Existing is Exhausting

The clinic where I see my team moved to a new building two weeks ago. Just a couple of blocks down the road from the old building. I've already been there seven times. I don't know if I like it; it's too big and open and new. I've been going to the same clinic since birth, and suddenly, it doesn't feel like a safe place anymore.

Everything's still getting sorted out and moved around, and this week the dietician had a new addition to her office - a set of those old manual sliding bar scales. She wasn't too impressed, nor was I, and she's determined to get the other scales back. Previously, we've always used shiny new digital scales with the display separate from the actual scales (perfect for blind weighing), which seem to've found a new, slightly inconvenient home in the nurse's room on the other side of the building.

I really didn't want to get on a different set of scales. It'd been a hard morning and the last thing I needed was the upset of a false gain. Being me, I asked if she could weigh me on both sets and note the difference, and then we could just use the manual ones next time. On the digital scales, my weight dropped after two weeks of not moving, and the manual scales read 0.5kg off. Good to know.

In the apathy of depression, I've been skipping a lot of meals, losing a lot of structure. There were two nights last week I decided an orange would be the easiest option for dinner, and I only had breakfast twice. She asked if I've been drinking Ensure and I haven't, but I've been trying to have things like smoothies (120), hot Milo (110), iced coffee (55), to keep my blood sugars up if I'm not eating for that meal, but even they're a challenge when I'd rather just skip it. She wants me to focus on keeping the structure of three meals a day, even if it's just a liquid or a small piece of fruit.

I'd gone in with a red puffy face and held back tears as best I could. I nearly didn't get to the appointment because I just didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to, still want to, cancel all of my appointments and wallow. But without them there wouldn't be much left to hold on to. Appointments and blogging are really the only things I have left in these empty days.

When she asked how the appointment with my GP went last week, I cracked and started crying. I word-vomited about the anti-depressants and BPD and how everything felt hopeless, then felt horrible for doing so. I kept apologizing, saying I was sorry but everything just felt so hopeless. It's not a chemical imbalance or a situational depression, I am the problem. She said she'll talk to my GP and get an update on how things are going, but I just felt awful for dumping it all on her.

On Thursday night I ended up at the clinic at 6pm and spent an hour getting fourteen stitches in my leg. I'd tried so hard not to cut, but by the end of the day I just lost it. My adventure for the week; mum didn't have her car so we had to catch a taxi the whole three blocks there (thankfully my brother finished work in time to pick us up after). It was nerve-racking. I haven't gotten into a taxi in years.

It was a GP who I saw for a few months before I met my lovely GP, and I was a bit nervous about seeing her again as she's said a barrage of hurtful things in the past, but she was actually quite wonderful this time. I'm finding that some of the GPs I've clashed with in the past, mostly due to them not knowing much about anorexia or mental illness in general, are still kind, caring, competent doctors in other fields. 

I have to go back on Monday to get the dressing changed and check for infection, and then on Friday I have an appointment to get the stitches out and get my GP to check my lungs quickly. The excitement never ends. 

Now I'm just sitting here thinking; what the hell happened? I hadn't cut for years, and in the past few months it's all come back. My life is a cycle of alternative methods and risk minimization. I think the cutting started up again because there was concern building about my recent head hitting. I've gone through nearly every self-harm method in the book over the years, but I genuinely thought cutting's one I'd left behind.

Billy: He's getting older, and for the first time he's really feeling the cold this winter. Last week, mum took him to the pet store and found him a nice warm coat. He's spending most of the day bundled up under blankets with me on my armchair or the couch. If I'm crying, no matter where in the house I am, he comes and finds me and curls up next to me. My little shadow.

Sorry I've not been commenting as much lately, but I'm always reading. I'll try to catch up over the next few days. And thank you to all of you for sticking with me through all this crap. You guys are incredible and keep me going, seriously. 

*sends out rays of love and hugs and unicorn farts*


xxBella