I’ve not yet touched the laxatives in my bedroom drawer. I want to, but my scientific brain, with its knowledge of gut physiology is arguing against me.
I’m struggling however, and the purging is becoming more frequent. I’ve settled on an alternative approach as my title suggests.
Orlistat is essentially a fat blocker that inhibits gastric and pancreatic lipases (the little suckers that break down fats into an absorbable form) thus preventing the absorption of fats. I’ve just ordered some through the usual unscrupulous online pharmacies.
The side effects (predominantly gas and oily stools) may prove intolerable. I need to lose weight though, I’m grotesque.
Today was good. Best I’ve felt in a while. We took little man on his bike to a forest which he loved and off course we got to do some “forest bathing”.
We followed this up with a trip to the local ice cream store and we all happily munched on banana and bubblegum flavoured goodness as we basked in sunshine.
Right now, I’ve just come back from a bike ride. Tonight it was not to burn calories, it was not aggressively attacked, it was purely for enjoyment….. and it worked.
I need more of these days.
I’ve found one spot on this ward, where I like to sit. A place that feels “safe”. I sit on the floor in the corridor by the main entrance to the ward . I encountered no issues with it at all until a few weeks ago. Out of the blue I was told;”Get up.off the floor, there are loads of seats”
That may be true but to me they are uncomfortable, socially awkward spaces that are any thing but ‘safe”
The reality of thus new rule, is that few staff have bought into it. Many have allowed me to stay put, whilst others pounce on me like a scrap yard Rottie, no sooner than my hand grazes the floor. This new rule in my opinion is largely born out of an official complaint myself and other friends lodged following an incident we viewed from my “safe space”. We can see too much sitting here, and it has frightened ward management.
I feel like a child testing boundaries, and right now I refuse to move. I have approx 1 hour left in this place, I’m freaking out and I need to feel “safe”
No I will not move.
These were the words that I heard today, when talking to a doc on the ward.
She was spot on. Why do I keep seeking support and approval from people who are incapable off it.
I must look elsewhere, and accept that some people simply lack the capacity to fulfill my emotional needs.
That simple off the cuff comment from a fellow service user almost reduced me to tears. I felt instantly ashamed of my depression. Instantlyashamed of my inability to cope with my seemingly “perfect” life.
I’ve been told regularly in here that I have more to live for than most.
Sorry guys, I guess mental illness didn’t get the memo. It chose anyway. I didn’t realise it had set criteria.
I’m back inside, back on level 2’s, back to chaotic wards and cold toast.
I’m not where I want to be. I wish they’d move me to my old stomping ground.
I guess for now, I’ll just stay compliant.
Life is literally crumbling around me. I have no strength or fight left.
I want to give up. I don’t want to be here anymore. My arms are raw and sore, my love for zopiclone is unsustainable, and all other interventions are failing me, and I stink!
I’ve been asked would I go into hospital. I’ve said yes. I wish C could come with me though.
There really isn’t much else to say.