Well it’s official, I’m going back to work. It took some lies and half truths, but the doc eventually agreed it will be good for me.
I’ve read his report;;” I recommend that Dr. Loopy is completely supernumarery for the first couple off weeks” This makes me feel a bit pathetic. I can return but not be entrusted with anything. I can return but treat me delicately or I might crack.
I’m at the stage where I do need to go back. Financially we can’t struggle on any longer and I need another reason to get up in the morning.
I’m scared though; absolutely petrified that I’ll crumble again. I’ve not recovered to quite the extend I would have hoped for by now.
I guess I’ll never truly know how I’ll cope until I try. So tomorrow I shall phone my boss and set the wheels in motion.
God this day needs to end. I’m home alone and I don’t do so good alone.
I can’t keep doing this. The binging, the purging, the self hatred and the relentless scheduling of activities to fill my day. My head is so fuzzy and I’m so tired.
I need to knock myself out for a while, so sweet dreams people.
I honestly don’t care if tomorrow never comes. It will come though, and this hamster wheel will continue to spin.
It’s pitch dark, chilly out, and I’ve just come back from a bike ride. I was asked the other day if I prefer the gym, or bike? I couldn’t really answer.
I prefer the gym for tracking calories burned, and the little competitive streak in me, thrives on turning my machines resistance up, just a notch above the guy or girl sweating beside me.
I favour the bike though, for sheer fun. 10 year old Tom boy Loopy rises from the ashes, and thrives on jumping kerbs, going flat out on hill slopes and leaning just a little to deep and fast into corners. On the odd occasions I can lose myself, and clear my mind, it’s magic.
Tonight though I’ve pushed my luck a little. I have no sense of direction, but something made me go down roads I’ve not travelled before. Something made me head for darkness and not care where I ended up. I was a little reckless and honestly lucky I found my way back.
I’ve been reckless lately, doing things I shouldn’t and holding back on the absolute truths of how I’m coping. My arms are a mess and my personal hygiene is crying out for a good scrub
It’s the hardest thing in the world to do, when you need it most. I do have numbers to call, but I can’t hit dial. I desperately need to talk, but I’m fearful of the conversation. I waited today until after 5, in the hope the answer phone would offer some soothing useful guidance, but the cold, monotone Irish (Dublin?) accent offered little comfort in ushering me to A&E. I can’t bring myself to A&E and I can’t shut down my racing thoughts.
OH and little man come home tomorrow, and I don’t want them to, nor do I want to be here when they do. I am actively scheduling activities to minimise time alone with my head, but really I’m just pissing in the wind, and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t even want to try.
Tonight I will sleep. I’ll make sure of that……….. Tomorrow? Don’t worry, I’ll still be here…….
My head is racing. Everything in my being is screaming at me to hurt myself. It’s not that I want to die, as such. I just want to sleep for a while. A deep undisturbed slumber, where I have no thoughts, worries or responsibilities.
I’ve tried everything today to distract myself. It was not a good time for pyschok8gy to cancel on me.
I almost bought alcohol this evening. I browsed through every wine bottle, eventually snapping out of it and opting for hot chocolate instead. I need the wine for courage.
I can hear my CPN’s gentle voice in my head; “Come on Loopy, what are you going to do this evening to ground yourself?”
“OK audible, it’s a date. I’ll run the bath, you light the candles……”
Some might call them intrusive thoughts, but they’re not just intrusive, they’re all consuming. I hit the gym today for respite, but even through ear blasting beats, these thoughts persisted.
Im alone now and I’m not really coping. I’ve eaten literally thousands of calories, and I’m feeling disgusting and defeated. I won’t self harm tonight as my arms still sting from previous endeavours.
There’s a little man asleep upstairs, protecting me from stupid actions.
I wish I was alone.
One would think that self harming is a painful endeavour, and indeed it is, but your psychological state acts as an odd analgesic. There is pain yes, but when I deliberatly burn myself it pales in comparison to say an accidental paper cut or spilled hot tea over my hand. It’s a strange phenomenon.
For me the worst part of burning, is not the pain, but the itch. You can sleep through pain, but an itch that can’t be tamed is unbearable. I’m in a little pain this evening. A new wound over an old eased some tension today. It blistered immediately. I’m dreading the impending prickling and tingling that this new wound shall bring.