Today has had me thinking a lot about my eating. I’ve downloaded a calorie counting app and a pedometer and spend most of my time filling in exactly what I’ve eaten and am pedantic about the amount I fill in on this app, “who measures hot chocolate in grams!? Why can’t I find a tablespoon of cheese instead of 3/4 cup?” Arb things like that. I vaguely spoke to my mum last night saying I was really battling with my eating. She even checked in today to make sure I’d eaten breakfast (I actually had). What’s kind of great is I can blame it on the anxiety and emetophobia which I am currently being treated for (that is the voice of Ana right there). Funny thing is that’s what kick started it but to be honest I just plain old don’t want to eat.
Ana is back. Maybe it’s because I feel so out of control with all the other issues in my life and this gives me something to focus on. Don’t get me wrong, I am also focussed on my therapy and the homework I get, but there is only so much one can do in a day and the rest of the time, if I’m not thinking about food, I guess I’m afraid of where else my mind might take me. And I am so afraid of my mind at the moment. I don’t trust it. Last night I took my Rivotril (anti anxiety meds) in the hopes that it would help me sleep and I had a panic attack whilst falling asleep. I mean, who the fuck has a panic attack on anti anxiety meds whilst falling asleep. And I don’t even know what sets it off because I’m being woken up by them. Anyway, all this makes me feel like I’m losing it and so the little voice of Ana creeps in.
The old feelings come pouring back. I spent 3 months in a clinic for this, I know the road I am going down and I am trying to fight but…but what? But I can’t stop? But it’s like a drug? But I want to be thin? I’m 170cm/5″6 and 59kg/130lb. That’s not fat, my logical brain knows this, but Ana says, “well that’s not thin enough”. And the pride that slips in when I don’t eat, when I see the scale going down, when people comment that I’ve lost weight, it’s sick. Oh and the call of a scale is more than I can bear. It is a drug. It’s so ridiculous that even I’m aware of how ridiculous, yet why can’t I stop it. I know that IBS is partly to blame for this as well. When you start to view food as poison instead of sustenance it’s very very easy not to eat. When I think of the pain I’ve endured from eating the wrong thing I want to cry. Nights lying awake in agony and days after where I feel like I’ve been repeatedly hit in the gut and have to live off the blandest soft foods, if I can eat at all. No wonder I put my foot down. But now I am also aware that most of my IBS is kicked started because of my anxiety yet it’s almost too late to undo the mental damage. I made up my mind that if my body was going to punish me for eating then I would punish it by not eating. Logic, yes, I know.
So today I have eaten maybe 700 calories. And that makes me disgusted and proud all in one mingling black mess of emotion. I don’t know…tomorrow is another day and I’m feeling exhausted after delving into this. Which reminds me: I need to try get some sleep. Tomorrow I am going to look at puppies with my boyfriend and his mum. At least animals cheer me up, so I can look forward to being covered in fluffy, tail-wagging little bundles of love! Ah the simple things…
Good night world