Take two...

I not only fail at pretty much everything in life, but I now fail at blogging.  So here it is, take two.  Take two on me documenting this for me, for my last ditched attempt at gaining some kind of life.  For my last chance.  For my last shot at recovery.  And so tomorrow it begins.  I WILL post, I WILL leave my flat, and I WILL come up with a plan to follow.  And (ffs), I WILL try to stick to all of it.

I can do this...I could do this...can't/couldn't I?

Last night I went up into my loft (where I have half the contents of my last flat still in boxes, the other half having been unpacked!) to find some ED related stuff.  It turns out I have rather a lot of ED things - ranging from letters dating back to 1994 when I had my first admission to reports written about me to endless weight and calorie charts and plans (by both myself and professionals) to exercise plans and so on.  I had been reminded of the letters (of which I have so many and it makes me feel somewhat sad that snailmail is not really used anymore as it is so nice to have these to read every now and then and I'm not sure it would be so easy, or meaningful to look back over emails over the past 20 years) when I was packing my previous flat to move here.  I was aware of the charts and lists but I hadn't really paid much attention to them then.  But last night I started to read the food plans and exercise plans and I started to wonder, can I do this?  Could I do this?  Could I find a way of somehow sticking to a plan to give me a bit more regularity and structure and improve my mood and fatigue...without gaining weight?  Could I do it this time, without backing out, slipping up, messing about?  Can I do it?  Professionals around me are not convinced - by both me being able to improve my eating/exercise addiction and by me being able to feel less depressed, sleeping better and being able to function enough to return to work without gaining weight.  But a part of me thinks maybe, just maybe I could, I can...It's not like my weight is that low, or even low at all really.  My mood is a problem but if I was back at work I'd have to focus on work and just deal with the crash each evening and every weekend.  If I could stay at this weight, maybe it would be worth it?  Which brings me back to the question...can I do this?  Could I do this?  Will I do this?

Failed. Again.

I must start writing more often.  Not another thing to beat myself up about (though I guess my post title would indicate otherwise) but more because it actually helps me to have an outlet, and to get myself motivated again.

Today I really shocked myself - and that takes some doing these days.  I went to the gym and did a half-hearted work out, knowing I was going to return later, and then met a friend for a 'walk'.  I am always told I walk really fast so expected more of a stroll with my friend (who is a good 30 years older than me).  Think again, Last Shot.  We walked at my kind of pace for 2 hours - the last hour being uphill, and a steep, winding, long hill through fields and rough terrain.  I actually felt ok for the most part until the last half hour or so, which was the toughest bit, where I started to see stars in my eyes (that sounds so rubbish but I know what I mean!).  It was nice to spend some time with my friend and out of my head, but I'd be lying if I weren't more 'excited' about the exercise.  I got home and ate (which I HATE) and then was so wiped out I went to bed.  And I could not get up again.  I was so very tired and achey and just had the heaviest head and body.  I have not made it back to the gym.  I feel rubbish and fat and obese and disgusting.  But equally I am still too tired to really move.

And I am shocked because I am not even at a very low weight.  I have eaten.  And it was just a walk.  So, WTF?!

Tomorrow I want to start a proper eating plan - lunch and super and a snack in between.  Tomorrow I want to do proper exercise.  Tomorrow I want to feel ok again.  And tomorrow I want my GP appointment to be ok and me not leaving feeling like the worst person in the world - not my GP's fault, just me misinterpreting and twisting everything, I hope.

Tomorrow I want to not fail at writing, at eating according to my plan (which I must write tonight) and not to fail at exercising sufficiently and properly.  And this will not be the tomorrow that never comes.

Long overdue

So much has been going on in my crazy mental health anorexia driven world and instead of helping myself a tiny bit by writing her and keeping accountable to myself, I've let it all fester and get amplified in my head.  

My world has been turned upside down in terms of what will happen to me treatment wise.  Funding issues, my hesitancy, ambivalence, fear, a very evil person having too much power (and evil in not only my opinion but both my treatment team, friends and family) and basically me not having a clue what to do, whether to 'fight' for treatment that is deemed necessary by most, or whether to give in and just accept life.

I am tired now.  Too tired and exhausted and fed up by all this sh*t.  But tomorrow I will start the thinking and processing...and tomorrow means Friday, not that elusive tomorrow that never comes....

To be or not to be, that is the section

So much for this being a blog where I keep myself accountable and keep a check on things and find some motivation to start recovery and continue with recovery.  Words totally fail me.  Funding is up in the air so there may be no inpatient admission and no day programme.  Everyone has told me that this is pretty much what I need to stand any chance at recovery.  So hearing this news yesterday was difficult to say the least.  In the past week, I have escalated some so-called 'risky' behaviours in a poor attempt just to cope and manage my life and mood and now am apparent on the cusp of being sectioned.  Great.  Excellent work LastShot.  And no, this doesn't even mean I'd get the ED inpatient/daypatient help, it would be an acute admission to a place I can't go for personal and professional reasons.  I am just in turmoil and have absolutely no idea what to do.  I've had to agree to not do certain things but am left without any coping skills and no hope and being an utterly miserable bore.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I HAVE to switch my focus.  I need to find something to make all this worthwhile.  I have to make sure I am not sectioned.  I have to do something.....

Hmph.

Everyone wants to be special to someone.  I think.
I hate that I want this and I hate that I want it most from my therapist.
What I hate the most though is that today I have seen that she so very clearly has a 'favourite' client who is not me, and I am right at the bottom, and this has destroyed all my trust in her.  I can't say how I know all this without revealing more about me and the service I am under but it was there in black and white, no room for error or misunderstanding.  How can I trust what she says about weight gain and so on, if I feel so uncertain of my relationship with her in general?  How can I continue to see her if I feel this shitty and jealous and loathing of myself in response?
My head is spinning.  I am this close to telling everyone I'm done with therapy, ED services, life.
What is the point?  And why the **** am I so jealous?  Sometimes I really hate myself.  Today I cannot tolerate myself at all.
And there goes the failure again at positive posting....

Failure is....

- Not writing a positive post today.
- Not having written for the past few days (though I was away with no access to a computer).
- Trying to justify my failures.
- Going on a short break/holiday and being totally preoccupied with exercise, food intake and (imagined) - weight gain.  More so than ever before.  F***.
- Upsetting/worrying a family member on holiday about my food intake.
- Not being 'over' this some 20+ years down the line.
 -Being so repulsed by how 'summer' clothes look and feel on me (I say 'summer' because this entailed a vest top covered with a 3/4 length sleeve loose fitting top but STILL I could see the bulges everywhere) that it has led me to decide that I simply cannot gain weight which means I cannot be admitted which means I cannot do the day programme which means I basically cannot stay in the ED service.  Which means failing treatment yet again.  Which means failing my family and friends yet again.  Which means there is no point.
- Not stopping during exercise this morning when my heart palpitations were bordering on being painful and   affecting my breathing (but, I remind myself, all tests, ECGs etc all come back fine so nothing is wrong.  Sadly.)
- Being such a miserable depressive obese bitch.

But, I did clean my home today.  And I AM going to make sure I talk to at least one more person today.  Self-induced isolation is not an option.  And facebook/texts etc do NOT count.

And perhaps I will have found out how to do a self-help lobotomy and return a nicer, more motivated person tomorrow.  Because I will write tomorrow.  Hey, another positive!

The sun is out...but I want the winter back

As my title reflects, I am most definitely not a summer person.  Or a Spring person.  I tolerate Autumn because it holds hope for the Winter.  I am one of those rare people who longs for dark, drab, grey, wet, cold, snowy days.  I wouldn't mind if it was never sunny again.  I detest the heat and the light.  I love the cold and the dark.  I have always wondered if it is solely to do with having anorexia but I don't think it is (apart from the fact that I still am yet to believe I actually have anorexia).  True, I hate exposing my lard, my excessive adipose tissue, my voluminous self.  But there is something also about feeling warm, about being around 'happy' people.  I just find it so hard.  But now sit here berating myself for such assumptions when I know appearances can be deceptive and that I should not assume everyone who looks happy and says they are happy are indeed happy.  And I don't even begrudge them being happy, but I do feel even more guilty for not being happy, especially when it's sunny, when other people seem to think I should be...'because the sun is out and it's nearly summer'.  I would like to hibernate, but in reverse.  I'd like to wake up when it becomes winter again.  Only, the truth is I'd actually rather not wake up.

This is becoming rather a depressed post.  Perhaps that is reflective of my mood today.  I woke this morning (on a positive aside, the fact I woke means I slept!!) to see sun beaming through my curtains.  I wanted to roll over and pretend today was not happening but I had a GP appointment so had to get up.  Sadly the sun and improved mood are negatively correlated so my poor GP had a rather depressed LastShot on her hands.  But I did manage to speak to her and I even managed speaking to my psychiatrist yesterday about all that other 'stuff' and I left both feeling I really need to hold on.  How I feel now isn't necessarily how I will feel tomorrow, or even in an hour's time.  So it is with this new-to-me line that I am living today: how I feel now may not be how I feel in one hour.  And that implies so hope.  And for me, right now, the possibility of hope is enough.  And who knows where that will be in one hour!!

When I next write, I really need to focus on the 'positives', and not in a cheesy life is great way, but just noticing things that give ME some hope and satisfaction, and maybe, maybe even some pleasure?!

Inner strength or lack of strength?

Ever since the more suicidal nature has taken hold, I have been meticulously planning and refining my final exit plan.  Down to the minute details.  Whilst I have many things that are also designed and planned to give me every opportunity to reconsider my decision, should that final decision be made, it is nonetheless slightly disturbing to have such a methodically and fail-safe plan in existence.  Last night was a night that I didn't want any harm to come of me, but wanted a 'dummy run'.  I wanted to know that if and when I need to operationalise my plan, I can do it.  I spent hours researching what would be a "safe" dose of medication to take that would satisfy my ability to swallow a lot of pills but not cause me any harm that may get in the way of my plans for the weekend (predominantly exercise and visiting my family) nor evoke any concern from those who may at some point find out.  I felt alone.  And surprised at myself because part of me wanted to phone someone and tell them so they could tell me not to do it.  But why?  If it was only a dummy run, with no harm potential, why did I want this?  Again, was I seeking attention?  Those two words when combined together I hate the most?  What was going through my warped sick head?  I didn't make contact.  I sat reading and preparing and working out mg to kg ratios.

And a friend texted me out of the blue at the most appropriate moment.  Nothing was said or revealed but my plan was abandoned.  Today it has left me shaken up - did I really want to do it?  Was I just bored?  Being silly?  Attention seeking?  Why the hell did I not do it anyway?  No one would have known and it would have done no harm except reassure me I could do it when needed.  Why did I screw up and not do it?

I truly do not understand myself.  And I sit here typing thinking I must sound crazy.  And debating whether to tell my psychiatrist this or whether that will seem attention seeking?  Why do I even care if it does?  Because I don't like to make a fuss, to be a burden, to be intrusive, to be too much.  Damn me and damn my brain.  And double damn this disgusting body.

Ambivalence at its finest

I made it two days in a row and although today's post will be brief, I feel somewhat pleased that I have managed to log in here and write.  Commit words to paper, so to speak.

I always knew I was very ambivalent about a lot of things, not least my 'recovery' from alleged 'anorexia' and 'depression' (why can I not fully accept I have these after having had said diagnoses for more than 2/3 of my life?!).  But conversations in my head today have just epitomised this crazy ambivalence at its finest.  Last night, I found out that the commissioners have only just been approached for funding the inpatient bit of my revised treatment plan.  They may refuse.  I have been digging my heels about this inpatient stay as I do NOT want to gain weight.  We all know finances in the UK are sparse, the NHS in particular and so funding an expensive treatment is unlikely, especially when they are having to pay even more (for reasons I'm not prepared to share so publicly). So, this should make me happy; I may not be able to have an inpatient admission.  Yet, my response was a complete mixture of joy and fear, happiness and terror, yes and no!  I am ambivalent.  Yet what surprises me the most is how I can be ambivalent about even the things I felt I was most non-ambivalent about!  I was/am so anti gaining weight.  I was/am so certain that inpatient would be unbearable.  I was/am so convinced that I did not need this.  And yet when the reality of it happening is threatened, I find myself wanting it.  It is so confusing.  Because even now when I think how I now 'want' it (inpatient), I don't at all.  Damn this ambivalence.  Damn this 'illness'.  And damn me for being so damn ambivalent about every single thing, even those things I thought I was so certain about.

Happy Friday LastShot....I sure do know how to start the weekend partying...

A fall before the first hurdle

I can't believe I failed so early on.  One post I managed.  One measly miserable solitary post before I failed to keep up with the promise-to-myself to keep account of every day.  So appalled was I with my lack of posting, I got scared and hid.  But that is what I always do and that has led me no where.  They say madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different ending.  Well, I already know I am pretty mad and that I really need to do something different.  And again, it starts today.  Today was therapy day, today was food shopping day, and today was the day I no longer hid from my 'failings' at keeping myself accountable and writing here.  Today marks the day I forgave myself for messing up and congratulating myself for acknowledging this and still returning.  I hope to return tomorrow.  I plan to return tomorrow.  But hey, even if it is Saturday instead, it will be an improvement.  And if this is just for me, which it is, does it really matter if I don't get it quite right every time?  I would like to say no....but that's not really me!
Until tomorrow.....

Calm before the storm

I am about to give it my last shot at recovery.  Recovery from anorexia and depression.  It still seems ludicrous to even refer to myself as having those diagnoses but they seem to have been ascribed to be for the past 21 years now and maybe it's time for me to stop running and hiding from reality and to truly give this recovery thing one last shot.  In just over 3 weeks I am being admitted to a psychiatric ward and an ED day programme.  I am petrified.  Do I want to go?  Not at all.  But I have little choice: staying as I am will ultimately lose me my job, and likely before the end of the year.  Which means losing my flat.  Which means losing so much that is important to me, and devastating those around me.  Most of the time I don't care, after all, if the choice was solely based on what *I* wanted, without any impact on anyone else, I'd be dead by now.  But I don't have this luxury so I need to give this a shot for those who seem to care about me.  And put my fears and terrors to one side.

I want to document this journey, wherever it takes me, because even if I end up right back where I am now, I want to have some tangible proof of what each step was like, whether it be forwards or backwards.  I want to give myself some focus for each day and a place to keep track of this, even if it ends up being one sentence.  I don't want to give up on this as I have done with pretty much everything in my life at present.

23 days and it begins.  23 days of calm?  How many stormy days?  And will I really look back on these 23 days as being 'calm'?

99.99999999999999999999% of me is hopeless.  But there is that tiny smidgen of trust in others around me that brings an even tinier smidgen of hope that maybe, just maybe, something could be different.  *I* could be different.

Until tomorrow.....