My face is reminiscent of a beachball. This is partly due to the fact I had a wisdom tooth wrenched out last Monday and partly due to the fact that, despite this, I still managed to continue bingeing and purging each evening since last Tuesday. Like an idiot. I fear I have managed to rip the stitches apart and breed an infection in the now exposed socket. Well done me.
I see how well I set myself up to binge each night. It's a given that I will. Yeah, so I have my two slices of toast and coffee for breakfast and then.......nothing, nil, zip, nada for the rest of the day up until 6pm. 6pm is teatime or, more correctly: binge-time. This has been going on, relentlessly, for years. Day in, day out. Sure, I've attempted to add things in during the day because, hell, I know I'm physiologically setting myself up to binge if I don't eat. Nevermind the fucking-up-ness of my mental state.
For God's sake, it's not exactly rocket science is it??!
So why has nothing else stuck? It's as if all of my motivation and energy were used up in the 5 years it took to eventually get the breakfast in place securely enough to be able to now say it's habitual. 5 years of in-ing and out-ing from IP. 5 years of experimentation and mentally bullying myself, coaxing myself and talking myself into that fact that breakfast is essential to break the fast of night!! It's as if now, well..frankly I'm knackered. The urgency to keep battling on to "recovery" has waned with the harsh reality of just how difficult this war is going to be to win. It's not so much that I see time stretching out before me as one long battle..As much as it is the fact I see time stretching out before me as one long battle..WITH NO END.
*Sigh* but then, I feel like that now; in this moment because (rationally) I'm undernourished, lonely, overwhelmed and so, so..in it, that I guess it's hardly surprising that I can't see the wood for the trees. I think I've hit a place (and maybe - "maybe"??? Ffs..Er yeah, duh, there is no "maybe"- I hit this place a long while ago) where I have to turn my life upside down and rally an army behind me and let that army take some of the flak; allow them to help me.
Oh, for the love of God: What am I saying??? Well, I'll tell you: Nothing that I've not said a hundred times before.
Help me. Go away. Help me. Go away. Help me .Go away.....DON'T HELP ME, I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP. I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP. GO THE FUCK AWAY!!! OH SHIT...I didn't mean it..please, I need you to help me, I can't do this on my own. I can't do this. I'm scared. NO. I am. I JUST DON'T KNOW!!!
It's that contradiction of giving up control to be able to take control back. It gets me every bloody time. Folk bang on about taking responsibility for your own life and your own actions etc...and then in the next breath they're saying "so we'll put you on 1:1 observations and watch you in the bathroom and make sure you're not doing anything you shouldn't be doing (you naughty little girl). You'll jolly well eat everything that's put in front of you and if you go off in a strop we'll bring you back and sit with you until you eat it all up like a good little girl". Aaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggghhhhh I can't stand it!!! I end up feeling so patronised I could kill!!! But. But...oh fuck. What's the alternative? It makes me feel like the shit on someone's shoe, but...if I can't do this for myself, then...what's the fucking ALTERNATIVE?? Well, one I can think of. Death. Can't say that's wholly appealing either. Because that, well, that's a pretty huge failure. And although I directly might feel a whole lot better being six feet under, my much loved ones -namely, my Mum- would be destroyed: the worst possible outcome...Shit. So that leads my thoughts onto the road to nowhere that is: "do I, therefore, not love my Mum enough to go through whatever it is I need to go through in order to be "well"?"..Like I said, this is a road to nowhere and a particularly unfruitful road at that. Even I can see that (or at least I think I can...or maybe I don't want to recognise this as truth??..Oh shut up head!).
Do you know (I think you may have noticed) that I've just emotionally vomited straight onto the page (if it were physically a paper page and I were physically writing this blog that would have been a better analogy, but still..you get the drift).
I meant to have a wee whinge about my toothy woes and instead went off on one there a bit didn't I?....Hmm aaaaaaaaaand breeeeeeeeathe. Hoooooo-kay.
I'm just feeling really raw at the moment. Exposed. Vulnerable. At my instigation K and I have been looking at alternative treatment options. I mentioned the unit in Bierley in a previous post which includes MBT as an aspect of treatment and is not a specialist ED unit as such. I also have beside me here the handbook for the Acorn programme. This is run by The Retreat at York. Both of these would be inpatient options and are purely ideas. Whether or not I would get the funding to attend either is an entirely different thing.
K broached the subject of PEG feeding with me at our last session. Essentially I'd be fed via a tube inserted directly into my stomach for as long as it took for my weight to reach a point at which I'd be deemed more physiologically stable and -in theory- would be more capable of making use of psychological treatments and more physically able to tolerate medication (E.g. I cannot currently be prescribed quetiapine as an outpatient because of the high risk of it affecting my heart). I am dubious and expressed this at the time. At which point K admitted that she too was dubious and said that it might be an option if I could be sedated throughout the process, but otherwise it might be too traumatic for me to manage. I imagine she is correct in her assessment, as I have visions of me ripping out the tube, completely ignoring the fact that I might cause myself serious internal damage. I have done many stupid things in flashes of hyper-irrationality before, all in a bid to ease unabating anxiety.
K then went on to say that they could not sedate me for so long because of the physical risk. She does not think my body would hold out. So that solidly put the scuppers on that idea. Frankly, I was not keen on the idea of coming around one day and suddenly finding I had put on 4 stones, so not a massive loss in the idea stakes I feel! I'm unable to imagine how I would feel at such a point, as it is..unimaginable!
I know I'm not at all safe here. Living on my own in my flat. I know I don't reach out enough or ask for help enough. I'm really bottoming out here. I don't even feel able to consistently push for any of the options that K and I discuss. Partly because my motivation is so transient and partly -mostly- because I feel I do not deserve it. I mean, I can give no guarantees to anybody that the help they give me will be successful. Just a glance at my track record would be enough to confirm this. As much as folk have said to me in the past "well, maybe it's just not the right time for you yet" or "maybe you're just not ready/at that stage, yet", I can't help but think they were just trying to pacify me. Of course they were. Even K has used the now infamous "not ready, yet" line on me. I've got to say, I really don't think it works like that. I can not foresee the day when I will have gathered enough motivation/perseverance (call it what you will) to keep me going long enough to, firstly, get to a "safe" weight, secondly get to a "heathy" weight, thirdly maintain that and, crucially build a life without the eating disorder and starting from scratch. Oh yeah, and then maintaining that newly built life and not falling back into ED...and that's all before thinking about stuff like a career, a family..blah blah blah.... I think I need to stop thinking about the end result and just look at the next little step. Maybe. I don't know anymore. I've looked at this from a million angles and I never know if what I'm doing is for the best. If I'm honest, I know that sometimes the attempts I make at moving forward are merely a facade...It looks like I'm making progress therefore I must be making progress...right?
Oh dear, I'm so confused. I'm not really "with it". This is crushing me. This.. this.. THIS!! Oh fuck..I don't even know what "this" is anymore!! Is it me?? Is it something external? It feels like me, it looks like me, it thinks like me...Surely it just IS ME??? THIS IS ME!!!
Enough for today, I think. Somebody find the "off" switch and turn me off for God's sake.
I feel like a beached whale.