Seems I get a serious case of Monday blues quite often. Maybe it’s the fact that I leave my boyfriend’s house and come home. Maybe it’s that everyone is out and about, working at life, succeeding, whilst I feel like I’m going nowhere slowly. Who knows.
I’m really tired today. My calorie intake has gotten ridiculous. I use My Fitness Pal to keep track and often include calories burned for things like sitting and working or walking slowly or even just standing (like I do for 3 hours at college) so that I can see in reality what my body is receiving. My week went something like this:
Monday – 596
Tuesday – 626
Wednesday – 298
Thursday – 300
Friday – 735
Saturday – 548
Sunday – 570 (and mostly because I ate badly: a hot chocolate, a stupid brownie and some biscuits)
So yesterday I forced myself to go for a walk which, in hindsight, was a daft idea because I spent the rest of the day unable to get out of bed. Just watched series and eventually needed to eat something as was feeling so sick. Took an anti nausea tablet. Managed to make myself some vegetable soup…sat on the couch and cried whilst it was cooking. Once it was done my boyfriend came in to cook his supper and I asked if he was having some veggies. He looks in the pot then says something like, “eerhh, no thanks.” which then made me angry inside. If he won’t even eat more than a piece of steak for supper why the hell should I eat soup and toast. He won’t even eat the fucking stuff. I stormed off to the room and sat by the heater. He calls me and asks if I am coming to get my food and I sulkily reply, “later.” It wasn’t me replying, I sound like a 6 year old who has been refused something she was begging for. Scolded by a parent. By now my poor boyfriend is so used to my moods he doesn’t really bat an eyelid. He takes everything in his stride, I admire him more than he knows. And I love him for still loving me at my worst. He is amazing. Not a saint, don’t get me wrong, but just a really down right amazing human being. I sometimes wish I could see myself through his eyes, maybe then I wouldn’t hate me so much.
Anyway, was so out of it yesterday and after forcing myself to eat a whole cup of vegetable soup and a slice of rye toast (took me like an hour to eat because my stomach was hating me so much) I made up my mind to start eating a bit more. It’s not worth feeling so bad. I want to at least be able to get out of bed! I will eat more and will exercise more so that I am healthy and toned. I don’t really want to look like those skeletal figures anyway.
Then I woke up this morning. And first thing I do is shove a quarter of a brownie down my throat because I’m hungry. Yes, well done, smart move. I then decide a cigarette will help curb the hunger but cigarette and brownie are not a good mix and I end up just feeling a bit dizzy and ill. Get home and yell at this voice in my head telling it I WILL eat breakfast and I WILL enjoy it. I had two slices of rye toast, one with marmalade and one with some plain low-fat cottage cheese plus a cup of sceletium and honeybush tea (it’s supposed to help with depression)…ok so I didn’t really enjoy it but I ate it! And felt sick. Still hungry later so had quarter of a banana plus the rest of the brownie which I’ve been nibbling at since I woke up. Lunch has so far been one coconut biscuit.
I want to eat, I really do. I feel weak and so tired. But this empty feeling is addictive and maybe I don’t have so much control over this. I’m scared but I don’t want help. They’ll make me fat. They’ll therapy me. They’ll make me face stuff I thought was sorted out. I’m sure I’m okay? I’ve been hospitalized more times than I care to remember…once for depression, once for 3 months because of this stupid ED, once for losing my marbles and crying non stop to the point where no one knew what to do with me, once for cutting my arms up so badly I needed stitches, once for OD-ing on a casket of pills (not too sick to have lost my sense of humour at least), and then in a clinic after the OD episode. Why can’t I just be fixed!! I’m sure everyone around me thinks the same: “Oh here she goes again. Can’t she just stop being so dramatic? What an attention seeker. I don’t want to be around her, she’s a nut case. She does this to herself you know.” I swear I can hear them thinking that, I can see it in their faces. I see it in their eyes, the exasperation…worse, the disappointment.
I don’t know why I’m like this I don’t want to be. But then I also don’t really want to be here. I never have. Did you know I swallowed a whole bottle of pills when I was two? Apparently I thought they tasted like sweets but I still think it was my soul that knew right way back then that I didn’t want to be here. I’ve always battled to be HERE, on earth. No matter how healthy or ‘functional’ I am sometimes, I still have this niggling of “why the heck am I here. I hate this world. I hate the human race and it’s selfish, greedy, hurtful ways. Society and it’s brainwashing. The brainwashed masses and their insensitivity. Hurting other people, hurting animals, hurting nature. Destroying everything like parasites. I don’t want to join a rat race made up of this destructive, unloving society! Too much noise. Too much frenetic energy. TOO MUCH.” I know it’s a generalisation. I don’t hate everyone, it’s probably just me projecting self-hate out there anyway. What we give out we get back.
Still, I don’t think anyone deserves what I was put through. An abusive dad, an emotionally absent mom, kids at school calling me “fucking ugly” when I was only 12. A freak, a loser. What a weirdo. I remember my ‘friends’ on the playground when I was only in junior primary school, running away from me screaming what a loser I was. Then high school got even better, moving to a new place, parent’s divorcing, grandfather (more like a dad) died suddenly, lost our comfortable lives due to my dad having a midlife crisis, would be on the street if it wasn’t for my grandparents, bullied some more, weirdo, loser, ugly. A brother who has always out-shone me in every way telling me how useless I am and how no one wants me anyway. Then a long string of boyfriends who abused me, who raped me, who locked me in rooms or out of the house, who shouted at me that I’m a whore, who told me what to wear and who I could hang out with, cheated on me. Even a boyfriend’s mother who abused me emotionally.
My life is not all negatives by any means, but these are the things that leave scars. These are the things that are hard to let go of as they singe ones soul bit by bit, leaving it burnt and aching, and empty of all except ashes. I’m afraid of people, I’m afraid of life, because I’ve been shown over and over again that life is full of danger and hurt and hatred. I have learnt that people always let you down, no one can be trusted or relied upon. I have learned that true love and compassion are rare. I can count on my one hand the amount of people who have stuck by me and not hurt me, my mother and grandmother are two.
I don’t know how to lead a normal life. I don’t know if I ever will…and THAT is what scares me most of all.