Wednesday, 28 July 2010

Anyone for Valium..?

Tomorrow I fly.
Sounds good huh?


It would be if I wasn't a)severely emetophobic,
b)prone to bad panic attacks
c) flying alone.

A negative way of viewing it all, I agree...

Positive things are that a) I go armed with a month's worth of Diazepam
b) I haven't dared to book a flight to go abroad for over 2 years
c) ... er.... I'm scraping the barrel here... c is........... Ok. There is no C. I'm scared. No two ways about it.

The other thing that I haven't mentioned is that a little bit of this holiday is about trying to get a little bit better and put on a bit of weight.
That's the promise I've made to my family and to myself.
Problem is, only a PART of me wants that.

What I would really like, is for a ceasefire. Just for a couple of weeks.
And yet... without all the frenetic exercise and the discipline and the anxiety and the scales... How can there be peace?

I'll attempt to write more.

Monday, 19 July 2010

Today in Therapy...

... there was the woman and about four different me's...
Most prominent was the side that wants me to get smaller and smaller until I am nothing but a canvas of skin stretched tight over a bone frame. In direct oppostion was another part which, feeling the weary ache of that frame, just can't face the intense ferocity of the strict regime the other demands.

I am going on holiday in ten days. In that time, I will miss over 16 hours of intense cardio exercise. Weight gain is inevitable.

I'm split into different parts and although I could say more, right now I feel too sad and confused.

Monday, 12 July 2010

Dear Everyone...

... Although I'm not really up for saying too much, I do want to say that I've been quite... touched (*wince*) by the fact that you guys seem to be here regardless of the crap that I come out with.
I don't expect you to be and I don't mind if you're not, but it has hit me a bit and I want to say thank you, even while extending my arms to keep a distance.

It is difficult to put my thoughts out; partly because I risk being met with revulsion and scorn and partly because my mind is so full at the moment that any thoughts I have are packed too tight to breathe. It feels as though my thoughts are crammed into too small a space. Some are hunched over, defeated by silence and age whilst others feel cocooned in fragile threads, unrealised, stunted by the lack of space or daring.

Therapy has been different over the last two weeks or so. The woman sounded very pleased when she pointed out that I have been more 'well' when we have talked.
She noted the correlation between my sitting in the chair (I said I didn't want to lie down anymore) and my well part being more prominent.

My reaction is split.

I prefer to sit. I feel much more in control. The 'work' part of me comes more naturally and I am able to think more logically.
However, I don't think that she realises that the reason I have been 'well' is actually because another part of me has become increasingly UNwell.
I'm well in one part because in another, I'm abiding by stringent rules in order to have almost complete control over my body.
I'm at my lowest weight and at one point this week, I actually thought that I had cracked it.

"Well blow me down! I've finally taught myself not to need anything".

That's what I thought.

It's not true of course.
Tonight I have eaten a lot of chocolate but it feels manageable because I know I will starve and then work out for hours tomorrow and I'll lose it.

Go ahead.
Pour out the scorn.

But it's working for me, for now.

My biggest problem is the parts thing... If this was a different part writing, it'd be telling you about the dread and fear. It'd be telling you about how it is to live like a hamster in a cage, running frantically on a wheel that it's forgotten how to get off.

I'm split y'see.
Split right down the middle.

Anyone got a zip?

Sunday, 11 July 2010


Sit very still and it won't sting you.

Friday, 2 July 2010

In My Defence

I'm not going to even begin to try to analyse the 'whys' in terms of why I feel the urge to somehow protect and defend myself; mainly because I want to continue dwelling safely within the confines of the (disturbingly teenage) brick walls across which, the slogan, "you will never hurt me as much as I can hurt me" is emblazoned in dripping, white spray paint. Did I mention how safe it is here? No? Well then... allow me to explain that when I am here, nothing and no one can touch me. Even if they could cut my skin I wouldn't feel it.

In therapy today I discovered that the reason I binge (an, oh God, I'm still in the midst of a two day, non stop binge) may be similar to one of the reasons I cut. (And yes, I know you feel disgust).

It is just another attempt to do something physical in order to somehow correct / comfort / smother what is at heart, emotional

When it feels like the emotional pain is unbearable, I attempt to put it on my skin... to literally, put it on the outside of me.

When it feels as though the inner emptiness will make me implode, I attempt to physically fill the abyss.

I might be talking crap (yeah... I know. what's new?) but it's something that was discussed this evening.

Another thing was the theme of 'explosion' being the main feature of my recurrent dreams right now.

"Except," she said, "you don't EXplode, you IMplode"

"Yeah" I agree. "Yeah. Nobody would see anything had happened"

"No. All the debris is on your inside"
I thought about the blackened landscape and almost mentioned (and then thought better of it) the countless little deaths I have died and the piles of little corpses that I contain.

What am I saying? How is this a defence?

Well... you might well ask.

As per usual, I seem to have strayed from the path...

It is important to me that you guys (those reading) know that, although you may think me the number one favourite for winning the "Little Miss Can't Appreciate The Blessings She Has Cos She Is So Busy Being A Pitiful Misery Award 2010", in real life (and by that I mean, anywhere except the world of cyber - and the woman's room , which is almost as unreal) I am fully functioning, well respected young lady who you would have to be exceptionally sneaky to catch without a smile or a quip.

Part of the reason I made this space is because there is little or no space for this level of honesty in my real life. The position I hold at work, the responsibility I have for others, the fear of disgust... all contribute towards making it near impossible to show any of the stuff I write about here.

As I explained in a response to ABM, I have two very separate parts with this stuff. The first is covered in long spikes and says, 'if you don't like it, get lost'. It's an angry part that wants to lash out at you, but will instead, tear deeply into flesh that cannot be seen.

The other part of me recoils, disgusted at myself, horrified that I am daring to write, revolted by the fact that anyone would read here and say ANYTHING other than, 'WS you are a vile, Godless, self obsessed, self centred, selfish, miserable, ingrate worthy only of disgust'.

I am frightened of this response and yet, I think I deserve it. I'm angry before you say it, and yet I know it is true. In short, nobody who reads here will EVER feel the same degree of disgust towards me as I do.

I HATE the person I am on the inside.

This person you hear here.

It's a big part of the problem because, whilst nobody knows I'm like this, I am, and whilst I am, I can never be known.

I realise that people can see an issue with my weight, but I can fool them as soon as I open my mouth. Nobody who hears me sounding SO sound minded and wise would ever believe I have a disorder.

Trust me, if you KNEW me, I'd have you fooled too.

So, don't go thinking that I am some pathetic, hapless, little creature who you could slap some sense into.

You wouldn't ever see the need for that if you didn't read here.