WORD THERAPY

As I may have mentioned once or thrice, I suck at art. And the thought of doing art therapy leaves me feeling cold and slightly nauseated. However, it is also true the art therapist is not only a lovely person, but also a very good therapist. Plus she’s nice to me – and by that I mean, she often lets me write in lieu of drawing. So here’s a few of my art therapy, “works of art”.

Spontaneously produced. Unedited. Raw. Cheerless…

Silence

I hear them…

…birds

…beasts

…beauty

I feel them…

…fear

…failure

…friendship

I see them…

…lovers

…loneliness

…life

I touch them…

…sorrow

…sand

…sweetness

I smell them…

…courage

…conviction

…conscience

I am alone…

I am silent…

The Birthing

The comfort of the carapace

Wrapped tightly

Snug

Warm

Impervious to the elements

A golden cage around me

Inside feeling protected

Safe

Familiar

A fluid world of comfort

The golden cage has bars

Inhibiting my growth

It cracks

It splinters

The light starts shining through

The air is cold and foreign

It’s hard to breathe it in

Gasping

Crying

The egg is cracked wide open

I feel I’m born anew

Fragile flesh with no protection

Afraid

Anxious

The birthing has begun

The loneliest place in the world is being surrounded by people and having no connection. Making small talk. Being courageous. Giving out. Receiving nothing. A total disconnect from the human being. Being is silent. Being is alone. Without connections, who am I? I am surrounded by love – I am lonely. I have all I desire – I am lonely. I have many people – I am lonely. I grew with loneliness – it is a place of familiarity. The veil is drawn around me. Who drew the veil? Who can tear it down? I fear connections. I fear disconnection. I fear. I am alone.

WEEK THREE

Day 15

I feel as though I need to start writing about all the amazing progress I’m making and how awesome I feel and how I’ve turned a corner and the future is looking rosy. But it would all be a big fat lie.

Nobody wants to hear about how miserable I feel and the sense of defeat that threatens to overwhelm me at any given moment.

Nobody gives a fuck about that – it’s in my head and I’m making the choice to be miserable. But the truth is, that’s how I still feel. I’ve been here two full weeks. I’ve missed eight gym classes. Two family dinners. Two Saturday morning obligatory liaisons with my husband. I’ve missed a thousand snuggles with my cat and countless coffees and walks with my friends. I’ve missed going back to work and having egg sandwiches with my dad. I’ve missed all the worries and stresses that my friends are experiencing. I’ve missed every aspect of my life. For what?

I’ve cried a gazillion tears and given up trying to make the nurses understand how the lap band is restricting me because it’s “all in my head”.

Despite having my pristiq doubled I feel like I’m still more depressed than I’ve been for so long. Desperate and desolate and misunderstood. I feel so alone. I’ve reached out and started talking to the girls here. I’m afraid to get too close though as I have no strength for anyone else’s burdens right now.

My anxiety is not great but I’ve stopped scratching. My bunny is very helpful. He keeps my hands busy. If I look like a 52 year old toddler I don’t really care – my Hope bunny is calming and grounding and right now that is a good thing.

My nurse came and found me this afternoon to ask how I was doing and anything I wanted to talk about. Naturally I cried. This always surprises me because at home I never cry. I suck it up. I distract myself. I numb myself. Here I have none of those things so instead I feel and I cry. I’ve cried so much I’ve stopped feeling embarrassed about it. Plus I’ve run out of tissues.

I talked to the nurse about how desperately I want the lap band sorted as it’s hindering any other progress I can make. Can’t sort the lap band until I see the psychiatrist. Apparently psychiatrists are deities and work as they please with no care for how desperately we might be craving their attention.

I talked to the nurse about how I am completely adamant I will never, ever purge again. She said that is progress. It doesn’t feel like it – because nothing has changed inside my head – but I’ll take what I can get for now.

I talked to the art therapist today about how much I hate art therapy – because I absolutely suck at art. She was very nice about it and very surprised, as I’ve been very compliant and participated fully to the best of my ability. But I did point out that if I don’t commit to participating fully and being uncomfortable, there’s no point being here at all. She liked me attitude. I suspect she’s had to work with a lot of petulant teenagers.

Lastly – I’m wanting to reduce these mind numbing drugs as they numb my mind and make it too hard to work and write. But when I don’t take them my anxiety becomes unbearable. So it’s that old rock and a hard place conundrum. I’m toying with the idea of emailing my boss and resigning from work completely now – as I could be here for months not weeks. Need to talk to the psychiatrist first though. It all comes back to him…

Day 16

Things are improving. Not perfect by any means, but I have much less sense of utter despair. I think there are a few reasons for this – firstly I’ve been here two weeks and unsettling as it is to admit this, I’m settling in. When you arrive here there’s no information on how things work and what to expect. Simple things like, take a cup of water to the table with every meal. Go to the toilet before every meal because it will be locked for the next 90 minutes. Where’s the laundry? What times can we access cupboards with our locked possessions? I know all this information now but I had to learn it myself – they could benefit from offering us all a welcome pack. So from a practical point of view, I’m settling – I know the routines, the locations and the rules. I’m feeling very institutionalised. But there is a far more significant reason that my mood is lifting today. I’ve been in contact with my psychiatrist and an appointment has been made for me to see a bariatric surgeon at 2pm tomorrow. TOMORROW!! Gosh things can move quickly when specialists talk to specialists. My surgeon at home has been contacted and my history sent to the new guy. I can go in and be guided by him as to how much adjustment the band needs. I am completely open to doing as suggested by the specialists.

I’m tired of fighting and I’m ready to be guided.

I also freely confess that having an eating disorder is the reason I required a lap band in the first place – my binge eating was out of control – and with the band loosened, I can work on the original issues. I have no idea how, but there are a lot of people here who have the know-how. I’m willing to stay as long as it takes. I’ve also decided to resign from my job completely – the uncertainty was not helpful and I don’t feel I can return to it. I don’t know what this will mean in the long term for my earning capacity – which is currently zero – but if I’m honest and determined to overcome this eating disorder then that is my priority. In 2018 I heal. Healing comes ahead of all else. Lastly, I am feeling better as I’m facetiming friends and family on a daily basis. This connects me to real life and I love it. I can’t always find good times to catch people, but I do get hold of one or two people at least every day. I even had the opportunity to facetime an old friend tonight and we haven’t caught up in nearly a year. It was so beautiful to see her face and see how well she looks. To catch up on all the news. I loved it and I’m so grateful. So while today did still bring some inevitable tears, they didn’t overwhelm me and I had plenty of positives to focus on. The special leave I’m being granted for the lap band loosening is making me beyond happy. It gives me hope. Without hope there is nothing else…

Day 17

Wow. What a day. Some corner turning happening here. If I’m not careful I might get dizzy… Firstly and most importantly, my baby turns 19 today. 19 years old. He’s not a baby any more – he considers himself a young man. But he’ll always be my baby. He sent me a photo of himself with his new (very expensive) coffee machine, saying “Thank you mumma”. I’m sad I’m not there to celebrate but I’m super proud of the gorgeous young man he’s growing up to be. Almost as exciting as my baby’s birthday was my visit to the bariatric surgeon. My lap band has now been drained of all fluid. I am a free woman. Even an empty band offers a certain amount of restriction and deeply reduces hunger signals, but I will certainly be in a much better position to eat all the foods I’m presented with. Dinner went down quite easily – I still did feel enormously full with a serving size that is deemed to be small (doesn’t look small to me). But as long as I didn’t rush there was no sensation of feeling stuck at all. I can’t even begin to express how much of a relief that is. Now that the brick wall of the lap band is out of the way, I feel I can focus more on the origins of the eating disorder. The team here believe it is completely possible for me to find full recovery – I simply need to commit to the program – the good the bad and the ugly. I’m not here to feel comfortable, make friends, or stick to things I’m good at. I’m doing art therapy (blergh) where I’m exploring hidden emotions and connections without even realising it. I attend DBT sessions where all the old tools are presented in new and refreshing ways. I’ve started to connect with the other girls – and guy – and to share a little of our lives without sharing too much of our stories – as that is not permissible.

The biggest thing today though? I haven’t cried.

That is the first time in my 17 days. I’ve had some dodgy moments and when I was out on special leave to see the bariatric surgeon there is always the temptation to go to the pharmacy and self destruct. But I’m getting better at shifting those thoughts and moving forward. Finding hope and purpose and future happiness. I received the most precious letter from a complete stranger today. She reads my blog and for whatever reason felt the need to reach out and thank me for my words – to say that my little story has had an impact on her own journey. It was the most beautiful, touching letter and I’m still trying to construct a reply that does justice to her kindness. It is knowing that my own struggles, that I’ve learned to share so openly and willingly, have had a positive impact on another person, going through so many similar struggles that makes me keep writing, and to keep seeking recovery – regardless of all the setbacks. I continue to feel, in my heart of hearts, that no matter how tough it is here, I am finally in the right place at the right time. And I owe a mountain of thanks to all those people who supported and encouraged me to make this seemingly impossible decision. Freedom awaits.

Day 18

Well what a day. Highs and lows. Forwards and backwards. Pros and cons.

Firstly, the draining of the lap band – while originally something I refused to even consider – has been an excellent decision. There is still a small amount of restriction even with an empty band, but now there is so much less fear and anxiety associated with the sight of every ounce of food. I can follow sensible menu plans and follow the program. As my psychiatrist said this morning, now the real work begins. I saw the psychiatrist and his registrar early this morning – that is three days in a row he’s made time to see me. Makes me feel valid and special. He dug around deep in my childhood though – the origins of body image issues, bingeing, self-worth. How they were all perpetuated endlessly by my mother, father, grandmother, sister and society in general. If I wasn’t pretty and skinny I was nothing. And I have never been pretty or skinny. Somehow my job is to validate my worth outside of those facile one-dimensional qualities, that should hold no meaning.

I had two beautiful visitors today. A friend came this afternoon and delivered all my February challenges for the masterclass, so I can stay on top of things. It’s incredibly important to me that I complete this draft. Where I go with it is unimportant. I just need to complete it. I fell behind with my goals in January but given the disruptions of this months’ hospitalization, I’m going to practice this month’s task of self-compassion by forgiving myself and accepting the inevitability of limitations. I also met one of my fellow drafters today and we connected instantly, and it was wonderful. I think I may have talked the poor woman under the table but she was an empathetic and understanding person and it was so great to share the experience of doing the masterclass with a real live person.

I’ve been put onto antibiotics for the spreading infection where I scratched my ankle. Hopefully they work their magic quickly and I can learn to stop picking and scratching. Had a very stressful experience at dinner tonight where I again scratched at my fingers – not badly, but the habit dies hard. There was a patient who was upset by the meal choice and wanted to argue at the table which isn’t allowed. His upset was palpable to me, and the firm way the nurse stood her ground was frightening to me.

I have no capacity for handling conflict at all – whether or not it has anything to do with me.

And I can’t detach from the emotions he was going through. It was like a tangible string I could feel stimulating my own emotions. I was so anxious I started on a borderline panic attack. The nurse was great and kept me calm and when I finished my meal said she was really proud of me. But I find this hypersensitivity to emotions utterly exhausting, and fear inducing, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I did squeeze the life out of poor old Hope, the anxiety bunny, and practiced grounding techniques I’d learnt by pressing my feet hard into the floor and gripping my knife and fork as if my life depended on it. Which to be honest, it felt like it did. I’m hoping over the course of my stay here, I can learn to temper my extreme emotional responses.

Day 19

Yet another day where my fear of conflict became highlighted. It’s like this pathological terror comes over me when there’s conflict around – regardless of whether or not it’s got anything to do with me. In fact I find it easier to deal with conflict that is directly involving me, as I feel I have some control over the resolution. I still hate it and become terrified, but I feel less powerless. So today’s conflict – that had nothing to do with me and was well managed by a team of staff – left me sobbing on my bed in terror, unable to even comprehend why I felt so afraid. The high anxiety lasted for hours and I couldn’t get through my lunch so had to have yet another supplement. I was still shaky and teary three hours later.

I can’t explain or comprehend this abject fear of conflict.

I was not exposed to violence as a child. Although I was also not exposed to conflict as my mother seemed to have the same kinds of fears.

I know that conflict is inevitable in life and I have found myself once again resigning from a place of employment as I don’t want to return to a place that will inevitably have conflict. For the most part my job was great and my employers incredibly supportive of my personal issues. But when times got stressful and tensions ran high, there would be volatile conflict situations and I know now I can no longer subject myself to those situations.

So I’m going to accept this year as a year of psychological healing, and physical travel – I have a lot of travel plans in place for later in the year. And it is also the year where I will hone my craft of writing and try to work out how to use this skill base to generate an income in the future. I feel at this point if I can’t fully heal from this eating disorder, my future is looking very dismal. So I am here to give it everything I’ve got and to dig deep into those damaging lessons I was inadvertently taught from a very young age.

When I first met my psychiatrist I felt that I wouldn’t be able to connect with him, but I’m finding more and more that he knows just where to dig, how far to go, and to validate my feelings while offering an alternate strategy. My history is unusual and complex, but eating disorders have a lot of commonality. I am not alone here. I am well supported.

The program is strict, almost military like and rules are to be followed at all times. There is very little flexibility. And the staff are well versed in hearing eating disordered thoughts and voices calling out for exceptions to the rules. There are no exceptions. This program is for people who are ready to accept the severity of their disease, their powerlessness over the progression, and are willing to commit one hundred per cent to every aspect of the program.

Despite knowing how much I loathe art therapy, I committed totally to the process. Consequently I learned a lot and explored a lot of emotional realities I would otherwise never have noticed. I feel so ready to do this. And I am starting to feel hopeful that with an extended period of time here, under the very structured program, I can emerge as a conqueror. And then my life can begin anew.

Day 20

It’s taken almost three weeks, but I’ve had an unashamedly good day. No ifs or buts. A good day. All my meals were manageable – I hesitate to even say, enjoyable at times. Very little angst over the food. While I have had disordered eating thoughts between times, they weren’t overwhelming and I didn’t have to fight hard to stay away from urges. My mood has been pretty good. I feel fairly positive with moments of hope that recovery is actually not only possible, but it is going to happen. I have ongoing anxiety issues but I have come to the realization I am a highly anxious person and always have been, but I’ve just been excellent at hiding, numbing, ignoring and covering up the anxiety. In here that isn’t possible – I have to face emotions without using destructive coping mechanisms. I treated myself to a leg wax – the full kit and kaboodle – and I came away feeling special and treated. And bought some self tanning lotion on the way home. So I can feel comfortable in a skirt or a dress. And while I was there I booked myself an appointment to have my fingernails and toenails done tomorrow. So it feels like a weekend of self care. I’ve slept a lot of the day – I have a lot of exhaustion, mental and physical, that I’d like to heal. And I have the opportunity to do it here.

I’ve chatted to lots of the girls here today and felt really connected.

I’ve had lots of one on ones’ with the nurses to debrief on my over reactions to the conflict that had been here recently. So all in all a day where I achieved so little as far as writing and reading and doing productive things, but a day where I have felt a lot of emotional healing and recognition of long standing issues. I sent an email to my employers today, telling them I’m resigning. I don’t anticipate they’ll bother writing back but I feel very peaceful with this decision. I have no idea what my future holds but I know my future needs to hold more self care and to allow me to follow dreams and passions, not just force work into my life because I feel guilty. So today was a great day. My feeling is that progress is starting and the road ahead is long and bumpy for today I’m grateful for a really nice day.

Day 21

Another lovely day. It’s hard to write those words when I’m (voluntarily) incarcerated for an extended period of time in a psychiatric facility. But today was a good day. Yesterday I had my legs waxed and bought some self tanning lotion so my pasty legs don’t look so horrid. It felt good to be pampered. Today I continued the theme and had my fingernails and toenails done. I feel pampered. And normal. And financially wasteful. I did also purchase another dress I don’t need that saved me $245 and it matches my favourite shoes so it’s well worth it and it makes me happy. Had yet another great chat one on one with the nurse today. They really are fantastic. I’ve finally acknowledged that I have (and have always had) really high anxiety. And that is probably a core issue behind me developing eating disorder behaviours and other numbing techniques. There are other contributors as well, but anxiety is a biggie.

I’ve spent a lifetime as a highly anxious person pretending it wasn’t so and secretly not coping.

Nobody knew. I hid it. Very well. Now I don’t want to. I want to accept and manage it instead. It won’t solve all my problems but it will be a good start. I have no idea how to manage it… But I’m discussing with staff and I’m guessing a psychiatric facility is a good place to practice these skills. I had been wanting to go off the clonazepam as I’m not keen to be drugging my problems away. But after chatting with my nurse today I’ve accepted it’s okay for now. That for an interim period of time pharmaceutical support is not the worst thing in the world. I have found myself managing all six of my daily meals really well the past few days. Very little anxiety over the food, less stress about “good” food vs “bad” food, and easily finishing on time. The meals still feel big and I’m overfull, but due to the draining of the lap band I’m not getting stuck and stressed. One thing I’ve noticed, is I wake up and feel hungry – despite all the food we eat. And the other thing I’ve noticed is that despite the fact I have no idea what my weight is, I’m fairly confident I’m not gaining weight. Something I was very fearful would happen, but also something multiple people said would not happen if I just eat regular nutritious meals. Part of me knew they were right, but it is interesting – and comforting – to know they were correct. So far. It’s three weeks since I arrived and I’m conscious I’ve done no exercises. I’m sure my strength and fitness and whatever muscle mass I’d managed to accrue has fast fled my body. It will be back to square one when I get home. That’s gonna hurt. Overall though, I’m feeling a sense of progress and positivity and that perhaps this last ditch attempt at recovery is going to bring me hope, healing and a sense of accomplishment. I am no longer quite so desolate for my future.

RESILIENCE

I have blogged about resilience before – and how I feel I have none whatsoever. But yesterday I was challenged to rethink this.

To consider whether my presumption of non-resilience is in fact true.

noun
1. the power or ability to return to the original form, position, etc., after being bent, compressed, or stretched; elasticity.
2. ability to recover readily from illness, depression, adversity, or the like; buoyancy.

Certainly physically, my body is incredibly resilient. I’ve put it through hell and it has served me well. I recover from physical illness and harm very quickly. Psychologically I felt I wasn’t resilient but this has been challenged. Perhaps I’m more “elastic” than I thought. So I had a quick google for all the synonyms for resilience (well not all… that would take too long) and perhaps I can relate to some of these words.

adjustable, affable, alterable, buoyant, can-do, changeable, convertible, easy-going, effervescent, flexible, hardy, irrepressible, quick to recover, realistic, rolling with punches, strong, tough, variable, versatile

So when I look at that list, I think okay – perhaps my resilience score is not at zero. Perhaps I have some. I know there are times when I have none at all. Conflict I can’t do. And funnily enough, this was mentioned in my session with the psychiatrist today – something I will be working on. My ability to be resilient and affable, realistic and tough under conflict is non-existent. But in other circumstances I am prepared to concede I may have aspects of resilience.

My recovery from disordered eating is probably the most obvious and relatable example.

I am not recovered – yet. Far from it. But I’ve been pursuing this gig for years and have had some crazy highs and horrid lows. I have never been “in” recovery. I have good days, bad days, and periods of horrendous months at a time. But I have never given up on seeking recovery. I’ve been knocked to the ground more times than I can count, yet eventually I will stagger to my feet and hope to hell this time will be different. So from my little list of synonyms I think I can be flexible, hardy and irrepressible. This makes me feel a little bit hopeful to be honest. I also have my mother’s voice in my head telling me to stop boasting, and my grandmother’s voice saying, you’re not perfect you know, but I am working hard to quiet those voices and listen to others. Perhaps those among the living who have my back and stay strong when I am not.

Today my resilience was tested regarding conflict. Not conflict that involved me, but involved people directly in front of me. I have an overwhelming need to fix things, to make everything better, to respond to the conflict and help them just calm the farm. But in both these circumstances I was utterly powerless. The conflicts were unrelated to me in any way whatsoever, and there were people in charge of the situation and my input would not have been welcomed or even permitted. So I had to hide in my room and cry instead. Just pray that it all ended soon and everyone involved was okay. Which of course they were. But despite not having grown up in a violent household, any type of conflict sends my anxiety through the roof and I feel like catastrophic things are about to happen. I couldn’t get through lunch and was still shaking hours afterwards. It was a perfectly over-the-top response to a conflict situation that was none of my business and had not been resolved.

So resilience? I find this so tricky to align myself with as I feel that a resilient person would know when and if they’re responsible for a situation and remove themselves physically and emotionally if they were not needed. I cannot do that.

I’m wearing everyone’s emotions wrapped tight around me like armour and I can’t shake it off.

However resilience when it comes to making a decision to do something and just go for it, well I can do that. If I decide I want it bad enough I will fight tooth and nail and fall over a thousand times then stand up a thousand and one times. I’ll accept shame and humiliation as the price I have to pay for my failures and try to set my eye upon the prize. And the prize I now seek is recovery. If I knew what it looked like, I would have my eye firmly set upon it right now.

So in contrast to my previous post on resilience, I now concede that in some areas of my life I can become and behave in an extremely resilient manner. There are areas I need to work on, but for now I’m surrounded by professionals who will gladly work with me towards those goals.

So is this girl resilient? Almost.

ART THERAPY

I have to do art therapy while I’m incarcerated as an inpatient. I can’t begin to put into words how much I dreaded this concept. I even told the very lovely therapist how I feel about art therapy. She was very understanding – and surprised. Because no matter how I feel about the activity, I am here to immerse myself in all the therapies, regardless of my preconceived ideas.

Today we chose two random phrases and then journaled on those phrases: “The girl in the in the night garden” and “Brave”. Here is my story.

In the night garden, the girl sits alone.

Amid the stars that glitter with light and hope.

Beneath the trees that shelter with warmth and shade.

Beside the flowers that bloom with life and colour.

In the night garden, the girl sits alone.

Trapped in a body that grips her with fear.

Draped in a mood that subsumes her spirit.

Caught in thoughts that seek nought but destruction

In the night garden, the girls sits alone.

She hears the thumping of her beating heart.

She smells the fear of her very essence.

She feels the stone cold of the bench.

Shes sees the darkness that fills her spirit.

She tastes regret and disappointment.

In the night garden, the girl sits alone.

She searches inside for a glimmer of hope.

She reaches deep for a touch of purpose.

She explores her heart for human connections.

In the night garden, the girl stands.

She is tired. She has had enough.

She chooses courage.

In the night garden, the girls becomes brave.

In the night garden, the darkness fades.

The night girls stands, closes her eyes,

Breathes in the dawn of a new day.

With that breath the girl inhales hope.

She finds courage in the blooming light.

In the garden, the girls opens her eyes.

The night is gone.

The warmth of the blooming day offers a sense of peace that momentarily touches her heart.

The shade of the trees offers protection from the ebbs and flows of the vagaries of life.

The vibrancy of the flowers suggest beauty and a hope for the future.

In the morning garden, the girl allows courage to fill her spirit.

To surrender to the powers that empower her.

The courage buoying the fear and accepting failures.

In the morning garden, the brave girl is finally born.

Her truths embraced. Her dreams emboldened.

Her future envisioned.

In the night garden the girl grew brave.

WEEK TWO

Day Eight

Same old, same old. Neither better nor worse. I feel my depression has sunk pretty low and I spent a lot of today mapping out “exit” strategies. But I also communicated this with the registrar and have requested to have my dose of pristiq increased. She’s also modified my leave to “escorted” which is fine by me. I feel significantly unsafe at the moment. I’m so far from home and friends and support networks and it takes precious little time for it all to seem like history – forgetting that those same friends and support networks and home will still be there on the other side of this. The clonazepam most certainly helps with anxiety and relaxation, which aids in eating meals more easily, but it is also zombieing me out. I just sleep all day. Sleep and eat. I also wonder if it’s contributing to this rapid depression cycle – I don’t know. I wish I could at some stage see the actual psychiatrist one on one, rather than the registrar. She’s lovely but she reports everything back to the interim psychiatrist for him to make a decision and I’d prefer to communicate with him directly. I stare at every meal in horror, wondering how to manage it. Whatever I do I need to learn to do forever. I’m not here to pass a test, leave, then forget all abut it. I need forever changes. Food is bringing me so much overwhelming fear. Still pig-headedly determined to never purge again – even if that means lots of supplements. But of course that’s not sustainable in the real world. I am bone numbingly tired. Thanks drugs… No epiphanies today. No progress. It’s a long, tedious process. This too shall pass.

Days Nine & Ten

It pains me to say this, but I’m in a rapid downhill spiral.

Perhaps this is a normal part of the process. Perhaps it is failing to meet unrealistic expectations in a relatively short period of time. Perhaps it simply just is.

My depression has escalated rapidly and I feel highly suicidal. I’ve been making perfectly logical plans. But I’ve also mentioned this to the registrars who have agreed that I can stay in phase one – meaning I can go out twice a week – but I need to be escorted. There is a certain amount of relief in this as I can abdicate responsibility for myself when out and about. I feel so far away and so distant from friends and family it is just too easy to lose that sense of connection.

I had a beautiful visit from a friend today. She stayed for a couple of hours and we talked about absolutely every ting. As she’s been through such similar situations it is easy to discuss the burning desire to self harm or to end it all – she understands. But she’s also worked through strategies that keep her here and grounded. She also brought me a beautiful soap that just smells divine.

Today they’ve moved me to yet another room and this has plunged me into a really sorrowful pity party. This room is tiny and dark and has no view and no bathroom. I feel like I’m being punished but I don’t know why. I know they’re moving patients from other wards around as there was a sewage leak into the roof of ward five. Apparently my lovely room was nice and close to ward one which is who’ll be looking after the new patients. But it wasn’t the only room close to ward one …

I’ve asked the nurse to give me more information regarding the self harm contract. She said she’ll draw it up then come and chat to me about it. If I don’t follow the rules I can be discharged.

I am terrified I’ll be kicked out of this program before I’ve even made any progress – and then I’ll be a complete failure with zero hope.

When she comes with the contract I’ll hand over my paperclip. My desire to tear my hands to shreds is escalating and I don’t know how to deal with it. “Talk to people” I’m told. I have no words. The pain is speechless and inexplicable. I couldn’t eat dinner tonight – just stared at it with tears streaming down my face then had the supplement later on. This endless circle of failure. I have made one step – feels positive to me  – I’ve made a pact with myself to never, ever purge again. If food does get stuck in the band for whatever reason, I’ll suffer through the pain and misery until it either goes down or spontaneously vomits up. But I will not purge. That is history. I think the clonazepam is helping – I’m more relaxed at meals, although equally teary. But food is staying down more easily. I am a complete zombie though. I’d like to stay in bed and never leave. Aside from eating regularly six times a day, I don’t know what else I’m learning . It’s just repeats of CBT/DBT/ACT that I’ve done before. Plus art therapy which is loathsome and I don’t get the point. I don’t really know what I want from groups – some kind of strategies I guess, and open discussions where we can learn what is helpful for other people. But for the most part my group sit there like stunned mullets – saying and sharing nothing. At the end of the day I’m in the right place – I know this. But I’m miserable as all hell and I’ve made no progress.

Day Eleven

Exhausted. Depressed. Alone and disconnected. Hopeless. Fearful. Pointless. 

These are the thoughts that have preoccupied me for days. I awake in tears, afraid to face another day. Afraid I’m going to fail at this recovery business, letting down all the people who are cheering for me back home. 

But today I feel a small shift. Just a few simple little things that remind me I’m not alone. I have a very powerful image in my head of a scene from Harry Potter, where he is about to confront Lord Voldemort. but suddenly all the spirits of his loved ones are surrounding him. They have his back. They form a protective circle around Harry and Voldemort, and while Harry has to wield the wand alone, the support and love from his friends and family tip the balance to his favour, and ultimately Voldemort is vanquished. Despite feeling so far from home, I can sense my husband and my boys, my dad and my close friends, all holding a safe space for me. Ready to believe in me, to steady me when I wobble. The image is very powerful and very comforting when I feel so incredibly isolated and lost.

I got through yet another day without vomiting or purging. Of the 11 days I’ve been here, I’ve purged twice and vomited once. Three more times than I’d hoped for, but what is done, cannot be undone. I still stare at my meals with fear – will I keep it down? Will I get into trouble? I have a ward round tomorrow with the doctor, nurse and dietitian, and I’ll discuss options for the dreaded lap band. Loosening it consumes me with fear. Looking at food consumes me with fear. Eating consumes me with fear. Everything is fearful. I’d love to life a life without fear surrounding such a basic human need.

My pristiq is increased – don’t know how long the effects will take to kick in. I’m taking 1 mg of clonazepam prior to lunch and dinner which makes me sleepy and dopey but is contributing to the food staying down. I’m still struggling with the self harm and the desire to escalate, but the disappointment that I succumbed after four months free of self harm is also overwhelming. They will give me a contract tomorrow and if I breach it I face discharge. I just don’t know the other coping mechanisms. The staff are always so busy I hate to disturb them. The whole hospital is very chaotic with renovations and fire alarms and sewage leaks and patients being moved here, there and everywhere. I lost my lovely room today. I feel so sad about that – like I’m being punished for something but I don’t know what. I’m behind on all my writing exercises because I’m too sleepy to focus each day. My goal was to complete three thousand words of the draft and to finalise all the bits for my “Your Story” website. Haven’t got anywhere with either as yet. I have time to be productive – I choose to sleep.

My lovely friend face timed me today and that was gorgeous. I felt so much more connected to my ‘real’ life. I talked my husband through how to face time and we chatted for half hour after dinner. It was really great. I think I’ll touch base with more friends to get a bit more connection to home. The more connection I feel, the less obsessed I am with trekking to the pharmacy to purchase an overdose. It is so quick and easy to become institutionalised. I have to remind myself this is a small blip. While I can’t say I feel great at the moment, I can definitely say it’s an improvement on yesterday. So I’m going to count that as progress.

Day 12

It’s Australia Day. Hard to tell when you’re stuck in an institution – all the days roll into one. I will be the first to confess that I have found this admission very difficult. Very confronting. Everything I expected it to be. Nothing like I thought it would be. The highly structured meal plans are incredibly confronting. The serving sizes are enormous but I’m repeatedly told they’re small serves. If they’re small serves I should be losing weight. I’m not. I’m not gaining weight either so that’s a blessing. I “measure” my weight by my rings and my waistband on my pants. As far as I can tell it’s all very stable. Lunch and dinner pretty much reduce me to tears every day. The food is unappetizing and I have to eat it fast enough to not require a supplement – so I risk having the lap band get stuck. So far so good and it hasn’t stuck since those initial disasters last week – but there’ve been some close calls. There is discussion about having the lap band loosened and when my doctor returns on Monday there will be further discussion. He’ll contact my bariatric surgeon at home and they’ll talk about me and decide what to do. Loosening the band will be freeing and terrifying. I’ll be able to eat more comfortably here, but I’ll be too easily out of control when I return home. I’m not sure I have yet learned any anti-binging strategies as the vast majority of patients are anorexic and binging isn’t their biggest issue. Not sure how to learn this or even if it’s possible. I have for the most part felt a lot less desolate today. Connecting with friends and family via facetime was awesome. It reminds me I have a life to return to and this is just a short stint that needs to be survived. I want to drop my clonazepam back to a half dose but wondering if I should leave that until the lap band is loosened. I’m quite sure the clonazepam is keeping me sufficiently relaxed (aka stoned) to allow for easier digestion of my meals. A lot of the time I just wish someone could tell me what to do. Having to make decisions is exhausting and I’m never sure if it’s the eating disorder talking. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. My cousin will visit in the morning (have to stay here though) and then at 4:5 I’m getting my tattoo – Angel wings and the script ‘stalked by demons. Guarded by angels.’ I think my friend believes it’s been sent to me by God. But I’ve always believed in angels and I definitely wanted something angelic for my second tattoo. When I saw that text it seemed perfect. So that’s what I’m getting. I hope it matches the other hand okay!

Day 13

Backwards or forwards or just plain stagnant? I can’t tell. I’ve been beaten down by the lap band and I’m ready to have it loosened. It can’t happen right now though. I have to wait for doctors to talk to nurses to talk to doctors so decisions can be made. In the meantime I stare at these enormous meals with full knowledge they won’t stay down and after hours of pain and discomfort when it finally comes back up I’m told it’s my mindset and I just need to relax more – to let the food digest slowly and take my time and it will all be fine. Not one of these people has a lap band or any clue how it actually works. Sometimes when it’s completely blocked I’m asked if I’d like a tablet for the nausea. Of course I can’t take a fucking tablet – my lap band is blocked. I spent an hour today with a sick bag bringing up bits and pieces. I DID NOT PURGE. I put up with the pain and wandered around looking deathly and feeling sicker. I drank hot tea and a glass of water knowing it would either force everything down or force it up. Up it came. Black mark against my name for purging – drinking the water was considered a purge. I feel so misunderstood and out of my depth. I cannot keep down the types of food available at lunch and dinner. I cannot get the volumes in. I don’t know what to do. This band will be loosened but not today and not tomorrow and each day there are more black marks against my name for being non-compliant when all I desperately want to do is comply with the program. I’m here to learn and be guided and changed and go through whatever misery needs to be got through, but I struggle with the absolute inflexibility with the band. What have other people with lap bands done? Did they find recovery? I am terrified I’ll be kicked out of the program. There has been a contract drawn up discussing self harm and purging. It needs to be discussed with the ward round team and if they apply it and insist I sign it, then one incident of self harm or purging will see me immediately discharged. The sense of failure would be overwhelming. The loss of hope. I know I need to be here and to learn the skills required to conquer the disordered thinking. I cannot bear the shame of rejection or the sense of failure. I am so very, very tired of crying. I want a day where there is a sense of success and achievement – something I can take home and maintain long term. I want a life and there are moments where I feel it slipping away. I went out this afternoon and got my new tattoo – angel wings and “stalked by demons. guarded by angels.” There’s too much stalking and not enough guarding right now. I really hope I can connect with my doctor on Monday. The interim doctor has been amazing and I wish I could stay under his care. I have no choice though. I have met the registrar and I feel very comfortable with him – I suspect I’ll spend more time with the registrar than the doctor. I do know my doctor has worked here for 15 years and he’s at least 70 so I guess he’s a very experienced psychiatrist. I’m hoping he has a little empathy – there often seems to be a lot lacking at present. If I had a choice I’d go to bed and never get out again. I’m not even sure I can be bothered with writing my book any more. I’m losing interest in everything and focusing on just surviving. I don’t recall having this level of depression and anxiety for quite some time. I bought myself an anxiety rabbit. Something to keep my hands busy when I need to scratch. It says jellycat on the tag but my friend felt Hope was a better name, so I’m going with Hope. I’m finding it very useful and have found band aids for most of the deep scratches as they keep weeping and bleeding and I’m perpetually wanting to pick at them. I’m so tired of feeling tired and dreary and I look forward to the day when I turn a corner and things pick up. Assuming that day comes…

Day 14

Today would be my mother’s 74th birthday. She has been dead for nine years, but despite the difficult and damaging relationship we always had, I miss her every day. I wonder if she watches over me. Does she know where I am? Does she recognise the part she played in my emotional failings? I suspect not – but she would still hope for my recovery.It is now two weeks since my incarceration. I have ventured out into the sunshine and fresh air on two occasions. I have plumbed some horrid depths of depression and anxiety. I have learned virtually nothing about changing my eating behaviours. I am being fed six times a day with meal plans that are carefully monitored by a group of dietitians for good balanced nutritional intake. I’m being challenged on the concepts of “good” and “bad” foods and I’ve started eating “bad” foods at snack times. Naturally this increases my desire to binge which in this controlled environment is not possible, but I won’t be here forever. The lap band has been an instrument of torture and I’ve struggled so much to work with the program and the band simultaneously. The doctors will return tomorrow and I will relent and discuss the options for loosening the band. I have discovered I can have a toasted gluten free sandwich for lunch which is an absolute blessing. 1. it is half the volume of food as the hot meals and 2. It will stay down really easily. This now only leaves dinner as a difficult choice. I got through tonight – just. It was a bit touch and go but once post meal supervision was over I had hot tea and glasses of water and paced and stretched and it eventually went down. So I’ve now kept everything down today – no failures! I will seek out another appointment with the dietitian tomorrow to chat more about that evening meal. If I can have more mashed veggies and fewer things like rice and broccoli I think I can manage better. Despite feeling floppy as a wet fish from all the clonazepam, I feel today was a much better day. I’m hopeful that this week is going to see the beginnings of change. First I need all the meals to be safe and sustainable, then I need the emotional and psychological strategies for managing long term. I don’t really feel we’ve touched on this much. I want coping strategies – throw them at me. Reinforce them. Let me practice them. Just reestablishing good nutrition is not enough. My husband will also be coming over in a couple of weeks for family therapy so I can go home with ongoing support. Fingers crossed…

WEEK ONE

A friend of mine has encouraged me to share my private journals of inpatient.

I hope it’s not triggering for anyone. It’s deeply personal. And I’ve made every effort to remove identifying information of the clinic, staff and patients. It’s a long read! But this is what life is like.

PRE-ADMISSION

Today is Thursday. In four sleeps time I am going to a psychiatric clinic – into the Eating Disorders program. I am both really happy, and really nervous about it. Part of me is feeling positive – perhaps this is the final piece of the puzzle that I’ve been searching for all these years. Part of me feels desolate – why would this make any difference? How can six weeks possibly have any long lasting impact? I know I’ll eat well and do all the right things while I’m there – I’ll even believe that I’m going to recover no doubt, but once I get home – is anything going to be any different? It’s really hard to believe…

I feel myself getting more and agitated. More and more stupid. Once I knew I was going in my first reaction was to starve myself until I get there – so I can be as thin as possible before they make me eat food all the time (regardless of my bmi, I’m pretty confident they’ll make me eat regularly and the same – similar – as everyone else. Although perhaps they won’t.. maybe they’ll let me diet 😀 ) I cannot remove the connection between food and fat. I know all the logic and all the practical stuff, but the moment I go near food I feel fat. But of course after all that starvation today I got too hungry so I ate. I was hoping to throw up my two bowls of cereal this morning but I wasn’t quick enough and they went down too easily. I carefully (moronically) swallowed a spoonful of peanut butter before having a toasted pide this afternoon as I knew there would then be 100% chance of throwing it up. And throw it up I did. A lot. Ditto for dinner – I toasted another pide (just with butter and vegemite this time) but preceded it with dried apricots – and followed it up with two magnum icecreams – and then spent about 45 minutes trying to get rid of it all. I feel like the inside of my throat is sunburnt… So painful. This is the stupidity and idiocy of being a bulimic. (I was going to delete that word – I absolutely detest it). Can’t eat for fear of getting fat. Can’t stop eating because I’m a pig. All the gazillions of times I’ve tried the moderation thing, or the make lists of rules, or follow what other people say, or just let myself eat when I feel like it, or follow my body’s signals – and none of it ever made a scrap of difference. I binge or starve. Every time. And I hate myself every time I eat food.

How can the clinic change this? I really have no idea… And I’m overwhelmingly anxious about being the only non-anorexic person there. The only fat middle aged woman there. The only bulimic. Chances are I won’t get my own bathroom. Which isn’t the end of the world but it’s six weeks and I want a bathroom. I want to be able to shower and go to the toilet without being observed. I’m not going there to play games – I won’t go and secretly throw up. If I have to throw up because the lapband is stuck, well I will tell them and figure out how to modify meal plans with them so I can eat without throwing up.

And I’m also really fearful they’ll make me loosen the band. Which is probably my worst fear of all. I’ll cheerfully sacrifice the bathroom in order to keep the band just where it is. When double-dose-breakfast stayed down this morning I realised the band has had a lovely rest and is not at all inflamed right now – so things will go down quite well and comfortably if I just leave it alone and stop chucking up.

Have also realised I’m having lactose intolerance issues – all stemming from the bottle of kahlua and all the milk I had. And mostly this week all I’ve been having is coffee every day. And I drank the baileys last week as well. So just dairy overload and now my system has gone into overload and the familiar old irritable bowel is back. Blergh… I don’t want IBS in ty clinic so I’ll make a concerted effort to stay away from dairy for a little while and hopefully they’ll let me have a diet that has limited amounts of dairy and gluten – otherwise I could be in trouble. Or I have to go fully dairy and gluten free which is a pain in the butt for them, and could give me horrid meals… I don’t trust them to make nice gf/df food. It’s not easy.

I feel so guilty leaving my husband and kids behind. I’m trying to justify it in my head by saying I’ll work really hard on getting this website and all the details up and sorted while I’m away, so I can jump straight into the practice interviews I’ve arranged as soon as I get back. But after the last few days I don’t know if I’m organised enough to keep my shit together and get into a routine. It could be the lack of food making me all fluffy in the head, but I suspect I’m just lazy. I guess I’ll find out at the clinic.

I really am feeling nervous about this clinic… It is not the local Clinic (which was scary enough) – there are no grounds and it’s all young girls and it will be incredibly hard to sleep but there’ll be no option for getting up and doing something else and if I don’t have my own bathroom then I have to wander around and disturb other people.

The nurses will keep the chargers for my phone and laptop (in case I strangle myself – which will be hilarious when they see how tiny my phone charger is…) so I’m bound to be ending up with flat phone and laptop and perpetually having to trot out and ask them to charge it up again. I can see myself spending all night writing and typing and doing the website every night – until some kind of sleep routine kicks in. If it does at all.

Sleeplessness may be something I’ve had all my life, but knowing I’m about to head off to be incredibly sleep deprived for at least the first few days, if not a whole lot more, is not fun and not something to look forward to. And sleeplessness makes everything else more difficult. I’m particularly upset that we can’t have endless cups of tea. I know why… And I understand. But there’s a limit of three per day. And I’m used to about ten. Okay – maybe not ten. But at least five or six – mostly herbal. It’s something to do and a good way to distract myself from food – and fill up – and stay hydrated. And these are all excellent reasons for them to limit cups to three a day. But I still won’t like it…

And I really hope I can go and exercise. Just getting out for a big walk each day would be lovely – but that won’t happen for at least a week, and even then I’m pretty sure they won’t allow daily exercise. Which totally sucks. Totally, totally sucks. My RLS will drive me insane. Completely insane. But at least I’ll already be in the psychiatric clinic…

The reason I’m writing in my private journal and not elsewhere, is because I’m sick to death of writing about ED stuff in my blog. People are tired of it. I’m tired of it. I notice nobody responds to anything unless I’m all Doris Day and chirpy and positive. That’s what people want to hear. Not more same old same old. Don’t blame them. But I also needed to write today because I was so disgusted with all the purging. And planned purging. I’m not sure if had to have “one last binge and purge” before going in – I think there was a bit of that going on. That was certainly my motivation for buying the two icecreams – won’t be able to do that again. And maybe that’s a good headspace to be in? Although I doubt it… But maybe it means I’m so close to just not binging and purging any more… I don’t know. I struggle to believe it. But I started to get really disgusted with how and why I was eating and the absolute necessity to eat something that would force all the rest of the food to get stuck. Why? I have to confess, six years ago I didn’t do this kind of shit. I know the lap band made everything worse from an eating disorder perspective. Although really it just added purging to the list. I’ve been binging my entire life. I don’t recall not binging. The purging has been intermittent and restarted after the lap band – which I’m not sure I told my friends but would be another reason for them to hate lap bands – surgical bulimia. I can’t imagine I’ll ever be sorry I had it though. I have no faith the weight would ever have come off. And now that most of it is off, I still cannot bear the thought of ever being fat again. And would most definitely sooner be dead than fat. I’m not sure if this is an issue and a headspace concept they deal with at the clinic…

I wonder if people realise how overwhelming the fear of fat is? I fear it far more than I do falling off a cliff. When we climbed the fluted cape last week, I stood on the edge of those cliffs and felt no fear. Only when it was precarious and I was slipping did my primal body instincts kick in and there was an adrenalin rush. And then that is the same kind of fear (without the adrenalin) that I feel consumed by when I eat. If I eat I’ll get fat. And that’s that. It doesn’t work like that for other people – I know. But I feel I’ve done too much damage to my body for it ever to just work properly and digest food easily and store only what needs to be stored and get rid of the rest. It is just a world class expert at storing energy.

I was pretty shocked by my son’s arguments for eating the other day. I hadn’t intended to let slip how little I was eating. But I know he’s right. It’s not new news. I hear the same thing again and again and I know that exercising after not eating for days just eats muscle not fat blah blah blah. But somehow coming out of his mouth made me feel more guilty. And for a moment I was almost resigned to just eating regularly – I could almost sense what that would be like. Then it went away again.

Tonight I feel crazy. And sore. Parts of my body are sore for all the right reasons – I’ve been to gym and it’s good sore. And parts of my body are sore for all the wrong reasons. Again. I’m really tired of this shit.

I’m writing this today (very long winded way of getting to this statement) to say I don’t ever want to purge again – it really sucks. It tears my throat out and the heaving hurts my belly. And I don’t want to damage the lapband… So rather than starve or binge tomorrow, I want to try very minimalist. Cup of tea for breakfast. Something tiny at lunch. And then I have to eat food with friends and my husband tomorrow and I’ll know that at the very last they’ll be watching so I have to eat something but I hate that they’ll be noticing what and how much and how fast. And they’ll definitely notice if I go to the bathroom. So I do not want to chuck. For that reason and for the reason I feel like my throat has been ripped to shreds…

Then I just have Saturday and Sunday to endure, before all control over food is taken away from me. And that is the aspect I’m really looking forward to. Six weeks where I don’t have to wonder if/when/how/what/why I should eat. Six whole weeks where I’m not in charge…

Day One

What have I done?! I feel like a fish out of water. I’m so far out of my comfort zone I can’t even see where it is any more. This is the single most foreign environment I have ever found myself in. And I’m going to be here for six weeks. I hope like hell that it is all going to be worth it. The fact I feel so uncomfortable is probably a very good thing. Doesn’t feel like it – but I’m sure it is. If it was easy and comfortable and familiar then there’d be very little to learn. So the way I’m feeling tonight would suggest I’m going to be learning a lot. There’s a secret little part of me desperately hoping that yesterday represents the last time I will ever purge. I so hope that is true. There’ve been some close calls today but so far so good. Have now finished the final food for the day and I’m now confident it will stay down. One day down – 41 to go. The psychiatrist basically inferred that he believes my goal of “normal” eating is not absurd and believes it is not unrealistic in six weeks. Time will tell. I’ve had to repeat my history endlessly today – dietitian, nursing manager, care nurses, psychiatrists – and I keep feeling shocked by how shocked they seem. Well – perhaps not shocked. Maybe surprised. It’s curious how we just accept what we’ve grown up with, and while I have figured out it was all horridly dysfunctional, it seems that perhaps the impact and longevity is more significant than I realise. I really have had disordered relationships with food and body image every single day of my life, which leaves me in the slightly problematic area of having no healthy habits to fall back on. We discussed my fear of getting fat and the irrational connection I have between eating food (any food) and gaining weight. He asked if that’s always been the case or just my perception. But the reality is, I’ve always gained weight when I’ve eaten – lost weight when I’ve ‘dieted’ (aka restricted). So NO – there has been no evidence for me that eating food is safe. Eat = fat. Of course I know that’s not logical and yet… I will be so pissed if I gain weight while I’m here. Six times a day shoving tons of food in and no opportunity to get rid of it or exercise. (Keep getting distracted and disturbed…) My husband was so upset at the airport this morning. I feel so guilty. I wish I hadn’t ended up in this boat, but now that I’m in it… I really hope this becomes a safe harbour. I am determined it’s going to make a difference because it’s a huge amount of upheaval for my family. And I’m tired. I’m so tired of this shit and I just don’t want to do it any more. So this six week stay has to make a difference. We have never been apart for six weeks – it’s a very long time. Is that normal? It seems to me it would be unusual for a married couple to be apart that long? And I wonder how it will affect us… Well this is the end of day one now. I’ve survived four meals here – kept them all down. Met lots of staff. Feel completely bamboozled by lots of stuff. It’s going to be an interesting stint. Onwards and upwards.

Day Two

No better than yesterday. I’m still a landlocked fish. Compared to the local Clinic it feels incredibly clinical and unfriendly here. All the girls are lovely enough but there’s very little socialising going on. Dinner (all meals really) is a silent, somber affair. I guess (I’m sure) a lot of the program is about normalising eating, but apparently only in the sense of regular, nutritional intake. There is absolutely nothing normal or enjoyable about the way we eat. At handover the nurse told my new nurse, “Simone has been really anxious today,” which was not something the nurse had mentioned to me at all – I’m surprised she’d noticed or mentioned anything. Then when I got my meds this evening, the nurse commented how incredibly anxious I seemed at dinner (I did?) and did I have any anti-anxiety meds to take prior to eating… “No” is the answer. I don’t. But I suspect the psychiatrists will bring the subject up next time I see them. I’d rather they thought about anti-histamines. I’m having some kind of allergy reaction – I suspect gluten – but as I didn’t think to ask him about writing it up, I can’t have any. And I’ve been scratching myself stupid all day. Could be dust from the renos, but I suspect not. Whatever’s causing it, the antihistamine would be awesome anyway. The dietitian didn’t believe me today (different dietitian) and said I was itchy because I was anxious. Does that even happen? As far as I know it’s never happened to me before – I still think allergy… After post-supper supervision I’ll have a shower and hope that helps, because despite being rung eight hours ago, the psychiatrist hasn’t rung back and the GP has never seen me so won’t chart anything over the phone. Starting to feel slightly wheezy now. Will be pissed if he didn’t chart the Ventolin… Have kept all the food down today. Lunch was extremely problematic and took two hours to go down but I got there. I could easily have thrown it up after the supervision and I briefly considered it, but I’m not here to play games – I repeat – so if I can keep it down, I will keep it down. Which is giving me mixed feelings (gonna get fat – not gonna purge any more – but I’m getting fat – not gonna purge any more – I hate food  – not gonna purge – this too shall pass – not here to play games…) Think the migraine is gone. Didn’t get too horrid but it was persistent. Have felt much better the last few hours (PAUSED DUE TO DRAMATIC BREATHING ISSUES – TURNS OUT I HAVE ASTHMA… DUST OR GLUTEN OR BOTH OR NEITHER?)

Day Three

Massive fail. Feels like that anyway. Have meticulously kept all food down – despite the discomfort and difficulty. After talking to dietitian decided to have ice cream for supper – very limited gluten free choices. So I dished it up then stared at it and just couldn’t do it. Felt so ashamed – all these young girls around and I’m staring at a bowl of ice cream like it’s going to kill me. And the thoughts racing through my head rushed around: I can’t eat this I’ll get fat, I’ll binge, it’s bad food, I can’t eat this, I’m not a normal person, I’ve eaten ice cream thousands of times this is no different, just suck it up princess, why am I here, I want to go home, I can’t eat ice cream, I don’t deserve it. All the while scratching at my hands to stay grounded and hoping the floor would swallow me up and I could just drop dead. I can’t eat ice cream. I had to have an Ensure instead. It’s like a chocolate milkshake that somebody ruined. I have no idea how many calories were in it. I didn’t want to have that either. Felt so horridly humiliated (still do). All the girls seeing a middle aged woman panic at the sight of ice cream. Nobody says anything. Nobody will say anything. Just my lovely nurse who sat with me the whole time and has recommended podcasts by Dr Laura Hill. I feel so old. There are no people around with my longevity of eating issues and I don’t know recovered people with my kind of history. So it leaves me without hope or faith that change is achievable even though people keep telling me it is. Without hope I can’t do this process. I will find the podcasts once I find my WiFi and see if they offer hope. Interestingly my nurse was saying there are some talks that discuss the neuropsychology of eating disorders and how MRIs show differences in the brain. So apparently this means it’s not my fault. But how does that help me now? I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I need to listen to the podcasts.

Day Four

What a mess. I’m at war with myself. I know ‘they’ say things get worse before they get better. So now I have to see how much worse and for how much longer. I threw up at afternoon tea time. I was so desperately trying not to but the pain was overwhelming and I was going to spontaneously vomit if I didn’t purge. I waited as long as I could then raced to the bathroom. Nurses kept saying, ‘stay calm. deep breaths’. But what the fuck will that do? I had food blocked up from belly to breast and it just couldn’t go down. I was so bitterly disappointed. They think I’m playing games – that I’m using the band as an excuse. I’m not. Or if I am, I’m completely unaware of it. It is not intentional. All the other things can go wrong but I wanted a clean slate of no purging and now it’s ruined. It makes me want to give up but there’s no point telling anyone that – they’ll just give me all the encouraging mantras and say these things happen and tomorrow is a new day. Yes. That’s true. I’m still bitterly disappointed. Why did I throw up? Because I unexpectedly found six brussel sprouts on my lunch time plate. The moment I saw them I knew they wouldn’t stay down but I didn’t know what to do. Three hours later when we had afternoon tea I had a glass of water and a couple of spoons of custard and then I thought I’d vomit at the table so I left and lay down on the floor where I promptly tried to sink so deep into the beanbags that nobody would ever find me again. I feel so embarrassed having so much attention on me. I just wanted to go to my room and be miserable on my own. But it wasn’t allowed. I wanted to walk around to see if the food could go down. It wasn’t allowed. I moaned and groaned and rolled around in distress until I knew I couldn’t keep it in then raced to the loo. With an overwhelming sense of relief coupled with disgust and disappointment. After that they gave me clonazepam because they’re concerned about my anxiety levels. Which I will concede are sky high. But having brussel sprouts stuck in your lap band is not conducive to relieving anxiety. I’ve spent most of today and yesterday (well last night) crying. Perhaps it’s like the day three post birth hormonal surge when your milk comes in – inevitable. I don’t know how to deal with everything. I haven’t seen the psychiatrist since my admission and I suspect I won’t see him again – which is a shame. I really liked him. My admitting doctor returns Monday week so I’ll be returned to his care. No idea when he’ll touch base with me. Or even if. The processes and procedures are foreign and I don’t know what to expect. Nobody says anything. I just trot along to meals and groups and that’s it. Nurses do handover and seem to know all about me even if I haven’t spent a single moment with them. Which means everyone’s talking behind my back. Of course I know that happens but it still distresses me. Especially when they don’t talk to me. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I’ve become scared to ask questions or to talk about any health stuff. Everything is perceived as me trying to get special rules for myself or get out of eating. Which isn’t true. The GP basically told me my issues with gluten are bullshit so just suck it up. But fortunately she did at least chart the antihistamine as a PRN I can have whenever. And they’ve given me the Ventolin to keep with me. So those two things reduce my anxiety a little. I don’t know how to face tomorrow. Just feel like an abject failure. But tomorrow will come regardless of my desires and face it I will have to do. On an upside, I’ve said, “no brussel sprouts” on all future menu plans, so that’s one less problem for now.

Day Five

Despite being repeatedly told I’m not an abject failure, I still feel I am. Perhaps perspective will hit me down the track, but right now things are not progressing as they should, as expected, or in any sustainable way. So I threw lunch up again – I thought it would be okay. It wasn’t. Couldn’t keep it down. At least I rolled around in misery by myself in my bedroom, hugging a pillow, with a vomit bag in hand just in case. In the end I gave up and went to the toilet to purge. I am determined that is the last time – if it kills me. Twice is two times too many and I refuse to make it three. Have chatted extensively today with the nurse and the dietitian. They’re being kind and understanding – which is more comforting than yesterday. Nonetheless I’m struggling with mood and anxiety. So tempted to tear my hands to pieces and have managed to produce a few obvious grazes now from scratching. Found a paperclip and started to carve away but thought better of it. Lovely nurse has asked me to find her (or anyone) any time I need to hurt myself. Easy to say… Logic doesn’t come to the fore when I’m distressed and with the eating disorder kicking and fighting and being subjugated, the self harm wants to come back and play to fill in the void. There are two little angels sitting on my shoulder. They’re perfect and beautiful and golden and cherubic with wings of gossamer. And one is the devil in disguise and I can’t tell which is which. They look the same and they speak with a voice full of wisdom and compassion. I told this to the dietitian and she said that’s why I’m here – for other people to tell me what to do and to shut that disguised angel up. I had my first ward round today – met for ten minutes with the psychiatrist, nurse unit manager, dietitian and registrar. Not sure about the overall point – just a catch up to see how I’m doing I guess. I’ve been moved off assessment phase and onto phase one – meaning I can do out and about with my group on Monday (aka go to a coffee shop and order coffee and cake. CAKE! :O) And I also get leave two days per week – all by myself. I will use this time wisely. Max time out is after afternoon tea and back by dinner – nearly two hours. No idea what I’d do for two hours but I’ll fill the time up. I’ve sent a message to a tattoo parlour to see if I can arrange my next tattoo – angel wings and the text “stalked by demons; guarded by angels”. I think that’s what I’ve decided. It just needs to complement the tattoo I already have. I’ve been surprised how often the recovery symbol and text for the one I have has reminded me and helped me. Hopefully the next one will do the same. I feel calmer tonight – due to the magic of drugs. I don’t really view this as a long term solution though. I’d try to get some sense of how long I’d be here when talking to the psychiatrist. He was no help really. Could be four weeks if everything goes swimmingly well. Could be a lot longer if it doesn’t. So you know? How long is a piece of string? One way or the other I’ll be home by 14 March as I’m going on a long weekend break with a close friend come hell or high water – neither of which I have any desire to encounter while I’m there. So what else? I stared at dinner in tears, tearing up my fingers because I’m terrified it will get stuck and I’m done with purging. So I got to have yet another Ensure. I have no idea what the other girls think and I’m repeatedly told it’s none of their business what I do, and none of my business what they think. Not a lesson I’ve learned but one I appreciate. And finally there’s pressure starting to come my way about getting the lap band loosened. I’m extremely resistant to this and not sure which angel is speaking with that voice of reason. I believe really strongly that while I’m here I have to learn to manage the band – not drain it, and not live on Ensure. I have to eat meals (size not negotiable as I’m on the smallest serves). So how I do this I don’t know, but I do know sitting at the table drinking the supplement has felt like failure every time. And it’s been four times now… I still don’t know what to do. I also have no means of getting it adjusted anyway. The past two days have been exhausting and I’m glad the weekend is here for a bit of reprieve. I need to rest. Would cheerfully sleep forever. But am also really looking forward to seeing my cousin tomorrow – I’ll feel slightly normal. The only thing I wish I’d asked for was a stress ball. Or a little fluffy toy. Apparently I need healthier means of managing the high anxiety. I would agree with that. Might see what I can find when I go on leave next week.

Day Six

This will be blessedly short as I am completely and utterly drained. I thought today was going to be a great day – maybe a turn the corner kind of day – and for the most part it was. I slept through the night for the first time last night – many thanks to doxylamine and clonazepam. Woke early for my weigh in (no details are given to me even though I’m itching to know). Had a lovely time doing today’s writing exercises for a writing challenge – wrote a delightful letter to my vagina. Breakfast, morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea were all a breeze. I was careful and there were no complications. My cousin visited so I felt special and less isolated – plus she brought me a blanket and a doona and a box of gluten free snacks (recommended by the dietitian) and some laundry liquid. So now I feel loved and cared for and well equipped for my stay.

Then the news came through they’ll be renovating at my end of the ward so I was shipped to room 15. Which is bigger, brighter and has it’s own bathroom. I’m in heaven! I was given strict instructions that if I purge, I lose the room. Noted. I have zero desire to purge anyway.

We had an exciting hour pre-dinner as all the fire alarms went off and the fire brigade turned up to work out the problem. Apparently water is dripping through the ceiling in ward three. Finally all sorted and we went to dinner. Fish, rice, broccoli, beans and mashed potato. It looked fine. I ate it painstakingly slowly as I’m paranoid about purging. Two hours later I realise that supper time is approaching and dinner has not fully gone down yet. I had a cup of chamomile tea – hot drinks often help loosen the band and get things flowing. Then I had a glass of water and all hell broke loose. I realised I was horridly stuck. Terrible pain, nausea, huge pressure in my chest and back. I paced and paced in my room for twenty minutes – desperate to get the food down.

I will not purge.

I felt worse and worse and more distressed. I found the NUM and told her my dinner was stuck completely and I didn’t even think I could keep water down. She said if I didn’t turn up to supper I’d have to have a supplement at 8:15. I did point out that if I couldn’t keep water down I wouldn’t keep a supplement down. She then said I had to or I was breaking all the rules. I went back to my room clutching my sick bag and my stomach, floods of tears, pacing like there was no tomorrow and determined not to purge. I will not purge. After a few minutes the pain was intense and then I spontaneously vomited back the water and tea. I’m pretty sure hardly any of the food came up – it was wedged in tight.

At promptly 8:15 the nurse came back and said I had to go to the dining room to have the supplement. Even though I said the band was completely blocked and I couldn’t keep water down, she said I was trying to break the rules. I wasn’t allowed to take the vomit bag with me. She dutifully poured my drink and told me to relax and drink really slowly. By this time I was sobbing and petrified of throwing up in the dining room. The other nurse came to sit with me and asked what was going on. She could see that with every mouthful of Ensure I was closer to vomiting so she took it away. I said I was happy to have it, but not while my band was blocked. She made notes and went and chatted to the other nurses. I just kept saying, “It’s blocked. I can’t keep water down. I don’t know what to do.” Eventually she led me to the beanbags and she got my fluffy blanket and told me just to relax. I was still sobbing and in a ton of pain and desperately trying not to throw up.

After my 30 minutes of post supper supervision was over, the first nurse came back and asked me if I wanted to go back to my room. Yes – of course I do. She helped me up and led me down the corridor because by then I was horribly wobbly on my feet. She asked if I wanted my meds and I said no point – can’t keep them down. She asked what I’d do at home when blocked and I said I would purge but I don’t want to do that any more. She said I’d done a great job – giving the supplement a try and not purging. And to just keep not purging – which is what I’ve done. I wanted to walk around – not allowed. Although the walk back to the room had helped and the pain was abating. She said I’d done a great job trying and didn’t have to have the rest of the supplement. I don’t care about having it – I just don’t want to force more volume down on a blocked band.

She said she would pass a message to the psychiatrist about how hard I’m trying not to purge and to keep the food down. She also said legally they can’t hand out my 8pm meds later than 10pm, so I have until then to clear the band. I curled up in bed for half an hour, willing the food down and desperately hoping it would resolve itself. I’ve just been up and walked a little and thought I felt okay, so I tested some water. Went down fine. Then downed four more glasses of water and I think I’m in the clear now. At one point I could feel whatever was blocked move a little. It’s now 10:15 so I’ve missed my meds. This will be fun… Not sure how much leeway there is on the 10pm limit, but I’m too exhausted to go to the meds dispensary anyway. My head hurts so bad.

I am so paranoid they will kick me out for being difficult and not following the program. I desperately want to do everything they say, but when the band is blocked I just don’t know what to do. I know there’s going to be increasing pressure for me to get the band loosened – or worse still, emptied. I am so incredibly paranoid about having that done as the moment I get home I fear losing all control. But I also acknowledge that is three days of genuinely trying very hard to eat well for the band and it got stuck anyway. I just don’t know what to do. And I’m so fricking tired…

Turns out this wasn’t blessedly short…

Day Seven

Zonked. Don’t even know what to write today. Have kept all meals down and fairly comfortably at that. They’ve put the clonazepam up to 1mg twice a day – before lunch and dinner. Keeps me super calm and relaxed and sleepy and foggy and wobbly on my feet. Not sure if it helped with the food staying down – I was so paranoid I just ate at an absolute snail’s pace. Whatever the cause, it’s been successful and I’ve now kept all six meals down. I want to talk to the doctor tomorrow about medications. my depression has bloomed and is overwhelming me. I’m also sure the pristiq does help with anxiety so perhaps I’d need less clonazepam which just zonks me out and is not a long term strategy. I spent half of today mapping out “end it all” scenarios. Too hard to overdose – although when I get leave I can grab whatever I want and do as I please. Which makes me think I need to feel a little more stable before heading off on my own. Have told one friend but unlikely to talk with anyone else. I’ve been put onto a self harm contract but I don’t fully know what that means yet. Doctor has to go through it and see what he thinks. I’ve got band aids for tonight to stop me picking at them and to stop them weeping all over my bed sheets. Today my mood is pitifully low. I feel like a wild horse that’s been corralled and they’re attempting to tame me. My eating disorder is bucking and kicking and screaming and there’s a little spark of common sense that knows this is all part of the process and if I keep trusting and accepting I’ll be tamed and calmed. The picture is impossible to visualise right now. I stared out my window and wondered how to get to the roof of the building over the road. I’m sure I wouldn’t but it was a lovely dream. Just to think of ending. Not going through any more hell. I think for the most part I’m safe – just a very down and teary day. I think they’ve managed to wrap a harness around this wild horse and it feels foreign and uncomfortable and I don’t know how to handle it. But time heals all wounds  – so it is time I need. I’ve slept most of today – thanks to the relaxing affect of clonazepam. I really hope I wake tomorrow feeling less down, because I’m tired of this. I just want to “get better” and I don’t feel it’s happening yet. I’ve been here a week and I got worse. Is that normal? Typical for me.. I am at least very grateful I love so many of the staff, and if I choose to reach out there’s always someone there. Unfortunately I never know quite what to say…