I must apologise profusely for my failure to blog. I have to admit I can be pretty hopeless at blogging when I'm having a hard time.
I will try to write more often. No promises though. And I'm definitely not doing well at all at catching up with other peoples' blogs. That's the hard part when you don't have the motivation or the concentration. I love reading blogs, I really do, but sometimes it's just all too emotional. I find I can drag myself deeper into anxiety if I read about certain topics. At the moment I am feeling all tight in my chest and freaky in the head because I've been reading blogs both about weight loss and about eating disorders. I shouldn't. I read about people bingeing and I feel a desperate, sudden rush of an urge to binge. It can be quite overwhelming, especially if I haven't had any desire to binge all day.
In other news, my eating disorder has been pretty out of control lately. Wild actually, and more prevalent than it's been in years. Because I've stopped drinking, stopped cutting, stopped everything I use to cope except my ED, it's hitting me full in the face.
I guess before Christmas I was pretty thin. I know the lowest I got down to was 5st 12lb but that didn't last. I stayed around 6st for a while. But after Christmas things went a bit crazy, I drank all through Christmas and pretty much all the time through the next few months, in secret, which of course made me chronically anxious and paranoid. Plus when I drink I binge REALLY badly. And I mean REALLY.
So when I eventually went off the rails and drank myself into casualty for the night, unconscious and hooked up to God knows what, my partner found out and I had to stop again. He basically said it was him and my home or the drink. I left, packed my stuff and got severely pissed, went to find a shelter for the night, buying a packet of razor blades on the way, walking towards the hospital in the knowledge that I would probably need medical attention sharpish.
Then my phone rang and I got a voicemail from my Mum, who lives 150 miles away in Southampton. I normally ignore my phone. For some reason I listened. It was a desperate plea to me, begging me not to do anything to harm myself, saying that my partner had phoned her and said he'd come and get me wherever I was, all would be forgiven, he'd take care of me. I fought with myself all the way to the hospital, finally managing to throw out the vodka bottle, into a handy bush, and phoned my wonderful man who came and rescued me from disaster. I am SO very lucky to have people who care for me. I would be dead otherwise.
To cut a long story short, I have been back on Antabuse since (drug that makes you severely ill if you choose to drink). I hate it but it's a necessary evil and I have to admit things have been much better since. This was back in March now, before my sister's wedding. I probably already blogged about it so apologies if you've read the same story twice.
So I know I said I was bingeing really badly and it went on and on and on. I ended up at 6st 9lb, a weight I hadn't seen since probably a year ago. I know the wedding was the culprit, and it gradually did die down after it was over. It took a few weeks of bingeing on and off, purging majorly and struggling to get a grip, but now thank God things are so much better.
Basically I did get a grip and got down to about 6st 4 by basically not eating, bingeing late at night and purging for an age, sometimes for 2 hours and up to 6 times a night, just to get rid of it all. And I started to throw up blood, and my ulcer started to play up, and it was horrible.
I am still purging, worse now, pretty much everything I eat, but I am also not eating. I have had loads of issues with my stomach in the past week and have not really been able to eat. I've still had a couple of small binges but in general I've hardly eaten. My weight is now 6st 2lb and I am thanking my lucky stars for having a stupid digestive system.
So that's where I'm at.
I guess I should post about life but it's pretty non-existent right now thanks to the ED. Still walking the dog, and that's about it. Really shitty but I am stuck in my ED bigtime. God I hate it so much, and yet I crave the control, revel in it.
I am going to visit a private rehab in a week. Looks like it won't be long until I go, and it will be for 6 months at least. I'm pretty scared, scared that they will take my ED away from me and I will go crazy. Scared that therapy will drag up shit I don't want to face. Scared that it will send me spiraling back into that dark place. But also hopeful, praying that it helps, praying that it pushes me through the last leg of this awful journey. I still have no real life to speak of, no friends, no job, no structured activities, no nothing. I guess I'm hoping it will teach me how to be brave, to engage in life, rather than resort to living inside my head and engaging only in my obsessive behaviours.
It's been interesting because I haven't been cleaning much in the last few years. In fact I've been terrible and really not caring. But when I was severely anorexic I was obsessed with cleaning. It was REALLY bad and all-consuming, all the sorting and cleaning and doing it at ridiculous hours of the night. And now it's back. Almost ten years later and I find myself obsessing, cleaning out the oven, the drains, under the beds, sorting through cupboards, ruthlessly throwing out my possessions. It's horrible, I find myself wanting to get rid of EVERYTHING, purge the house of junk, make it pure. A stark reflection of my need to purge my body I guess. But it's not a good obsession, it eats up my time. I cannot seem to focus on anything but straightening up furniture, cleaning the kitchen, folding up blankets, sorting clothes...the list is endless. I guess all I think about is either food or housework. Sad, really.
The stupid thing is I don't really mind right now. I'm safe in my little bubble, it's calm inside, I feel comforted. Like nothing can harm me. Despite the fact that my health is fucked up. And if I keep deteriorating I will lost the chance to go to rehab. God I hate that I self-sabotage, that I am always at the extreme end of self-destruction. At least the ED is pretty private and not dramatic, so I get away with absorbing myself in it in peace, without so much hassle and trauma that comes with alcohol and cutting. No skin grafts, no A&E visits, no getting thrown out of my house, no putting my life and the life of others in danger. Better I guess. And even my therapist prefers my eating disorder to my drinking and cutting. Weird hey? A slow, gently destruction, no drama, doesn't affect other people.
So there we have it. My life as it stands. I am still in complete and utter love with my little dog G. He is the centre of my universe, and the cutest, most handsome dog in the world! I will post a picture one day. Promise.
Oh and I had to get bloods done the other day and when I looked at the form the doctor had written 'anorexia' in the illness box. I haven't been classed as anorexic for about 6 years. It made me mad, like that is NOT what I am. It kind of sucks.
All shall be revealed in due course my friends.
For now, I'm signing off.
Stay safe xxx