To read this blog in order start at July right at the top of the blog archive and progress down in order. This is an account of my battle with anorexia and bulimia

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

how much longer


I’ll just start by re-confirming I am not suicidal. But I do wish I could get on track with my life. My GP has put me on depression tablets which haven’t worked too well yet. The first attempt at them I was as sick as anything. It was actually my few minutes of
fame at work. The tablets made me feel extremely nauseous, so I decided to go home. Then the phone rang and I ran to answer it without seeing the balance beam and toppled right over it. It would have looked hilarious. I picked myself up then practically passed out. The tablets settled in after that, but I still didn’t feel they were working. One night I was in a deep despair and I couldn’t even say why because I didn’t really have a proper reason. Usually on nights like this I dread going to sleep I prefer to be awake and active. No one was home so it didn’t matter that I vacuumed at 3am. Eventually I decided to go to bed, but was not feeling any better. I took about 5 of the depression tablets and 8 laxatives. I don’t know what I expected to happen, I just knew that taking 5 times my dose wouldn’t be too good. After sleeping for about one hour I woke with the most unbearable stomach cramps. They were so bad it was even hard to make it to the bathroom. Once reaching my bed again all I could do was curl up and pray for the pain to go away. An immense feeling of loneliness clouded over me at this point because I realised I had no one to ring at such an awful hour and what would have happened if it was worse. I became extremely scared and just prayed to get to sleep. By the next morning I was alright and no one knew a thing.
But lately I’ve been feeling all out of place. It’s a feeling I can not describe, but it’s a mixture of anxiety, restlessness, loneliness, hopelessness. I have no desire to make the effort to spend time with my friends (which is unusual for me because I usually go out of my way). I’m worried that they all think I am too boring and depressing to spend time with. So rather than having to spend my time worrying about making the effort to appear interesting it is easier to just withdraw. So far no one has said anything so I guess it doesn’t really impact on them.
It’s so stuffed. I don’t eat, I don’t lose weight. I do eat I stay the same. I exercise and I can’t lose weight. Why can’t I lose weight?? I’m back on the depression tablets (I ran out for 2 weeks). I don’t even know if they are helping. The thing with me, and it always has been, is that I never really let my true feelings out. I can be bursting inside with gut wrenching sadness, yet I can’t let anyone see this. I don’t want anyone to see a side of me that might scare them away. I really do not know how others may view me, but all I know is that I won’t let any one really know how depressed and sick of myself I am.
I hate the eating disorder trapped inside me. Or should I say I hate being trapped inside the eating disorder. I am 45kgs and 5”2. I don’t feel skinny enough to get help, so I am too ashamed to even try. Found a eating disorder chat site and I wrote that down. One person replied that it doesn’t matter what weight you are at, it’s what goes on inside your head. ….too much goes on in my head! What will I have for breakfast? Toast and jam? How many kilojoules? Kilojoules, food, fat, exercise, laxatives is what consumes my mind right now. I have to think about what I can buy at the shops so I can get more laxatives. I can’t buy them on their own, I’d hate for anyone to see that. I almost bought toilet paper with them one day then realised that would look really funny. Then I wonder how many I have to take before it’s classed as serious. Apparently they don’t do anything, but I’m too scared to even try for a day not to take them.
A few days after Donna left, James’s father Tommy passed away. It was expected but still a shock. Tommy was a really great person who was kind to everybody. The day he died was a Sunday. I questioned going to church because I didn’t understand how a caring God could let this happen. Mim encouraged me to go, and I did. Lee only had to take one look at me to know that something was wrong. She embraced me without knowing what was wrong and I just cried. We went outside to talk and I told her what happened. I couldn’t stop crying. I told Lee I didn’t think God was fair, and she replied with “nothing in life is meant to be fair”. Jesus didn’t die on the cross for us to have a perfect life. Why should he be the only one who suffers. I still don’t get it today?!

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