That’s right. 2 posts, 1 day.
I’ve never been sucked into the stats of my blog. Sure, I love getting comments and knowing I’m not alone, but my blog is just a platform for me to talk really. I’m not much good at talking about things aloud, but here I can potentially talk to anybody in the whole world.
Although I feel rough and hopeless today, it has made me question who the hell is the version of myself that I want to be?
The recovered version of me would be someone who could embrace the day upon waking, rather than the battle to move I struggle with.
She would be mentally and physically strong, always able to go the extra mile instead of being too exhausted.
She would enjoy social eating and focus on the company and not the food.
She would take time on appearance, but not out of anxiety or obsession, just because everyone deserves to feel good about themselves.
She would have the confidence to be individual without using mental illness as an excuse.
That was a therapeutic exercise… Maybe think of your own self and how you’d be if you were fully recovered
It’s another Winter and I am still just as consumed by thoughts about food and my body. Too many layers of clothing makes me look even bigger, so I stick to the same particular jumpers and spend months feeling even colder than usual.
Today I feel unwell. Everything aches. Everything is tired. My brain is screaming at me; it’s all too much. And I need to talk it out.
I’m disappointed with myself for not being able to do classes today, even though I haven’t missed anything important. I’m disgusted with my body. My reflection looks different each time I see it, so I don’t know the reality. I feel like I’m not sick enough (ed wise) and that I’ve “achieved” nothing. All my thoughts today are my ed voice. Harsh, sad, repetitive.
The list of criticisms and failures is never ending so I simply want to sleep.
Today sucked. Well, most of it did anyways. My doctor tried to tell me that my thoughts and feelings are more important than her weighing me all the time. I see that my illness is mental at its core, but all that did was make me think she must believe I’m not thin enough to be a worry.
I’m tired of people telling me that I’m so smart and so they don’t know how I am so blind about my ed. But I think I’m seeing clear as daylight. I know what people really mean; I’m not fooled by it. Nobody thinks the physical side of my ed is serious and/or obvious. Well that’s just a pile of shit. I’ve wasted all these years and effort for it to be nothing? When will I be thin enough to be able to accept that I need to change?
Because history shows me I suck at my eating disorder. I’m probably just wishing I had one and imagining my suffering.
I’m so confused, angry, sad and hopeless right now. Why is it so painful.
I often think about things over and over, sometimes ruminating so much that I achieve nothing useful.
The darkness of British weather is pretty depressing, and life is hectic right now, so for a change I am writing a post to brainstorm all the ways I can cope.
-extra classes after hours
-skype call friends
-have hot baths
-read a book
-make a new playlist
-watch a series from the beginning
-send cards to friends
-do my Christmas shopping!!!
If you’re struggling, maybe making a list might help you too
That is the prompt for my therapy homework… So here we go:
I believe that compassion is having empathy and understanding towards others. It is a powerful feeling, perhaps one that fuels kindness in people even in spite of prior judgements. For example, there are people I dislike in day to day life but should they be suffering I would want to provide comfort.
As human beings I believe that deep sadness or struggle triggers our compassion, bringing us closer and maintaining the world as one unit. There’s nothing that makes people unite more than a disaster.
Compassion is the care giver inside of each of us, and for those of us with mental disorders allowing that care giver to soothe ourselves is very difficult.
Last night I dreamt that I was being forced to eat 3000 calories a day. I was constantly changing location, but there was always a few constant people that stayed with me. One of them was a mean, middle aged woman, who dictated what I ate and when. If I refused or didn’t finish the plate I had to start over.
In the dream I was loathing the experiencing but was tearful because it was such a relief to be told I was too skinny and have the permission to eat. I was finally “sick enough”.
To non-disordered people, wanting to be sick seems so wrong, but for me I know it is just a cry for help. I want people to see the pain I have inside on the outside.
My dream really shook me up, and I’m not sure why because I often have dreams involving food.
Anyway, ramblings over.