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

284. Alone again

Today I’m on my own for the first time since my last hospital discharge. OH is away to see our son (who is staying with grabdparenrs) and he has a job interview tomorrow.

I’m flying over on Saturday morning. It will be the first time I’ll see little man since April 3rd.

I’m nervous, more than just nervous and today I’m alone.

Damn it Loopy, turn your head off. Go distract yourself. Do not do anything stupid!!

Loopy x

260. The H word.

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.

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

197. BJJ and kickboxing.

I’ve had endless conversations with my psychologist and my CPN about finding hobbies again. Endless conversations about improving my social circle and I’ve always come back with, ‘I don’t know what I like, or indeed used to like.

I don’t care much for girly chats about fashion, shopping, manicures and the latest trends in dieting. I feel ugly in groups of women and judged.

I’m a Tom boy, through and through, and I’ve been thinking lately about the judo I used to do at uni and the lovely support worker who brought in pads and gloves for me to use in hospital. I’ve been googling local clubs lately and trying to muster up the courage to go.

I changed my outfit like 4 times, brushed my teeth 5 times, kept scolding the reflection in my mirror but I did it. I managed to go out of my comfort zone and try a new class.

The BJJ and kick boxing, that I’ve just attended, may be the answer to venting all the angst and rage that I used to vent with “Wilson”

Loopy x

195. The letter.

At the midpoint of my psychology journey with K, I was informed that she writes a letter to her patients at the end of therapy. I should have been given this in our last session togethar but she admitted not being in the right frame of mind to complete it, and thus it would be posted to me.

Since our ending, I have been waiting desperately for that letter, and today it arrived.

At first read, I was angry with her. It seemed to me, to be to clinical in nature, and the lecturer in me couldn’t help but get annoyed by the typos and grammatical errors. Had she rushed it? At first read I couldn’t find the optimism, kudos and words of encouragemt that I had hoped for from K. At first read, my failings, stupid behaviours and inadequicies jumped from the pages, mocking me. I almost ripped it up and threw it in the bin.

I’ve since been to the gym, and upon returning home, I’ve given it a 2nd read. The letter is indeed a truthful representation of our journey together, and under careful scrutiny it does contain some kudos.

What I’ve learned from this letter and my expectations of it; is that there were some issues around transference that we never dealt with. In short I was expecting a letter from a “friend”; but I received one from a “therapist”

I really miss K, and I suspect this feeling will last for some time yet. She was awesome. I will keep the letter and remind myself to focus on the positives contained within it.

Loopy x