I don't have a problem being trapped in a physical space, so much as I do being trapped in my head with my thoughts. Each morning I write a simple 'to do' list (brush hair, defrost soup), try to find distractions (blogging, reading, puzzles), but I can only engage for so long. Sometimes negative self-talk gets in the way, sometimes it's feeling too anxious to move, sometimes it's that everything seems pointless. I still wake up each morning and write that list though, so I guess that's something.
I can't get out of the house much at all, except for appointments. My anxiety is truly crippling; Agoraphobia and C-PTSD playing the biggest parts in my fear of leaving the house. Saying I need to get out more, is similar to saying I need to eat more. It's just not that simple; it's never been that simple. The thought petrifies me.
I haven't been to the supermarket in over four months now, which used to be the one 'safe' place I'd go. It's been over three years since I've been into town, and even longer since I've gone for a walk around the block. Recently I've even been struggling to go out for drives in the car without breaking down into a flurry of panic and tears.
Mental illness has weighed heavily on me for as long as I can remember, long before Anorexia. I received my first diagnoses of depression and anxiety at the age of 12 from my first psychiatrist, though I'd been suffering for years already. It's always been there. I've gathered many labels and diagnoses over the years, and it's all become a jumble that I daren't try untangling. Before my ED developed, I'd already stopped functioning, started receiving a disability pension, dropped out of and re-attempted schooling several times, had five inpatient psychiatric admissions... Anorexia is my coping mechanism, as I know it is for many of us.
The point of this, is that there are many factors as to why I don't leave the house, but it isn't due to depression or my eating disorder. Anxiety has it's claws in deep. I know that getting out helps a lot of people feel better in some way, but for me, it's the opposite. Few things scare me more.
Tomorrow I'm going to be making up another big batch of my stew, about 20 cups, as I'm having the last frozen serve for dinner tonight. It's simple, whole and lovely. Lean beef, onion, carrot, potato, tomato, stock cube, flour, seasonings. Mum was apparently much more impressed with my dinner bowl before I told her it was only 130 calories.
Speaking of the devils, my calorie intake is still kicking around 400-700. The last three days have been in the 400s, a direct reflection of my mood, and I'm cutting it fine with my blood sugars. Part of me is looking forward to seeing the dietician next week, to record the loss on the scales. But I'm also dreading having to explain why I cancelled last week's appointment, because it's not like me at all. Either way, I know I have to drag my butt there next week, so hopefully I'll be able to find words before then.