Body Image

Struggling with weight and body image things, but otherwise alright; I want to sleep for a long time, and wake up two stone lighter without all of my self-esteem issues. Wouldn’t that be lovely. Wouldn’t that be absolutely fucking amazing.

Sorry. Not feeling great. I’ll get better.


Flying Lard

(Or: At Home – Day Sixty-One)

I lost the plot and started crying halfway through an aerial class because I couldn’t do the things I wanted to, and it completely broke me. I can’t do some things (because I’m not strong enough, and don’t have the technique yet) and forgot how to do things I have been perfectly able to do (because of muscle fatigue and idiocy, which is easy when dangling in mid-air).

If I’m being fair to myself, I acknowledge my own weaknesses and forgive myself for the things I can’t do.

However, I’m shit at being fair to myself, and I don’t forgive myself for what seems to be to be crass ineptitude. I’m livid with myself. I am so fucking jealous that my partner is better than me, that there are people around me who just seem to get it straight off and I’m here desperately trying to lift my oversized arse off the ground with fuck-all success.

So I ended today feeling stupid, humiliated, and very conscious of my weight. Because let’s be honest, it is far easier to lift 100lb than 170lb. For anybody. Not to mention that nothing in aerial looks good on anybody with a spare ounce – trust me, taut silk bisecting your thighs makes your fat squeeze out on either side. Try tying a thin string around a raw chicken breast really, really tightly for an idea of how it looks. I’ve tried to look at pictures of myself in the air and all I can think about is how, despite me doing surprisingly complicated things, I still look about as elegant and poised as a rhino on stilts.

I’m going to go have a bath and cry about my insecurities, boys and girls, while restraining the urge to slit my wrists. #selfcare

I keep hoping tomorrow will be better.

New Medication Developments

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Three)

I do not have much by way of mental health progress, though I wish I did.

The main point of interest right now is that I spoke to the GP regarding options for my weight. Now let’s be clear: I’m not obese, by any stretch of the imagination, but I am overweight. I am also extremely unhappy about this fact, and it has a huge effect on my mental health. The GP is prepared to prescribe me orlistat, BUT I cannot take carbamazepine (or similar anti-epileptics) at the same time.

So, I am considering options. My mood is unstable. I’ll be seeing a psych soon(ish). I intend to discuss coming off carbamazepine – which to be honest, I’ve not been wildly keen on – and considering alternative medications. I want to stay on quetiapine. The only reason I’m coming off it now is because of weight, and if that is negated, that’s a whole separate kettle of fish. With my mood this unstable I’ve been extremely frightened of reducing my quetiapine, so staying on that would be absolutely ideal. I’m also interested in looking at aripiprazole, which had nasty side-effects when I was younger, but was regrettably a very effective drug.

Many things to think about, and will be simpler when I see a psychiatrist. I have a fairly solid idea, though, of what I think would be best. It’s now a case of waiting, thinking, and sleeping on the idea. Impulsive decisions would be a bad idea, esp when considering very serious medications.

We’ll see.

People Are Awesome (sometimes)

(Or: At Home – Day Twenty-Six)

I woke up today and called my care co-ordinator (who, for those of you new to the blog, is an honest-to-god angel and, without a doubt, the best person involved in my mental health care throughout my entire life thus far) – and spoke about the “I’m gaining weight still this isn’t fair” problem.

Her immediate response: “I completely understand, we’ll sort it out. I’ll have a work with the consultant psychiatrist, and we’ll go from there”. I’m now reducing my quetiapine (seroquel, for those who go by brand names) which is, for those who don’t know, absolutely notorious for weight gain. Genuinely, google it. I’m in the position of having gained 40lbs (nearly 20kg, in metric) over the last two years since starting quetiapine, and have never managed to shift it. I’m also taking 800mg of the stuff, which is the highest possible dose, so it’s probably not surprising…

I’m seeing said care co-ordinator in person tomorrow, and am going to discuss it in more detail. However, it makes a nice change from my usual battles with the NHS, and goes to show how much difference a single person can make in a person’s entire holistic mental health care.

Saw my grandmother today. She has just been diagnosed with cancer, for the second time. Pending further tests, remaining quietly optimistic that it might be treatable, but it’s difficult. My grandfather is palpably struggling with everything (and he has congenital heart failure to contend with, too, so is also in and out of hospital). Wish I could be more help, but as my brain is doing its level best to kill me, I’m a tad useless.

Final thing: I have the best friends ever. Ever. Several have clubbed together to get me a new laptop, completely out of the blue, because my current can’t Skype (or do very much, really…) and in their words, should I go inpatient, I’ll need a laptop to Skype them and stay in touch. It got delivered today, and I had no idea (other than suspicions, because bless her, my partner is occasionally subtle as a flying mallet, which I’m grateful for, because if it had been a complete shock, it would probably have finished me off). I cried. It’s wonderful.

So despite a day of mood erraticisms and some difficult circumstances, I’m finishing today feeling exceptionally bolstered by other people. I often forget that I’m really not alone. Mental health can be a lonely business (you spend a lot of time talking to yourself and wondering what constitutes a ‘delusion’, amongst other things) but today, a lot of people in a lot of places have shown me how to be strong, optimistic, loving, surprising, efficient, thoughtful, persistent, dependable, honest, trustworthy. And I owe it to them to keep fighting back, because god knows they’re fighting for me. So I’m trying. Whether it works or not, I’m trying.

Getting Fat. Not Happy.

(Or: At Home – Day Twenty-Five)

I want to crawl out of my own skin.

Eating disorders are shit. They’re really, really shit. I haven’t been allowed to purge (due to constant supervision, 24/7) and I am loathing everything about my body right now. This is hell. This is my own personal hell, and I am getting – impossibly – fatter with every passing day.

Now, this isn’t normal. Even in the realms of eating disorder recovery, this is simply not normal. I am going to my GP tomorrow to ask about my options. I can’t risk coming off my medication, but I also can’t continue like this – I swear to god I’m looking more like a beach ball with every passing moment. This is not through lack of effort or through major dietary issues, this is evidently medication-related and I need some type of option. I don’t know what. I don’t know if there is a what.

This isn’t fair. I am doing my best, I really am. I am trying to practise self-care and mindfulness and looking after myself. This is not fair, and I’m fed up of life shitting on me when I’m dealing with quite enough as it is. I struggle every fucking day to get up and get dressed and go out and respond to people around me, be something that resembles a normal human being and I can’t, I can’t keep doing this. I don’t have much left in me, I’m in pieces. I’m fed up. I’m tired, I’m angry, and it all hurts a fuck of a lot. And I’m really, really, really tired of hurting.