Struggling with Scales

I had more blood tests today. Fun fun! It didn’t turn into quite the palava I had last time, but on the downside it bruised – so now I have a beautiful bluey-green inner elbow. I walked to and from the surgery, burning off 4 cal more than my unsweetened watery porridge I ate for breakfast. So I feel pretty good!

I’m struggling with the idea of my appointment on Thursday though – I can face it all, the talking, the changing, the travelling… But not the ‘weighing’. It feels humiliating, and – to be honest – I know that the thought of having to be weighed is triggering me into even worse behaviour. So, if they keep weighing me, they will discover I am losing weight/being sick/limiting fluid intake. I can’t help myself – and ‘blind weighs’ don’t help either, I weigh myself every morning and know exactly the number they will see (unless one of our sets of scales is off!).

*Blind weighs – when a patient stands backwards or with their eyes closed in the scales so they can’t see the number that comes up – often helps patients who have been strong enough to stop checking their weight and don’t want to be triggered or set back by seeing a number they don’t like.

I am sure I’m not the only person who feels this way – I just wish there were some way around it! I find the meetings helpful, but when I have to be weighed I spend the week leading up to it and the few days following dealing with the humiliation of other people knowing my intimate details. I am strongly considering not going on Thursday, because I don’t think my body can cope with much more abuse… I expect I’ll end up there, and just cry and cry until they either let me off (but threaten me it has to be done next time), physically drag me on (I don’t think this is allowed), or kick me out.

I remember when I took a large overdose a few months ago, the doctor in A&E just walked in to the cubicle (I had been taken in ‘voluntarily’ by the police – code for ‘barely conscious and unable to articulate that I wanted them to leave me) and brandished a set of scales at me, ordering me on. I told him I didn’t know, I would rather die anyway then face the humiliation of getting on the scales in front of people. He was an absolute arse to be honest… I did get on, after half an hour and a trip to the bathroom as it was the only place I could be alone. But I knew back then I was very close – toss of a coin – to refusing the treatment (they needed my weight to calculate the dosage) and going home to die.

I suppose this is a similar situation – the treatment will (hopefully) save my life, but being weighed is a condition of receiving it. But other people knowing my weight makes me worse… Hmm. I will keep thinking. It’s a lovely day today, between rainstorms, and apparently gardening burns a LOT of calories by hand. I might just give it a go!

Sorry for the wait!

Hello all, sorry for the gap in posts – I hope no one was waiting on me! I have had an interesting few days. I did go for another walk in the end, aiming for another country park about 6 miles away. It was sunny, beautiful – sadly I brought my partner with me though, and he did not enjoy the walk one bit! He had said the day before that he was gutted he didn’t come with me – but I don’t think it was the ‘walking’ part he was really up for!

We walked through a forest – and he was tired after about half a mile uphill. I gather this is normal-ish for people in our society – but he kept getting grumpy, so we ended up going on a shorter walk in the end, down to a nearby village – where I got some frozen yoghurt for a late breakfast/lunch, and a diet coke at the pub. AND he wanted to get the bus back… To be fair, I’m sure it was for the best for me ‘officially’ – as I am not supposed to walk too far (when I go into daycare you aren’t allowed to do ANY exercise at all. None, not even light stuff! Terrifying…)

We had a nice time together once my partner got his way about not walking too far – and I felt better having done some exercise than if I’d not managed any at all. My moods had been all over the place recently – I spent (squeamish people close your ears!) over a year without having a period, and now – whenever they do arrive (still sporadic and of unconvincing length) my hormones are like a raging animal!

It’s odd explaining to people who are ‘regular’ – or worse, to men – but while a lot of people have PMS issues, they get really tough when you:
a) aren’t expecting them – as you don’t know when/if your next period is coming
and
b) aren’t used to them – so don’t recognise them as mood swings and think they are just your actual feelings! Eek.
So I have said some pretty horrible things to people 😦 – feel guilty about it – but luckily I apologised and explained when I realised and was forgiven!

Also – obviously hormones and weight fluctuation are nasty, seeing you’ve suddenly gained 4 pounds overnight makes perfect sense when you think ‘Period’ but none at all otherwise. I find it tricky dealing with the emotions, and try not to weigh myself at all if I suspect I might be approaching ‘that time’. But sometimes I can’t help myself…

Anyway. I’m off to work again tonight – just an afternoon/evening shift. I have to apologise to people who wanted to read my post about night-shift work, my post about the ED clinic and the ‘Blurred Lines’ incident ended up linked into the #askthicke Twitter campaign, and I worried there were too many identifying factors that people might notice! Don’t fancy losing my job, I reckon that would just exacerbate stress.

A beautiful walk…

I took a real walk yesterday – almost entirely for the purpose of calorie-burning, but stunning. I walked out into the countryside, with nothing but 2 litres of diet coke, some epic music on my phone (Bonnie Tyler style epic), and my Kindle. I just skipped breakfast, charged my phone the most I could (up to about 20%) got dressed in the least hideous clothes I could find, went to the bathroom and left.

R.e. the ‘hideous clothes’ – no, it isn’t really the clothes’ fault. My body is not reacting well to food at all. Though I’m nearly past the ‘involuntary vomiting’ stage, I am bloated and swollen nearly all the time. My periods are still not back (I had one in February – my first for over a year, but nothing even resembling one recently), yet my breasts are swollen and sore. My stomach is nearly constantly distended, and my legs are retaining so much water you’d think they were preparing for a hosepipe ban… I was self-conscious, nearly too much so to even leave the house. But I did. And once I was out in the country, even walking mainly along roads (so as not to lose my bearings when my battery died!), there was barely a passerby to notice the state of my body. Just a few drivers, maybe one cyclist. All pre-occupied with their own lives.

I arrived first at a beautiful village – where I stopped for my first drink and sat a while on a bench. The sun was beating down – miraculously I didn’t get burnt, and in a mixed blessing I couldn’t find my sunglasses. This sounds crap, but means I didn’t get ‘goggle face’ from a day in the open. I relaxed a bit in a picturesque village, nearly invisible to passers by, then picked up my bag, put the music back on, and walked.

I sent a text to my partner, before I resumed, explaining where I was heading, and that my phone battery might well cut out. Danger of ‘mental health problems’ is that you can’t really decide to have an afternoon to yourself on a whim anymore… If you run out of signal, or decide not to reply to a text, you run the unfortunate – and embarrassing risk of being phoned in as a ‘missper’ (what the police call a ‘missing person’ – this convenient non-word saves them two syllables, and makes them sound like they speak in a language of their own.) A police car did drive past me as I was approaching the little village, and the same one drove back in the opposite direction as I was bent in a particularly unattractive position (bum in the air, back to the road, fumbling in a bag on the bench repacking to continue my trek – what a catch!).

Another funny phrase I once overheard some officers using was ‘Polac’; pronounced ‘Poe’ – as in Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Lack’ – as in not enough of something… I was always under the impression this was an American-style racist term for Eastern Europeans with strong accents (originates from something like ‘Polish-Accent’), so I was quite shocked! But then a friend of mine who works as a PCSO (community support officer) explained what it really means: ‘Police-Accident’ – a traffic collision involving a police car. Boring – but at least they weren’t just being casually racist.

Every time I see a police car in my local area now, I try and subtly hide, while at the same time looking to see if I’ve ‘met’ them before. I couldn’t see who was in the car that drove past me – it was a large 4×4 and the windows had sun reflecting from them that stopped me from peering in. I don’t like the idea of people who’ve seen me at my worst (mentally) driving past me when I am coping reasonable well – odd? I suppose it is a mixture of not wanting them to be saying ‘oh, there’s that anorexic girl we took the knives off that time – she seems happier’, and – particularly yesterday, as I was bloated like a pig, not wanting them to be thinking ‘oh look – the girl with anorexia is looking chubbier now. Glad she’s recovered.’… I can’t explain eloquently why this bothers me so much – I suppose it is because I want to be the one who decides when/if I’ve recovered, the one to finally apply that label to myself – based partly on my physical health but mainly on my mental health. I’m the only one inside my head – I don’t like the idea that people who aren’t can, and do, make judgements, however well meaning. 

Anyway, the car was gone, and I trotted along up the road, the pavement disappeared as I reached a huge forest – so I took a chance on the ‘public footpath’ sign. And what a beautiful accident! I stumbled across an iron-age hill fort, with views across the countryside, butterflies, dragonflies, wild flowers – and a large herd of cows. It was a very small space that me and the cows shared – I walked within a few feet of them, by necessity. The field was large, but three quarters of it was taken up by a forbidding slope (probably part of the ancient fort’s defence) – so the herd grazed on the path. Cows really are quite large – and humbling – up close. Some of these even had horns… Glad I’m a vegetarian!

I took a right at a fork in the track, and returned to the road at the top of the hill – just to keep my bearings. I walked for hours, past ancient burial mounds, forests, wildlife, hills with incredible views of the country and the rivers – all on a summer’s day. And then, finally, arrived at the National Trust country park I had aimed for. It was absolutely worth the journey, miles of seemingly never-ending ancient woodland, and barely another human being in sight. I had burned calories – yes – but by the time I arrived at my destination, I realised I had also enjoyed myself. The walk had changed from being ‘let’s get thin’ to ‘let’s do something nice for myself’. Obviously physically demanding, but I felt peaceful, calm, and as I settled down to read my book – with no music, the phone ran out of battery just before I reached the cows, but I didn’t mind at all – I thought to myself that I might do this more often. 

I parked on a bench, secluded about a mile into the estate, finished The Lost World – in a perfect setting, some or most of the trees must have been hundreds of years old themselves. The book, of course, did not disappoint. The diet coke was beautiful. The two large blisters on my heels were more than justified… I think I may head out again today – it is sunny again, and perhaps I will head in the opposite direction, to see what else I am missing out on! If I start to exercise for pleasure again, maybe it will help – a step to recovery. I do intend to get there one day.

Working the Night Shift – and Related ‘Banter’.

I have had to delete this post as a precaution, I was afraid of being identified and treated unfairly/losing my job for speaking the truth. I have a copy I can email to people who are desperate to know. Unfortunately in our society the whistle-blowers, not the misogynists, harassers and sexists, are the people taken to task.

The ‘Big Day’

So, yesterday was my first official appointment with the clinic. I spent the whole night awake, and then the whole morning screaming and shouting that I wasn’t going, they all hated me, I was too fat, none of my clothes fitted any more because I was so fat, they weren’t interested in me getting better and only wanted to make me… You guessed it, FAT. Then I got in the car, wearing the biggest hoodie in the world, a face of thunder, and no make up at all. And I went.

I was there a little early, my partner had come with me (I think only to make sure I went in!) and we waited together. The waiting room isn’t very private here – it is just a row of seats by the main door. And only about 5ft from reception – so everyone sees and hears everyone else booking in, any phone conversations going on etc… That’s tricky when you’re having a wobble, or feeling insecure, but I suppose not a huge problem in the grand scheme of things.

The radio was playing, and suddenly: “everybody get up”… A drum beat… “everybody get up”… Oh dear lord. It’s that song. It’s that bloody rape song. That, ‘Rape every woman in the nightclub, especially if they can’t be domesticated like a dog, or tabby cat.’ song. That ‘Rape everyone who says no, you know they want it, you’re a man and have superior instincts, women are your toys!” song… Normally, this song just makes me angry. And indignant. And disgusted that we are all such neanderthals, and that – having written a catchy tune, some (presumably) perfectly talented musicians decided to make it about the sexual dominance of man over woman – not ‘malicious’ they say, but because – in our society – they can.

But not today… Today something different was happening. Today I started to breathe heavily. And flashing images appeared – alternating between stills from the misogynist video and… And… Oh my god. I was back again. I was 17 again and on that sofa. I was in the corridor at school being laughed at because everyone saw the footage of me being raped. I was 18 and in bed with my partner who wanted anal sex when I didn’t. And the video. And the sofa again. And the scummy bedroom again. And the sofa. And the faces… All their faces were spinning around me. I tried to stand up – the waiting room was packed – there was nowhere to go. I choked out ‘can you get them to turn it off’, to my partner… What seemed like a lifetime later (probably just a few seconds) it was off. I sat down. Everyone was staring – all the other patients, their families. They knew why it had been turned off… What were they thinking?

I hoped to god they just thought I was some kind of angry feminist (they wouldn’t have been far off!). Perhaps a few did. Perhaps some of them understood. Perhaps some of them had gone through the same thing. 1 in 5 women experience serious sexual assault between the ages of 16-59… Eating disorders and body issues are common issues for survivors/victims*.

*I use both words – because everyone who has been through such a terrible experience has a right to choose how to define themselves. I, personally consider that I was a victim of sexual assault/rape – but I am a survivor in the context that I am still alive. I am a victim, in that I still cannot lead a normal life, but a survivor in that I have the guts to try. Everybody is different – and both phrases are empowering in their own way… I know ‘victim’ is a word therapists etc have started to shy away from – but equally some women have to label themselves a ‘victim’ in order to begin accepting that what happened was not their fault, and that acceptance is part of the path to becoming a ‘survivor’. 🙂

Either way – what I went through in that waiting room was horrific. And I am sure, deep down, I cannot be the only one who’s had a similar experience.

Found this image on the internet… I agree!

 

Eventually I was called in for my meeting. It was fairly positive – she seemed pleased I’d started eating again – but concerned I still wouldn’t let them weigh me. I know I have to do it next time… *shudders*. She seemed concerned my GPs hadn’t been kept in the loop, and took a note to ring them. She assigned me a nurse who’s going to be monitoring me up until my admission… And she seemed fine about rejigging my admission date. Then I said goodbye, and left, and all was hunky-dory! Positive. Except… Wait a minute. I’m missing out the main bulk (about half an hour) of the meeting.

She asked me why I thought I was fat. I said I just was. She got me to admit I was medically defined as underweight or normal weight (she doesn’t know which, as I haven’t let anyone weigh me). She asked me why normal weight was fat… And… the banks just burst. Everything came out of my mouth, seemingly all at once. How I didn’t want ‘them to touch me’. How I hated ‘these things hanging off my chest’. How ‘when I’m thin enough they all leave me alone’. How I ‘don’t want them to find me again’. And then I cried. Like a baby. Or – in fairness – like a grown woman who was treated very poorly as a teenager and never received the help she deserved. And that was the entire mid-section of the meeting: me crying, apologising for crying, her telling me I didn’t need to apologise, me trying to stop crying, me crying anyway (loop).

My partner wasn’t in the room at that point. I’m glad, in a way. He’s seen enough of this. When I was slightly calmer (between crying fits), she explained the types of therapy they can offer, but that it can’t happen until after the hospital programme. She said quietly ‘I think you’re a survivor, aren’t you?’ – I nodded, I knew what she meant. I think they had me down as an attention seeker before – somehow people knowing, even though it’s difficult to look them in the eye once they do, somehow legitimises ‘me’. Not ‘me’ as such, but the part of me that hurts myself and won’t eat and cries and throws up and tantrums like a child. I feel pathetic when I do it – yet I know that if it were someone else, and I was looking from the outside, I would hold them, care for them, and protect them with my life if I had to. I suppose there is a self-disgust that comes from not just being able to ‘get on with it’.

She offered me two types of treatment once I’ve completed the ED day programme (I don’t know if this is before, after, or during the CBT that usually follows DT) – standard talk therapy, and EMDR (they treat you by making you move your eyes while you remember things – seems bizarre, and sure I’m missing something, happy to try though – in theory!). The last is almost always used for PTSD, but she seemed so keen… I have a feeling next time I see my medical record there might be a line added. Looking at the symptoms of PTSD… Maybe she’s right?

A long blog, I know. I worked a night shift last night as well – will definitely blog about that next time, promise! But I hope the above update is enough to keep everyone happy. A massive thanks as well, to everyone who is following this blog – when I started writing, I never imagined anybody would read this – I nearly hoped they wouldn’t, but the supportive comments/likes/follows really make me smile. I’ve also had a few messages from people who say I’ve helped them feel less ‘alone’, ironically, those very messages stop me feeling alone too! I’ll write again soon 🙂

 

Chilling out…

I have had quite a mixed few days – I haven’t heard back from my boss r.e. flexibility if I do go in for treatment or my treatment centre r.e. dates – not looking forward to the appointment tomorrow at all! I will go, but I won’t let them weigh me – I know there is no point in looking at it after the last 24 hours – it will be too inaccurate.

I finished work late last night and feeling very dizzy, I got something from a vending machine (only thing open) – and began to eat it tentatively at the station. Suddenly my colleague appeared! I stuffed it back in my bag, and tried to look innocent. But I felt so guilty… Once he got off, I went into the toilet and threw up all the way home. Blatantly looked like I was fare-dodging, but made a point of finding the conductor. (Getting fined is the last thing I need lol!)

This morning, I decided to try again – but the food was just coming up on its own. Every time I tried to eat or  it just came spurting up – I ended up in the toilet on the train to work as well, I could not keep it down. I was so dehydrated that I passed out in my seat – I won’t start an essay about it, but found it interesting that nobody helped me, or asked if I was okay…

So in short – with all the food and water going in and out, and the fact I will be retaining water like no one’s business because of the vomiting, why weigh me? Let’s see if we are on the same page tomorrow! 

Dilemma…

Oh dear. I’ve been offered a new contract at work… I shouldn’t say ‘Oh dear’, it is a great opportunity – with a wonderful team, and will boost my income by £4k. It’s also something I feel very passionate about. But… It is starting in September, lasts five weeks over September-October, and will be working daytime hours – and I STILL haven’t had my start date for hospital.

A few things I’m considering:

1. I am not eligible for sick pay or benefits while I’m in hospital, and it is a minimum 8 week programme. 2 months without salary means I really need the money.

2. If I turn down the position, and am then not put into treatment anyway until later in the year, I will have lost out on that wage AND the 8 weeks I have to take off anyway.

3. Should I be letting my eating disorder control my life to the degree that I miss out on brilliant opportunities to further my career? – I love my work.

4. If I accept the job, and then the the service tries to admit me anyway, will that put me back to the bottom of the waiting list?

5. Will I be able to cope with postponing the treatment?*

*Granted, it is more than possible the treatment will be postponed anyway – regardless of whether I take this role – but I think it should be something I consider.

 

I have called the Eating Disorder team, and left a message for them to get back to me – I’m sure they won’t. If they refuse to return contact to my GP and/or the Crisis team what chance do I have? For now, though, I’ve let my employer know my position – (I desperately want the role, but am due in hospital, and will get back to him by the end of the week… I hope they will at least be able to give me an answer at my appointment on Friday.)

I was very physically weak yesterday, I barely managed the 6 mile walk to/from work, and was struggling to stand up throughout the day. I made up my mind to try some food when I got back – just to keep me alive. I had a bit of bread, which I ate most of and threw the rest in the bin; a cup-a-soup, half of which I poured down the drain, and some porridge – which began to come back up (of its own accord – not induced) nearly as soon as I’d had the first spoonful. And, of course, the porridge also brought with it the bread and the soup. AARGH! I threw the rest of the porridge away.

I am trying to comfort myself in the knowledge that it (apparently) isn’t possible to empty your stomach completely through vomiting, so I must have eaten something. And, on top, I didn’t feel too disappointed in myself for eating – a bit of shame, a little self-disgust when I realised my stomach had bloated so much you’d think I’d had a whole hog-roast and a side of lard, but nothing unmanageable. (Code – I didn’t feel suicidal. Win!)

Today I had my first round of vitamin C supplements, and the rest of my vitamin pills – I’ve only managed 1/2 glass of s/free lemonade so far to drink, but I hope that will change… Will let you know! 

Needles and ‘News’

It’s been a mixed day – on the bright side, no food AND I’ve persuaded my partner to put padlocks on the freezer, fridge and cupboard and HE is going to keep the key. We’ve both agreed that I won’t be eating anything – diet coke/water only – until Friday at the earliest, and from then on it will be liquids only (soup etc) for at least three weeks. I know it is wrong – and I think he does as well – and things may change if I get on a decent treatment scheme, but for now, it is the only way I can keep the ‘head-monsters’ in check.

I still intend to take as good care of my body as I can though. I will be working out less – and less strenuously – doing mainly toning exercises, I will be keeping well topped up on fluids, and I bought some more vit C supplements to add to my daily pill intake. And… I’ll be keeping on top of my medical check ups.

For anyone who isn’t aware – ED sufferers have to have VERY frequent blood tests. Mine are fortnightly at present, I expect they will become weekly soon – I used to have fortnightly ECGs as well, but haven’t had one requested in a while *touch wood* as I’ve been between centres. The problem with getting blood tests as an ED patient are very simple:

1. You have to go to see a nurse. Nurses are scary, and usually not trained in eating disorders.

2. They never remember what tests they are supposed to do.

3. Blood is difficult to get if you haven’t been eating…

4. …And nearly impossible if you are dehydrated (from not drinking fluids/purging/overexercising).

So basically, what (for everyone else) takes about five minutes – you (or I, at any rate) must sit in a nurse’s room, while she checks both arms; comments that she can’t get a vein; asks if you’re okay because you’re dizzy again; says ‘ooh your vein has collapsed’*; pokes about six hundred holes in you before finally saying ‘well it isn’t much, but it will have to do’. By the end of this procedure – you feel sick and are covered in little balls of white, fluffy, cotton wool. In fact – you look like a bit like this…

Baaaaaaa!

*’Collapsed vein’ is really not as morbid or serious as it sounds! Just means it has shrunk/flattened because it doesn’t like the needle – understandable!

But… This – or at least the last bit – didn’t happen today! Hooray!!! 

I arrived on time for my appointment, I walked to the surgery – as it is another beautiful day 🙂 . I didn’t eat anything yesterday, or this morning, so made sure to glugg down the diet coke – at least I can stay hydrated! The walk was okay… Unfortunately, there was a breeze. So, there’s my partner, walking next to me – perfectly warm and cosy in a t-shirt and shorts. And me, in a couple of layers, FREEZING! Honestly – the wind felt like ice, I had goosebumps all up my arms and legs. I nearly chickened out and went home for the car, but decided getting a little exercise was more important, especially for my mood!

I was (of course) kept waiting at the surgery, til about half an hour after my appointment time. Then… In I went. The nurse was kind enough to remove the dressing from my wrist before we started, which saved me another trip into hospital/back to a doc here (win!). And then… it all went downhill:

“Oh dear… Ooh… At least it’s healed well. You did this last week?” she said, she leant in, and (in perfect slow-motion ‘therapy voice’, nodding in time to the rhythm of her own voice) enunciated: “You aren’t going to do this again now, are you?”

Another nurse walks in the room. No apology – just coming to get something from a drawer. And walked out. 

“Have you seen the GP since you did this?” Asked the first nurse.

“No.”

“Well… She might want some more bloods done – I will just check. But first lie down, you’re feeling dizzy.”

“I really prefer sitting…”, I start.

“… Lie down there. There we are. I will just go and check.” 

And off she went. I don’t like lying down – I feel vulnerable lying on my back in a stranger’s office. But I was under orders… About a minute after she left: another nurse walked in, she didn’t acknowledge me or my partner, just rooted through the drawers, left.

Ten minutes went by. Yet another nurse came in and flitted around. 

At last, nurse no.1 returned, with the GP – but, suddenly, three extra nurses all decided they needed to fetch something from the treatment room too!!! There were now five people, (seven including myself and my partner), crammed into the tiny room… And the GP wanted to talk about my wrist. I didn’t – if I’m honest:

1. I prefer a bit of privacy.

2. I feel sick

3. I wanted to go home,

And

4. I was feeling fed up, crowded – and struggling to understand why my routine blood tests had suddenly turned into ‘must-see medical event of the year’… I think I should charge per head next time! 😉

But the ‘wrist’ conversation went ahead. Then, the GP asked me what blood tests I needed – exactly the same ones that are done every fortnight. And nurse no.1 set to work on my arm – while the other three continued to chat about which papers are in which drawer. The GP kept talking… It turns out, the Eating Disorder clinic are not returning any of her calls, not replying to any messages she leaves, and not even monitoring the bloods that they request. Figures! She asked me to remind them… Not sure they will listen (they don’t usually!), I nodded my weary agreement. 

Suddenly, the bloods were out. And I was on my way home.

As I entered the house -‘private number’ was ringing. Finally!!! This must, surely, be the call I was promised, detailing my treatment – telling me about the long-term plan, letting me know about the referral to the other teams?!

“Hello – this is X from the Crisis team. I’m just ringing to remind you your appointment with the Eating Disorder team is on Friday. Make sure you go along. We are handing you over now, so we won’t be ringing or visiting at all any more – it is all up to them.”

And he’s gone… In short, their ‘safety plan’ for me involves: reminding me of the appointment I already have, dropping the phone, and running. Everything I was promised r.e. stable, concrete, plans and interim support until a long term treatment programme was in place, has just gone out of the window. I curl up, and cry. Any hope of solid food or progress ended with this – another top-notch NHS let down.

Chew/Spit/Chew… Confused.

Yuck. So I managed to drink again yesterday! Hooray!!! I started the day with a nice run – made the mistake of taking my partner with me though – it was very hot and he had to stop pretty much before we’d really got going… But then luckily I did some top calorie-burning by working in the garden for a couple of hours. I know I shouldn’t – but it is the only way I can calm myself down enough to drink liquids.

Around midday, the Crisis team came out for a VERY odd meeting. Luckily it was my favourite nurse on the team – mustn’t name her, but she was the one I was lucky enough to meet last week who has been helping me through the *SV trauma, and came out Wednesday night when I was really struggling. It turns out (in case any readers hadn’t figured it out!) there’s been a bit of a screw-up!

Somehow, the Crisis team:

– Got the message from the Eating Disorder service that my interim treatment/support was sorted – it isn’t.

– Thought I had a start date for my day treatment programme – I haven’t.

– Thought my specialist doc had been assigned – he/she hasn’t.

– Failed to make note that anybody should ring me Thursday (following conversation with A&E staff)

– Decided it would be fine just to come out at a totally different time on Saturday without mentioning it to me – it wasn’t.

– Have totally failed to make the referral onto the next home treatment programme I was supposed to be having alongside the ED therapy… But decided that was fine. And, for the record, it isn’t.

So in short – they were planning to discharge me because everybody thinks everyone else is treating me… I explained to the Nurse that this made me feel rather like ‘deja vu’, and not particularly supported! She agreed – but now I seem to be left in even more of a limbo situation… I am ‘technically’ still with the Crisis team, but they won’t be visiting or treating me any more. As far as I can see, the plus side of this is that, if they are responsible for me and can’t drop me until the referrals have been picked up properly, the referrals might actually happen – the negative side: I am not getting any treatment. In fact I am going from what as supposed to be daily/every other day visits and support to nothing at all.

The Nurse promised they would ring in the next couple of days, and would send confirmation of both referrals (once they were picked up) in writing, and that I was still technically under their care until then. It isn’t great – but it is better than the situation I would have been in otherwise. We had a nice long chat as well – I told her everything about the blue door. Not in intimate gruesome detail, but how many people were involved, what happened before/afterwards, about the camera – how I felt about the police and reporting it… For the record, I would love to go to the police, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle the possibility that it might:

a) never get to court (lack of evidence)

b) mean other people have to watch the footage

c) mean that my family etc find out

d) get to court, and, with five accused people giving testimonies saying I wasn’t drunk/spiked at all, just making a fuss, the jury decide I gave consent and start the whole humiliation process over again…

I might be able to face those possibilities one day – but certainly not in my present state of mind!

 

On to the evening. I made it to 5pm, no eating, no hunger – just a bit of diet coke. Then, I think I must have had a bit of a meltdown. I cooked dinner for my partner, and decided to try a little square of the bread I made him, as I was curious to see how it turned out. Big mistake. This somehow prompted one of my ‘attempted binges’  – a very odd phenomena, that I hope someone else SOMEWHERE has experienced. I took my debit card, and I went to Co-Op. I intended to buy lots of food, and then eat it because I damn well deserve it; I actually bought a lot of things for my partner, and a few things for me. I intended to then sit at home and eat it, enjoying it, perhaps have to purge afterwards but trying not to. I actually had about a mouthful and then alternated between the following behaviours:

– Chewing the food, spitting it into a bin, then throwing up a little just to cover it up and in case I had swallowed by accident.

– Taking the food out of the packet, tearing it up into flushable size pieces, putting it in the bin, then throwing up anyway – for the fun of it.

– Taking the food out of the packet, and pouring it – with great joy and delight – straight into the bin, and flushing it straight away. Then being sick. 

Literally  – WHAT THE HELL?! Oddest thing is, I still feel like I would if I had eaten it! (Shame, self-loathing, bloated…). I really don’t know what this kind of behaviour is about… I also, of course, had to take my laxatives just in case. They still haven’t worked as of this morning, but I think that might be bordering on TMI so will leave the conversation there!

Today – it is midday, I can’t eat or drink – and I feel as sick as a dog (sore throat, weak, muscle aches). But, I am heading into work in about an hour, and it will be nice to see everyone again :). Have a good week all!

*SV – Sexual Violence

A Light Quiz for the Weekend

My first moan today – because every blog needs to start with a good moan 😉 – is the ‘therapy voice’. I would suggest 90%+ of people suffering with any kind of mental illness has experienced this. It happens when someone, a friend/relative usually – occasionally also an employer, finds out or suspects you of being a sufferer… AND THEY SUDDENLY, SPEAK VERY, VERY, SLOOOOOWLY. AND, ADD IN PAUSES, AND COMMAS, BETWEEN, EVERY, STATEMENT… And simultaneously manage to 100% reassure you of the fact that, even if they did believe a word you said, it isn’t important – because you have a ‘weird person’ brain and so are marked forever as unreliable. (NB please beware – ‘therapy voice’ is a long term condition, that can often continue months or years after the sufferer you originally contacted has been cured or reached remission. It also makes you super bad company!)

As you can probably tell – I take issue with this! I may be a mental health patient, but, as anyone who takes the time to listen to me – especially on the subject of mental illness, or eating disorders specifically – will tell you, I am more intelligent and certainly AS knowledgeable as the majority of specialist doctors in the field. I have always been bright – in fact, anorexics often tend to be exceptionally clever/academic; the same ‘all or nothing’ brain pattern that makes us so difficult to deal with in terms of eating habits translates very well into the world of business/school/further education. 

If you are worried you may be, or know, a sufferer of ‘the therapy voice’ (Full medical name – ‘I am frightened and think you should be locked in a dark room somewhere because I do not think the same way as you and cannot understand your thought process. In absence of dark room, I will emulate what therapists/counsellors do on the telly and try to cure you with an intense dose of ‘patronising phrase’), please do seek help. I have a put a handy quiz below – if you actually ARE a mental health nurse/professional, you may have to take a test from another provider:

Please score 1 point for every sentence you remember saying, ever:

“Everybody gets depressed. You just have to deal with it.”

“I had an eating disorder once – I didn’t eat for a whole day.”

“You should get more sleep.”

* “Why don’t you just take anti-depressants?”

“But being skinny/self-harm/not putting on your make up is ruining your looks.”

* “Why don’t you just go into rehab?”

“There are people with real problems.”

* “You just need to look at things differently”

“But you don’t need time off work – you look fine!”

“Think about what you are doing to your family/partner.”

 

Then add up the scores! (NB – an asterix (*) indicates that ‘just’ is an essential word, required for the sentence to achieve its full patronising potential).

 

RESULTS

0-2 ……. Congratulations, you are very probably still in possession of some empathy, or have never had to engage in conversation with someone you believe to be inferior to yourself.

3-6 …… Middle ground – be careful not to offend or upset someone. As a first step, begin to cut out phrases like ‘it’s only’, or ‘just’ – these imply something is EASY. A bit like asking a cancer patient to ‘just have some chemo’… As you become more advanced, you will begin to recognise mental and physical illness as equal in terms, and become a nicer person.

7-10 …… Oh dear. You are almost certainly afflicted with ‘therapy voice’. You have probably offended most of your inner circle of friends, and may even be accused of prejudice in later life. Time to change! Read up on websites (Mental Health Foundation, Mind etc) or at the library, on different types of mental illness and why they matter/how they effect people. Try and remember – 1 in 4 people suffer a mental health difficulty every year – you stand to ruin 25% of your relationships annually if you don’t get the help you need!

 

… And back to my day! I did fairly well on the exercise front yesterday, I went on a long country hike (blister the size of my thumb!), managed to plank for 5 minutes straight (core strength forever!), did some sit-ups, and went for a run. I didn’t quite manage the whole ‘F O O D’ thing – but I did manage to take some liquid on board, which is great. In all – I survived another day. And that in itself, is impressive :).

I also received quite an odd call from the Crisis team – having already been told they were no longer seeing me (by the eating disorder service), and them having already missed two appointments with me (phone call Thursday afternoon and home visit Saturday morning), they suddenly rung quite late on Saturday afternoon.

The whole conversation was something of a blur – it turns out:

– They think they are still seeing me.

– There was no explanation for why they didn’t ring or visit when we’d planned.

– They intend to come over today instead, but didn’t think to tell me.

BUT:

– Today is ‘not a real appointment, just a wrap up meeting, before we pull out’.

 

Heavens alive! I cannot keep up with this. I will let you know if I receive any more news on a treatment plan during the ‘wrap up meeting’, but right now I’m off to drink some diet coke!