Better Life, Better me?

well, I've not posted on here much lately, what with being away and working my still quite sizeable arse off at my new job, I've just not had as much time on my hands! Seem to be getting into more of a routine now, which is good. I've even gone and got myself a boyfriend! Shocking, after 3 years of singledom!!! But a very lovely and welcome change :]

So things are looking up for me right?

Not exactly....

I decided, that with new boyfriend (J), with all the problems that I have, honesty is the best policy. So I told him everything....and, most surprisingly, he really was fine with it! Turns out, one of his closest friends was very ill with anorexia and he understands completely how complicated things can get, but he still wants to be with me! For some reason though, this doesn't seem to be enough for me. I think my head is still so fucked up with depression, anxiety and my eating issues that I'm creating problems for myself. He doesn't reply quickly enough to a text: he's gone off me. He talks about one of his girl friends: he likes her better than me and is only going out with me because he can't have her.

I can't stop my brain from working overtime with it all and I'm scared that what it all boils down to, is me being too ill to be with him. I keep running through telling him this in my head.

I'm also disappointed ith myself because of work. I'm supposed to be on a part-time contract, but last week, there was loads of overtime available, so I took it. The stress has caused me to slide back so far that today, I feel almost as bad as I did 4months ago.

I'm begining to realise that I'm not as better as I thought I was....and I worrying that I will ruin everything because of that.

On top of all that, I met J's friend who suffers with anorexia, and she talked to me about my problems and her experiences. Hearing how poorly she's been and how much she still goes through, made me feel somehow inferior. I don't know why!! She's lovely! But for some reason, after listening to her, I feel like a phony. I feel like I have no right to call myself bulimic; I'm just a fat, greedy, whiny, self-indulgent bitch.

I'm ruining my own life.

Doctor Problem

So last night, I started feeling really shitty; really run down and my throat felt like it was on fire. I'd been in the studio all afternoon and it's super hot in there, so I figured I was just dehydrated and run down. I've been purging quite a lot recently (several times a day) and I think it's starting to take its toll. However, this is not the only thing that's bothering me- over the last few days (since saturday, I think), whenever I've eaten or drunk anything, unless I swallow really, really carefully, stuff goes down the wrong way and I choke.

Now I'm paranoid all the purging with a toothbrush has damaged the back of my throat in some way....so much so, I decided to purge the old fashioned way yesterday; which is super-stupid for someone with really long, fake nails.

When I woke up today, my throat was even worse and I felt really weak and shit. I had a quick look inside my throat and I have what look like a couple of small tears on my left tonsil. I've decided there's nothing for it but to go to the doctor and get it checked out in case it's anything serious. The only thing is, I need more of the pill...which means a blood pressure check. There's a really good chance I could be doubled busted.

Fuck.

About a boy

I don't usually post stuff like this, but here goes:

Recently, while on a perfectly normal night out and trying my hardest to "impress" one of my friends, I met a boy, J. Now to perfectly honest, I was on a bit of a booze binge and don't remember much of the night, so I  was ever so freakin' nervous when he text me a few days later and asked if I wanted to meet up with him. Was he as fit as I remembered? Was he as cool and funny as I remembered? It must be noted, I have a DAMN awful track record when it comes to boyfriends/girlfriends.

So we met up....he wasn't as cool as I remembered, or as fit or funny.....he was better :] much, much better. Apparently he was nervous about meeting me too! How sweet! We went out to dinner and everything was lovely, I felt really comfortable and we had such a good time- until it came to my eating. I wanted to be good for him, everything was going so well. He finished *way* before I did (eating over-slowly) and so I said I'd finished too. He said, "do you feel uncomfortabe eating on your own cos I'm finished?" and laughed, so I just laughed too. He got up to go to the loo and I crammed as much food as I could into my napkins without it looking obvious and left it on my plate. When he come back he laughed and said "bless, you were embarrassed! I knew you'd eat a bit more if you were on your own". I just laughed while thinking: "great, here's this super-sweet lad who I really like, it's our first date and I've already lied to him". I felt my heart sink.
The rest of the date went amazingly well, time just flew! We only went for one drink and we just chattered so much, the next thing we knew, it was really late! For the first time in a while, I actually felt really good.

We've been on a few dates since, we're just taking things as they come, which is lovely, because I've never really had that before. On Saturday night, when one of my friends mentioned all the weight I'd lost, I wasn't quite able to answer quickly enough when they asked how I'd managed....I ended up confessing my bulimia.....and J was there too. I tried to act all self reproaching and said to my friends I was trying to stop (more lies). I worriedly half joked to J "see, this is what you're getting into!" He said we'd talk about it later. In the morning, he pretty much said he kinda knew there was something the matter with me and my body image, so he didn't seem really surprised. His close friend suffered with anorexia, so he has experience of people with eating disorders. I'm just worried about reminding him of all that stuff.


I really, really like J; he seems like an amazingly decent guy, and I would hope that something more will develop between us. I'm just really scared that all my problems are going to scare him off...and if they did, I really wouldn't blame him. We're both in our late 20s, so it's really not the sort of thing you should be dealing with. I'm not even entirely sure what I mean by that!!

Well, for now I enjoy his company and he makes me laugh....frankly, for now, that's perfect.

Wrong road

Now I know I'm fucked up.

I've been purposefully not taking my medication and I don't really know why. I think a really horrible part of me hates the person I become when they start to work: empty, hollow. I'm smiling yes, but my smile feels painted on and my voice sounds like it's coming from a tape recorder. I know that it's dangerous to just stop cold turkey, but I'm trying to anyways; I wait until I can't stand the side effects anymore and then I take one, and repeat the process. Maybe I am starting to have more affect, but it really doesn't penetrate the surface. I can't FEEL anything. I've spent so long pretending in one way or another that I no longer know who the hell I am or what I actually do feel.

To make things worse, I found out there will be at least a 16week wait until I can see a new therapist. Mum wants me to go private, but I know that'll be yet another thing that she'll hold over my head. She owns me with debts that she never mentions, but infers with the way she spends her money. I'm quite proud with myself, actually; after getting really angry about the therapist appointment, my head went into a spin and all I could think was "binge....binge...binge..." I planned it out in my head: when mum left for work tomorrow it would start, I thought of all the places I'd go and all the things I would buy....and suddenly I stopped myself. I thought: "I'm 5lbs away from my first goal weight, I CAN'T fuck up now". And I felt calmer....I knew it was only the anger and limited food that was messing with my head. I love how I can see the cause and yet I refuse to act on the effect. I suppose it's not the best way to deal with bulimia, but so far, so good.

Come tomorrow, I'll see if it actually works...

Guilt Complex

It’s funny how in life you “aspire” to be many things. I aspire to be a writer, healthy, with a nice place of my own….I also, in the darkest recesses of my soul, in the parts of myself I conceal from EVERYONE, aspire to be an anoretic.

Before anyone comes after me, let me explain…

I have suffered with bulimia now for two years- which isn’t long, not by any stretch of the imagination, but my disordered eating started way before that, in the form of binge eating. It sounds ludicrous to some that a woman of my age would suddenly “develop” bulimia, but during all the time that I’ve had recently to sit and and ponder how the fuck I ended so fucked up in a short space of time, I can see it was a long time coming and, frankly, somewhat inevitable.

When I was a child, if I left any food on my plate my mum would say: “why won’t you eat that, Eff? It’s crying now!” My hopelessly sweet, six-year-old self would not stop to contemplate the likelihood that a potato had the capacity to cry, I was a sweet little soul and very sensitive- I’d get upset and eat the lonely potato, just to keep him happy.

To this day, my BIGGEST bugbear is the anthropomorphism of inanimate objects.

Of course, as I grew older I knew that potatoes, or in fact ANY foodstuff doesn’t have the capacity to cry (unless perhaps it’s really, really past its sell-by date), but nevertheless, the seed of guilt had been planted and from childhood onwards, eating and not eating has always been tied up with guilt…I’d feel guilty if I didn’t leave an empty plate, but I’d feel guilty about eating so much. People would remark on how much I enjoyed my food, how much I loved to eat, how I always left an empty plate. In the back of my mind, I was trying to eat away the guilt. Very rarely did I feel full.

Fast forward to today and this battle with guilt is still going on, but in an entirely different way. When I first started to try to lose weight, I was at war with this guilt. I *knew*  I had to eat less and cut down my portion sizes, but if there was food left, I’d feel so guilty for leaving it, I’d end up eating it anyway and feeling even more guilty for letting  myself down.

Bulimia, it appears, seemed to be the next “logical” step….I could keep “everyone” happy and eat my food and present a clean plate and I could keep myself happy by trying to get rid of that food. It was just once in a while at first, after big dinners when I was feling stuffed- it seemed reasonable, something that could be done, but only out of necessity. It’s amazing how quickly once a month becomes once a fortnight, becomes once a week, becomes twice a week, becomes every other day, becomes every day….

The satisfaction and the freedom from guilt I feel when I am able to eat to make people happy, to gorge myself in order to fill my soul’s swirling massless void, to amiably have a snack with my friends and then purge it all away, to make it disappear from the inside out; makes me feel almost superhuman. I’ve found a loophole, a way of bending the rules, that keeps the guilt at bay and no one is any the wiser.

I’m tired of fighting the guilt. It exhausts me, even now with my “perfect” system in place, it’s starting to creep back in. Except now, the guilt has another voice in my head to contend with, and that’s the one that says: “fat pig”. I can’t fight them both and I can no longer keep them both happy. I no longer want to keep the guilt happy anyway, I’m mentally too weak to carry it. Over 20 years of carrying it has nearly crushed me and I just can’t, no,won’t do it anymore.

I want to spit in the face of guilt and say “fuck you”. To me, the way to do this is to simply not eat, show the guilt it doesn’t affect me anymore. I want to control the way I feel, not have some fucked-up, deep-seeded emotion dictate to me how to behave.

Therein lies my aspiration.

Only a complete lunatic would find this rational….

Back after yet ANOTHER break

Been away for a few weeks again....Had a godawful time mentally. Had in incident of self-harm that required stitches and yet another rather public and spectacular breakdown. Not only that, I had what I *now* realise was a panic attack in the supermarket- I was getting chest pain and was really, really dizzy, thought I was having a damn heart attack!

Therapy wise, the cCBT that I was undertaking came to a screeching halt after I told the women that she didn't know her "arse from her elbow" and put the phone down on her. Eff is NOT one to do things by halves (or, usually, to refer to herself in the third person!)

Other than that...it's been pretty quiet around here.... ;)

Effy  x

I feel so fucking worthless. I’m begining to realise that I feel this way all of the time because it’s true.

I’m fat. I’m ugly. I’m worthless.

What is the point?

First binge in a long time...

This past week has been hell….

Been at my lowest since as long as I can remember- so low I finished writing my will and drafted a suicide note. Luckily (I guess), the thought of leaving my dog upset me so much, I knew I couldn’t go through with it right now. I’m such a horrible person that, after it was all over, there was a moment when I resented my dog. I still feel so incredibly guilty about that, I could never, given a million languages, find a way to express it. People might not understand it, if they don’t have a dog, but if it wasn’t for him, I would have left this earth 5 years ago.

Not content with my aborted self-destruction, I went on a two day liquid-only fast. I survived pretty much on black coffee and Coke Zero and I was feeling almost good…..controlled. Then I got news of not one, but THREE job rejections, my car tax renewal, my phone bill and the news that I’m being moved to a more intensive therapy….so today ended up as a crazy, uncontrollable binge- The first real one for about a year. I got through half a pack of chocolate digestives, half a carrot cake, a chocolate bunny, a large bag of pretzels, a pastrami and emmantal cheese sandwich, about 10 mini chicken strips, about a dozen mozzarella sticks, half a tub of ice cream, a leftover lemon chicken breast and a huge mountain of chips….all in about 2hours.
I feel fucking disgusting.

I did manage to purge a good deal of it, but it still feels like there’s a ton of food, rotting away inside me. I’m so angry with myself though, I want to focus on how horrible having a stomach full of food feels, so I don’t do it again (as if it were that easy!).   Worst of all, I’m down to only two laxatives, which I had to dig out of the bottom of my drawer and STILL haven’t bought more Slimatee, so my stomach is where it’s staying.

I feel like my head is unravelling

just because we don't feel flesh, doesn't mean we don't fear death

CBT = COCKING BOLLOCKING TWATTINESS

Had a darling phone conversation with my "therapist"…she asked me to pick which problem I wanted to tackle first: unhelpful thoughts or unhelpful behaviours. The more I thought about it, the more I realised I didn’t want to change either. Maybe the way I deal with things isn’t the way one is supposed to, but who’s fucking business is it anyway??? They’re MY emothions and they’re the way I deal with things. If something’s upsetting me or something has made me angry, don’t I have to right to feel how I want to feel? Don’t I have the right to get angry?

Say if you were refused a promotion for no good reason, wouldn’t you feel  worthless? Or, say, your relationship had broken down, wouldn’t you feel upset, angry or lonely? Probably all three! Except she wants me to change how I think about certain things that I have no influence on. Say I lost my job and I struggled to find a new one. I’d been trying really hard for a few months, applying for plenty of jobs and kept getting rejections. Would you think: “Oh well, clearly the person they selected over me had better experience, or better qualifications than me. They deserve the job, something will come along soon!” Or would you think: “What the fuck?? I’m working my arse off here, trying to find any fucking job that pays so I don’t get fucking evicted. Shit, I even apply for jobs I’m over fucking qualified for and they STILL don’t fucking want me?!? I’m completely fucking USELESS!!!” I’m no therapist, but I’m thinking you’d go with the latter.
..and so would I!!

So I explained to her how I felt. Believe it or not, I’ve been trying super hard with this cCBT, I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me and more, but it’s only serving to make me more angry and frustrated. So I told her the truth: I said that I was having trouble with the exercises, because how can thinking differently about something that you a) have no control over; and b) is an actual occurring event that is not down to my own interpretation, make the incident actually any better? It doesn’t for me, I rationalise things too much, so I know that if I do think about things differently, I’ll be aware that I’m doing it and it won’t be helpful. The bitch then had the temerity to say to me that I “just didn’t understand the exercise”. This made me really fucking angry. I DO FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO DO, IT’S JUST NOT FUCKING HELPING ME!!!!! She doesn’t listen. Then she gets pissy with me and says I need to take a “long hard think about why I want to be here and what I want to get from this”. I felt like screaming at her. I fucking TOLD HER in my first fucking session that I was SENT there by my doctor.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I DIDN’T WANT ANY "THERAPY" IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE

Every time I get close to telling people my problems, they don’t listen. They figure out how they want to reply without listening to what you’re actually saying. Either that, or the just don’t want to believe you. It’s easier for people to believe that you are really the way you appear to be.

So after all that, I’m stessed to the max aand purging like a crazy bitch. Worst of all, I only have ONE bag of Slimatee left :(

Slimatee

Well, it's be (officially) two months since I last had Slimatee, so I can now have it openly everyday for two weeks. After that, of course, I have to go back to having it covertly after I feel I've had too much and not been able to purge properly. Last time I took it continuously, it really boosted my weight loss so I'm looking forward to seeing the results. I've not weighed myself for a few days after a crazy amount of bingeing and being mentally too exhausted to exercise much. My mum goes back to work on thursday, so I'll weight myself, take my latest progress photos and go back to my hardcore restriction during the day. I am nervous about getting back on the scales, but my jeans are still falling off me, my collar bones are sticking out more and I can fit into clothes I haven't been able to for years.

It's small comfort though. Sure, I'm at my lowest weight for over three years, but I look and feel fatter than ever. I need those progress shots; I can't trust my own eyes.

Mentally, things have been going downhill; having angry outbursts, temper tantrums and sulking in one minute, then being high as a kite, rattling off astounding witticisms the next. Sometimes I feel like I am greater than the sum of my parts; others, I am an empty, hollow shell, devoid of emotion, pain and even organs. The beat of my heart is sometimes the only reminder that I'm not as hollow as a dried bone.

The other day I actually worte my will! It's not that I'm actively thinking of killing myself, it's stranger than that. I've more or less resigned myself to the fact that I will be the death of me. Even if it's not through a direct act of suicide, my depression and/or eating disorder will. I kid myself that because I take vitamin supplements, my body isn't lacking in anything; ignoring the fact that my heart is probably begging for mercy. I purposefully sabotage my depression treatment. I see how long I can go before the medication withdrawal symptoms become too much for me to stand and then I give in. It's pathetic. But at the same time, it's the only time that I truly feel alive. I trick my body and mind into reacting, just so I know it's still there and then I'm satisfied.

Other than that, the only satisfaction I truly get is from purging. It's becoming easier and easier every day. My body has stated to associate big meals with being sick, so even as I'm eating and getting full, I get a satisfying, queasy feeling, knowing that in less than 20 minutes, it'll be out of me. I'm still concerned about my teeth though, so the other day I had the idea that I could chew antacid tablets and then drink a little water to swirl them round my mouth to neutralise the acid. It's just an idea, if it doesn't work, whatever; if it does work, at least I'll know I'm good at something.

PATHETIC

In other news...

As some people might know, I've been put down to do this computerised CBT. Well:

The woman called me to do the assesment last tuesday and took down my email address so she could send me a password and login name for the site. I spelled out my email address, because, for some reason, people have trouble pelling my last name (honestly, it's SUPER common and not at all oddly spelled!!). She then said: "if for some reason you don't get th email by the end of the day, call me and I'll send it to you again". I'm like, what am I, your secretary?? Get it DONE! But, whatever..

End of the day: no email. So I call her wednesday, leave a very polite message for her saying the email hadn't come and could she send it again. Left my number and my email.

End of the day: no email. So I call thursday, AGAIN it goes straight to voicemail and I leave another, rather polite message.

End of the day: NO EMAIL!!! Bearing in mind, it's now Good Friday and no one will be in work anyways, I leave another voicemail, this time a little miffed.

I give her the benefit of the doubt and think, maybe she had loads to do, what with the bank holiday and all. So I check again this morning: STILL NO FUCKING EMAIL. So I leave ANOTHER message, this time, understandably pissed off, and ask her to send the goddamn password.

Just checked now (midnight): NO MOTHERFUCKING EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I've got a telephone appointment with her thursday morning when I'm supposed to have done then first exercise. Well, she can kiss my arse!!!

Thank you NHS, thank you VERY fucking much

Losing my grip?

Now I feel so strange...

I had the strangest feeling today: I walked out of the house to go to the job centre and as soon as I got in to the car, this crazy feeling came over me. I hated everyone. People I knew and people I'd never met; there was no reason, no trigger, but suddenly I felt this implacable hatred. Walking through the precinct on my way to the job centre, I felt so much hatred for the people around me, I was almost physically sick.

I came to the realisation, that all the hurt and viloence that I had inflicted upon myself had been completely and utterly misdirected....I spend so much time worrying myself sick that I might be hurting someone, when they don't give a shit about if they're hurting me. I felt a dizzy sense of freedom as I turned this thought over, and over in my mind.

Eventually, the feeling did calm somewhat and I was able to function like a normal member of society. But it's still there, just not as demonstrative at this moment in time. I am wondering now, if anyone I can actually count as a friend is really a "friend". By my reckoning, people only make contact with you because they want something; as soon as they get it, or realise they won't get it, they disappear into the ether. Before, I was so desperate for people to like me, I gave them what they wanted, without ever thinking about what I wanted. I always wondered why bad things happened to me, and now I know it's because I LET THEM HAPPEN TO ME.

No more.

Brain Zaps

"Symptoms described as "brain zaps", "brain shocks," "brain shivers", "head shocks" or "cranial zings" are a withdrawal symptom experienced during discontinuation (or reduction of dose) of antidepressant drugs.The symptoms are widely variable in description and of unknown etiology; common descriptions include dizziness, electric shock-like sensations, sweating, nausea, insomnia, tremor, confusion, nightmares and vertigo"

So the above are symptoms of withdrawal from SSRIs or SSNRIs, which of course includes Venlafaxine, which I am currently taking. No big deal, I'll be on mine for a while. However, I forgot to take my dose yesterday...

So I'm in bed, feeling a little odd and trembly, when all of a sudden I get really dizzy and a crazy ringing in my ears. Before I can think: "What the hell?? I'm lying down!!", a frightening wave of electricity pulses through my body; starting in my brain, fuzzy electric waves shoot down through my arms and legs, right to my finger tips and toes and then back again like a sickening circuit. This continued for a few seconds, maybe longer, all the time, I could feel every second of this rapid circuit, like my blood vessels were filled with wires. Then it stops. All at once I'm feel with utter, white blind panic. My bed suddenly feels three times bigger than it was, I want to get my mum in her room, but it feels like it's several streets away. Then as soon as it started, the panic is gone; stops dead. I sit up and I'm calm, my head clears and lurking in the back of my mind is the term: "Brain Zaps". When I was first prescribed Venlafaxine, I did some research about it (naturally) and came across the term, but paid it little mind. I went back online and reread what I had found:

"Many patients stopping venlafaxine use experience SSRI discontinuation syndrome, i.e. withdrawal symptoms. This is especially noted if a patient misses a dose, but can also occur when reduction of dosage is gradual. The high risk of discontinuation syndrome symptoms may reflect venlafaxine's short half-life. Missing even a single dose can induce discontinuation effects in some patients"

Bugger. Talk about being stuck!!!

After a mini sabbatical....

I'm back....

Well, things have been up and down as per usual. They ended up doubling my dose of Venlafaxine last week. So far, mood wise, I just feel part manic, part agitated. I mean, I have a bit more animation about me, but it feels so superficial. I'm still so empty on the inside. Tomorrow I have an assessment over the phone, to see if this "Computerised Cognitive Behavioural Therapy" is suitable for my "needs". I hate that damn word. Plus, how the FUCK can you assess someone over the damn phone?? I mean, the whole idea of the cCBT seems like a joke to me, but that is really taking the piss. Nice to know the NHS cares.


Weight wise, I've been bingeing and purging quite a lot, so my weight has been up and down over the past couple of weeks. It seems to have settled down to 10stone 7lbs (147lbs) now; that's only 7lbs away from my first goal weight. Even though I'm still hugely overweight, I'm starting to finaly feel like I can do this. Every pound is one step closer. I'm not deluding myself that I'll be happier when I'm thin, I just will have it at the back of my mind that I've beat all those who said I never would be.

Soon, mum's taking two weeks off work. It's going to be so hard to continue with my restriction......A plan is needed, but my head's to crowded to think right now. I wish I could empty it. It's crazy, sometimes, my brain feels like it's reaching critical mass, and one more thought will cause it to implode, sellf destruct; but at the same time, it feels so hollow, like it weighs no more than air.

I need to work on my endings.

Karma Police

Okay, so I think maybe my purging is a little out of control...

In the past week, my family's "Operation: Let's Help Eff Feel Better", has meant: constant calls and pestering, being asked "what's the matter?" if my face doesn't happen to be smiling at that second and my mum being off work all week. Consequently, I've not been able to restrict in the way I usually do. In a normal week, I don't eat at all until my mum comes home from work, or I eat a little- just so I don't pass out at the gym. But her being here has meant that i can't do this; so I've resorted to purging. A LOT.

Part of the "Operation" also meant numerous social activities that I would even partake in were I feeling well. Cinema trips with my step mum, trips out "for a drive" with my mum and, unfortunately, a meal with my mum, brother and sister in law. I'd already been purging every evening meal all week and was really freaked out by the prospect of a formal meal on Friday. Friday came and I did well to eat very little, telling my mum I was "saving room for the food later"; as I was getting ready though, the thoughts of all the food, so delicious, full of my favourites and pretty huge portions (for me) began to circle around my head so fast that I had to hold on to something so I could get a grip. On an impulse decision, I brought out a bigger handbag, one of my big bottles of water and my toothbrush (I always gag myself with a toothbrush, my fingers just don't do it). So off I went, feeling like I was on an undercover mission. Sure enough, I got up to purge after every course. My family made a couple of jokes about my frequent toilet visits, but I blamed it on all the water I'd been drinking. I stood there, after every purge feeling part disgusted with myself and part exhilarated that I'd managed it.. Me and my bag of tricks had pulled off the ultimate dining heist, in that cold, poky little bathroom and no one was any the wiser.

Despite this success, I went on to do something very fucking stupid.

Not quite content that I'd managed to get everything up, in the ultimate twist of the wisdom "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure" I decided that making myself a cup of laxative tea was the best "prevention" for me. To make doubly sure, I used two bags and left it for twice the time.

I woke up early Saturday morning, feeling like someone had handfuls of my insides held tight in their fists and they were pulling and twisting without relent. I spent the morning counting the mosaic tiles on the bathroom floor.

Not totally content with this stupidity, after mum and I had our nails done, she treated me to lunch. Which would have been fine, had my guts not felt like they were on fire. I thought if I ate all of my lunch, it would serve me right for being so fucking stupid the night before, I deserve to get fat after that. Partway through though, the panic started to rise at the back of my throat....I couldn't stop myself attempting to calculate every single calorie on my plate. No matter how much I tried to stop, the answer was always the same: FAT FAT FAT. The food not only upset my stomach (how long do the effects of that fucking tea lats?!?!?!?), but as soon as I got home, I purged again. Dumb bitch.

The rest of today I spent, bleary eyed and sea-sick. Standing up takes around half an hour, that is, if I don't want to sway and fall over. I haven't eaten anything else. I'm afraid of what I'll do.

This is what you get, when you mess with us.....

"Eff" is for "Fuck- Up"

Well,  so much for keeping any kind of inner turmoil to myself- on saturday night my brain decided to have a rather spectacular, totally public and rather bizzarre mini breakdown sort of thing. A "crisis", they call it, tell me about it. I won't go into details, suffice to say, I doubt many of my friends will be calling me anymore seeing as I completely and utterly freak them out. I've got to give it to Venlafaxine, I know you get worsse before new drugs kick in, but that was really fucking impressive. Also, due to the very severe and public nature of my "crisis" (fuck, I hate that term), my mum now realises I'm a lot sicker than she thought and my dad has found out that I'm mental. My dad had no idea that I was diagnosed with depression- I wanted to keep it that way, I don't need his help and I never have. I will NEVER forgive my mum for telling him. For fuck's sake, they've not spoken for 6 years, couldn't they keep it up??

So now I've got my family on my back, 24hours a fucking day. "how do you FEEL?", "are you.....okay?". I want to be left the fuck alone. I don't want to come over like 26-year-old whiny teenager, but seriously, I'd feel a whole lot better if you just let me be. I don't want to talk and I don't want to discuss my feelings. Now mum's going mental wanting to get a private psychologist. If she wants to waste her money, she can be my guest; I won't be talking to anyone about anything. I've kept to myself for 8 years and it suits me just fine.

I suppose I should be greatful in a way, when things get really bad, I'll only end up alienating myself from my friends anyway, so better to get it out of the way rather than dragging out the process. I even looked at getting a council house, just so I could be alone. I've not looked at Facebook. I've switched off my phone.


See all this written above?? See all that?? That's what's in my head. THAT'S why I'm evil and selfish. I disgust myself. The only thing that makes feel good is throwing up. That's really fucking pathetic. If I can't control my head, I can still control my body.

I haven't weighed myself in days....I can't bear to see how disgusting I am written down in numerical format. The numbers are the only things that can't lie.

Goodbye, Duloxetine....Hello Venlafaxine

So my antidepressants have been chnaged again, which is a good thing because the old ones didn’t agree with me at all; bringing me to a grand total of four tried, three failed. Keeping my fingers crossed that these ones do some good.

Yet again, I got the feeling that mum was almost jealous that I had been put on something else. I am beginning to suspect that she wants to be the one who is the most ill, so she can act like a martyr. I can tell form the way she looked at me when I told her, that she was thinking: “you never say anything, you never complain. How can YOU be worse than ME?”. She’s started saying things like “I feel so AWFUL when I talk about my problems to you, I don’t want to burden you”. In a way that just screams PITY ME PITY ME PITY ME.

To add insult to injury, I’m being referred for a mental health assesment. I’ve never had one before, I always just got frog-marched into a counsellor’s office. I’m terrified that they’ll find out there’s nothing wrong with me and that I’ve just an evil, rotten person. I said that to my mum and she said I was being stupid.

We’re both trying to “lose weight together” (this was my idea so that I can restrict in secret and she wouldn’t be suspicious when I lose weight), she’s really overweight and I think she’s jealous that I’m losing weight already. I mean, I know that I’m still a HUGE FAT ARSE, but she keeps calling me slim and thin and then in the next breath calling me shapely and womanly. When we went to get our nails done, the girl who does mine commented that I’d lost weight, my mum overhears and immediately says “Don’t encourage her, she’s just obsessed”. What. The. Fuck? She’ll only be happy when I’m as fat as she is, but I won’t be fat forever, I broke my plateau and I won’t stop.

House of Wax

Today was actually a pretty good day. Mum and I went shopping so she could have a new outfit for my sister in law's party on Saturday (I have NOTHING that fits, btw). Of course, she wanted to go out for lunch and ended up in Tampopo. I actually did pretty well; I ordered miso soup to start and had some spicy chicken and vegetables for main. I did the most amazing job- I managed to eat a tiny bit of rice, two bites of chicken and all of my veg. I used the rice I didn't eat to wipe most of the sauce off my veggies too. I managed to give mum most of my chicken, at first saying that she had to try some because it was lovely and then saying it was too spicy. I managed to hide most of what I left under my miso soup bowl and used napkins.

After lunch and buying mum's outfit, we went DVD shopping. We spent ages poring over the horror section, looking for old Hammer Horror films and Vincent Price classics. We ended up buying 9 in total, with mum's money of course; I'm going to be screwed for decent films when I finally escape to my own place.

After we got home, we settled in for a lovely movie night. I stuffed most of my tea into a napkin and purged what I didn't. The first film we put on was House of Wax with the wonderful, inimitable Vincent Price. I don't know what it is about Vincent Price and his films, he's not scary (I'm a die-hard, horror junkie) and he's not handsome as such, but his voice, his manner and the way he acts is so amazing, and almost comforting, that I can't fail to be mesmerised every time I put one one. Incidentally (for anyone who cares), House of Wax was the first film to be shown in 3D at the cinema- 10th April, 1953. All the way through, thee things flying at the camera and references that break the fourth wall and address the audience! It was so cute!

As we're watching, there's a sequence where there are some Can-Can dancers, in keeping with the 3D aspect of the original release, there are big close-ups of the girls' legs.
My mum says: "What do you notice about the girls legs, Eff?"
Me: "They're kicking at the camera! People must have thought it crazy when they first saw it!"
Mum: "NO, They're shapely, they get bigger at the top. Like YOUR legs, Eff, like women's legs are supposed to be. Do you think they are fat? Do they look fat to you?"
Me: "No"
Mum: "That's right, they're not. Keep that in mind"
I just wanted to scream: "YES! YES! I FUCKING DO!!!! I THINK THEIR LEGS ARE FAT! I THINK *MY* LEGS ARE FAT!!! THEIR LEGS MIGHT BE FAT, BUT THEY'RE NOT AS FUCKING FAT AS MINE!!! I HATE MY LEGS AND I HATE MY BODY. NOW, LEAVE ME AND MY WEIGHT THE FUCK ALONE!!!!!!

But of course, I didn't say that. I'll never say that. Not as long as I've got nowhere else to go. She ruined Vincent Price

Involuntary Puking

I spent Sunday, yesterday and a bit of today throwing up. No different from usual you may think, and you’d be right; but this time, I was actually ill.
It’s weird (although obvious), I never realised that different kinds of throwing up “feel” different. With this, I felt like death because I was actually ill, there was no sense of “achievement”, there was no sense of urgency, there was no sense of relief. It’s a hard pill to swallow, when you’re confronted with the natural order of things when you life your life perverting them.
So, due to the fact I’ve been ill, I’ve not been able to keep anything down (apart from today), so what do I do this morning? The same thing most completely fucked up people would do- I got on the scales. 10st 10lbs. 3lbs down. My plateau broken, finally. The lowest weight I’ve been in nearly 5 years. Now I’m feeling better and I feel panicked. I CAN’T regain the weight.

I am Miss Eff, and I am addicted to purging

I don’t get it, sometimes I can go days, weeks even without purging; then all of a sudden, I just HAVE to do it again.
Today, I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast (porridge - 121) and was actually pretty hungry when I finally had my tea. It was nothing bad even, just baked potato and salad, but as soon as I’d finished I just felt the need to purge.
So I did.
At first, I felt the usual buzz, my heart racing and my head spinning and just generally feling giddy, But now I feel absolutely wretched. I could go down and have something to eat, but part of my brain is thinking: “most of your tea is gone, probably less that 200cals for the whole day!”. Unfortunately, I’m going to listen to my brain this time, drink plenty of water, take some paracetamol and go to bed. Hopefully my headache will stop fairly soon.
I know it’s stupid and I know it’s reckless, but I just can’t stop.

Purging again....

I actually managed to make it a week without purging, until this weekend. And I blame absolutely EVERYTHING on my fucking period.
You know what it’s like, wrong time of the month, mammoth cravings and crazy emotions, I just caved completely and ate like a dirty, greedy pig. Oddly enough, I do get a strange comfort out of purging. Even if I’m not 100% positive that I’ve got every-last-little-bit up, I feel really complete and safe.
Luckily, the HUGE binges this weekend did no real damage, I stayed at the same weight, but I was beyond crushed that I’d thrown all my effort away.
I’m starting again this week, back to restricting, but I worry that the purging is here to stay.

Broke one of my March Rules

I decided that I wouldn’t drink this month, not only to help lose weight, but also because the medication I’m on advises that I don’t drink; makes sense no? Well, you’d think so, but last night I went out and got absolutely hammered. To be honest, there seems to be no harm done, I feel ok today (after the colossal hangover had gone!) and I actually had a wicked night! There was a bouncy castle in the club (random!), I danced ALL night with loads of different people, had an amazing time  with friends, pissed off an annoying ex, reconciled with another ex (he  apologised, I still think he’s an arse), ended up going back to some random guy’s house (nothing happened) and didn’t get home til 7am.
Made me feel like I was 17 again…
Hope I haven’t screwed my meds.