Friday, 30 October 2015

One after another

The last few weeks of appointments have been pretty rough. For the last two appointments I've been late and in tears. I was supposed to have my 6-weekly weigh-in with the dietician this week, but I had so much trouble getting to the appointment, let alone on the scales, we postponed until next week.

Last week I was a wreck, and the dietician was worried about me, so ended up walking me over to the treatment room to see the GP and get some self-harm dressed. I sat in the treatment room waiting for my GP to squish me in between appointments. Sometimes I'm there early enough to catch her before. After 15, maybe 20 minutes, one of the girls from the desk came in to tell me my GP was going to be busy all morning, but she'd offered to see me at 12 on her lunch break. As well as the self-harm, I really needed to talk to her about the medication situation, so I took the opportunity.

I told her about how Ativan (lorazepam) was now in a bottle, not a blister pack, and that that was posing issues in itself. Unfortunately, there's no alternative brands that might have less-stupid packaging. I also wanted to know if there was anything similar to (but not) olanzapine that I could have for a PRN when I feel the need to sedate myself, but she seemed to think seroquel should be sufficient.

In the end, we decided that each weekend when my pill cases are refilled, mum will put 7 lorazepam and 7 seroquel in a pill case/bottle for PRNs, and hide the rest. She's also upped my regular seroquel dose, and stressed "no temazepam during the day". I admit, I've already back-pedalled on the 'hiding it' part though. I'm stubborn, and don't want to have my meds hidden from me after so long.

She explained that if we couldn't get this under control, I'll have to have a break from the lorazepam. She won't prescribe more if I run out early, or the chemist will hold it. It's not a pleasant prospect, but I do understand. I know it's only supposed to be a short-term thing, and I've been on it for over two years now.

This week was a struggle to get to the dietician again. I was asking myself that dangerous question -- what's the point? -- and it didn't seem fair to go see her in such a state. She's a dietician, she's not mental health trained. I just wanted to lie on the floor and do nothing and be nothing.

Once I convinced myself to go, I was already 20 minutes late. I kept stop-starting, getting from the backporch to the car and from car to clinic. I'd talk myself into going, the my head would throw up brick walls and I'd stop in my tracks and sit against the wall.

She asked what we were going to do with the scales, and I said I knew it was supposed to be this week, but could we please put it off one more week? I know it doesn't make much difference to the number, but I really didn't feel like my head could cope with the scales that day.

She understood, and asked if I had any ideas of what my weight was doing. I was honest, and said t was down between 1-2kg depending on the day.
  "1-2kg is a fair bit for you though."

I told her I was really struggling with being in the house, to the point it can hurt to look at each room, and all I want to do is close my eyes and scream.
This house is haunted. Not by ghosts, but memories.

She asked if I've ever talked to anyone about the abuse, but really, I haven't. I had an appointment with a counselling service that I chickened out of, and couldn't say the words to give a statement to the police. That's the closest I've ever gotten.

  "When was the last time you went for a walk around the block?"
  "Oh, god... maybe five, six years ago."

At the end of the appointment, she walked me over to the treatment room again to have a fresh batch of self-harm dressed. The nurse wanted a doctor to check them, but my GP was busy. She wanted me to see one of the male GPs I don't know, which isn't about to happen, or to come back to see my GP later in the day. She got his opinion on a temporary dressing, and I went back in the afternoon.

After she finished the dressing, the nurse asked if she could check my pulse quickly. I don't know if she saw the vein pulsating in my neck/hands/feet or what, but my pulse is never much of an issue. I told her it generally sits pretty high, around 100-120. She got a reading of 120. The pulse oximeter said 150.

My GP is still trying to organize a time for her and the dietician to escort me to an appointment with the new mental health nurse, but it is happening. The old MHN still hasn't called, but what did I expect?

Outside of appointments, I've been trying to take it easy, sleeping, watching movies, being generally unproductive. This weekend mum's going away to stay with friends, which is always challenging despite enjoying the time alone.

And thank you guys for your comments and support on my last couple of posts. I don't think I can say it enough - this community is really my rock.


Saturday, 24 October 2015

Bella Goes Out!

This week I ended up having an unexpected trip out. My brother needed a lift to the airport on short notice, and mum, who loves to drive, offered to take him. I haven't been feeling overly safe home alone lately, so I decided to tag along.

Initially I was just going to stay in the car, but then I decided I'd try to get in to the shops. I've been really wanting to go out for a simple cup of coffee lately, but it just hasn't been possible. And while I wouldn't go out in Melbourne itself, the airport seemed like a safe enough place.

I finally got out of my trackies and threw on some fleece tights, a high waisted skirt, camisole, knitted cardigan and velvet scarf. I put on my favourite shoes and, after I did my make-up and put on a little jewellery, I wasn't feeling too bad about myself.

The airport's about an hour away, and we got there in fairly good time. We parked and left my brother to run for his flight, and went to find a café. I had to keep asking mum to slow down because she was walking ahead of me and I just couldn't keep up with her. I haven't been exercising much at all lately, and I'm lucky if I was 1,000 steps around the house each day. I would panic if we got separated by more than 5 feet, like a child.

I was kinda tempted to jump on the baggage scales, just for the lulz. They were tared to zero and everything.

We ordered our coffee, and mum got a toasted egg and bacon sandwich for lunch, so I ordered the same. I'm terrible at making decisions when it comes to food, so I tend to 'go along'. I had a little under half of the sandwich with a long black. There was cheese in it, but it had hardly even melted, so I picked it out bit by bit. I've been eating an egg with shortcut bacon on toast (150-ish cal total) every few days for lunch recently, so this wasn't too much of a stretch.

Before we left, I took the dive and bought a bag of choc chip cookies, because I thought they looked so frikkin' good and I haven't had homemade cookies in the longest time. When I had one in the car on the way home, I was disappointed to find it too sweet and too fatty with simply not enough flavour or choc chips. But at least their coffee was okay.

Thankfully it wasn't too crowded, but it was loud as hell at some parts. At the end, I was glad to get back to the car, and even gladder to get home.

I've been trying to write a post for the last couple of days, but with no luck. I saw my GP this week and was honest about misusing my meds, for better or for worse, and we're coming up with a plan. I have another busy week coming up with the GP on Wednesday for follow-up, plus my 6-weekly weigh-in with the dietician on Tuesday, so I'll update after that.

I experimented with my jewlery a bit. I felt like wearing something around my ankle to break up the plain black, but I've never been the type to wear anklets. So I found this little chain to fit perfectly around my ankle, complete with padlock. Take whatever symbolism you will, but I'll definitely be doing it again.

The offending cookies


Friday, 16 October 2015

A little bit of hanky panky

Today is just going to be a quick post to show you all one of my new sewing projects. 

It's heating up here in Australia, and it seemed like the perfect time to make some more loose, cool, but still stylish, skirts. I've been joking with mum that it's "the first item of my SS15/16 collection".

Unfortunately I haven't been sewing much this year, aside from the baby clothes and a pile of camisoles I'm still working on. I'm hoping next year will be much more productive once I finally have my sewing room set up again. 

We've had this fabric sitting in the linen press for as long as I can remember. Mum can't even remember why she bought it, but when I came across it a few weeks ago, I thought it'd be perfect for a hankerchief hem skirt - which is basically like a circle skirt, but instead of being circular, it's basically a big square with a hole in the center. There are a few photos at the end I've set up just to show that it is literally just a square with a hole.

I'm really happy with this skirt overall. It's just such a flattering, comfortable style, with a bit more attitude than it's circle skirt cousin. It's easy to make and such a versatile project once you've got the basic pattern. 

Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to wear it outside except for the clinic. Mum asked the other day if I'd be interested in a trip out, but I don't think I even let her finish her sentence before I snapped an immediate 'no'. 

The very thought makes my stomach turn. The only place I could go would be hours away, like Warrnambool with the cheese factory, where I have no chance of running into Him again. The further away the better. Anywhere within a few hour's drive of home is simply not safe. And even then, that poses more issues, just being so far away from home. 

I did try to get some photos of my new skirt yesterday, in my very empty and half-painted sewing room, although they're not the best. 
I really need to invest in a new dress form that goes down that one-or-two extra size so I don't have to keep relying on awkward selfies. 

I don't really have much else to say this week, but I hope you enjoy these pics. 


Saturday, 10 October 2015

Spring has Sprung

When my appointment with the dietician came around this week, I could barely convince myself to get there.

I was teary before, but pulling in to the car park, mum announced she'd be staying outside. I lost it, and had a bit of a mini breakdown. I've been going to the same clinic for my entire life, but I couldn't do it, I can't go in alone.

My head started screaming that we should just go home, that I didn't deserve to go to appointments unless I can get through the waiting room solo. I got out of the car, then dived back in. When I did start heading inside, I kept stopping and starting, just wanting to hide away. I made it halfway to the door before I slid down the wall and cried, banging my wrist against the ground.

Then, as timing would have it, I heard a kind voice ask if I was okay and felt a hand on my back. It was the dietician. She helped me up, put her arm around me and walked me in, straight through the waiting room to her office.

I started blubbering about how mum wanted to send me in by myself but I just couldn't do it. I know it's pathetic, but I can barely manage eye contact and a quiet 'hi', let alone actually talking to the girls at the desk. To make matters worse, I didn't get a blink of sleep that night, so I may have been a tad extra emotional.

After I saw her, she walked me over to the nurse's office to get the wound on my wrist dressed, which she wanted my GP to check out. I sat waiting alone for 10 minutes, feeling irrationally alone and scared. I wanted to sit on the floor in the gap between chair and cupboard and hide.

The nurse did the dressings, and my GP asked me to please start on antibiotics again. She gets that it's part of the self-destructive part of things. Some days, I don't care enough to take them. Other days, I actively want to worsen my health. I was also supposed to have bloods drawn so she'd have the result for when I saw her on Thursday, but I just couldn't do it.

By the time I got back to the car, it was 9:05. I'd been in there for a whole hour.

Then on Thursday I saw my GP. She mentioned wanting to put me back on one of the antidepressants I tried earlier in the year, Gabapentin. She thought it'd help with anxiety, but I explained I still don't think they helped, and things are getting harder for very tangible reasons. Plus, I want to let the new antidepressants 'settle' before adding anything else (back) to the cocktail.

We spoke a lot about the fact I need to get back to seeing the Mental Health Nurse, but I still can't get my head around it. Our last appointment was horrific, and I'm scared I'll go back and she'll try to clear up what she said, but end up just rubbing in how tired my mum must be of me.

She suggested an appointment with both her and the dietician there as well, so I'll have the whole team of support there. It doesn't stop the MHN saying something hurtful, but it's really the only option that's been raised.

Spring has definitely sprung here, and things are heating up so I've been spending most of my time on the couch, watching horror movies and Dr Phil and those bizarre habit/weight/addiction shows on YouTube. On the plus side, I have actually finished sewing a new skirt, well timed with the warmer weather, so hopefully I'll have photos to share with you all soon.


Saturday, 3 October 2015


A few times recently, the dietician and I have ended up talking about my pre-ED life and how things have changed, both relating to food and not. 

At one point we were talking about how periods of overexercising had little effect on my weight overall compared to lengthy bouts of being sedentary, and she asked about how I used to exercise.

Long story short, I didn't. Not even at school. Once, just before my ED started, I went to this boot camp thing with a friend. I struggled to even jog. When the trainer asked me if I usually got 30 minutes a day, I said something along the lines of
    "Does it count if I spend one minute walking from the computer to the fridge, and go back and forth 15 times a day?"
Then I got a kebab on the way home.

    "Were you happy?"
    "Yeah, I was really happy."
It hit me hard as soon as I said it. That kick in the chest. I can't remember the last time I was happy. Don't get me wrong - life had long been ruled by mental illness, and I hadn't been able to function in society for years. But things are different now. 

As far as weight goes, I'd never really had to worry about my weight or watch what I eat. I was confident in my body, nearly approaching self-love. My weight has always been on the lower end of the spectrum. I maintained 60-65kg (BMI 17.3-18.8) without a thought for years, though went up to around 75kg (BMI 21.7) in the year before I got sick. 

This, as I informed the dietician, was a result of spending most of my life at a gaming cafe eating junk food. Egg and bacon baguettes, Caesar salads, carbonara, sugar-filled energy drinks and fat-laden snacks - not to mention the drinking every weekend.

    "Do you think you think and process things different now?"
My head works differently, in a way I can't explain. My thought process has changed. I'm sure you all can relate. And it's not something that can change back. It's kinda of like The Matrix, seeing reality. I chose the wrong pill, and I can never have Wonderland back.

So today I've gone back through and picked out some old photos to share with you all. These are from between the ages of 16 through 17, when I developed AN. When I showed the dietician one of me with short hair, she said she wouldn't recognize me. I don't really know how to feel about that. 

At some point I am thinking of posting body check pics from the whole way through, but for today I'll keep it to 'normal' photos.

Before the LGBT+ formal
1880s polonaise & walking skirt in black velveteen

One of my favourite dresses.
One day I must dig it out and try on for comparison.
I'd be facepalm-ing if I had to be seen in public with me dressed that way, too.

Okay, so the short hair may be age 15

I think the ED may have started by the time this photo was taken, but my skirts and corsets obviously still fit, so it was very early on. 
Too good to crop, so Derpface the Ex gets a sticker. 
(EDIT: Not that ex)