I blog during the intervals. But first I ran down stairs for some comfort food. I need it!!
The drawing above is an iceberg we were asked to sketch down. They’re a big fan of journaling. Below the surface are my instant thoughts about what might have led to my disordered eating. Note I’m a comfort eater.
It’s a bit scrawled so I’ll type them here.
1. I feel ugly.
2. Someone died because off me.
3. Mum wanted “normal” children.
4 . Thin is good, fat is bad.
5. I’m a terrible mum.
6. Fat albinos look worse than thin ones.
7. When I purge more, I burn less (oh that ones caught me off guard!, dunno where that came from.)
8. Thinner feels better.
I’m exhausted, it feels very raw and it’s bedtime now. Oh I’d love some zopiclone!! Or a burn, or a purge or all of these things. I think I have a sneaky box off Z’s somewhere.
On a final note, and this might offend some, which is not my intent, but they’ve been pushing “faith’ again this week. It spurts from their mouths sporadically, and everyone except me seems to be receptive to it. It’s making me feel like the “black sheep”
We were asked to think off someone we’d love to meet or go on a walk with. My head was screaming; the founder of the theory of evolution. But his name escaped me. Off course; Charles Darwin!! You know this Loopy, but it’s probably best that you forgot. I said nothing…….
I’m a lecturer in case you’ve not been a long time follower. I’m a socially anxious, highly self conscious, paranoid being, but I took up this profession when my confidence was high. It’s odd really, walking into the room, I’ll feel a thousand eyes on me, my body will be trembling, and then I’ll do my little routine. Log in to the pc, take a sip off water as I stroll around my “stage” all non chalant. I’ll gaze at the crowd as if I’m counting them, but I’m not really.
Then boom; “ok folks we’ll make a start” it’s my usual opener, and something odd happens. My work persona kicks in and I act my ass off. I act confident and knowledgeable, I act professional and calm. I’ll field questions with a smile and speak happily with those odd few who always stay behind to probe further. I’ll get through it, and once done, I’ll take a huge breath and steady myself, for real this time. A cup of tea will be needed.
Tomorrow’s a short module intro talk, but I’ve not been in front off a crowd like this since March. Tonight I’m feeling grotesquely fat, ugly all over, and paranoid they’ll quickly realise I’m a mess. Time to hit the gym hard again. Time to up my Orlistat.
Thank goodness most of my teaching this year is remote. Just get through tomorrow loopy.
Let’s get some sleep, 15mg tonight I think, you’ve an early star
I’ve chomped my nails, down to the stumps, I’ve binged and purged. I’ve burned and tonight for the first time since discharge, I want to knock myself out with zopiclone and diazepam, both of which I have in my possession (not loads)
I can’t explain it but a huge wave of sadness, hopelessness, self doubts and self destructive urges have hit me hard this evening…
I’ve been out on leave for the past 4 days, but today I was officially discharged. It’s weird, but this always comes with a little sadness on my part. I think you get so used to being wrapped in a 24/7 blanket of care, that leaving it makes you feel vulnerable and a little alone. The staff were generally great. They wouldn’t usually tolerate patients who behaved as I did. Any self harm over here gets you shipped immediately to a PICU, but covid stopped that, and they managed me as best they could. They even took my wardrobe, the actual furniture away.
I now have a clearer picture on what my priorities must be.
1. Get help for my PND. 2. Get help for my eating issues and drug use, although since leave I have reduced my zopiclone down to 7.5mg only. 3. Seek support or at least clarification regarding my BPD traits. 4 Learn to like myself again and accept my emotions in a more positive way.
You can only tackle these one at a time Loopy, but you can do it!!
I started this blog around 2 years ago, when I was first sectioned and subsequently admitted to a psych hospital.
I can’t believe it’s post 400, but worse I can’t believe I’m writing this from my bed on a different psych ward.
My mood is low today. My future hopes are well not exactly hopeful.
I’ve not seen little man in weeks (damn covid 19). What I have seen thought is that little man and OH do well without me. They’ve moved back into granny’s for a bit. That’s where they belong. Little man deserves a happy home, and all the love and care and support that I can’t offer him.
I love you little man, but you deserve so much more. This drug addicted, self destructive, self centred mum is no good for you.
you didn’t get it, to be honest.” These were the words that fell from my mother’s lips, as I told her I didn’t get the job. This was her first response. Surely on some level she knows that missing out would be disappointing. Surely she can recognise that on some level, I MUST have wanted it; why else would I apply?
How has she not yet learned to tread more carefully? How is it, that she can’t just be supportive.
I quickly changed the topic. We bought a car, which will be delivered next week. I told my mum the colour….. her reply;