DAY #50 FULL PORTIONS; Rusty Yellow Skip…

Weetabix x 2.
White toast x 2, butter.

Tuna mayo, sweetcorn and red onion sandwich (wholemeal), 5-bean salad, side salad. Winterberry cheesecake and cream.

Afternoon snack
‘Seabrooks’ crisps.

Sliced ham in parsley sauce, boiled rice, cauliflower.
Peach full-fat yoghurt.

Supper Nutri-grain bar.

…& the usual PINT of semi-skimmed milk.


I imagine this is what the contestants feel like on ‘I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’ when they win their first gold star on a jungle task.

A great start, but still more to collect in order to fill the bellies of the rest of the camp.

Hitting that first milestone BMI of 15 today feels a BIG deal on it’s own if I am to let it be. The scales. The number. The red KG flashing up. The extra flesh on my body this morning.

But I also have to remind myself, this BMI is just one of many gold stars for this journey of recovery…

…when you’re given a target of ANY number – Anorexia will always latch onto it and see it as a threat. Even with knowing this is just the FIRST fairy step to me actually commencing my treatment program… after 9 weeks of starting to restore my body, adapt to a substantial meal-plan and to ‘cognitively’ get myself in a better position (according to the professionals) to make the most of therapy… because it’s STILL a target, one which I’ve now thankfully reached, my Eating Disorder still injects me with feelings of shame, failure. And very much in a way, convinces me that I now must be ‘all better’. Cured.

If ever there’s a right time to say ‘lol’ (good old MSN messenger days…) it’s now. In my heart of HEARTS, if the consultant will just BELIEVE in me and realise how many MENTAL obstacles I’ve push past more than EVER… rather than just see the slow/steady physical/weight progress… my ultimate BMI aim is 20!

So why am I letting Anorexia latch onto my still-low BMI and tell me to be completely ashamed of myself? That I’m not worth it?

EVEN with knowing there are now REWARDS such as being able to have 1 hour off the Unit by myself, 3 times per week… it scribbles ‘fat’ on a sticky note and slaps it on my head.

It doesn’t mind if you don’t put on enough weight for those rewards. Even though you’re sick to death of the same four walls… of living ground-hog day, every day on an Eating Disorder Inpatient Unit with no leave. This isn’t life. But Anorexia doesn’t care – it doesn’t want life and it doesn’t trust the beauty, the messy colours, the limitless potential out there. It smokes control like cheap tobacco.

Luckily, Yasmin cares. She doesn’t KNOW there’s a better future out there without Anorexia… but she HOPES every single day. Trusting the unknown and riding a rollercoaster without a seatbelt.

Yes, socially I am struggling more, I’m struggling more with my self-esteem etc. now I’m not so numb. But I’m NOT turning to food to cope. In fact I know I’m not ‘coping’, I’m just dancing in the sh*t. Waiting to know and to learn HOW to cope.

I’ve had a wobbly emotionally day. I wanted to explore the whole ‘sandal’ thing I brought up yesterday… but in all honesty, I’m going to have to push it forwards to tomorrow. I also don’t want to be a drag and discuss in detail another one of my Eating Disorder’s controlling, boring little habits… when it’s already making me feel like this. It doesn’t deserve that bonus attention… !

Anxiety and the niggling negative thoughts have made me a clumsy fool for a Monday. After tea, I spilt my freshly brewed coffee over my lap and all over my bag of crochet wool, so stubbornly shoved it all in the bin. I can’t imagine you can put balls of wool in the washing machine anyway… ? I almost dropped my sandwich at lunch and at both meals today I felt like there was a multi-colour spotlight shining on my mouth whilst chewing, which made me super-conscious of every forkful of food. Whether I’d spill it, have any oozing between my lips.

A couple of things I had on my goals list today, have had to be crossed off due to this sh*tty mood. ‘Bath’ being one, and attending the ‘social’ hour that I’m meant to be doing to challenge spending so much time on my own, per day. I feel too embarrassed, ashamed, fear of picking up on any more clues that people don’t like me or that I make people cringe.

The frustrating thing is, I REALLY would like to be friends with myself. I really, really would. I’m sick to the back teeth of being obsessed with what people think, and for not feeling like I can freely use my voice, like there’s always negative thoughts holding me back. It feels selfish if anything…

I’m also really worrying about my review tomorrow. When I’ll see the consultant and my care co-ordinator will be there. Now I’ve reached that BMI and we can discuss my treatment program, I’m terrified they’re going to voice doubts again about my treatment option. I think that’s what’s adding to my state of mind tonight… what if I AM getting my hopes up too high? What if they really DON’T think I’m up to/deserving of full-recovery?

Then who am I? If I can’t be granted the opportunity to finally be free of this waste-of-space illness, then who the hell am I? I can’t live in this half-way world of recovery versus Anorexia… what’s the point of living the rest of my life with unfulfilled potential lingering over me? That’s how I’d feel. Some aren’t ready to recover, and regardless of anything, of how slow things might have been so far to the professionals and the ‘numbers’… I AM ready. That’s why I can’t bare the thought of living back in that middle ground where I’ve been hovering for too long and it’s served me no good.

Whatever you read above, please note: I am still 1000000% focused on my end goal… ! The doubts don’t hold me back. They just feel very mentally unpleasant/confusing.

So this is my way of launching them into a big old rusty yellow skip…

…I’m so scared of these hateful feelings towards myself. I’m so scared of ended up alone because of it. I’m scared of feeling MORE this way by being ‘healthy’. And eating foods that I feel I don’t deserve on a daily basis, making these negative thoughts intensify.

But I’m MORE scared of Anorexia’s empty, rigid childish lifestyle.

And there’s no contest which form of scary gets my vote.
Let’s keep on keeping on…

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