Pep Talk

Yesterday, after a bit of a breakdown, I was trying to explain to mum the logic behind what I refer to as 'negative mantras'.

I tell myself over and over again, for example, that I will never be good enough. Mum sees it as a negative reinforcement of he belief. But to me, it makes it better. When I'm upset, I can cry and scream that I'll never be good enough and work myself into a frenzy. Then I'll calmly start repeating the same words.
  "I'll never be enough, I'll never be enough."
And I stop panicking.

As I tried to explain to mum, I think it's my warped way of trying to convince myself it's okay. It's okay if I'm never good enough/thin enough/happy enough/intelligent enough/beautiful enough/successful enough/enough in general. If I achieve it one day, great, but if not, at least I've prepared myself.

Then today, I remembered that in Unbearable Lightness. Portia de Rossi writes of when she was younger:
    "In order to prepare myself for a less than perfect result, I would occasionally give myself the opposite of a pep talk by writing hundreds of times in a journal 'I will not get honours', as I awaited the results of a ballet exam, for example. I'm not sure if this ritual actually helped me to accept the less than perfect grade I was preparing myself for, because I always did get honours."

It got me thinking, maybe it's not an uncommon thing for people with eating disorders, or even other mental health issues, to do this. So, open mic time. For those of you who can relate, I'd be interested to hear why you think you do it, in your words.



On a lighter note, I've always been a hoarder. One aspect of which is food hoarding, which I know a lot of people with EDs do. Usually with food, it's just having a hard time throwing certain things out, or not throwing out packets (empty or full) until I replace them.

I've recently discovered Nature Valley oat bars. I don't eat them every day, but they've become a bit of a staple for me. They've been on special over the past few weeks for as little as $2.00 a box, and between my recent savings attempts combined with marathons of Extreme Couponing and the aforementioned hoarding, I couldn't resist starting my post-apocalypse stockpile, I mean, taking advantage of more than 50% off.

Over roughly three weeks, I bought nearly 30 boxes.





Misty, feeling much better than she was last week. She's currently taking full advantage of the heating being on due to the current wintry chill.


xxBella

Monday Musings

I finally saw my GP last week, after putting it off for over a month. Maybe 6 weeks? But everything was fine. We're working on a plan to get me to this new psychologist in the next couple of months, so she's really not budging on that one. On the upside, she didn't make me choose a benzo to drop, which was a huge relief. It'd be nice to have a more regular dosage again, but for now, it's better than nothing.

She and the dietician are now helping me make appointments while I'm in with them, as until I can get on the phone (which I've never been able to do), it's the only way. Getting to the reception desk in the busy waiting room alone is such a huge barrier, and I'm not even sure why. For now, the girls bring the EFTPOS machine into the room, and an appointment time if necessary.

I've been putting off getting weighed. When the dietician last weighed me, I'd just been discharged from hospital, and was nearly at a new lowest weight. I'd been eating so much in hospital - similar to how much I'm eating now - 900-1,200 calories most days, which was a big increase from before hospital. But I'm starting to think the only reason I lost so much weight was because I was fighting an infection and having my system constantly flushed from the IV antibiotics. Since reaching that low weight and coming home, I tried to keep my intake up, but much to my distress, the scales just kept slowly crawling up.

Since then, I've put on a few kilos, which was to be expected, but I've not been coping with it as well as I thought I would. Now I feel like I have to drive my weight back down before she can weigh me again, even though when I was last weighed, my GP warned it couldn't drop any further.

Now she's away for two weeks, and we've agreed to weigh-in when she gets back. I don't want to get in trouble for dropping even lower, but I don't particularly want to have gained, either.

I'm not as concerned about food as I am about... well, everything else. For some time now, since mum started backing away, the dietician's been the only person I can talk with face-to-face. It's not the same with my GP. With the dietician, I can be open about what's on my mind, and not having that contact over the next few weeks is going to be hard.

I've also been reading a lot of literature on the Australian Dietary Guidelines, the food groups, how big a serving should be and how many servings I should be getting. After calculating my 'serves' for the last week, I don't even get halfway, even on 1,000+ days. The only food group I eat enough of is dairy, and the most deficient being protein (I should be getting some 2 ½ 'servings', but I never eat more than ½ over the course of a day).


My little miss Misty hasn't been feeling too well the last couple of days. She's seemed a little 'off', and last night I spotted a sizable cut at the base of her tail. I have no idea what happened, as she rarely leaves the fenceline of the house, and it's been a while since there's been a cat fight on our property. She's having trouble moving and jumping, so I've put blankets down throughout the house, but for now, she's being treated like a princess.


xxBella

Newest Sewing Projects

In slightly unrelated news, last week I finally finished the apron I was making for the dietician.

In December, my local fabric store had this gorgeous Japanese printed cotton. I'd seen a couple I'd liked before, but when I asked mum to pick me up a sample scrap, they were all too light. This was the first one that was a suitable weight, and I couldn't resist the vibrant colours. Having seen her taste in fashion every week for the past four years, I knew she'd love it (or at least, I hope she will).

It might be a little belated for a Christmas gift, but between my health, both physical and mental, and juggling the contents of my sewing room around the house while I repainted (which is finally done, after unexpectedly needing more paint), I haven't been able to sew as much as I'd like.

I'm still working on drafting and sewing a few of my own patterns - a nightie and pyjama shorts, a few camisoles, trackies - which is a new experience for me. Hopefully once I have everything back in place in my 'new' sewing room, now that it's finally painted, I'll be able to dedicate more time to it (it's been gutted completely, right down to the furniture, so I currently have a blank slate).

I even made a matching oven mitt (which I've always intended to make with aprons, but never have).

I've also still been slowly working away on my "Shearing at Newstead" tapestry. I've spent over 80 hours on it in the past two years, and I'm not even halfway done. I think I underestimated the enormity of the project.

I also wanted to share this picture that I got from the lovely Katie Elizabeth a couple of months ago. Last year, I sent her a couple of little dresses for her beautiful baby girl. It was such a joy to see her wearing her little sailor dress. My only regret is that I didn't have time to make matching headbands.

xxBella

23

I suppose I should probably start with a bit of follow-up on my birthday.

I wish I had something positive or poignant to say, reflecting on times gone by or what the future may hold.
But I don't.

The day itself was a bust. It was a blur of tears and medication. I had two full days of meds, plus four days of PRNs I'd managed to save. I kept nodding off, had crazy restless legs, and couldn't focus enough to hit the right keys on my phone. It was a mess. I was a mess. I woke up the next day with a blank memory except for dinner (Japanese and the better part of a bottle of red).

I hate birthdays more and more with each year that passes. Talking with my brother about the joys of getting older, I realised that what I feel is beyond the "it's just another day, no big deal, with I could just skip it" mentality. My birthday actively depresses me. I could come up with a million reasons why, but the most obvious is that it's a day to celebrate another year of life, and I've never seen that as something to celebrate.

Talking to the dietician, she asked if I'd had any good birthdays in the past, but I haven't really. Last year we went down the coast, went out for dinner, but I still ended up locked in the hotel bathroom self-harming all night. My 19th, I went out drinking for the first time, and ended up freaking out and running home in bare feet. The only good birthday I can remember was my 13th, when I'd just gotten out of hospital from The Big OD and was celebrating survival and life. Ten years later, I can't say I'm celebrating it.


The dietician has been my biggest support, even more so of late, since mum started stepping back. This morning I asked if she could help me book an appointment to see my GP next week, since mum won't anymore. When mum stopped coming to reception with me, I stopped going. The girls bring in the EFTPOS machine and I pay in the office. I don't know what it is - I know all the staff and get on well with them. I think it's the waiting room and the amount of people and just feeling 'out there'. Today when the dietician went to get the receptionist, she asked when I was thinking of seeing my GP. When she came back, she had a card with an appointment time good to go.


Later this week, mum's going away for three nights. I'm probably looking forward to it more than her. Over the past few years, things have really changed. It's no longer scary. I want to be alone. It does also help that my brother is now single, so I won't actually be home alone which helps with a lot of the fears.

It wasn't for my birthday, but mum's falls one week after mine, and so I made her a carrot cake. It's not my neatest job - the frosting was left out of the fridge for too long so it's a bit sloppy.

xxBella

Life, Death, and Everything Inbetween

About six weeks ago, in the lead-up to being admitted to hospital, our family suffered a painful loss.

Our family is small. Sure, I have cousins and aunts and uncles, but I could walk past them on the street and not even recognize them. Those I can truly call family are rare and precious. For the most part, it's just the three of us, but there are a few extended family members who I consider truly a part of my family - not just strangers I'm related to.

On the 11th of March, my Great Uncle passed away.

Mum lost both of her parents as a teen, so her aunt and uncle became honorary parents, and in turn, honorary grandparents to my brother and I. Her brother, supposedly my uncle, was already married with kids, and they lost contact while he went to live his life and mum was left to pick up the pieces. Even at the funeral, she barely recognized him, and he was taken aback when she eventually recognized and went up to speak to him.

Apart from my Great Aunt and Uncle, I had grandparents on my father's side. My Grandma passed away when I was a baby, just a year or two before my dad. My Pa passed away when I was 16, and since then, I've feared the day my Great Aunt and Uncle go.

The guilt is nagging. It's got to be at least a year since I saw him. Ever since I was diagnosed with COPD and Bronchiolitis Obliterans, I've had near-constant infections, and not wanted to risk getting him sick when his health's been so fragile.

The worst part, is that I couldn't get to his funeral. It kills me. I put off hospital as long as I could, hoping I'd be able to get there, but on the 21st of March, the day of his funeral, my breathing was so bad I couldn't safely stay at home any longer, and couldn't walk for long enough to be able to push myself to go. I posted a couple of pictures on the online tribute though, and I wanted to share them with you guys.

I'm planning to go visit my Aunt this weekend. I feel terrible that it's taken me so long to get over there, but the past few weeks seem to have just been hectic. I'm worried I'll crack and start crying on her, and I really don't want to upset her. There are so many tears that haven't been shed, and I'm worried I'll breakdown when I see the empty corner where his armchair once sat.


As for everything else, I didn't want to bring down the positivity the last post seemed to have, but I hadn't gone to an appointment in two weeks - including the psychologist appointment and MRI I was supposed to have. When I saw the dietician this week, it was the first thing she asked about as she clicked through my notes.

  "Oh! And your appointment with the psych's this week?"
I covered my face with my hand  "It was last week"
  "How did it go? Did you go?"

I shook my head, and told her that was the main reason I didn't see my GP either - because I don't want to deal with anything, or think, or talk. I don't want to hear her disappointment that I cancelled the psychologist again, I just want to close off and hide away. I mentioned that the psychologist was also a financial strain, and she said she'd talk to my GP, let her know what's going on and find someone who bulk bills.

I ended up forgoing my regular coffee beans, and instead spent the money on a big jar of instant and the appointment with the dietician instead. Otherwise, it would've been a month with no appointments with anyone, and I couldn't make it that long without support.

As for the MRI, I found out last week that the 'sedation' they offer is just lorazepam, and I'm to just take my own meds since I take it every day. I'm hoping when I do see my GP, she'll be able to offer me something a bit stronger, since I don't think lorazepam will be enough (or at least, not at my regular dosage). Being stuck with my head in a tube with loud noises for 40 minutes with little-to-no sedation, having to stay perfectly still? I cannot see that ending well.


Tomorrow is my birthday. 23. I'm really not too sure how to feel about it. I don't have any plans, except for maybe going out for dinner with the family, or even just having a few quiet drinks at home. The joys of having an entirely online social life.

My dear Great Uncle

As a baby, he was the only one who could instantly
stop me crying as soon as he'd pick me up

xxBella

Bushwalking and Baking

It's been a while since I've gotten out and about in the great outdoors. So when my brother mentioned heading out to the You Yangs for a walk this weekend, I decided to keep him company and go along. It has been over a year since I've been on a decent walk (this sounds terrible, but I just don't get that much walking in around the house).

The three of us headed out, and spent a little over 90 minutes doing a trail walk. Mum threw in the towel at halfway, and waited for brother and I to come back with the car after we were done.

And for once, I actually managed 10,000 steps in a day! Most days, I'm lucky to make 500.

I've also done a bit of baking this week, for the first time in ages.

In hospital, most days there would be fresh scones for either morning or afternoon tea. When I got home, I found I really missed having my scone with jam to look forward to, no matter what the other meals may be like. As far as baked goods go, scones are probably one of the least scary, so I decided to keep them as an occasional part of the plan.

I bought a few scones from the bakery for the ease of having nutrional info provided, while I brainstormed how to get an accurate count on homemade ones. Kneading, sprinkling with flour, even just touching dough, all make an accurate calorie count difficult. Then I had the brainwave to use our Magimix food processor. I could weigh all of the ingredients straight in, dump the dough out onto a baking tray, and just pat it together gently with gloves on to shape it, and I could weigh all the dough that got stuck to the food processor, gloves, knife, etc..

I also made ANZAC biscuits, which went down very well. For you non-Aussies (a.k.a, 99% of you), ANZACs are popular biscuits dating back to World War I (supposedly sent to soldiers by their wives) made with oats, flour, coconut, sugar, butter, and golden syrup.


Tomorrow is ANZAC day. I was considering going to a dawn service for the first time, but given my lack of outings in the past couple of years, it might be a bit full-on with all the people (tempting as it is to drink booze at dawn).


xxBella

The Ultimatum & Sleep Deprivation

On Wednesday I had another EEG done, as further investigation into the seizures. This time, it was 3 hours long, and required I stay up the night before so I'd be in a sleep deprived state with a higher chance of abnormalities in the results. They stuck electrodes all over my head, and I just leant back in the recliner, pulled the blankets up, and killed the time reading.

I've had a terrible time sleeping this week, not helped by withdrawing from synthetics and insane coffee consumption. Last Sunday, I stayed up all night, slept Monday night, stayed up Tuesday for the EEG the next morning, slept Wednesday and Thursday night, stayed up Friday night marathoning the new season of Unbreakable, and slept last night. So essentially, I've only been sleeping every second night, and staying up all through the day.

On Tuesday, the dietician weighed me for the first time in a couple of months. At home that morning, I was 44.3kg (97.6 lb, BMI 12.8), and 45.2 clothed on her scales. Even though I've gained back a couple of the kilos I lost in hospital, where it got as low as 42 (92.5 lb, BMI 12.1), it's actually the lowest weight on record. Before AN, the only time I remember being weighed was after my big OD just before I turned 13, which is over ten years ago now.

She asked how I felt about it, and I told her I probably don't want it to drop much further, as my GP would intervene, but I also don't particularly want it going back up.

I also took my full set of measurements, so I've updated my stats here. I tried to use my body fat percentage monitor, but it said I was outside the measurable range (which is bullshit, because it's supposed to read from 4.0% - 50%).

I mentioned before that my coffee consumption has been slightly insane. After being on instant for nearly two weeks in the hospital, I hit it hard when I got home. I'd been drinking up to 20 cups a day in hospital as a substitute for smoking. Whenever I wanted a smoke, I'd make a cup of coffee. When I came home, I went through a kilogram (2.2 lbs) of coffee beans in seven days. Usually, it'd last twice as long. But I've been drinking lots of coffee and smoking lots of cigarettes, which has kept me off synthetics for over a week now (which mightn't sound like much, but it's the longest I've gone in... probably a few years now, with the exception of hospital) and keeping the natural stuff (mostly) to after dinner.

I've had a hard time motivating myself to do much these past few weeks. It hasn't helped that, when I left hospital, I was taken off the PRN oxazepam, which had been my lifeline without smoking. My GP gave me some when I caught up with her, after much begging and pleading, but only once a day. She also wants me to choose between the lorazepam and the oxazepam, when The Lung Doctor Man had me on, and recommended to my GP, both.

She said the benzo situation might change when I start seeing this psych, but I don't know when that will be. It was supposed to be this Wednesday coming, but being the day before payday, I don't have that kind of money just sitting. So it was cancelled.

I'm absolutely dreading facing my GP on Thursday.

Mum said  "Move forward or move out."

But frankly, my health is no more of her business than her's is mine, and I don't really care to discuss my health with her at all - mental or physical - as it just leads to arguments.

This weekend, she's gone away to visit her friends for a couple of nights, which is a much-welcomed break for both of us. I've just spent it quietly on the couch, marathoning Disney/Pixar movies and re-playing Terranigma for the millionth time on SNES.

This week, the dietician is away, and then I see the GP on Thursday for our regular catch-up. Next week I need to see the nurse to get my tongue frenulum piercing taken out for the first time since it was pierced 6-7 years ago (because going to my piercer in the middle of town is out of the question), because it's in too awkward a place to get my hands in, and I have a MRI next week.

The GP mentioned bolt cutters.

Eek.

Billy and Misty actually sharing a chair when I got home

xxBella