Friday, November 13, 2009

There's always something right?

This time it was housemates birthday.

And you know what birthdays mean.


Sharing cake.


Two slices.

Completely chocolate.

Disgusting right?

It should be. Before last week I would've been horrified. But following what seemed like an uncontrollable few days of binging that I'd never believed I was truly capable of; eating two things and being able to stop seems like a sort of achievement. My head is in a better space. I am getting back to me.

For a moment there I thought food had taken over.

Yep, disgusting.

Obviously I want to be fasting now. But my head is just getting back to that mind frame. I'm happy that I could stop myself. I was so scared that I'd lost control. But fuck, chocolate, that's bad. That's so bad. Ok, maybe I don't feel as happy with it as I first thought I'd be. But still I'm getting there. Nothing else today. Just something to join in the celebrations right? I feel so full of disgusting, horrible, food. And it was so fattening. But I'm in the right direction.

Back to me. Fuck them all. This is what I was working towards. And just because I buckled with their words doesn't mean I can't change things. Although with chocolate cake it's going to be slow. Hopefully the five km walk might help somewhat.

Had my psychiatrist appointment today. I really felt like I needed it. So bad. I used to hate these things and never followed through with therapy but it's becoming so important to be have that outlet considering my recent state of mind.

Unfortunately it was a massive let down. God knows what I was expecting but it was significantly more than what I actually got. Ok so I'm not particularly fond of it, or him in general but I committed myself to sticking with it. But he just talked and talked and didn't really listen to what I felt I was trying to put out there. Didn't even acknowledge any issues. I've had a stressful week. I have to take time off college. My friends have confronted me about my weight, it triggered me into binging, I'm not sleeping right and ultimately I don't feel like I have an illness, I just feel broken and pathetic for being incapable of just shutting up and fixing it myself. But he didn't want to entertain these things. It really seemed like he knew I got my referral to hospital for my 'eating disorder' so he was just passing the time until I have my first appointment. I was an inconvenience. And he uses the most tedious analogies on everything I'm supposedly feeling. What the fuck? He doesn't even know because he hasn't bothered to scratch the surface. He's just humouring me until someone else can deal with me.

But here's the most frustrating part; it all comes down to my 'eating disorder'. I never sought help for that, whatever that is. I suffer from depression, have done for years. I think in the past I've dealt with it in different ways, whether it was drinking or sex or whatever. And honestly I feel that this is just another manifestation. Because I never planned it. I know it's an important issue because it's now taken over my life. But it's not everything. Which is why I didn't want help with it, it's mine and I want to learn to cope with it so it doesn't take over everything else in my life. Especially my studies. I want the two to co exist. I'm not prepared to give anything up. And he couldn't even answer me. He couldn't give me a straight answer either when I tried to challenge his diagnosis of anorexia. Because how the hell can I be anorexic after what I've put in my body the past week. And fuck I enjoyed that food. I remembered what it was like to taste it. That sinful taste. God I hate myslef for enjoying it.

So I guess I wait to see my counsellor and try and explain to her. So I repeat it again. Cheapen myself even more. Listen to their oh so easy logic. Listen to them say it's not my fault, I'm too hard on myself, listen to them sympathise, say it's ok, it's human. And all the time I know that my thoughts and actions are weak and self indulgent. Seriously I read over what I've written and I hate that I'm capable of such whiney, clich├ęd melodrama. Meeting with my ex today for coffee proved to be far more relieving than any fucking professional. I was always so private but it seems to come easier talking to him. Maybe because the attraction is gone. Still it's all surface detail. Which is all it's ever been. So I'm just more forthcoming with the obvious. So really, after all these years, I'm still getting nowhere.

And fuck I ate two slices of full chocolate cake today. Now I feel it. So much for a fresh start. Somebody tell me I'm doing well. I know I'm in the right direction. But I need the scales to read what they read last week. And I now I've made the whole process slower. Somebody tell me I haven't failed, I know I should've been stricter but I'm getting there. I can't lose grip now.

It's so wintery outside. You could say miserable. But walking in the rain felt right. Something really comfortable and seasonal about it. I'd do it again now if it wasn't so late. Well no, I'd do it again if I could get away with it but somehow I think my housemates might find it a little odd to walk miles in the cold, stormy darkness. Personally it makes me feel alive. I need need need to get away by myself. Even a week. Just a week for me, with my own boundaries, nobody else's routines diluting mine.

So right back to my shortcomings.

Fuck me, two slices of chocolate cake. Too late to purge. Laxatives again. Not that it matters much considering I've already digested it. Ok so steps, smaller than I'm happy with but soon I'll be back to me. God I want those 93 pounds to read on the scale again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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