311. Orlistat

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.

Loopy x

309. A lack of support.

My new CMHT seemed great initially, but it was a facade. I feel abandoned in the wilderness. I saw my nurse last Monday, an appointment that seemed rushed and we’ve not organised the next. I really miss C, and L for that matter. Both of them took the time to listen, offer guidance and just soothe me somehow, but this new team don’t appear to care.

I’m back on sleeping pills, which I can already see is a problem and today I purchased laxatives.

I spent hours talking about and advising a friend of mine on the negatives of laxatives and the harm they do. Today in the chemist however, flashing images of my fat gut and ugly shape, convinced to me purchase.

They’re currently sat next to the hidden zopiclone in my drawer. I’ve not taken any yet, but I really want to.

Come on Loopy, you know better. Don’t do it.

Loopy x

302. No space.

I’m exhausted, physically exhausted. It’s inexplicable really, or maybe it’s just a come down now that we are officially home.

In truth it doesn’t feel much like home to me. It feels claustrophobic, feels like I’m being scrutinised and just overall feels a little uncomfortable. OH’s family are lovely but I need my own space. I’ve not yet secured employment so for now we’re stuck.

I’m getting frustrated at my lack off alone time. I need to burn but I can’t get any space to do it. There’s always someone around, and it’s causing me to feel more tense.

I’m also sporting a marvellous blubbery rubbery mess around my midsection that Michelin or Bridgestone would be proud off. I wonder if I dug out some grooves for grip, would it be more efficient now to tip me on my side and just roll me to my destinations!

Loopy x

301. Is there a baby in there?

Thanks for that little question sis. I couldn’t believe it as those words poured from her lips. She’s knows I’m on a list of meds as long as my arm and hence would not be getting pregnant. She knows that I’m self conscious about my weight. Surely she knows better…

Well at least those words have confirmed what I already know; I’m a fat ugly mess!!!

I want to burn deep tonight. I want to swallow sleeping pills, not to die, but to dull my racing thoughts and self hatred.

I want to hit the gym!

Loopy x

213. Little white lies.

I couldn’t sleep, that part was true. I’m totally dependant on pills now. Audio books and zopiclone are the perfect combination, but without the zopiclone (or a prescribed alternatuve) my eyes remain open and my thoughts attack me.

“Did you do anything?” asked a caring NHS voice this morning. “No” I replied but in truth yesterday I was a little self destructive. I once again put straightening irons against my skin, until the flesh was white and leathery. The edges blistered immediately and now I’m dealing with the aftermath. I don’t really know why I did it.

In the evening myself and OH treated ourselves to a “Subway”; the chicken teriyaki on Italian herb and cheeses went down easily. Then the guilt took hold and I followed the ritual of drinking tea (to fill my gut with liquid), sneaking off to the bathroom, expelling some of the guilt, and washing my hands and around my mouth thoroughly with soap.

I don’t know why I lied this morning. I guess I felt like the truth would let him down. The truth would label me attention seeking. The truth would prove that I’m pathetic.

Loopy x.

210. Clothes shopping.

As I trecked through outlets I could sense the feeling rise. That knot in my gut that comes with, just kill me now. I’ve always hated shopping. There are some practical reasons (can’t easily read labels, don’t like crowds, always feel like I’m being stared at) why I hate it, but it’s more than that.

I’m going back to work however, and the trainers and hoodies that have become my mainstay, don’t exactly ooze professionalism.

Firstly, i’ve never understood the lighting in dressing rooms. Can we have 10,000 lumens please, but not above your head. Oh no; these should form a strip along each mirror edge so that your necessary squinting masks how groteques you look in that ensamble.

What if you’re in the hunt for something a little sexy. Satin maybe that’s sleek and contours every curve, something for your hubbies eyes only.

This lighting just won’t do. I need those tea candles and a bottle of merlot, that give even Jabba the hut come hither eyes and a sultry demure.

NOPE full beams please, so that you look like your morbidly obese gran, who has a grimace indicating that she may have just pooped herself, and her skin a little ragged, because they didn’t have fancy creams in her day. They used wire wool to exfoliate!!

And what’s with sizes anyway??? They should just rip off all the labels and have rows of super skinny, kinda skinny but could lose a few lbs, a little excess baggage and finally; sorry love,we’re going to need more material!!!!

I pulled on a pair of size 10 trousers, too big; “oh my,! well I have been working out

Size 8 winning!!!!, but oh dear you”re obviously a few inches shy of 6 ft 4 glamoererous. Let’s try it in a short, shall we? They were clearly expecting dwarfism. Outlets nowadays have to be so careful, politically correct and inclusive

They cater for all body types, but only if you arrive at the crack of dawn just as shelves are being stocked to scoop up that 1 solidary item thats in your size.

“Oh store assistant, can I have these all in a regular 8 please (they can be tailired later)” I mean come on, I’m gorgeous, I’m glamerous, I’m positively glowing……….

10 minutes later, I’d pulled of some moves that Beth Tweddle and Michelle Kwan would be proud off. “Oh store assistant, I’m…………….I’m STUCK!!!!!!!….and I fear only a large tub of petroleum jelly shall set me free!!

I shall have to delve deep into the reccesses of my wardrobe, as I left the stores defeated, deflated and with just a little less self esteem than I’d arrived with.

And to think, people actually do this for fun????

Loopy x