowing a possible solution is a far cry from choosing it. Knowing that the facing of things I can’t bear is almost always worse than the living with them, doesn’t seem to give me anymore courage. I’d say I’m thinking about it, but I’ve said that before and opted for Ostrich-Position-A. x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 23, 2009 #
Oh Lola! I don’t know what to say except that it isn’t fair. ED’s aren’t fair on anyone. I’m still bouncing around underweight and I’m still denying problems and so far no one has come to save me becuse most days I eat breakfast – as if that’s an indicator for a healthy diet. But then again, being saved doesn’t matter at the moment. My own deluded happiness is. I just want you to know that I know this lonely place too. I just hope you can fight your way out of this asap without too much damage xxx
Comment by eccedentesiast — October 23, 2009 #
Thanks E. It’s not fair, but it is too, if you see what I mean? Internally it seems very just right now to be lying in the bed that I have made for myself. I know that nothing is worth this. Nothing. But that doesn’t make it any easier to tear myself away from it. x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 23, 2009 #
*Hugs*
I don’t know how to make anything better but I know how it feels. I agree that succumbing to your ED is a way of getting free of he responsabilites of life. I hate thinking of myself as attention seeking but there must be a reason why I keep going down this route. As you say, something still hurts. I hope that this crash is a minot one and that you are able to work through some of the hurt behind it. I know it goes against your feelings but really try just to let anyone knowur srugglng rather than wait till its too far down the line.
Much Love Huni.
Becky xxx
Comment by fightingme — October 23, 2009 #
It’s unbearably hard to ask for help at this weight. As ridiculous as that may seem, it’s still easier to look in the mirror and say “Well, no bones, no problem then”
I know where it goes and recognise every last bloody step. x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 23, 2009 #
Doesn’t it suck to be aware of what and why and how you are doing what you are doing? I mean, blissful ignorance is so much easier…right? Take care of yourself, whatever that may look like today.
xx
Comment by Tiger — October 23, 2009 #
Thanks Tiger. I wish I had the luxury of ignorance, but have just enough insight to want to hammer myself around the head with heavy objects. x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 23, 2009 #
I don’t understand, not really, but I worry about you and hope that once again you will find you way away from anorexia. All the luck in the world to you. And strength of mind.
Comment by Rebecca — October 23, 2009 #
Thank you Rebecca, I’m sorry if this is hard for you to read.
Lola x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 24, 2009 #
It is better to ask for help now — “at this weight” — than to weight until you have to climb out of the pit.
I have felt this way many times, that I wanted to give in to my anorexia and starve. But I’m trying to think of goals for my life, and I can’t achieve anything starving.
It doesn’t make it easier.
Angela
Comment by Angela E. Lackey — October 23, 2009 #
I feel like I am already in that Pit. It’s got heavily oiled edges you know as well as I. Thanks for the support,
Lola x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 24, 2009 #
How much I understand everything that you have written here, and wish so much that I could help, but I’m in the same boat for the most part. The difference it sounds like, is that I have help and support. I’m in the midst of a relapse, and finally for once I told my team and my family. Just because I had reached my target weight and didn’t look sick anymore didn’t mean that they didn’t think that I deserved their help, love, and attention. I worried about that though. I’m still struggling, but I don’t feel so alone. I hope that you can reach out and allow your voice to be heard instead of speaking through your symptoms.
Comment by Angel — October 24, 2009 #
It’s the reaching out, admitting I don’t want this, therein lies the problem. I do do do do want this. I know I shouldn’t but I do. I know it’s messed up and sick and crazy, but I neeeeeeed it. I ache for it, I crave it with every single breath.
Lola x
Comment by Lola Snow — October 24, 2009 #
Lola, this is really sad to read…I am quite concerned, no make that very concerned. I hear what you are saying, it’s an all too familiar reminder of thoughts that exist in my own mind – yet maybe I am still just managing to push to the outkskirts every once in a while to allow some breathing space…or maybe convincing myself I am, in order to not feel so scared that I am on a path that is both dangerous but also not wanted. It’s scary, I am scared, I feel crazy and ocnfused. So, to read this worries me that you feel so low, so trapped and so alone. Is there no one you can talk to in real time? I know I am lucky that I can give a brief “I might not be okay” and that helps me a lot. These thoughts that you are having are too much to be on your own with. Hugs Jo xx
Comment by alwaysquestioning — October 24, 2009 #
Theres a sick sense of saticfation that comes out of having an ED. Theres enjoyment when the scale drops and there’s an even worse enjoyment in knowing that once they know about it, people are concerned for you. It’s exactly how you said. We want the concern only so we can walk away from it. Its selfish and damaging but goes with the territory.
Comment by Zulu Golf — October 29, 2009 #
Your insight leaves me speechless. Can you identify what precisely it is you want; when you say ‘I do do do want it’?
Stay Safe
CN
xXx
Comment by Crazy Nurse — November 12, 2009 #