(DAY #141 total inpatient admission)
Weetabix x 2.
Wholemeal toast x 2, butter.
Salami and chorizo pizza.
Forest fruits full-fat yoghurt.
Egg mayo sandwich (wholemeal), 5-bean salad, side salad.
Ice-cream (2 scoops).
…& the usual PINT of semi-skimmed milk.
“Oh, it’s just another Mammoth Monday…” to the tune of The Bangles.
That huge extinct elephant species (although Manny from ‘Ice Age’ is a friendly exception…) is precisely how I often feel come weigh-day. Like today. Another 0.8kg up today since Thursday… all hunky dory, as this is how it’s SUPPOSED to go… …and it’s not particularly how I LOOK. But how I FEEL, that processes (like a ladybird marrying a squirrel) as ‘wrong’. Over the past few weeks in particular, my changing body has been a buzzing bee following my right eardrum… it never stops bugging me. I feel like it’s there, and it shouldn’t be. I can hum and distract as much as I want to, I can work up a smile and tell myself maybe if I feel happy, my body will be happy… but it’s still there, following me – yes, my weight-restoring body, and when the distraction fades, the volume is back in buzzing blast.
I don’t feel like I have the brain, the skills, the emotional intelligence, or the social value to live in this body – the confidence to deserve it, to take up this much room. I don’t feel I have the right to be this developing woman (I WILL like my boobs eventually – I’m trying, I really, REALLY am!) when I feel so inadequate…
…but I would be MORE worried if I didn’t feel these things, with genuinely WANTING to leave Anorexia behind for good. So to me, it’s a green flag, rather than a red one. A lovely friend told me the other day – “perhaps it’s not WRONG, perhaps it’s just NEW.” Which it certainly is. Never, ever, in 8 years have I really, truly believed I could and would WANT to achieve a set-point weight. And learn to ‘like it’. To accept this is where I want to live. And I do.
So I’m trying.
Speaking of divorce proceedings from my Eating Disorder (this process has been going for fat too long now)… at the weekend during my home-leave, I found the black bin-liners in the kitchen cupboard practically JUMP into my hand. It was time to dispose of the clothes in my wardrobe that I’d been clinging onto (just ‘in case’ I lost weight in the future as a result of turning to my Eating Disorder for the only way to cope; I didn’t trust there would be any other way)… the fear of wasting money and having to keep buying new sizes. The guilt of the financial consequences adding weight to the guilt of the FOOD. The vicious psychological cycle. Any excuse with this illness to feed off new ways to feel guilty and seduce you back into it’s science lab of numbers…
…but I knew it was time to do a bit of ghostbusting action on my wardrobe. I’m sick and tired of being haunted by those safe, small bits of clothing that were chosen by Anorexia, not me. Eventually, I’m going to have to reconsider how I dress altogether, if I want to work on growing confidence with a new shape – something which poses a challenge in itself with how the media advertises underweight women as the ‘ideal’.
Three black bags: CHUCK, CHARITY SHOP or SELLING POTENTIAL.
Starting this was so bloody incredibly therapeutic – it reminded me a bit of a female character on Coronation Street throwing their cheating ex-partner’s clothes out of the window and on to the street. No more tolerance for this cr*p.
Admittedly those bags are still there, on my bedroom floor, awaiting more old ghosts to be stuffed with next weekend.
*and I’m going to have to continue this on Wednesday’s post! Okay I’m not gonna lie – I was catching up on ‘Liar’ – had to see what all the fuss was about, before the last episode is on tonight. So I’m guessing this will be the chosen telly viewing during supper in 10! It takes me some revving up to watch and commit to a bit of telly, so today was a nice break. It felt like hangover food. Recovering hangover food. And wow, what a juicy story line… if you’re watching it too, enjoy!*