I spent hours talking myself into it, out of it, and back into it again. I spoke softly and told mum that I was scared, that I didn't know what to do. We needed to go pick up an electric blanket I'd ordered, an hour's drive to the outer suburbs of Melbourne. I could've stayed in the car, but it'd be quiet being a Sunday morning, and I didn't have any appointments this week which made it slightly less daunting. Plus, I really needed to go shopping for new bras.
I don't know why I thought it was a good idea. It never ends well.
I sat in the car while mum got the blanket, and then we ventured into Target. I felt horribly self-conscious. It wasn't busy, but there were people. People were looking. People could see me. I hugged my arms across my chest in an attempt to hide. I wanted to shrink into the ground and disappear.
For the last few years it's been near-impossible to find bras in my size that don't have padding or underwires. But in the 'My First Bra' section, there was one style that fit the bill. I can't normally buy children's clothes because of my height, so this was my first purchase from the children's section. I felt like a bit of a creep buying kids' undies to be honest, but I'm just glad to have something that fits. I came home with three new 10AA bras. The funny thing is, they're smaller than my actual first bra was. Before I developed Anorexia, at my natural weight, I wore a 12G.
After we paid, I darted for the car. I felt sick to my stomach and started hyperventilating. Tears started to leak out, and I took the backup lorazepam mum had packed.
I'd already had one earlier that day.
I pulled out my notebooks and scribbled my thoughts in an attempt to calm myself. I folded my legs up and drifted in and out of sleep as we made the drive home.
I'm conflicted. Part of me knows that I need to start leaving the house, especially if I want to stand a chance of moving out this year. But the rest of me just feels so... negative about it all. I don't have any positive feelings about having left the house. I know I need to and should leave the house, but I don't want to.
I feel overwhelmed, afraid, anxious, embarrassed, hurting, stressed, exposed, defeated, hopeless, guilty, ashamed, sad... I don't know how to explain it. It's just all too much. It's everything I was already feeling, amplified, intensified. I feel like an idiot for choosing to go out and bringing all this extra negativity upon myself when I'm struggling enough as it is.
The next day was when it really hit me. I felt horribly low. The entire day was spent 'processing' the day before, with near-constant tears, two hours on the step, an intake of 350 and entirely too many cigarettes. Today hasn't been much better. I haven't cried like this for weeks.
I'll never leave the house on a daily basis again, I swear. The more I go out, the less I want to go out.
Summer is well and truly here. We've got five days straight of extreme heat at the moment; today is 43°c (110°f). I'm barricaded inside with the aircon and my water bottle, only ducking outside to smoke, in a bid to avoid heat-related illness. Evidently I won't need my new electric blanket this week.
Mum also picked up some new tiny cookware for me. Two more 'one egg' frying pans (12cm) and another saucepan (375ml). I'm building a whole collection of tiny kitchenware. I love it.