Thursday, 28 May 2015

Three Years, and Q&A

Today marks three years since I started this blog.

When I took the plunge and decided to start blogging, I'd just gotten out of my first real relationship of two years. It wasn't pretty, but it was a rare time that I've stood my ground. I slammed the door in his face, and told him to get the fuck out of my house. Mum was so proud of me. For bonus points, I haven't so much as checked his Facebook profile, let alone spoken to him, since.

Being so shut off from the world, I felt incredibly alone. I'd already lost contact with my real-life friends, and even socialising online was a huge rarity. Desperate for people to talk to, and seeing the opportunity, I created Too Much, Not Enough just one week post-breakup. The ex had never liked the idea of all this online ED stuff, anyway.

I started reading ED blogs about five years ago, when I was 17. I'd wanted to make my own for a while, but never had the courage to so much as comment on any blogs, let alone start my own. When I did start blogging, it wasn't an overly new thing to me. I've had various blogs since age 14, but this was the first blog revolving around Anorexia and my mental health in general. Some were personal, some were specifically about my sewing, or my writing, but none have lasted as long as this one.

I guess when I started this blog, I was looking for an outlet. Somewhere to share things that previously would never see past the pages of my diary. I wanted to be around people who really understand, and I desperately wanted friends.

Blogger is really the only social interaction I have, and I cherish it greatly. As you guys know, it's not often I see people in real-life outside of appointments, and even online contact is a struggle. But on here, I have daily social interaction, even if it's a no-words day and I just read. I have a support group. I've made friends who mean the world to me, and who I hope will be there for a lifetime. I've never before been part of such a welcoming group of warm, kind-hearted people.

As much as I'm not a daily poster, I'm always thinking or journalling or jotting down notes for things to write about, not to mention how much time I spend reading. I really don't know how I'd fill those hours if it weren't for blogging. It keeps me (somewhat) sane.

It was only a month or so after I started blogging that I made the decision to start seeing the dietician, which I don't know if I could've done if not for this community's support. I'd gone at least a year without any regular medical supervision. It took me another 8 months before I finally found a GP who wasn't a complete derpface when it came to mental health.

I can't believe it's been three years already.

I also wanted to use this as an opportunity to ask if there's any questions you guys want to ask me.
Anything you want to know about me?
Something you'd like me to post about?
Any details I've missed in the last few years?

I'm also going to try to knuckle down and get some more recipes posted, so shout out if I've posted something you'd like the recipe for.

I finally got a new pair of scales this week. The pair mum originally gave me for my birthday had to be returned, because they only read in 0.5 gram increments and I need 0.1g when it comes to things like spices and coffee. This set goes one further - 0.01g. I haven't owned a set this precise in years.


Saturday, 23 May 2015

New Beginnings

On Wednesday I had my first appointment with a new Mental Health Nurse.

We got there right on time. My GP said she'd meet us in the car park, but I couldn't see her when we pulled in. I panicked a little, I couldn't go in without her. Mum decided to go investigate, and as son s she got to the door, my GP popped out. She came straight up to the car door and ushered me inside. The MHN's office was the first door on the right, so thankfully I didn't have to go through the waiting room first.

I have actually seen her before in the past. I saw her for a while sometime around age 15 or 16. I had a couple of stints in inpatient around then (for depression/anxiety/trauma/everythingelse - this was before my ED), and she was one of the case workers that caught me after a discharge. I don't remember much about her. To be honest, all the people I saw back then kind blend together. But I feel like it means there's an expectation of me to ge along with her, to be able to talk with her, when it's really no different to seeing someone entirely new.

When I walked in she was waiting there, door open. She looked exactly like I remembered her, just with longer hair. There were three chairs arranged around her desk, and as we sat down, my eyes went immediately to the old dial scale sitting against the wall. I can't believe medical professionals, of all people, still use those.

My GP started with a brief rundown she'd written of my history. Starting from when my dad passed away when I was two, she rattled off a list of professionals I've seen, medications I've been on, diagnoses, admissions to medical, psych and ED wards, big life events, trauma, bullying throughout my school years, the big overdose, the different ways I've self-harmed over the years, COPD, the fact I never leave the house.

When she was talking about diagnoses & sections/treatment for Anorexia back in 2011, I felt a huge wave of relief wash over me when she said
"That's not the type of treatment that works for her. She's the kind of person who need more control over it."
And it wasn't just me saying it.

Before she left, my GP talked a bit about my sewing, cooking, things like that. I actually remember showing her some pictures of my sewing years ago on my laptop. I'll have to show her the new ones at some point.

She left shortly after that, but encouraged me to try to stay and talk with the MHN for a little. That didn't go so great. My head was full and overwhelmed and I just wanted to go home, and I shut down.

"What role do you see me having in your treatment team?"
"I don't know."
"Well, what did you and [the old MHN] used to talk about?"
"I don't know I don't know I don't know."

And I think she knew I was done for the day.

One of the things I was hoping she could help with was medication. She's a Nurse Practitioner, unlike the old MHN, and so can write prescriptions. But she said she wants to leave my GP as my main prescriber, and just be there to write scripts if/when I need them. So that was a bit disappointing. But I'm hoping I might be able to change her mind on that one. I need my main prescriber to be someone specialising in mental health, not my GP.

Before I left, we decided on appointments on a weekly basis to start with, at least for the first 2-4 weeks to build up a comfort zone and get to know each other. I'm seeing her again for 30 minutes next Wednesday.

So overall I guess it went okay. She's lovely, but I'm still not too keen on the idea right now. I'm kind of dreading next week without my GP there, but I guess I've just got to give it time. It's been some months since the last MHN left, and I've been lucky to've been given so long without. It didn't help getting me to see someone new after it ended on a slightly crappy note, both at our last appointment and after.
(She said she was going to call and catch up after a month or two. She never did. I'm a dumbass and even had a gift for her. But whatever.)

But, hey, you guys, I did it. I did it and it's done.

And thank you all for all your support lately, really, it means a lot to me. I'm sorry I haven't been so great with returning comments and emails. But I'd be totally lost without our little community.


Tuesday, 19 May 2015


When I saw the dietician last week, she forewarned me that my GP had spoken to her regarding the fact she hasn't seen any weights in a couple of months, and would probably want to weigh me at our next appointment. She told me I'd have a choice of who weighed me, and understood if I'd rather it not be her, but honestly right now I just want to be left alone.

Then I had my regular double with the GP later that week. She didn't weigh me then, thank god. But she wants to see monthly weights, plus keeping a more frequent watch on OBs and bloods.
"We can't just go to zero monitoring."
And I know I've had a good run as it is.

I needed more dressings, and several recent unconventional self-harm wounds raised the subject of vaccinations. She wanted to give me a tetanus & whooping cough shot, plus another one that I've apparently missed. I still haven't even had my flu shot, and balked at the idea of getting that and the tetanus shot right then. But I'm seeing her again Friday to get some paperwork sorted, so I'll probably have to face it then. Part of me just hates injections, but part of me kinda wants to catch the flu (which is fucked up, I know).

We spoke about the new MHN, who I'm meeting tomorrow (eek), which kinda sucked considering I don't even want to think about it let alone talk about it. She started saying she'd basically just give a brief run down of my history, etc., but when she said the 'R' word, I snapped
"Can you please not use that word?"
I never thought four letters put together could be so triggering.
Then she wanted to discuss what other word she should use.

She's meeting me there at 1:30. She said she's had people telling her that she's doing too much and she shouldn't be going, but that they really don't understand the situation. All I could say was 'sorry'. Unfortunately, half of the time, I say 'sorry' because I feel too bad to say 'thank you'.

This morning I had a total breakdown on the dietician. It kinda came out of no where. She was asking why I was struggling with the Ensure & Forticreme, and I broke down crying. I said things I've held in for months. I told her I felt like I shouldn't even come to see her any more and I can't always have the supplements because it's all too much and I need to get this weight off.

"Even if you're not upping your intake or if you're losing weight, you should still come in. I still want to see you, and I think it's good for you to be around us who know you and can support you instead of just being alone with our thoughts. At the least, it might stop things getting worse."

"But I don't even feel like I can talk any more."
She said she understands I'm still upset and hurt about what happened, and that it must make it harder to see her each week
"I just need to get back to where I was last year."
"That's the Anorexia talking."

I was just a wreck. Crying that I didn't want to come to appointments any more, that I'm so tired of everything and just want to be alone. I haven't had a breakdown like that on her in... a long time, if ever.

She got my GP to pop in so we could all talk through it because she could see how distressed I was. The first thing she said was
"Have the tears stopped since Thursday, or have they just kept going?"

I told her how I don't think I should be seeing the dietician any more, and that I don't want to go see the MHN tomorrow because I'm just so tired of it all.
"Do you need to be in hospital?"
That sentence always makes me panic. Which is not the ideal reaction.
"No... I just want to be left alone."

"If you stop coming to appointments, you'll need to be in hospital. You know us, and we're here to support you, and I think you now that's the better option."

After lots of tears and tissues and back rubs, my GP took me to get the bloods done. She mentioned that she'd wanted them done last week, but getting out to do it was just impossible. My dietician gave me a hug on the way out, and said she'd be here next week, and hoped to see me.

Tomorrow is the big day, my first appointment with the new MHN. Both my dietician and GP said this morning that hopefully it'll be the start of things becoming a little easier, but right now I just don't know.


Wednesday, 13 May 2015

Appointments and more

The dietician came back three weeks ago, although I know I haven't written much about her appointments. There really hasn't been much to say. She asks the usual:
"How's your week been?"
"Have you been doing any exercise?"
"Anything exciting happening? Anything you wanna talk about?"
And I'm just a mess of mumbles and shrugs and broken sentences.

She still isn't weighing me, although there's not much happening of late anyway, and I just... don't feel like talking much at the moment. Trust levels plummeted to 0 after the 'disagreement' a few months back, which doesn't help. This week we spent most of the appointment talking about Billy and Misty, but at least it got me out of the slump for a few minutes.

After last week's appointment, I had to go see the GP. I was pretty sure I needed more antibiotics, and needed her help with dressings. I had some cuts on my leg from the week prior, and one of them probably should've had stitches, but my GP wouldn't have been working and the last GP who gave me stitches for self-harm was just... not a pleasant experience. But she and the nurse held it together with steri-strips, which hurt like hell on a week-old wound, and I was given a double-course of antibiotics. That make 60 days this year (if I took them with a 100% hit-rate - it takes me 1.5-2x as long to finish a course, usually). Yes, I am keeping track.

I have my regular double appointment with the GP tomorrow morning, which I can't say I'm looking forward to. I still haven't told her about my further cutting down on antidepressants, which I can see she mightn't be too happy with.

I think when I last posted about it, I was still taking 30mg (down from 45mg, which at one point was 60mg), which is what my GP recommended to see if it helped with sleep, though she wasn't too keen on the idea of me coming off them. That became 15mg quicker than I originally intended. But let me say first off, that I haven't had any side effects or withdrawal symptoms.

My main motivation to hurry-it-up was after noticing on nights I forgot it, my restless legs never acted up. I've had it on-and-off for the past few years, and when I think back a bit, I could potentially tie it to when I started mirtazapine. I haven't had them since I cut down to just 15mg.

I also haven't been the greatest at taking the gabapentin (the newest of the stream of useless antidepressants), but that's another story. The only ones I'm really fussed with are the seroquel and lorazepam. The new MHN can apparently do prescriptions, so I think I'm just going to leave things where they are until then.

But I'm really not looking forward to talking to the GP about it tomorrow, even though I kinda really do need her advice on where to go from here.

On an unrelated note, last week was my mum's birthday - exactly seven days after mine. For the most part, I just tried to keep calm and avoid any potential breakdowns or panic attacks or extra stress, that otherwise have the potential to ruin entire days. But I did, with my brother's help, organize a special breakfast and, of course, a gift.

While she was in the shower, I got working on my sneaky breakfast surprise. I set up the table with a vase of flowers, her gift, and a box of Ferrero Rocher and the breakfast plates.

I made her favourite, Nutella-stuffed French toast, again thank's to my brother's late-night grocery shopping on my behalf. It's nothing like what we normally have for breakfast, but hey. I just had to flip the last batch when she came out of the shower, so I hurried up and got things sorted.

"You're not allowed to go in there for... three more minutes!"
Reminds me of Christmas as a child, when mum would at least want her morning coffee and smoke before presents started, and would put a sign up on the lounge room door ('from Santa', naturally) saying we weren't allowed in until 8:30am.

After breakfast, she unwrapped her gift, which was a little bottle of Chanel no.5 perfume. It came in the prettiest gift wrap, I just had to take a photo.

The only flowers left at the gas station at 2am
when my brother finally got home.


Thursday, 7 May 2015


Last weekend was the overnight trip to Warrnambool.

The morning of the trip I was up at 3:15, feeling completely overwhelmed and scared, maybe a tad manic? Despite extensive lists and stressing about it for the week before, it took me until 10:45 before I managed to get everything packed and sorted and ready to leave. I've posted a picture and a bit of a description below of everything I packed, because it's a bit insane how many 'comfort items' I need for one night.

We got about 20, maybe 30 minutes out, and I realise I forgot my cigarette rolling machine. I panic, mum makes the executive decision it's easiest to just do a u-turn and go get it. I'd been up for over 7 hours, spent most of it manically packing, running around, checking lists, making sure I had everything... but no, that could not be.

We got back on the road, and after some two and half hours drive, finally got to the hotel around 3pm. Considering I was initially planning to leave around 9 and not do a u-turn, it was much later than expected. I'd spent more of the day stressing and packing (and forgetting to pack) than anything else.

As well as my mum, my brother and his girlfriend came along too. They were still an hour out, so we went into town to go shopping. I didn't get to all the shops I wanted to, as most of them had/were closing early, but I did check a few things off my list. It's the simple things that the anxiety and agoraphobia stop me doing at home.

There was a little newsagency still open, so we stopped in there. I would've liked to go to an Officeworks, but alas, there were none in Warrnambool and I didn't have the energy to go driving to find one. But I got a new journal, a bumper sudoku book, and a little address book, especially for you lovely bloggers who I have to pleasure of sending and receiving mail to/from.

The only clothes shop still open was Target, so I had a quick look in there for some essentials. I got a couple of little tops, which I'm sure you'll see at some point, a few pairs of undies, and two more pairs of warm fluffy socks.

By then it was pretty close to 5pm, so we headed back to the hotel. My brother called on the way back to let us know they'd gotten there, so we caught up with them for a while before getting ready to go out for dinner.

There's this amazing Italian place we go to when we're in Warrnambool, so naturally we went there for dinner. I didn't take any photos, but I'll post some of a previous visit, just because their food is so beautiful.

For starters, we shared a freshly baked cobb loaf with flavoured butters, alongside a small margherita pizza. I had their fettucini carbonara for mains, which is delicious but far too much to get through. My mum had their 250g eye fillet with garlic prawn sauce (beautifully presented), my brother had a pizza, and his girlfriend also had the carbonara. Oh, and the wine.

After we got back to the hotel, I ended up spiralling into a bit of a massive breakdown. It was a mess. I ended up locked in the bathroom, crying, smoking, self-harming, repeating over and over that I couldn't do this any more and none of it's okay.

It ended with me downing three each of seroquel and lorazepam. It was all I had with me, but left me short the rest of the weekend and Monday. I don't remember going to bed, but it can't have been before 2-3am.

I woke up feeling like hit. Somehow managed to get all my bags packed before mum woke up. The less said, the better.

This week has been nothing short of a nightmare. The plumbers have been here again. 3 out of 4 mornings have been consumed by extreme panic attacks, usually due to them not calling first before coming around the side gate. This is not helped by the fact it's different people again this week.

Yesterday was my favourite. They didn't call in the morning, we went out for a drive and came home to find them already here, I got inside and had a massive breakdown that lasted some hours, the plumber's boss called to apologize for not calling, then turned up himself (without calling) two hours after the other plumbers had left (without telling the boss).
Yeah. So that was fun.

It's just one of the scariest, #1 not okay, situation for me. To have people in the house. The last few weeks have just been constant fear and anxiety, and every morning before they even get here it feels like I'm going to die. Everything's just been so out of control it isn't even funny. It's just exhausting. Thankfully, mum thinks they're finished, so hopefully tomorrow won't be quite so bad.

As far as smoking goes, last Wednesday was also my first full day off synthetics in... 7 1/2 weeks. Yes, I've still been smoking since it the seizures, but I've only been smoking the one brand which I've used for some time now without too bad a side effects. I'm not stupid, I know that doesn't mean it's safe, but I suppose it's safer. Normally, I don't smoke synthetics anywhere near this often. I'd like to say the recent bender is purely due to lack of the natural stuff, which has been an issue, but it always seems to happen at this time of year during the trauma stuff. I actually made it to 46.5 hours before cracking.

For now, photos.

The suitcase (on the left) has my clothes and whatnot, with Hazel the bunny sitting on top.
In front is my handbag, a pencil case with random bits in it (tweezers, q-tips, nail file, oximeter, spare lighter and pen, etc.).
The little purple bag to the right is my makeup, with my coffee stuff sitting behind.
My journal, notebook, intake book and smoking book with a pen.
Shoes behind (I'm indecisive and don't get the chance to go out much, okay?), plus Coke Zero.
In front on my shoes are toiletries and smoking things.

If you think that's bad, you should see my packing list.

Spotted in Target - '2000 calorie' mascara. Impressive for only 9ml!


Friday, 1 May 2015


Yesterday was my 22nd birthday.

I never do much for my birthday. I can't remember the last time I had a party or got together with friends. I was talking to PrettyLies, who doesn't blog anymore, a while ago, and we were joking about having an online video-chat party so I could have an e-party with all you lovely people. Maybe next year?

It was a pretty quiet day. I managed to avoid any major breakdowns. We went for a couple of drives to shortcut mood drops, and I put together the cake I'd baked the day before.

Mum gave me a few Disney DVDs (The Lady & the Tramp, Sleeping Beauty, 101 Dalmatians, The Rescuers & The Rescuers: Down Under), plus a new laptop charger, a food scale, and a couple of warm tops (a hoodie and a button-up cardigan).

As for the food scales, I had two sets. A 0.1g x 250g set that I use for, well, most things, plus a bigger 1g x 5kg set that I use for things like baking and cooking family dinners etc.. But my little ones needed replacing because they go through a set of two 2032 batteries each week. It's a bit of a joke. 

I haven't been baking much at all lately, but with a little encouragement from mum, I made my near-signature triple chocolate (chocolate cake layers sandwiched with buttercream and coated with semisweet ganache), half of which will be given away.

The plumbers have been about this week, after two weeks of "maybe next week"s and endless anxiety on my part, and will be here again next week (or will they?). They did call this time, though, which was much appreciated.

We got back from an appointment one morning, and driving past saw them getting ladders off their truck out the front (they did call the day before). I panicked a little, but mum said she didn't think they'd be out the back. I opened the garage door, saw the tradie standing in the yard and froze. I pretended I was invisible and scurried inside, scooping up an armful of notebook as I went by my armchair.

As much as I hate having them here, they are nice. I obviously haven't interacted with them at all. But apparently one of them kept asking how I was, if I was okay, which I guess is nice.
(Shelby, fyi, one of them is kinda cute, but it's kinda hard to tell with the whole beard-and-sunnies thing)

So I've been hiding in the lounge, today included. Today was supposed to be all about packing and lists and making myself look presentable, but little of that's actually happened. This week's been an utter train wreck but it seems pointless to talk about.

Tomorrow we're going to Warrnambool, but all I want to do is shrink into the ground and disappear.