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>Weight and Cake

>I feel hideous. I have gained over 2lbs the last few days, and although I am aware that isn’t very much, my weight does not fluctuate except with actual weight gain and loss, and I just feel like I have lost control of the sole thing that was actually ok and I wasn’t feeling hideous about. The strange thing is, I still have no appetite. I am not hungry. I have just been eating for the sake of it, and that really annoys me. If I am hungry and I eat then that is kind of fair enough, although I still resent it if it causes weight gain, but not even being hungry and yet still managing to eat enough that I gain weight is just shit to be honest. I just feel revolting.

Naturally the way to solve the problem was to make a cake….. I do wonder about my intelligence at times. My mum clearly wanted a birthday cake though – when she was in Sainsbury’s last week she phoned me and said they had the Betty Crocker Devil’s Food Cake mix on offer, plus the icing and should she buy them. I said she may as well buy the cake mix, since those cakes always turn out perfectly, whereas generally I find chocolate cakes a bit hit and miss as to whether they are delicious or dry, despite using the same recipe. Ironically I said not to bother with the icing, since icing isn’t exactly difficult to make. Yesterday’s endeavor clearly proved me wrong on that score. So anyway, I cheated and used the packet mix for the cake (which I did on Sunday) and then planned to decorate it yesterday, but as I explained, it all went hideously wrong as the buttercream curdled, and absolutely nothing I tried made it right again. So today I started again. I wanted two lots of icing – white chocolate for the middle layer and for piping, and normal chocolate for the top and sides. It all went fine. It just took so long. I don’t know if I am just spectacularly crap at doing things like that, or if my concentration is bad enough at the moment that I went off into my own thoughts for long periods at a time, but from starting to make the icing, to the cake being totally finished took three hours, which is pretty ridiculous quite frankly – I wasn’t attempting anything terribly complicated, and I did absolutely nothing in that time apart from that. Wondering if maybe some dissociating was going on, as three hours is just an absurd length of time for it to have taken when I look back at it. Due to my lack of imagination the cake looks remarkably similar to the cake I made for Mother’s Day last year. Here are cake pictures since I have nothing interesting to say;

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>(Mis)Trust

>I wrote the buttercream off as a disaster. I have no idea what went wrong. Who would have thought it was possible to mess up mixing butter and sugar? The number of times I have made buttercream too. It really isn’t hard. I suppose I will have to try again tomorrow, because at the moment my mum still doesn’t have a birthday cake. I feel sorry for her – she had a bad birthday. I think she had a really tough day at work with her boss dying this morning so unexpectedly – all of the staff were really upset, and so she was quite emotional all day at work I think, and then had to come home and only have an hour at home before taking me off to ballet and rehearsal. She went to see my brother whilst I was in ballet, and then we had a little bit of time between ballet and rehearsal so we got take away pizzas from a nice bar in town, and then she went to see a friend whilst I was rehearsing, so I guess she had an ok evening, but I think overall it can’t have been a very nice day. I will try again with icing the cake tomorrow. I want to make it look really pretty but I can’t quite decide how. I am a bit rubbish at doing anything other than basic icing. I made quite a pretty cake for Mother’s Day last year, but I would have liked to do something a bit different decoration wise, but I either lack the imagination or the skill to pull off anything much more creative. Whilst I am on the subject of food, the last few days my weight has started to go back up and I am really struggling with it. It was going down, and that was literally the only thing that I felt was going right in my life. Now it is going back up, which is making me feel even more hopeless, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t adding to the suicidal thoughts, which were certainly strong enough without dealing with weight gain as well.

Well I got through ballet and rehearsal. It was an enormous relief to get home and know that I don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow – that there is absolutely no need to leave my house for anything. Rehearsal was difficult yet again. I feel like I am completely useless and they cast the wrong person in the part, and like by now they will have realised that and be regretting their decision. The girl who is playing the second female part has a stunning voice – vocally she is definitely stronger than I am, and I hear people talking about how good she is, and I am sure they are thinking that she should have been cast in my part. When I hear her sing I think she should have been cast in my part. I also had to have the publicity shots taken tonight, which weren’t terribly attractive I don’t think, but I kind of don’t give a shit at the moment. What was more difficult was talking with someone about the show etc as part of the publicity. They asked the easy questions I could answer, like where I live and how old I am, where I went to school, what other companies I have worked with etc. Then came the ‘What do you do?’ question. I do nothing. I said something along those lines. She said so are you still studying or anything? No…. I do nothing. How do you say that without sounding like a complete idiot? And then she followed that up by asking if I had been to drama school or university. No, I haven’t done that either. I actually am 24, not studying, not working, and haven’t done anything since the age of 19. Not that I said all of that of course. Then it was why did you want to audition for the show, and what attracted you to this part, which were easy enough to answer, followed by how are you finding it – are you enjoying it? Mmm. Enjoying. That doesn’t seem to be the word that has been springing to mind lately when I have thought about rehearsals. Dreading? Yup, that will be the one. That doesn’t sound so good in an interview though, so I switched it for enjoying. White lies don’t hurt anyone right? So that felt quite difficult, because it just reminded me of everything I should have achieved and haven’t, and the things I should be feeling about the show and am not. And then I always hate having my photo taken. Oh, and finally, to add insult to injury the costume woman was there to take measurements. Perfect! That cheered me up no end.

I wrote yesterday how I have found I am cutting myself off from people online a lot – usually I spend most of my day online, and am always logged into Twitter, MSN, Facebook chat, Skype, and usually have several conversations on the go. Lately I have been appearing offline on MSN a fair bit, not signing into Skype, not signing into Facebook chat, and watching Twitter but rarely engaging with anyone. I think I am just terrified of the same thing happening with the people I trust online as it did with the people I trust in real life. I am also generally ignoring texts, and most people know better than to phone me anyway. I can’t cope with feeling let down or abandoned by any more people. I am scared that somehow people from the internet will be taken over too, despite knowing that makes no sense, as I don’t believe that my mum or GP etc were taken over by some form of mind control and had thoughts beamed into their heads or anything like that. I believe that the crisis team and the CMHT manager (who is probably influenced by my psych, as I feel like she is involved, despite my not seeing her since June – perhaps because of my not seeing her since June) managed to persuade L, and my GP in particular, of things that they hadn’t previously believed or thought, and my GP to the extent that she did a complete 180, and went from trying to get me more support from them last Wednesday, to telling my mum they couldn’t do anything because I have BPD etc on Friday, and persuading my mum of the same thing. So I know logically that unless someone from online speaks to someone from my treatment team, which is not going to happen, they can’t be taken over. But that doesn’t stop me feeling paranoid that they just might. Or that the crisis team and psych and everyone else are right and I am just an attention seeking, manipulative borderline who doesn’t deserve any help, and people will start to see through me if I talk to them. I feel incredibly alone. I really, really feel like I need some professional support at the moment, but I have exhausted that, and now there is nowhere to turn to, and it is still a whole week before I am due to see L, who at the moment I don’t even trust. I just feel so isolated and I don’t know what I can possibly do.

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>Times Like This

>Today has been difficult again. My weight was significantly higher than yesterday, which I knew it would be, but it still upset me a lot. When I am already struggling a lot gaining weight can really tip me over the edge. I have been very irritable again today. I have tried to stay as calm as possible, but a tiny comment can just make me snap and scream, and then 20 seconds later I will be ok again. I think it only happened once today – I told my dad I wanted to kill him, but then I calmed down again soon after. My temper does seem quite out of control at the moment though. Things have been ok with my mum. It was actually fine last night – things were normal when we got home but I was still feeling guilty, which was when I wrote last night. The night time was hard. I felt really alone. I ended up going downstairs at 4am and woke the dog up because I wanted a cuddle. He was very obliging, and didn’t object to being woken up and cuddled in the middle of the night. Dogs are good like that. And then I came back upstairs but I was feeling really quite desperate. In the end I decided I would go and sleep in my mum’s room at about 5am, so I went in there. I said to her that I was sorry for being horrible and she said that she was sorry too. I managed to fall asleep in there, and then woke up at about 9am due to bloody hammering from next door, and so then went back to my bed as it is a bit further away, and went back to sleep again.

The day has felt really long. I am finding it impossible to concentrate on anything or distract myself from my thoughts. Unless there is something I particularly want to watch, which there isn’t usually, then I can’t have the TV on when I feel like this – it just irritates me. Music is the same – I love music but I can’t cope with the noise. Thinking even a day or two into the future sends me into a complete whirl, and trying to think further than that causes full blown panic attacks. The obvious solution is just to not let myself think ahead, but sometimes I can’t help it. The more I think about the future, the more I want to die now. I hate that it is the weekend. I hate weekends. I find them really difficult. I think because I am not by myself as much, and I find that draining. We are going to see The King’s Speech tomorrow. I have wanted to see it, but I know I won’t be able to concentrate properly. I keep finding myself just sitting and staring into space. I keep wondering if I will get through this or not. I don’t actually want to.

I might go and see my dog for a cuddle again. I don’t think he will mind being woken up.

‘A friendly face, the kind of face
That melts you with a grin.
The kind of eyes that welcome you
The minute you walk in.
A tender glance you simply can’t refuse
At times like this a girl could use
A dog.

He listens when you tell him things,
There’s nothing you can’t say
And unlike certain people you can teach him how to stay
And if the world is giving you the blues
He cheers you up by chewing up the news.
It’s things like that that make you choose
A dog.

Other people need romance, dancing, playing around.
Other people need constant fun, well I’m not one.
I have my feet on the ground.

Give me a quiet night, a stack of books
A tuna fish on rye.
A simple walk together
Underneath the starry sky.
And suddenly the night is something rare
And all because there’s someone special there.
Who’s gazing at the views.
His head upon your shoes.
At times like this, I sure could use
A dog’

– Times Like This, Lucky Stiff

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>Today has been difficult. Last night was difficult too actually. I have been feeling more and more strongly that I don’t want to be here. I feel completely alone – I know I have the support of people on here, but that is different to real life support, and actually what I feel like I need at the moment is professional support, and that is what I am not getting. Last night I was actually feeling really tempted to discharge myself from mental health services – sometimes it feels like an appointment for an hour once a fortnight is worse than nothing at all, because when it is helpful I still leave feeling hopeless, because I know it is 2 weeks before I will get that again, and then there isn’t time to talk about everything I feel I need to talk about – I found that even with weekly appointments, so fortnightly are even more difficult, and then even when I am really at crisis point I can’t get any more support, so it all seems kind of pointless. Fortnightly sessions feel a bit like ‘so here’s what you could have won!’ L has always been very supportive of me, and I know I have been lucky to have her, but I almost feel like she has given up on me or stopped caring or something. Either that or she thinks I am making up these feelings. I am not sure which is worse. But either way I don’t feel supported at the moment. So I did consider contacting her and asking to be discharged, but I decided against it. She would probably have suggested we discuss it when I am next due to see her, in a week and a half, and by that time goodness knows how I feel or what position I will be in. I could be dead, or I could have attempted suicide but failed, or I could be feeling differently about things. So I suppose essentially it seemed pointless to ask for discharge now, when I am not even due to see her for a week and a half. I am just really struggling with the lack of support when I am feeling so bad. I suppose I just feel abandoned, and like nobody actually gives a shit whether I kill myself or not, which in a way is a good thing, as it makes me feel less guilty.

This evening was really difficult. A friend of my dad had asked him to go to a quiz a couple of days ago, but they only needed one for their team, so my mum and I couldn’t go. My mum was going out with a friend, and asked if I wanted to go with them, but I didn’t. Anyway, my dad phoned me at 5:45 and said he had spoken to his friend and there was room for me at the quiz after all, as someone couldn’t make it, and that we would need to leave at 6:45. I wasn’t actually sure if I wanted to go by that point, as I was anticipating a night here on my own, but I also knew that with how I was feeling that probably wasn’t the most sensible option, so I agreed to go. The trouble is, it wasn’t giving me nearly long enough to get ready – it was about 6 when I started to get ready, and I had a quick shower but didn’t have time to wash my hair, so just straightened it instead. That didn’t take too long. Getting dressed is another matter however. I find it incredibly hard to know what to wear if I am going anywhere other than an appointment or rehearsal, in which case I either don’t give a shit what I look like, or wear dance type clothes. When I am going anywhere else getting dressed is an incredibly stressful and time consuming process. I put on a skirt, top, and cardigan, then decided the tights were no good, then decided it wasn’t the tights that were the problem – it was my huge legs. So off came the skirt and cardigan, and on went skinny jeans and boots and a long cardigan. I decided my legs still looked hideous, and was getting really quite upset and crying by this point. Told my mum I wanted to stay home and that I couldn’t get ready. All along my mum had been trying to be helpful, but was actually making matters worse, by saying that I was being ridiculous and my legs looked fine, and that the jeans looked fine, and nobody else would look at me and think my legs looked awful, and that I was making my dad late (which I was), and I ended up yelling at her that I felt hideous and I didn’t give a shit what other people would think – I couldn’t go out feeling hideous. Was sobbing uncontrollably by this point. Took off the jeans and cardigan and tried on a different skirt, but still didn’t feel comfortable, and didn’t have a cardigan that would go with it so would have been cold. She kept on and on, and it felt like absolutely everything I said she was just dismissing and invalidating, which is an ongoing theme, and I totally snapped in the end and screamed that she was being really fucking invalidating, to which she replied that she didn’t even know what that meant in this context, and so I said that she was just dismissing and ignoring all of my feelings, and she said that was because they were stupid, and I said (when I say I said, I mean I screamed) that they were real to me, and that she was constantly invalidating my thoughts and feelings, and that actually that can be a major contributory factor to BPD. I wished immediately that I hadn’t said that, because I never want to make my parents feel bad, or like they are to blame for my problems – partly because I don’t think it is fair to blame someone else, and partly because I don’t want them to feel guilty, even when I do think they have contributed to how I am now. So I felt like a complete bitch, and was in a complete state, crying hysterically and hyperventilating. I said (cried) that I couldn’t go out and I needed to stay home, and had put my comfy jeans on by that point, not with the intention of going anywhere. My mum said I looked nice in my comfy jeans that I had on and that I should go like that. I just couldn’t stop crying. My dad came upstairs then and tried to calm me down a bit – he asked what the matter was and I said (cried) that I felt hideous in everything and I had made him late and I couldn’t go anywhere, and that it was my mum’s fault (unfair I know). He said we weren’t too late, and that I looked fine how I was, and I didn’t need to dress up or anything and that I needed to just calm down. I think my mum was also quite worked up by this time as she said what I needed was a slap, and at that point I completely lost my temper and screamed that I was going to kill her and my dad had to hold me back from going into her room after her. I don’t think that I ever would be really physically violent – I have been known to hit my dad when I have got really angry and worked up, but it is generally when he has intentionally wound me up, which he has a tendency to do it, but I don’t get any more violent than that – I have grabbed a knife and said I am going to stab him in the past, but I am certain I would never do anything like that – my anger just gets out of control occasionally and I say things that I don’t mean, like I did tonight. I then said that she was a fucking bitch and cried some more. After a minute my temper disappeared and I was just back to being upset. My dad said he really wanted me to go with him and I calmed down a bit, although I was still sobbing, and said goodbye to my mum, and we left. I then sat in the car crying and was talking to myself a bit, but my dad managed to get me to stop. I decided I needed a Diazepam a minute or two after we had left, and looked in my bag, to find that I had grabbed my Zopiclone instead of my Diazepam (and very nearly taken one – they are the same size tablets, and apart from the writing, the blister packs look identical) and so I then had a panic attack and said I had to get out of the car and I would walk home because I needed my Diazepam. A moment more of rooting in my bag produced some Diazepam though, and I took one, and after about 10 minutes had managed to calm down enough that I was just sobbing quietly, and a little while later I started to feel a bit better, and was relatively calm by the time we arrived.

The actual quiz was fine. I only knew my dad’s friend on our table, as did he, but the other people all seemed nice. I answered a reasonable number of questions, although not nearly as many as my dad – he is very good at quizzes. Food was an issue. There was a Ploughman’s included in the ticket price, so there were baguettes and cheeses on each table, and then the people on our table had brought lots and lots of crisps and nuts and things with them, and when there are things like that out I just can’t stop eating, so I ate all evening, and was feeling worse and worse about myself. Then finally there was this chocolate cake thing that someone had brought, and I had a piece of that, and it was incredibly rich (and something has to be really rich for me to say that as I have a very sweet tooth!) and I just couldn’t cope, and I ended up going to the toilets and purging. That is the first time I have purged for ages – it has been months since I last did it, but quizzes are a real trigger for me where that is concerned – there are always lots of nibbles around, and I have no self control where things like that are concerned and so just keep eating, and then feel terrible and go and purge as much as I can. It was also at a quiz that I first ever purged, so I guess they are one of the least safe places for me in that respect. I hate myself for the amount I ate, despite purging. And even though it is now 3:30am, and so it was hours ago, I still feel sick from it. I am feeling really shit about that – my weight had been slightly down this morning, and it made it that tiny bit easier to get through the day, and now it is going to be way up and I just can’t cope with something else going wrong. So it was a really bloody hard night. Although out of 15 teams we did win the quiz, and so my dad and I came home with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates.

I am feeling really guilty about the things that I said to, and about, my mum. I feel like a terrible person. When I lose my temper I just seem to lose all control, and when I am very upset and then she says things that upset me more I just snap. My dad does it too, but kind of intentionally – he does wind me up on purpose sometimes. Strangely I don’t think he means to upset me – it is like he doesn’t realise that what he is doing or saying is really upsetting me or making me angry, despite the fact it happens on a semi-regular basis. I think he just genuinely doesn’t realise how his words affect people. I suppose it is just a complete lack of tact, and not thinking before he speaks, and an almost childlike sense of him thinking something is fun, even when the other person quite clearly isn’t enjoying it. And so I do get really furious with him. My mum is different. She means well, and she tries to help, but I really do find her very invalidating a lot of the time, and when I am already upset I just can’t cope with it. My mum and I bicker a lot, but it is very rare for me to lose my temper with her to the extent that I did tonight. In fact I am not sure that I ever have – I have always had the self control before not to point out that there may be a link between her behaviours and some of my problems, and I lost that tonight, and feel really guilty for doing so, as I know it will have upset her, and that is the last thing I want to do when she does so much for me, and tries so hard to support me. I think I am just feeling so awful at the moment that it really isn’t going to take much at all to flip me over the edge in the way that I did tonight. And the worse I feel the more I hate myself, and the more self critical I am, and the more irritable I am, and therefore the more frustrating I am to my parents, so it does tend to be that the lower my mood, the more we argue, which then makes me feel worse and more suicidal, and acts as proof to me that they would be better off without me. I am really not in a good place at the moment, and I don’t know what to do. Suicide looks more and more appealing every day.

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>Dying with clean hair

>I stayed home tonight. I decided I just couldn’t face going out. My mum was slightly unhelpful as I said that I was thinking of saying I was ill and couldn’t go, and she said I couldn’t do that because I wasn’t actually ill, ‘only in the head’. That helped. But I decided to ignore that. I didn’t have to make an excuse for ballet, as my teacher knows that I generally won’t be there on Wednesdays because of show rehearsals, so that just left the rehearsal. I sent a text to the director saying that I wasn’t feeling well and so wouldn’t be going to ballet, but that I would go to the rehearsal if she needed me, but that I obviously wasn’t feeling great, and she replied saying not to worry. That meant that I felt ok about missing rehearsal, as I had offered to go if required, but said that I wasn’t feeling well, which was pretty much the truth, and I was just hoping that she would reply in the way she did.

I am feeling shit about my weight. I gained a little this week, which I always find really difficult. Because I am feeling so terrible I am finding myself comfort eating, which is fine at the time, but not remotely comforting afterwards, as I feel extremely guilty, and then of course when I weigh myself I gain weight and feel shit about myself, which makes me feel even worse, and so the cycle goes ok. It is strange, when my depression gets really bad I either lose interest in food altogether and just don’t get hungry at all, or I just want to comfort eat. Not out of hunger I suppose – I just feel like I have to do something to make me feel better, and eating cake seems like a good idea at the time. There is also a part of my brain that tells me I may as well eat what I like, as I will be dead soon, and it doesn’t matter what I weigh then, whilst another part of me tells me that I must lose weight, as I can’t die fat. I am assume that is somehow linked to the part of me that tells me I can’t die with dirty hair…. I have no idea what that is about, but even if I am really depressed, to the point where I am really struggling to move, I have to wash my hair if I am planning to kill myself that day. You would think that would be about the least relevant thing possible, but for some reason it seems important, and I suppose dying thin is somehow related to that.

My sleep is still terrible. I seem to be permanently exhausted, and yet unable to sleep until at least 6am, regardless of what I have been doing that day, what time I woke up, and how much sleep I got the night before.

I am really finding everything very overwhelming. I am feeling so low, and then when that is combined with my dreadful sleep, and my complete inability to concentrate on anything, it makes the days feel incredibly long, and very difficult to get through. I have tried to think of reasons to live, things to keep going for, but I can’t think of anything for myself. There is always the thing of not hurting others, but there is surely a limit to how many years you can be expected to go on feeling cripplingly low for the sake of other people? And I cannot think of a single reason to live for myself. Sometimes when I am feeling really bad I am able to cope by setting myself days, for example when I have an appointment or something – I suppose the hope that talking to someone might change things or help in some way helps me to get through, but I don’t even have that at the moment. I am due to see L next Tuesday, but I can’t see it as something to aim for, because I know it won’t change anything. There is literally nothing that I can use as a motivator to keep going. I feel terrible.

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>Support

>I’m not really sure what to say. I am feeling bad. I saw L this morning. It was fine, but I just felt completely numb throughout it really. I am having trouble to really concentrate and think properly. There is also some not great news that I could have done without at the moment – I am going to have to switch from seeing her weekly to fortnightly. She is having to cut down on her hours for personal reasons, which means that some people are being switched to other care coordinators, and then some people that she has been seeing fortnightly will be switched to monthly, and those like me who were being seen weekly are being switched to fortnightly. I understand why it is necessary, but that doesn’t make it any easier, particularly when I am feeling as terrible as I have been lately, and now am supposed to get through the next two weeks alone. I can’t help comparing the support I have now, with what I was getting this time last year – last year I was seeing L weekly, and then also my old support worker N weekly for a couple of hours, and my psychiatrist Dr E monthly. I am now reduced to seeing L fortnightly. If this was due to an improvement in how I was doing then that would be great, but it isn’t – it is unfortunately almost entirely due to staff circumstances.

N’s job was cut due to funding issues – she was only on a one year contract with MIND and was then seconded to the CMHT, but MIND had their funding cut, and so her contract was not renewed, so there was no longer a support worker for me to see. That didn’t bother me too much – I liked her, but I didn’t have any attachment issues with her, and although sometimes it was nice to get out the house with her etc, it wasn’t too difficult to stop seeing her as I still had L, who was my main source of support. My psychiatrist stopped seeing me because she had stopped all of my medications except my PRN Diazepam, which meant that she no longer felt like it was necessary to see me. Again, I didn’t really have an issue with that as 15 minutes every month or two with her never felt particularly helpful, and I didn’t really feel like she listened to me much. Now my contact with L is being cut because of her circumstances, which is really difficult, as essentially that hour or so a week I spend with her is the only time all week that I feel able to actually be honest about how I am feeling, and can be around someone without feeling a need to put on a front and pretend everything is fine.

Throughout my appointment I couldn’t stop thinking how much I wanted to die, and how I desperately didn’t still want to be alive in 2 weeks, and also what a long way away that felt, and how was I possibly meant to get through that on my own. I just felt like sitting there and crying my eyes out, but I didn’t want to make her feel guilty about something that isn’t her fault and that she can’t do anything about. When I left I wanted to burst into tears but I couldn’t because I was then in the car with my mum and a) she wouldn’t have understood why only seeing L fortnightly was such a big deal, and b) I don’t like showing emotion like that – I have never been good at it, and I just feel awkward and uncomfortable. I am on my own now but I just feel numb.

I have been really struggling with my weight and eating lately. Whenever my mood goes down I get increasingly fixated on my weight, and since it is post Christmas that isn’t really helping at the moment. I gained a couple of pounds over Christmas, which I was expecting and so could kind of accept. But now Christmas is all over, and I am still struggling with it. I always find that when I start eating more often, like I was over Christmas, I find it more difficult to go back to my usual eating patterns, and that is the only way that I am ever able to control my weight. It doesn’t help that I still have some chocolates left over from Christmas that I am working my way through, but it is more than that – I am just eating more generally than I feel comfortable with. On Saturday I was back down to my pre-Christmas weight (which is still higher than I was to be), but then Saturday and Sunday I ate too much, and so gained a pound, and expect I have gained even more as I ate a lot yesterday, but I haven’t weighed today because I had to be up early to go and see L, and I have particular times I will weigh myself. But my middle of the night weight last night was considerably higher than the night before, and that is generally a fairly accurate indicator. I feel disgusting. I hate myself for being so greedy. And yet I feel so shit, and food is somehow comforting, despite being distressing at the same time. So I am comfort eating I suppose, and yet not even remotely comforting because it makes me feel shit. I don’t know. I am just desperate I suppose, and in a way it feels like I may as well eat whatever the hell I want, because it isn’t going to matter anyway if I am dead.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know how to cope with things. I don’t know how I am expected to get through my life with one hour of support every two weeks. I don’t even feel like I want to at the moment. I feel like such a fucking mess, and I am bloody exhausted.

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>New Year blues

>Today has been a shit day. I just feel like a tonne of bricks dropped on me a few days ago, and every day another tonne has been added. My aunt was here today, which was ok, but I just find speaking to people, and trying to show any enthusiasm in what they are saying so much effort – I don’t even feel able to fake it properly any more. I ate like a fucking pig – yesterday I weighed less than a pound more than I did pre-Christmas, which I thought was quite impressive in the overall scheme of things. Today there was loads of food out because we had people over, and so I just ate fucking non stop. I felt sick and still kept eating. I desperately wanted to purge, but that wasn’t an option, and so for some reason I just kept eating instead. I am not sure whether it was supposed to be comfort eating, in which case it failed miserably as it made me feel like complete shit, or whether I was punishing myself, and since I couldn’t purge I just kept eating until I felt ill instead. Either way I ended up feeling grotesque. All day I was getting really graphic images popping up in my head of me hurting myself. Mostly bad self harm, which is quite random as I rarely self harm, and when I do it is never deep. But I just kept getting these images of me cutting myself really deep, and slicing big chunks of fat off my thighs. We have a bread knife, which is supposedly ‘The World’s Sharpest Knife’ (says that on it) and every time I see it I imagine sawing through all of the fat on my thighs with it. It will saw through frozen chicken portions, so it obviously is quite sharp. I know I would be very unlikely to do it – that just isn’t my style. I don’t like anything that involves medical attention. Proper suicide attempts are slightly different as the medical attention is not my intention or plan in those situations, but I would never take an overdose or self harm and then present at A&E – I am not judging people who do that, but it just is not something I would want to do. If I want to hurt myself I want to do it in the most unobtrusive way I can find, again barring suicide attempts, as by their nature they have a tendency to attract attention. But if there was a way I could just disappear then I would. Anyway, so I had lots of films in my head of self harming badly, and also of jumping off a multi storey car park, and of hanging myself. My head isn’t a nice place to be at the moment. It is quite distressing really I suppose. Even if you want to die, you don’t really want possible scenarios playing out in your head constantly – it all gets a bit much really.

I loathe New Year. More than I can express. I think it is actually my least favourite day of the whole year. It is even worse than my birthday I think. At least most people either don’t know, or forget, that it is your birthday, and so you can generally get through most of the day without it being brought to your attention, and if you look at it from a materialistic view point you usually get presents and a cake, and so there are some nicer aspects to it, although I have to say that I think birthdays are pretty shit really, and I refused to acknowledge mine on the correct day this year. But anyway. New Year. What the fuck is the point? It is another year. And people actually seem to think that because the number of the year is different, your life will also be different. That things will change for you this year, or that this will be the year that is good for you, or where you will achieve something, and bollocks like that. No. It will be the same – the date will just be slightly different. And then you are expected to stand around drinking Champagne and singing a stupid song that nobody actually knows the words to, and saying Happy New Year to everyone you see for the next couple of days. And I don’t know what we are fucking celebrating. I have never understood that, ever. It makes no sense to me. All it does for me is remind me of everything I have wanted to achieve but haven’t in the past year, and make me realise what a failure I am.

My mother has done a good job of reminding me of that this evening actually. She doesn’t do it intentionally, but she really seems to have a knack of tapping into my insecurities. Earlier on she told me she really thought I should have applied for drama school this year, and that if I didn’t go this year (meaning 2011) she didn’t think I would ever go, and that this would have been a really good year to apply. I said that I didn’t feel well enough, but according to her I am because I can get up on stage and perform, and that is all you do at drama school. Which is of course complete rubbish. She then pointed out that if I didn’t go this year I would be at least 26 when I started, and that I would be getting old, and when I said that actually some people go to drama school a lot older than that she said that they would have achieved something first, whereas I haven’t done anything. Which is all fucking true, and makes me even more angry and upset because of that. If she had been talking bollocks then I could have coped with it, but she was saying all of the things that I always think. That I am getting old, that I haven’t achieved anything, and basically that I will never accomplish the only thing I have ever wanted to do, because I am leaving it too late because of my mental health problems. Great. Just what I needed to hear the day before my least favourite day of the entire year when I dwell on all of those things anyway. She didn’t say any of it in a nasty way. It just felt like salt being rubbed into a very raw wound.

Apparently my sister has invited my parents to spend New Year’s Eve at their house. Not me of course because she still hates me. I was hoping they would go, but it seems they aren’t going to. I had it all planned out. If they went I was going to tell them I would probably be asleep by the time they got home, take an overdose as soon as they had left, and leave a note somewhere where it would be found but not immediately, so that they wouldn’t see it when they got home. Then when they got home they wouldn’t have known I had taken an overdose, and so would just think I was sleeping, then I usually sleep until at least 1, so they wouldn’t come up to see me before that, and it may even have been an hour or two after, and so my overdose would have had a good 18 hours to work before I was found, possibly even 20. Unfortunately it seems they aren’t going to go. Primarily because my dad doesn’t want to, although my mum also said that she didn’t want to leave me here on my own on New Year’s Eve, despite me protesting that I really didn’t mind at all. They know that I loathe New Year and don’t want to celebrate it. They see me having a complete breakdown every year. And yet they still try to give me champagne and say Happy New Year to me. When I said something to my mum tonight about how much I hate New Year she said she thinks someone must have said they hated New Year to me, and so I say it as well. Because I clearly couldn’t actually have a thought of my own – everything I think and feel that she doesn’t understand or disagrees with, she calls my ‘quirks’ and seems to attribute all of them to things that other people have said or done that I have copied. I suppose that fits in quite well with her agreeing with my sister that there isn’t actually anything wrong with me and that I do everything for effect.

I am feeling really terrible. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I can’t imagine anything at all that would make me want to live, or make this constant pain bearable. I really want to die. I don’t want to be told how much I have achieved, or how strong I am, or that 2011 will be better for me, or anything else. I just want my life to end, and I consider myself incredibly weak for not making that happen before this.

‘Turning, turning, turning through the years.
Minutes into hours and the hours into years.
Nothing changes, nothing ever can
Round and round the roundabout and back where you began.
Round and round and back where you began!’
 – ‘Turning’, Les Miserables

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