I’d like to say that I’m well. That life is on track. That I’m happy. That I have goals, ambitions, plans.
The following contains Eating Disorder content
and suicidal thoughts.
I don’t. None of it is true. It feels like my life is rapidly spiraling out of control and I am doing so very little to stop it. I keep coming back to – I don’t want to live. More than that. I want to die. Perhaps not necessarily that. I just am tired. I don’t want to keep going. I see such little point in it. In saying that – I am completely safe. 100% safe from self-harm and suicide.
I saw my psych registrar yesterday, I think it was yesterday. She offered me antidepressants. I said no. Not yet. Not now. No, because they have side effects. They will make me gain weight. If there is no improvement by next week, I think I am meant to reconsider.
The eating disorder is destroying my life, yet making life bearable at the same time. My psychologist, I think it was her, has said it’s a slow suicide. It is. It definitely is. I’m not consciously doing it to kill myself. It’s just… it makes being awake more bearable. Being awake right now, having days stretching ahead of me is draining and painful.
It seems I’m still medically stable despite feeling beyond crap. My body is fantastic at homeostasis.
I saw my GP today and was warned where engaging in ED behaviours would lead – hospital. She insisted on weighing me. I argued. I weigh myself at home. I can tell her my weight. Apparently it would be negligent of her not to weigh me there considering the ED is back. I laughed at her. She refused to argue. She has this way of just not engaging with my arguments. Telling me how it is and for some reason I comply.
I asked for a medical certificate for work. Walking for ten minutes makes me puffed, dizzy and so, so tired. I’m ready for a nap when I get to where I’m going. Caffeine only makes it harder. I’m mentally alert but even more physically wrecked. I felt beyond guilty asking for that medical certificate.
I don’t think I should be calling in sick. I simply need to eat and drink some more and I’ll be fine. Except it’s not that simple. I have tomorrow off as well and feel extremely guilty for that. I don’t think I could manage standing for the full five hours of my shift. The chest pain, the shortness of breath… and everything else.
It’s just rubbish. I hate feeling so unwell. I hate being threatened with hospital. Yet neither of those are enough to snap me out of this. I don’t know what will. At some point I’ll come to my senses and get back on track. For now? I keep holding on even though it looks like I’m giving up.
I keep telling those around me that I am trying. I don’t think I am trying hard enough. It feels like I am going downhill fast and my attempts to slow it are just useless. Stopping it? I have absolutely no faith in my ability to stop it, not this time.