Does The Past Dictate The Future?

Thank you so much for your support with yesterday's post- I am so amazed by how the blogging community has so much wisdom and advice...you guys are beyond great :)

*potentially triggering post- mentions behaviours*

I thought more about what I had written as your comments landed in my inbox. I think I am just a little disheartened right now. Between the ages of 12 and 19, I pretty much lived in hospital. I fell into a pattern of either eating disorder behaviours, or self-harming and suicide attempts. NEVER both at the same time.

Between the ages of 19 and 25, my eating disorder was at the forefront of my behaviours and self-harming completely vanished. I guess I hoped, when I signed myself into the inpatient program in New York KNOWING I would be giving up my eating disorder, that I would have somehow "grown out" of the mood swings and impulsivity I dealt with as a teenager. I hadn't, and once again, was...ah... I can't even describe. Unstable, to put it nicely! So it's not something I say lightly when I voice concerns about that becoming an issue at higher weights- I was all for trying again as an adult, to recover 100%, but it almost seems like I NEED my eating disorder to stay on somewhat of an even keel.

Over the last year or so, the lines have grown closer together and it doesn't feel so much like an "either or" choice. The mood swings and impulsivity have become a rather prominent feature again, despite my eating disorder still pretty much running rampant.

To be honest, I'm pretty scared. I've never DEALT with the two combined. It's been one or the other. Now I feel really trapped- the only thing that helps my mood slightly is losing weight, and that is becoming shorter-lived by the day, before the depression kicks back in and my thoughts wander off again. Food and weight only distracts me for minutes before my mind drifts back to other urges.

I know my family and treatment team have always been almost 'reassured' when I am at a lower weight because they don't need to worry about self-harm or overdosing. Everyone, myself included, was pretty taken aback after the suicide attempts in October and November, and I am still trying to make sense of where that came from/why NOW/why is my eating disorder not "working" anymore.

I guess the problem comes from seeking a solution in something that can never really bring true contentment, and as long as I do little more than mask the original feelings, they will manifest in all kinds of ways.

The other concern I expressed was about how little support there is when I appear to be "healthy" and that is not just my perception. Eating disorder treatment is really hard to get in the UK in general, more so in Scotland. At a healthy weight, the little services there are will put you at the bottom of the 2 year waiting list, then offer nothing more than 6-8 CBT sessions. There is a total of 9 inpatient beds in the country for eating disorders and those are reserved for people at life-threatening low weights, who have not had the opportunity to receive inpatient treatment before. The ones the National Health Service deem "saveable", and by their definition, based on my history, I'm not.

I don't personally buy it. I preach that full recovery is possible for EVERYONE- regardless of history, circumstances, what treatment they have or haven't had. I say it and I believe it. And I don't think that ANYONE is a write-off or destined to live forever in the clutches of anorexia (or die from it) but at the same time, I feel like I have run out of options. When it comes to therapy, medication, alternative treatments, self-help... I don't know. I don't know exactly what answer I am hoping to find, or there even is an answer. Maybe my belief in recovery is as false as the weird beliefs I hold about my body or food. Maybe it just isn't on the cards for me.

But then what makes ME so different that *I* can't recover whilst everyone else is capable? To that, I have no answer. Except I look at the last 14 years, the things I have tried, the things that have helped, the things that haven't, and I don't know what conclusion to come up with.

This is all kind of doom and gloom, and it's a Friday night so I'm going to stop here (*huge sighs of relief all round*) lol. Still no photos- can you believe that my internet has cost me almost $200 since I maxed out my limit?! Criminal, I'm telling you. I can't WAIT for April 3rd when my contract kicks back in.

Oh, and the flat-out wrap was delicious! My wrapping skills remain a "work in progress", but it tasted great and that's what counts, right? :P

E-Day

= endoscopy day!

I mentioned previously about how self-harm has become a complete "non-issue" for me. I don't think about it, talk about it and definitely don't consider it. Quite the opposite. It's left me with a literal phobia of pain in any way, shape or form What most people might describe as a "minor headache" is unbearable for me. I will call my mom up crying if I stub my toe- it's really bizarre coming from someone with my history. I am also noticing a similar thing with food- I have ZERO tolerance for being hungry or thirsty. I am actually terrified of it. I don't know if it's because I am scared I'll not be able to stop eating when I DO get food, or if it's the memories and associations it stirs up, but it's so freaking uncomfortable for me to NEED something I can't have at that moment. Has anyone else noticed that through recovery they completely lose the ability to tolerate hunger? The word "hangry" has become a regular part of my vocabulary! It's rare that I recognise hunger signals- I think that might be part of the problem. That by the time I DO notice that my body wants food I do feel absolutely horrible, so then I associate hunger with waiting/not eating until suchandsuchatime/not able to focus until I DO eat/horrible physical feelings so I guess it's understandable that I hate it.

Suffice to say, today wasn't my idea of fun. I had to completely fast for 12 hours before the procedure which meant skipping breakfast (throwing my whole day's schedule off- more on that later) and by 11am I was really getting unnecessarily agitated. I didn't actually feel hungry by that point, but I was so scared that it would hit me suddenly and uncontrollably. Then the endoscopy itself. I was due to be sedated but my blood pressure was too low- they gave me a tiny dose to relax me then carried out the whole thing with me fully conscious of what was happening. I don't know if he is used to doing this on knocked-out patients, or is just REALLY rough, but good lord I was in agony. Well, MY idea of agony :P All went smoothly though and I was sent home under strict instructions to avoid operating heavy machinery and signing legal documents for 24 hours. So no house buying/getting married until tomorrow night at least. Haha :)

Enough of my whining. The sedation didn't kick in for the procedure but am pretty wiped out this afternoon. So YAY for having internet access/being able to blog, but BOO to wanting to just go to bed!

I do, as promised, have some pictures...

In anticipation of long wait after endoscopy, I came prepared with snacks galore! Then grabbed more food from the hospital cafe whilst waiting for my appointment.

First time trying a Clif Nectar bar- it was AWESOME! I was sent one in a bar exchange and have been wary of it, but it was delicious. Another thing to add to my list of "must-buys" when I am in the US next! The sandwich (cheese, pickled onion chutney, celery, apple and lettuce) is made by "Cranks". They were I think one of the first vegetarian restaurants in the UK- now closed, but their cookbooks are great. This was a "Ploughmans" sandwich- it's a Brit thing, yo! Usually it's cheese, pickle (chutney/relish-style, not like a cucumber pickle), salad and occasionally meat. Designed for farmers coming in for lunch straight off their ploughs!

Another bar I have had lying around for ages, wary of trying. It looked like something I would LOVE, but had a horrible texture. Hard to describe, but very VERY chewy, though not in a Clif-bar-good-chewy way. Just like shoe leather! I like their British ones better (vanilla coconut...mmm). I wouldn't eat this again, but it did it's job for today and helping me to make up for my missed breakfast!


Dinner tonight, since 1) it's different from my usual and 2) I am at my mom's so have use of an oven that works and doesn't look like it's about to grow legs and start walking around...


Vegetable kiev- kidney beans, petite pois, mushrooms and some other veg stuffed with some kind of cream cheese filling and coated in breadcrumbs. Not homemade, though I DID put it on a baking tray myself. Impressive, no? This is a photo I took of the box. They never look as pretty once they are cooked/plated up!

And some more pictures from the last few days...

Hospital menu which they so thoughtfully filled out for me...


I don't eat red meat so traded the roast beef for cigarettes (lol- the joys of psychiatric units) and waited for my mom to visit...


...bringing a Starbucks low-fat muffin. No vitatops in this country, but these are really good! And something else my mom stuffed into the bag of clothes she brought in:


Thought of you veggiegirl! (I did a whole photo shoot and took about 25 pictures of this because I was so bored!)

Essential reading material:


Just for clarification since a couple people have asked, I want to explain a little more about why I was in hospital. Basically it was a brief psychotic episode which they originally THOUGHT was just anxiety, but are now convinced it is due to the diet pills I have been taking. I never thought diet pills could DO that, but apparently they can. I have been taking these for almost 2 years and only take half a dose- quite easily manage if I miss a few days and not quite sure why I have continued taking them. I guess it felt like some kind of...I don't know. Something I wasn't quite ready to let go of yet. I'm working hard on this now though since I cannot afford for another episode like this to happen! So please, if you DO take OTC diet aids and suffer from anxiety anyway, don't assume you are "getting away with it". I'm not going to preach about dangers or why you should stop, but just know that there are things going on in your body that you can't always see.

Stepping Back In

I've been trying to formulate a coherent post since I was discharged yesterday afternoon. I'm still trying to piece together what happened or how I actually ended up spending the weekend at the local psychiatric hospital. Needless to say, I haven't been doing as well as I like to let myself think.

Much of Friday and Saturday are a blur- I don't remember being admitted to hospital or what events occured leading up to it. It scares me that my memory of the past few days is so hazy, and that I sit here now feeling dazed and confused and trying to piece things together in a way that makes some sort of "sense". I guess things don't always make sense in a conventional meaning of the word when it comes to eating disorders, anxiety, depression, etc.

I am home, I am safe and I have more support right now than I think I have ever had, even during inpatient admissions. I have been discharged to the care of the "Intensive Home Treatment Team" who are visiting me in my apartment daily (twice today) as well as my therapist and housing support worker.

I feel like my brain has been run over by a steam-roller and feel really shaken up- living minute to minute and seem to have lost sight of the bigger picture of "recovery" right now. NOT because I have given up, but this "crisis" (for lack of a better word) is taking priority right now.

So I am back in the real world, back to my usual routine and trying to keep a lid on my anxieties and fears, and waiting until this storm passes.

My internet IS running, though until April, it's at an extortionate rate (hence lack of comments/pictures!) I am staying with my mom tomorrow night after my endoscopy (more on that another day) so I'll try to get up a more visually pleasing post :)

Slight Hiatus

I just wanted to write a quick post to say that I was admitted to hospital on Friday. Have been given a couple of hours home this afternoon to pick up stuff from my apartment, check my mail, etc but short of time (hence the brief post/lack of responses on your blogs!)

I haven't met with my consultant yet so have absolutely NO idea when I am going to be discharged, but keeping my fingers crossed that it's early this week...will update/catch-up properly then!

Going The Extra Mile

First of all, I was lucky enough to be mentioned by two amazing bloggers today!

Isabella gave me a Helping Hand...

I'm supposed to than 5 bloggers who have helped me, but honestly? There are SO many of you guys out that there that have touched me deeply with your posts, your comments, your words, your support... I'm not cheating, I just can't pick 5.

I also want to pass on this HELPING HAND to 5 amazing people out there for a little encouragement in their journeys.

• elle who has an amazing sense of humour, and a shining spirit


• sam who is giving me SO much support with food challenges and taking strides towards recovery


• sheena who has more strength than she realises


• katie who I have known for years, and have every reason to believe will come through this with flying colours

aaaaaand... I'm not picking a 5th because there are so many people I want to extend a helping hand to.

I also received this award from the wonderful Sheila at Burp and Slurp-

Another fabulous, sweet and caring young woman- check out her GREAT recipes. One awesome cook (who is going to train me to make omelettes!) I'd like to pass this one on to the fearless and fabulous Jaime and my fellow pickle-lover, Danielle- 2 great gals. Check out their blogs if you haven't yet done so!

Thanks guys! :D

*************

Now, I just need to rant a little bit before I get onto my original topic. I have been without internet all day- I use a "pay as you go" internet service which has a predetermined allowance of GB. I have gone WAY over my allowance, but did they tell me? NO. They just let me carry on in my merry way, racking up a huge bill then cut off my internet when even they deemed the bill to be extortionate. I didn't know what was going on, so kept trying to connect- eventually got my mom to call them and she sent me a text asking for some info on the USB I use for wireless. I tried to text back, and what do you know? My phone credit had run out (I also have a "pay as you go" phone since I didn't want lumbered with a contract, not knowing how long I'd be in the UK). Usually I top up my phone online, but obviously that wasn't an option. Eventually my mom got the full story, added some credit and upgraded my account (thanks mom- I'll pay the extra) so then could top up my phone. So, all good, right? Or not. I had dinner, made a cup of tea and started catching up with blogs. I kid you not, I had not even drunk half of my tea when a message appeared saying I was running out of browsing credit. WTF?! My mom had put on £10/$20 and 10 minutes later it had run out?!!!!! So, I called them, was on hold for ages and eventually got through. Thought "what the heck" and added a rather large sum to my account (goodbye fresh fruit and vegetables for the next 2 weeks) and hung up. Tried to send a text message, and what do you know? Their lame-a** peak-rate phone line used up all my phone credit. So now I have no phone credit, no money in my account, and just RAAAAAAAAWR. Not a happy bunny (I am currently offline writing this to upload later because god forbid I should waste browsing time doing something as allowance draining as writing).

Okay.

Breathe.

Now, ANYWAY, for anyone still reading, thank you. I am now back to what I originally wanted to write about today!

I was thinking today about how I do the absolute bare minimum with regards to my recovery. I eat *just enough* to meet very basic requirements, my weight is *just enough* to avoid any immediate medical crisis. I mosy along in my recovery, wondering why I am progressing so slowly, and realised that I am putting in as little effort as possible to stay out of hospital. If I want more out of life than just living from one drama to the next (living on the edge takes on a new meaning and turns more into "playing the fool" here), I need to really start kicking things up a notch.

When I returned from treatment in New York, it was because my treatment team had set a weight that I would need to leave their program at. I hovered just above this weight for a couple months. Each weigh-day provoked a LOT of anxiety because I never knew if I would drop the miniscule amount it would take to kick me out the program. I relayed this back to my therapist here in the UK and she said, "why didn't you stay X + 5lbs above that weight?" I was FLOORED. It had not even OCCURED to me to give myself more of a buffer to have more peace of mind. It never once even crossed my mind that I could CHOOSE to remain that little bit healthier and ensure I stayed on the program. It seemd so blatantly obvious when she said it, but I honestly never even considered it. All I heard was, "at x weight..." so my brain said, "okay- you will stay at X + 0.0000000001, mmmkay?"

So why is this relevant?

Because I was looking at old journals again, this time from 2003. I was writing the same exact thoughts I write about now. I was almost the exact same weight, doing the exact same things- everything has gone up and down and all over the place inbetween these times, but essentially from that point to now, things overall are pretty much the same in regards to my recovery.

I am still doing the bare minimum to function, stay out of hospital, etc. That was actually okay then. It was PROGRESS at that point because for a long time I wasn't able to DO the bare minimum and wasn't able to stay out of hospital. I did a lot of work with my team at that point about "managing my anorexia", which I guess...worked? I am definitely much more in control of my symptoms now, but am not at a point where I am happy JUST to be out in the real world. I want MORE than I did back then- it was a huge novelty at that point to be able to make a cup of coffee whenever I wanted, use as much ketchup as I wanted, eat breakfast at 6am if I wanted. It signified huge freedom at that point to be able to do those things, but now freedom implies so much more to me.

If I want more than the bare minimum, I need to act accordingly.

I can't do as little as possible just to stay out of hospital. I need to do as much as possible to ensure I am living life to the fullest. I firmly believe that what you get out of recovery directly correlates to the amount of effort you put in, and this minimalistic approach is going to have minimalistic results.

This just hit me today so I need to actually start thinking, and more to the point, DOING more. Losing the "comfort zone" because it's really becoming a rather uncomfortable place to be. Going the extra mile. Reaching for goals instead of just dodging obstacles whilst daydreaming about what could be.

What would going the extra mile mean for you?

British Food 101 and Recovery 101

I did promise (threaten?!) that when I branch out from my standard dinners, I'd post a picture!

• crustless vegetable quiche (is that not just...uh...a frittata?)
• baked beans
• chestnut mushrooms

I *heart* mushrooms. When I was little, my favourite snack was a tub of raw mushrooms. I used to take them to school for break-time, and got a lot of comments from my fellow classmates as they ate potato chips and candy. Mushrooms as a snack are not as weird as butter on a peanut butter sandwich (so glad you guys agreed with me that this is odd!) British baked beans are NOT the same as American baked beans- these are often served with breakfast (alongside bacon, eggs, sausages, mushrooms and in Scotland, haggis) or as a cheap and easy vegetarian option on baked potatoes or toast.

I was also flicking through the journal I kept in inpatient (06/07 time) and found something I had written to look back on as a reminder...

11th February, 2007-

I need to hold onto everything I have learnt here in (insert IP program name). I have to remember that I NEED to stay healthy. That losing weight or hurting myself is no longer an option- that it didn't work then, and it won't work now. That I don't have to become my emotions. That I can accept and embrace my thoughts and urges, but I don't have to act on them. That I ALWAYS have options. That I can pull myself out of 'emotional mind' by being mindful, practicing acceptance and thinking about what 'wise mind' would say. I need to remember that I am not a bad person and I don't deserve to suffer. That I am funny and intelligent and thoughtful- I am so much more than a walking, talking eating disorder.

It's weird looking back through this journal. It's filled mostly with things other people said, because I SO desperately wanted a reference guide when I left, to look back on as the "Recovery 101" book I always wished existed. The back pages are the first food log I ever kept because I wanted to remember exactly how/what was considered 'normal' (I hate that word, but I like the concept of a "normal" diet...oh normality!) I'll post more stuff randomly no doubt...

Let's Do the Time-Warp

"I'll have a double decaf skim grande latte with a splash of caramel syrup, no
whip, shaken not stirred, rebuked, and then served in a stack of three cups, no
cup sleeve, light on vanilla, a dash of nutmeg, sprinkling of cinnamon and then
punch me in the stomach"

No, that wasn't today's order :P

Yesterday was exactly 2 years since I quit my job at Starbucks. How do I remember the exact day? Because it was the same day I started seeing the therapist I grew to rely on over the next few months (and who probably saved my life, on more than a few occasions).

Back track.

New Year's Eve, 2006, I was inpatient in a research hospital in New York. It was not my first inpatient admission, but it was the first time that I sought it out, determined to recover once and for all. I flew from Scotland to what I thought would be a 4-6 week admission at the end of November 2006. Fast forward to March 2007 and I was finally discharged. It was the first time in my adult life that I had reached a healthy weight, the first time I had completed a treatment program voluntarily and the first time I had ever really believed that recovery was a very real possibility.

By the time I was discharged, fully weight-restored, I was working part-time in Starbucks a few afternoons a week, was taking an evening class at NYU and things were nothing short of amazing. I remember one of the first days after I was discharged- I was walking along the street and saw this adorable puppy. Those that know me know that I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, an animal lover (they scare me!). Neither am I one for mushiness and gushing over "cute" stuff. But the sun was shining and the puppy was jumping around, and I remember laughing. Really laughing. And really meaning it.

I had lived in such a state of numbness and malnourishment, that words like "happy" and "relaxed" really had no meaning to them. Until I was healthy. I sure as hell had MAJOR ups and downs at that point. I sunk to points of depression I never thought possible- but I also LAUGHED. I joked around, I joined in conversations, I slept until reasonable hours in the morning. My mind came alive as my body did and it seemed nothing short of a miracle to me that all of a sudden, the world was full of colours I had never seen before.

The world didn't stop turning when I stopped eating- I just hadn't been paying attention.

I commented on another blog yesterday when they mentioned the "freedom" they felt at a healthier point in their recovery and it really resonated with me. I still had hang-ups about food- I distinctly remember day treatment, when one lunchtime my salad was slightly bigger than usual. My "old" reaction would be to panic and pick out some lettuce/tomatoes- but no. I asked for extra salad dressing! I still weighed myself every day, walked a little more than most people would in the same circumstances, was struggling a lot to accept my new healthy body. But it was as if by gaining weight, a weight was lifted off of my shoulders and for the first time that I could remember, I experienced true happiness amongst the lows. Everything was so bright and intense because I wasn't hiding from the world behind my body- I was THERE, taking up the space I deserve, as if to say, "I'm here world- bring it on".

The months that followed were a struggle. I'm not sure at what point things started to unravel. I look back and it's all a bit of a haze. I did have some genuine physical issues going on which led to unintentional weight loss, resulting in the numbness I had craved during some of the dips amidst my happy/free moments. Piece by piece, everything started to fall apart and I really WAS oblivious. I kept brushing things off as "no big deal" because I didn't see the life I had built for myself starting to crumble.

First I cracked a bone in my ankle and had to leave my Starbucks job. Then my class ended (98% on my final exam- woot! A nourished brain = functioning brain, fo shizzle!), then the stomach issue...then before I knew it, I'd lost a pretty significant chunk of weight, was obsessing over the size of apples and people were making noises about inpatient/residential again.

Maybe I've just blocked it out. There is a huge part of me that is SO angry at myself for letting anorexia take hold of me again, for not trying harder/doing things differently. For taking for granted that I was doing better, and forgetting that there was a hell of lot of work to be done to STAY "better. For making the same mistake of going down the 'quick-fix' route when things got hard, instead of using some of the distress tolerance skills I'd been given in treatment.

There is also this incredible sense of guilt. My family in the US had never really gotten involved with my disorder/treatment when I was in the UK. When I came to New York and they SAW me get healthier, SAW the progress and improvements, they pulled out all stops to ensure that a relapse would not happen. A lot of people invested time, energy and money in my recovery and I don't think I will ever forgive myself for "throwing it back in their faces" (it wasn't intentional, but that is how it has been perceived).

This has been one long-ass post after a long-ass day so I'm leaving it there!

But, I need to keep reminding myself of the freedom that came with health, the happiness that accompanied the lows. Coming alive again hurt like hell, but the pain had a flip-side I don't experience now. I don't know if it's worth it- to have the highs but the deepest of lows? Or to stay in this steady "not quite despair but hurting like hell" state I exist in now. But the freedom to laugh and smile and sparkle and shine...that's got to be worth it.

Today's snack- looks like a repeat (pumpkin spice trail mix w/ yogurt), but I added vanilla extract to my plain yoghurt. Wowsers. That WILL be repeated!

Edit: apologies for weird formatting. No end of trouble with blogspot this evening...

Life Isn't A Game. There Are No Winners.

Wow...it feels like a long time since my last post, and it feels almost foreign right now as I read it back. A lot happened after writing my previous entry. I ended up back in hospital for a few days. It was decided that I could be discharged on the understanding that I return to Scotland and live with my mom. The alternative was to stay in the acute psychiatric unit until the eating disorders team picked up my treatment (they were offering 10 outpatient sessions, starting in January). None of the options appealed much, but I decided that moving back to Scotland would be the best bet for now. For a few reasons. All of which I seem to have forgotten since my plane landed last night.

BUT, as unhappy as I am about living with my mom again, I am feeling a strange sense of optimism. London felt almost as New York did last summer- one knock-back after another, doors closed in my face, everything just crumbling.

I did have some amazing conversations whilst I was in the hospital and in the day following my discharge. Not with psychiatric patients, not with mental health professionals, not with my family. But with people my age who I happened to meet (where they worked- in Starbucks, at the airport, or on the bus). I don't know quite what it was about these conversations that touched me so deeply. Perhaps how peaceful they felt. They didn't have high-flying jobs. They didn't live in great apartments, struggle to get through each day. They seemed content with what they had. They were a pleasure to talk to, to be with. Just to have NORMAL conversations about random stuff. I don't know if it was just the stark contrast between the thoughts tumbling around my head at the time and the mundaneness of everyday life, but it really did make me think about my situation and how I am NEVER content with what I have. I put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself in any given situation to be the best, to strive harder, to push further. Inevitably my standards become completely unattainable and I shrink back into the shadows of my eating disorder because I *know* I am good at that.

So, yes. Being around for the last week has introduced me to a world that was (and still mostly is) alien to me. A world of contentment, acceptance, recognising what is REALLY important, what life is REALLY about. No, our conversations didn't get to that level ;) BUT just interacting with these people has opened my eyes a little and given me lots of food for thought...

Progress

I'm starting to feel better. My thoughts are clearer, I feel, overall, safer. I am spending as much time as possible out of the hospital, walking the streets, playing "normal"- what started as an act, is becoming a reality. I have started reading again. Spending less time on the internet and more time relaxing. I curl up on my bed, book in one hand, head rested on the other, and lose myself amongst the words in my novels. It's an escape, similar to that which I get from anorexia. A break from reality- transported to a land of make believe. It's refreshing. Calming.

Things remain uncertain about future plans. I'd be lying if I said I am okay with this. I like to know what's happening, like to plan, like to make elaborate lists and charts and know the exact who/what/when/where/whys of any given scenario. Right now, all I can do is wait. And wait. I can't speed up the process- simply have to accept that it IS a process, it DOES take time and I need to practice acceptance and patience with that which I have no control over at this point.

One day at a time.

Frustration, Fear, Freedom

I'm still in hospital, still unsure about what is happening, still swinging wildly between optimism and despair. Throwing myself into the mundane routine that life on a hospital ward provides and doing everything I can to avoid, avoid, avoid.

Avoid the emptiness. Avoid the pain. Avoid the anger, the hurt, the loneliness. Avoid the choices. Avoid the constant barrage of impulses, compulsions.

I want so much and yet so little. I'm seen as "weird" here (ha- being called "weird" by someone who spends more time talking to her coffee mug than she does to people is rather amusing). Weird because I don't WANT this life. I don't want to rely on other people for money, for help, to take care of me. I don't want to have a future that is filled with hospitals and pain and torment and rituals. I want so much more- well, not "more", just different. I want to feel useful. I want to feel cared for. I want to be content. I want to be earning enough money to get by, without wearing myself into the ground. I want stability. I want to sleep through the night, live through the day. I want to laugh, to have friends. I want to be back in New York. I want to go to bed each night feeling like I did something worthwhile that day, not praying that I don't wake up.

And yet it's so difficult. My rituals and compulsions are filling my time in hospital. The routine itself has changed slightly, but the underlying rigidity and obsession remains untouched. Just with the added stress of having to fit my craziness around the schedules of the most chaotic people I have come across. I want so much to be free from this. THAT was where the suicide attempt came in. I didn't see an alternative at that point. At this point. I still see no alternative that I haven't already tried.

I'm telling myself to hold on. Just hold on and hold on and hold on at some point, it may get easier. It's a fight. Every damn minute that passes is a struggle. It's a fight one part of me believes in, is determined to win. Then the other part that is tired of fighting without actually getting anywhere.

I WANT to move forward but I really don't know how. It's not as simple as just eating, or just gaining weight, or just taking a pill each morning/finding a new hobby/reciting affirmations. Anorexia consumes every minute of my life and there is no easy way THROUGH to a life without it. Easy way OUT, but that isn't going to take me to the place I want to be in 6/12/18 months time. I want so badly to be well. And yet I *need* this. It's like oxygen to me and I don't know if or how I could exist in this world without it.

I'm stuck.

Stuck between the happiness of moving forward and the heartache of letting go.

A Kind Of Update

I'm not quite sure how to explain where I am or what's going on right now. As is evident from what I have shared here, things have been consistently getting more and more chaotic over the last few months. I don't know why my "plan B" suddenly jumped to "plan A", but needless to say, it did, and I am now in hospital. It's been two weeks so far. I wish I could say that I am getting support, working things through and putting my life back together....but that would be an outright lie. I am becoming increasingly isolated and despairing. Things feel so unbelievably hopeless. The "help" I am receiving is beyond ridiculous- nurses who can't read medication charts, patients who go AWOL and come back intoxicated to the point where they can do little more than throw up and pass out, and little more than the company of my fellow patients muttering to people *I* can't see to pass my time.

The days and nights are merging together. My anxiety is spiralling. I want to crawl out of my skin and escape what has become my reality. I am scared to sleep, scared to be by myself, scared to be around the people I am now living with.

I am learning the true art of compassion and understanding. We all have our own struggles. To see beyond the illness, whether it's cancer or schizophrenia, takes up a lot of energy. To realise that there are caring, honest, genuine people beyond the delusions, the torment, the anger...it's draining. We are all fighting for something. Whether it's to be out of hospital, to be happy or to be away from the government conspiracies (!), we are all striving to achieve something which feels out of reach. We are all so different, yet similar in so many ways.

I have absolutely no idea how long I will be here for, or where I go from here. I am swinging between the extremes of despair and frustration, to an excited optimism, One part of me wants so desperately to fight and get well (not "improved", not "stable", but HEALTHY) and it's fighting against the part of me that just wants this to be over once and for all...obviously the two are balanced enough that I am sitting here right now. The real question though is which part is going to win in the end? I am at a crossroad, and standing still is no longer an option.

Going Nowhere (would you like to come too?)

So, after 4 months, I am going "home". Actually, I am going to stay with my mom for a couple weeks, then a friend of hers for a couple weeks and hopefully somewhere along my travels will find a place I can call "home". Really, I don't know where I am going or what I am doing.

I have a flight booked in a month.

Between now and then, things are unclear. I have the option of continuing to temp as required. I have the option of going into hospital. I have the option of bumming around the city. Pros and cons of all three... Hospital isn't appealing for oh-so-many reasons. Mainly the fact that it isn't going to help my mental state, and if the treatment is purely physical, am going to be in a worse state when I leave than when I go in. Bumming around the city isn't as much fun as it sounds. The temptation to just walk and walk in 90 degree heat until my body aches and I am seeing spots is too hard to resist. Temping... At least I'd be kept busy and earn a little money. I just don't want to anymore. I'm tired. I don't feel well mentally or physically. I am in a self-destructive spiral, and I think the temping works fuels that. It confirms that I can't get/keep a "real" job. That all I am good at is answering the phone and stuffing envelopes.

Truth is, I don't want to do anything except get through the next few weeks as painlessly as possible. I am working Monday, will hear early next week about a bed for hospital- everything will be under review, day by day.

If I thought that not working and not going into hospital would be FUN, I'd do it. Summer in new York? 3-4 weeks to enjoy the city? Sounds great. It's really not though when you sleep an average of 3-4 hours a night, are too wired on diet pills to stand still and your brain can only focus on something other than food for a total of about 60 seconds.

I don't want to leave New York. Not like this. Not the way I have the last 2 years. I wanted so badly for things to be different this time.