Hello me...

So.... been a while hasn't it!

I'm back in treatment until after Christmas. Thought it would be best to put that straight out there... no beating around the bush...

My Psychotherapist suggested I spend some time addressing parts of my past I haven't thought about for some time, looking for the roots and foundations of my eating disorder, and during my session we got to discourse about my time in the 6th form.

Here is a snippet of information I have never talked about before:

Between the ages of around 15 through to 18 I wanted to die. I thought about it a lot, I even planned how I might do it... several different methods... which are not appropriate to discuss. I was lonely in these 2 years and my friendship group was based on a functional need to belong. This extended not only to me, but to every member of the group. Due to our insecure natures our friendships tended to be tentative, with only a small incident being enough to cause major drama. I can't think of specific good times, and I dont have the usual "remember when we did...." memories.. just hanging out, existing alongside one another...

I was a lonely and sad individual during this time. An isolation which could not solely be put down to teenage hormones and the perils of adolescent social interaction, or lack thereof.

I spent a lot of time by myself and my imagination provided great comfort for the unbearable emotional discomfort I was experiencing on a daily basis. I would get completely lost in it, feeling nothing but air beneath my toes and fantasy around me like a comforting fog. I created a whole other state of being in fact, a world only I knew about. I was safe in it, sometimes I had powers in it... It was comforting to me. There was another me in this world, the other me was strong and confident, unscathed by environmental distresses in my real life.

The other me, although part of me, spent time in my head and sometimes we would think together about how to fix my problems. How to please people who disliked or disapproved of me. How to be perfect. In an oversimplified nutshell, this is where my eating disorder began.

My ED, was not another person, or a separate voice in my head. We were one voice, a collective.

There was very little in my real life in which I found comfort. Music was the main thing, and my own imagination... I listened to Tool, and various other bands which gave me means of escape from the deep and unbearable unhappiness I felt. A musical shield...

I never really gave it much thought until discussing it yesterday, and I found myself surprised at how emotional I became when thinking about how I felt back then. Real, physical tearfulness, almost overwhelming..

Starting to get to the bottom of things is only the beginning, and I know I have a difficult few months ahead as I unpick and repair the broken parts of my own psyche... but something tells me it will be worth it.

Pictoral Editorial Tutorial... deep meanings?

I have noticed upon pursuing the blogs of others that my blogs often lack visual variety, as I rarely include any pictures...

This blog will therefore contain a collection of imagery which is of meaning to me, or reflects my mood in some kind of deep, ironic way...

So picture 1... the flat white...

As a mindful and committed employee at Costa coffee... it is part of my role to be able to produce this item of beauty..
Unfortunately, I haven't quite mastered it just yet... but I am pleased to announce that they are beginning to look more like the intended foliage as opposed to erratic ECG readings!

Image number 2...

This is not my eye.. but it is close... I trudged through several images to find this. I have noticed today that my eyelashes are quite long, and with the application of Max factor masterpiece mascara they actually look quite nice.
This is the first time for a lengthy period of time I have said something nice about myself.

Unfortunately this eye is crying, which is also how my eyes feel a lot of the time at the moment. Tears appear to be my eyes favourite decoration, more so than mascara at present.

Image 3... clean sheets...

I love the smell of clean sheets, clean washing is nice in general, but clean sheets is somehow superior.
My bed has three duvets, one under my fitted sheet, two on top.. and 6 pillows. I also have two blankets on top for the ultimate nest. Of course in this photograph everything is pristine as I am not inhabiting it.

Image 4... notebooks..

I still like notebooks. All different patterns, designs. shapes and sizes..

I have been utilising my collage thoughts diary again. This is an ambivalent choice as my thoughts are not at their clearest and the disheveled layouts and content of the recent pages reflect my current, slightly unbalanced emotional state. A familiar feeling has been prickling the back of my conscience, and her voice has been gently waking in my mind more and more. She scares me.

My final image for today....

<(")

This may look strange, but if you input this into facebook chat during your next run of the mill discourse with your acquaintances, you will discover (much to you excitement if you are like me) that inputting this strange little symbolic cypher produces penguin..

Time to contemplate further imagery I suppose...

Too think to tired...

I am so tired. I am tired to that irritable, snappy, generally horrible point..

I enjoy my job, it makes me happy there.
I love my boyfriend, he makes me happy.
I love Zumba..

But I am so tired. When not working, I am desperately trying to keep up with my own reluctantly busy social life.

Driving. Driving. Driving.
To work, from work, home, to my boyfriends, to the cinema, to the pub... Endless car journeys to destinations I want to enjoy. But I am just so tired.

I watched this video earlier:

The video has no relevance to what I was just saying. Just watched it is all.

My dad just spoke to me. He knows I'm not myself. I'm not myself. I'm quiet. I'm not usually quiet.. but I am quiet to the point that I have even noticed that I'm quiet. If I'm not quiet I'm snappy. So best to be quiet.

A familiar voice has been whispering in my ear. Normally I can ignore her and her presence is irritating. But at this present time, I find the voice comforting. Familiar.

I even find comfort in my old journal book. Pages stiff as I sweep my fingertips across the glossy paper cutouts and textured paper, dappled with my own handwriting, words I vaguely remember writing. Pictures of willowy thin figures and punchy, provocative diet ad campaigns yadayadayada.

Did I mention that I was tired? I am really tired. Tired of moving. Tired of thinking.
Too tired to be bothering with being tired..

Are you being... nice to me.... ?

Camping this week was a fun time.. Once I had gotten over the initial absolute panic of grass and open fields and cows etc... (did I mention the grass?).

I have made some new friends, and although very nice and complimentary of every aspect of my being, I feel a little unsure how to take said compliments. I'm a little unsure why anyone would like me for me? After all, I am a rather strange individual with a personality rift the size of Jupiter...

After setting up, messing around going all the way back to Sheffield to teach a Zumba class, then going on a football/liquor/music interval... I arrived and settled at the camp site. It was fun. I had fun... I think I had fun...
We're going to see Harry Potter this week (the final one forever) in glorious 3d.. nice and expensive... Should be a fun time and a half... especially if theres popcorn..

Another positive story... I have a part time job at Costa Coffee. I know what you're thinking... isn't that the same as starbucks? Well.. it turns out no! It was nice, my team seem nice and I start on Sunday :-)

Maybe things will look up...

Starving the Anger Gremlin

In my previous employment role, we referred to anger as a gremlin that needs to be starved. An ironic concept really when applied to myself.

I find myself in a rather odd mood since my return from holiday, and although it had only been a day I fear that this mood is not going anywhere fast.

I am finding that I no longer trust myself and my own actions. My thoughts are scattered... impulsive... and at times pretty frightening to be honest. Find below, a couple of examples:

Strange impulse no. 1
A recurring one, in which I seriously considered jumping off the balcony whilst on my wonderful holiday... Not that I would have done it I imagine but the thought was scarily there.

Strange impulse no. 2
Cutting. A behaviour long behind me has been making small cameos in my conscious thoughts recently. But more worrying is the current strength of these urges... every time something even vaguely causes my mood to even drop in the slightest.

At this moment in time, my internal monologue is not one to be trusted. Even by me. A familiar voice gets louder and electrical impulses power a fearful and anxious engine, the resulting thoughts becoming a wave of angry, self loathing and all consuming fear.

I am almost afraid to be alone with myself. Something is coming, and I can feel it growing inside me.The Ivy putting down fresh new roots, stronger roots. Some dudd mechanical part of my sanity is going to vent under the pressure and, although I am unsure as to whether I wish to be present for this, it would appear (being as it is coming from inside my own head) that I have little choice in the matter.

My solution to this impending explosion/implosion? Avoid human contact as much as possible. Stay away from people. After all, I have already learned that I cannot be trusted not to express myself since my methods of expression appear to reap trouble and emotional strife for myself.

So the solution is simple really.

Stay away from as many people as possible. (Less interaction = less chance of saying something offensive.)
Speak as little as I have to. (As above)
Eat only as much as I need to. (Less food = better control)
Cry as much as I can on my own so as not to burden others with my pathetic problems. (Less crying = happier others)

Superficial

Why is it that one can coast through ones day, regardless of its difficulty or ones worries and stresses, but the minute someone mentions the dreaded words "how are you doing" or " are you ok?" the carefully constructed facade dissolves. This is happening to me more and more, several times in the space of a day.

To look at me, I'm doing fine. Physically my weight is dropping a little but is still classed as "stable" and "within" range. I go to work, and I perform my role, I remain calm under pressure (not because I am coping, but simply because my head is already too full and will not take on any further stress. It wouldn't be possible. It wouldn't fit) and I come home and go straight back out to dancing.

Yes. Physically I am doing ok. Except for the light headedness that people don't see. Except for the aching of my limbs and constant tiredness that people don't see. Except for the constant barrage or eating disordered thoughts plaguing my mind. To read my face, you would think that things are ok. That perhaps I am a little stressed, but apart from that I am managing.

But if you were to put your hand on my shoulder, or give me a hug, or ask how I'm doing, then the answer would be different. When people do this to me, I break down and cry. Every time.

My good mood is as superficial and fragile as the skin on water (apparently water has a skin, but I find this debatable). It floats on brief praise and completed tasks. It only takes a small comment, or for more than one person to ask me to do something at once for the "everything's fine" layer to disintegrate into tears.

Automated Punch Rant...

Wouldn't life be much simpler if we could all just punch the people who piss us off and then everything would miraculously be ok?

Today I am hideously upset.

Punch number one:

You people down at the housing benefit office, with your slow to react eyes and fingers when my form hits your sterilised desk, disturbing your coffee and ryvita minis. Yeah I'm talking to you! Pull your finger out and take the time from your extremely busy schedule of status updating and discussing Susan in finance's gastric band surprising lack of weight loss to at least look at my form. I am in arrears with my rent (or at least, I would be if my father was not so incredibly supportive - of course far far away from my punch list) thanks to you. But what do you care? You just see me the same way you see the odd, scruffy looking man stood well within my personal space in the que chewing your gum excessively loudly in my ear.

Punch number two: Man in the que up in my personal space chewing gum excessively loudly in my ear.

Punch number three:

Unison. I left my job in January. my agreement resulting in my being entitled to £2500 compensation and £3000 back pay should be fucking sorted out by now. Stop fobbing me off, and sort it out! I want that money! It's not even as if I'm taking my compensation and going on a round the world once in a lifetime trip after a slip and fall in meadowhall... I need the money to pay my rent and bills before my life literally gets cut off.

Punch number four:

Work. I am finding it difficult enough as it is managing this bowl of salad and treacherous bread roll, without you calling me back off my lunch every three milliseconds to serve on the counter. Result ... after five attempts at eating the bread roll (and being called back to work every time) I admit defeat and throw it in the bin. This act is then followed by an hours silent treatment to everyone chased with a crying episode over the industrial stainless steel sink in the back.

There are other punches, but these ones I am omitting as I feel a stab of guilt for wanting to throw them in the first place. I'm only glad that my arms don't have a knee jerk (see what I did there?) "automated punch response" every time I am upset or annoyed. If they did I would possibly be serving some kind of custodial sentence at this precise moment after several assaults... as well as the theft of a few bags of sweet chilli ryvita minis from the housing benefit offices.

So there you go. For all of you on the list... you can all just fuck off. Please excuse my foul mouthed use of the English language. I am rather unhappy.

Feeling the Sun on your bones

Its nice to see that summer has finally shown signs of returning this year. The smell is always the first indicator... like when the sun hits the tarmac for a prolonged period of time, leaving that smell that, for some inexplicable reason, is really comforting to me.

The introduction of more colour into the wardrobes of the people walking past as I walk to work, makes me feel the need to once again premier my sunglasses for the year. The Starbucks drink of choice has slowly ebbed from the caramel macciato to a caramel coffee light frappacino (whip free of course).

My favourite things about this time of year is the flowers. I love Spring flowers, almost more than summer ones. I always wonder if its because I am so happy to see them, that they give summer flowers less of an edge. Regardless of reason, I love walking through the Botanical Gardens and my local park, even if its raining a little.

The streets almost appear a little busier as people decide to leave their cars at home, me included (although I have no choice due to my burnt out clutch bearing!). Which, in turn clears the air... allowing for the smell of... well... warm tarmac... which I like so all is good in the world.

As for my ED, it remains the same. No worse, but not much better. Granted I am following my meal plan, eating more of a "variety" of foods, challenging my thoughts (which are plaguing and all consuming at times). I appear to take two steps forwards and one step back all the time. A meal out and a fear food, followed by days of absolute torture and compulsions to exercise and restrict.

On a happier note, I have decided to channel my love of Zumba into a possible source of income, by applying to undertake the instructor training.... and although things at my sandwich shop job are better, I still feel anxious and on edge, half of the time from the constant onslaught of ED thoughts, and the other half consumed with feelings on doubt and fear of error.

But the promise of summer gives me some hope, of brightness with regards to the weather at least, and on the back of that further hopes may ride in.

Unemotional locomotive

I appear to be going through the motions of my recovery and today came to a point of both contention and frustration, this being that I am going through the motions of recovery with regards to eating on a regular basis, but in all honesty I am no further forwards in my head and way of thinking than this time last year at the beginning of my relapse.

Don't get me wrong I am trying, Jesus I am really trying, but there is a big part of me that does NOT want to get better. Because getting better means not losing any more weight. Which means not being small. Which means not being special or interesting or loved.

I am moving forwards in that I am getting a good grip on my albeit part time work life. I am feeling better physically, which is a good thing.

But I am still stuck in my head on the deep seated desire to lose that last stone. Just one more stone. I know I will be happy if I do this. But this means risking everything that I am currently working for.

I am hurting the people closest to me. I am really hurting my mum and my guilt is almost unbearable when I think about all the people who care about me, and all the people who are "worse off" than I am.

But that guilt is fuelling my eating disorder further and further. It's like I am stuck in a vicious cycle going round and round and round and round..

Like a kind of sick fairground ride.

Cognitive Dissonance you say? I say you are wrong... as I nod my head in agreement.

I am currently completely immersed in plaguing thoughts around recovery. I appear to state vehemently that I want to get better, that I want to move on with my life, that I want to be free of negative thoughts around food and all of its surrounding constraints.

However, my actions and behaviour does not appear to mirror my good intentions... Despite my attempts to follow my outlined plans this week, I am still preoccupied with losing another stone. Just one more stone and I will be happy. This week I have gone against my anti weighing target, and have not managed my three hour intake target. I am a complete failure.

All or nothing thinking
Catastrophising

I feel unsupported and feel that my closest support sources grow ever tired of my problems. To add to this, my new job at a local sandwich shop is proving far more intense and less drole than I expected. I cant seem to pick things up fast enough, and I am making too many mistakes. I cant get it right and I am letting everyone down. Again I am a failure.

Personalising
Jumping to conclusions

I know what cognitive thinking errors are, I know I am making them, and yet I appear unable to change my thoughts or behaviour.

I am afraid that if I carry on with this bout of cognitive dissonance, I will not be offered continuing treatment. If this happens I know I will fall into a downward spiral which I will not be able to get myself out of....

So the question really is... which decision is the penultimately dissonant one?

A New Chapter

This week appears to have marked a turning point in my life.

I have been offered a job at Starbucks, which I have excitedly accepted of course. I have also started a part time job at a local sandwich shop. Firstly, who knew that making sandwiches was this complicated. The combination of chaotic working environment and knowledge of both sandwich ingredients and the whereabouts of everything I need in a new kitchen has proven somewhat of a challenge to my perfectionist self loathing personality. I have completed my third shift today and for the second time have walked home in tears, fearing that I will never work at the required pace and speed with the required efficiency which is needed.

This week I have received my official diagnosis from the Specialist Eating Disorders Team. The words are still resonating in my mind...

Bulimia Nervosa

The diagnosis took me somewhat by surprise as I have always lived in the shadow of the dreaded AN and BN amidst my EDNOS bubble. I am unsure how I feel about the diagnosis, or whether it has in fact sunk in.

I have three targets for the next week; No weighing, No diuretics or diet pills and eat every three hours (no matter how small or low calorie the amount). The first of these targets I know I will find difficult as it appears to have become a habit every time I go to the loo... The second I think will be manageable as if I am being honest, I know they don't really work... The third of these targets fills me with the most fear, doubt and perceived lack of control. I am unable to start my therapy until I am physically on an even keel. It would appear that my resting heart rate of 47 is not acceptable and the resulting cardiology appointment is tomorrow at 2pm.

Yesterday was the first day of my targets and I met all three. Go on me! Today was excruciatingly difficult.

But tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

A brief discussion about your five a day...

I was chatting to my mum earlier this week and we got onto discussing what constitutes a portion of fruit or vegetable. Of course there are the usual suspects when the debate began, however, our debate developed into a completely new discussion resulting in both of us crying with laughter...

Portions of fruit and veg as according to Sasha-Louise and Safia (that's my mum) are as follows:

Jam (any flavour) - this included the jam that can be found within a doughnut

Macdonalds Apple pie

Raspberry cheesecake (or any fruit flavour cheesecake)

Eton Mess (strawberries of course)

Vegetable Crisps

Chips (its a stretch but as far as we are concerned, a potato is most definitely a vegetable in all of its forms)

Fruit gums and Haribo (even the fried eggs are fruit flavoured)

Pineapple upside down cake

Apple or any fruit crumble (with custard also gives you a portion of dairy...)

Crispy seaweed (as everyone knows that it is more often than not deep fried green cabbage)

These are just a few of the many amusing portions that we developed over a cup of peppermint tea (another portion as far as I'm concerned).

Please feel free to add further to our list, as we are always looking at innovative new ways for people to incorporate fresh fruit and veg into their diets the easy and naughty way.

Bravery and changing stuff...

This Wednesday I walked out of my job. Nothing had particularly happened since my mild dda related rant on Monday. I sat at my desk as per every other day since last July, and something felt different. I couldn't stand the thought of a day in the life of this happy person that I appear to have become.

So I told the admin assistant I felt ill, and I walked out. I also have no intention of returning and although I have been informed that I am required to give a months notice... I have no intention of doing so. Unison and HR are now sorting the finalities out on my behalf.

Thursday brought about a feeling of relief and for the first time in a long time I feel more positive, as if my fingertips have happened across a silver lining in the sad cloud of my working life.

Armed with CV's I strolled down the road into town, with the gentle strumming of Benjamin Francis Leftwich's "Atlas Hands" softening the sounds of traffic via my headphones. I took my CV into Starbucks and into a small but quirky clothing and gifts shop called Joy. I was not expecting my overqualified, irrelevant and unrelated employment history to aid me in achieving anything in these stores.

But I was pleasantly mistaken. Starbucks rang me straight away and I have a two hour trial shift on Monday (everything crossed). I had an interview for today at Joy which went well (I think), and how lovely would it be to work in a store called Joy!

I find out about both on Tuesday so I am remaining hopeful, albeit a little difficult.

In the meantime, my newfound free time has been filled by the perusing of small boutiques and stores sporting home baked goodies. I found myself rummaging through various handmade creations, thinking to myself "I reckon I could make nearly all of this stuff"... So that is what I intend to channel my spare time into.

Sewing, crafting and baking is my new spare time venture, and I intent to immerse myself in it happily. I also intend to get out my guitar and channel my fears, thoughts and feelings into some new music.

2011 will be my year, even though I know I will have to work hard to make that so.

Upset the apple cart?!? I'll frikkin kick it over in a minute!

So an update on my current status with regards to mood, well I can image you can gather from the heading that I am pretty pissed off.

I had my ed assessment last week, well half of it anyways. It seems that my history with regards to ed is a lot more complex that I expected. The initial part of said assessment was also a lot more intense and distressing that I expected. In addition to this I have also had other related hospital appointments, which will come to a grand total of 4 in February alone.

A point which my manager has enjoyed raising with me. Which leads me onto the reasons for my extreme pissiness. Not only am I made to feel that I am not pulling my weight as I am having to have time off for these appointments, I am also not receiving paid time off. I have perused the leave policy for my company only to discover that I am completely within my rights to have paid time off under both the discretionary leave policy and, much more importantly, under DDA legislation.

Now let me clarify before I continue my rant... I have never used my ed to gain special treatment. I have never asked work for anything. No reasonable adjustments. Nothing. The only thing I need is time off for these appointments, and to be paid in accordance with both the DDA company policy. Instead, I am being made to take flexi leave for these appointments. Which results in my being down on my hours, adding further pressure on me by making me work additional hours. Hours which I do not currently feel well enough to manage.

I went into a meeting to challenge my manager, which took a full weekend of psychological preparation and anxiety. I went in, armed with the policy, knowing that what I was saying was right and reasonable. The response included the following:

"I don't appreciate staff coming in here telling me about Policy. If you like we can arrange a meeting with (managers manager) and toss Policy around all day, but I have gone above and beyond what is required of me to accommodate you"

"You are out of order to say that this team don't understand you. This team is the most understanding team I have ever worked in"

"So the 16th, that's another days flexi you are going to have to take. You are just going to have to try your best to make these hours up"

"In the end to only people you are letting down is your young people and yourself"

So the question I pose is, why the hell am I bothering trying to get better? Why should I try when it is causing all of this trouble for me?

I called Unison, I called B-eat and I called Mind Legal... All of whom said that I now have a valid case for discrimination under the DDA. But I'm so scared to go through with it. I want to, even though I am leaving this hellish nightmare in March.

I want to do it because I no longer want to feel that my ed is something that I should be ashamed of.

Birthday Baking Bonanza

On Saturday I took my culinary skills to new heights and made the best "I can't believe you made that" cakes. This is is a gift for my dad for his 50th Birthday...

I found myself watching Saturdays "Baking made easy" with Lorraine Pascal and thought to myself... "I reckon I could actually make that"... But I never expected it to go this successfully! My dad loved it, and I'm going to meet him today (as today is his actual birthday) for a coffee and a piece of said cake.

Following Sundays three course meal trauma I am still feeling extremely tentative about having a piece of my creation. Last night, even two hours at the gym did not ebb the feelings of guilt over Sunday's feast (even though I didn't really eat much of anything if I look at it rationally...)...

Sitting between my eating disordered sister and eating disordered step mum was quite an experience. Although I tried my hardest to avert my gaze from their behaviours, my own thoughts were stinging at me after every mouthful.

I feel angry. Angry that I have to make the effort to  get better when they are allowed to be the way they are. I am angry at my boyfriends sister for being allowed to continue as she is doing. Part of me feels that it is unfair that I have to make the effort just because I have admitted that I have a problem, when they are left to their own devices. Everyone is just watching them get worse and worse, but I am the only person they challenge.

I hate that people also assume that just because I have sought some help, that I have had some kind of epiphany and that everything will all of a sudden be rectified overnight. My family think that as I have sought help, that I am better, when I am actually deteriorating at a rate that frightens me to the centre of my dwindling insight. I feel pressured. That now I have took the first steps, I have to get better, but I don't want to, but I do at the same time.

I feel completely lost with regards to what I want or expect from myself.

A cut above the rest

This is a creative writing diary entry recording an experience which I still remember very clearly. I am sure as you read you will realise what I did:

Its dark, around 6.45 pm and the night air is frosty. I don't remember the date, but I'm 17. I'm not really dressed for how cold the weather is, and the damp of the ground is rising through the heavy cord fabric of my jeans. I've tucked my fingers into my Deftones hoodie. It's my favourite, it smells like my boyfriend and the left sleeve is sticking uncomfortably to my arm. It Stings.

I'm nearly at the bottom of the street, skimming my fingers along the railings as I walk down the footpath. I can still hear the raised voices at home ringing in my head. If I reached out, I think I could touch the tensions with my freezing fingers.

I'm angry. I'm empty (in every sense of the word). I'm useless. Beyond crying there is only one way to get out the screaming inside my head. Normally I would have something in my pocket, an emergency "break glass" (excuse the pun) option. But this time my pockets are empty.

Panic bubbles in my stomach, and fizzes up towards my chest and my breathing quickens and my palms feel clammy and I can't meet them like this because they can't see how out of control I am. House key no Earring no even the clasp on my purse no.

The yellow of the streetlamp is reflected by the wet tarmac of the footpath. I'm crouching now, my eyes are scanning desperately for the glint of a reflection.

I see it.

Several pieces of green shimmer in the light overhead. The edges rip at my fingertips and I wince as I peel back my sleeve, unsticking the fabric. I already know the right angle depth and force I need so as not to leave a permanent reminder, but enough to pacify the screaming in my head.

A wave of shame and disgust flows over the pain like the bursting of a dam. Paranoia at what someone would say if they saw this. I feel disgusted at what I've just done, staring down at the remaining green gems glimmering in the sediment of the puddle in front of me.

I pull down my sleeve, and keep walking, and I don't feel better.

This experience was a good few years ago now, and I am glad to say that it has been almost a year and a half since I have self harmed. And for this I feel very proud of myself.

The irritability of .... well... irritability

I am unsure why, but I feel increasingly irritable. I am sure there is some kind of explanation, tiredness, stress or maybe the decrease in calorie intake, or mother natures wonderful monthly gift. But right now I could scream my innards out.

So here it is, a day in the life of my irritability.

1. I am woken up early due to sleeping in the lounge at my boyfriends (it is a small house and a big family, enough said)

2. I turn on sky plus, ready to watch my pre recorded "New America's Next Top Model" only to discover that someone has recorded over both planned episodes

3. I find a re run of the episode only for the electric to go off in the house

I shower and get dressed, and my mood lifts a little. My new clothes fit ok and I am wearing a brightly coloured top as to confirm my theory that it is nearly spring.

4.My boyfriends dad comes in to read the paper and makes a regular snorting/grunting noise through his nose (he has a cold coming)

5. My boyfriends super slim eating disordered sister arrives home. Instant whale syndrome ensues.

I spend the next three hours completing various application forms for jobs that I don't particularly want. But needs must and maybe I will like it once I'm in there, if I ever get in there.  My boyfriends sister goes to her boyfriends and I feel I can relax a little.

6. I go to bake some lemon buns only to find out that someone has used all the baking ingredients I spent £17 on the previous week. I manage to salvage enough to make a dozen mediocre looking sponges.

7. My boyfriends other sister returns home, messes up the kitchen and turns the TV over, despite my being mid programme stating "Hollyoaks" is for losers. She then sits and eats a sandwich noisily in my ear (her manners are not the best, lots of lip smacking. I am passive and leave the room.

8. I climb onto the top bunk of the bed in my boyfriends room, and discover an old pair of socks amidst the blankets (I have had the "please don't leave your socks in the bed its gross" argument with his brother countless times, to no avail it would seem).

9. My boyfriends twin drinks from a dodgy water bottle, resulting in disgusting slurping noises. I shout at him then steal his laptop.

So there it is, almost a perfect ten of irritating events. I am now hiding in the bunk hoping I can just avoid the family party planned for this evening, for which my boyfriends sister is returning home and a buffet is being served. If this bed led to another dimension, now would be a good time for the fact to be revealed...

You would think losing my job would ruin my day... You would be right.

Yesterday I was informed that my contract (which will end March 31st) will not be renewed due to funding. I don't think I can put things any more simply.

I was proud of my reaction. I cried a little but on the whole I took it well and took the day off, which was willingly offered to me.

I walked into town to meet my dad. The gentle sound of Bombay bicycle clubs new acoustic album soothed my mind as my feet rhythmically hit the pavement. It's not the end of the world I told myself. It could be worse I told myself. I'll find something else I told myself.

Underneath my apparent calm and stability, I am terrified. My ED jumped on the job loss band wagon immediately and I am so scared that this will spiral me further down. But I managed to ignore it and pushed on through town to meet my dad.

Things picked up over the day and I filled out my UCAS midwifery application. I don't think I will get through until next year but its a start. Peppermint tea after peppermint tea (plus one maryland cookie to pacify my dads worry) added to the calming effect of the music seeping through one headphone, whilst my other ear lent itself to my dad's news. He has an interview for a job in Ireland, so might be away for most of the week. The selfish side of me wants him to stay, but I know this is a good opportunity for him and I would still get to see him at weekends. I will be so sad if he gets the job though. I have grown to love our regular coffee meetings in town, sometimes twice weekly and three times if its a good week.

This morning I arrived back at work to find a job vacancy in my email inbox. I have spent all morning searching and things are looking a little brighter. I must admit I am struggling to ignore my negative ED thoughts and they are still very much in control of a lot of my actions.

I don't know where I will be from week to week now and if there is one thing I really struggle to tolerate it is uncertainty. Limbo is not a place for the weak hearted so I must disguise my fear, for fear of giving into it completely.

Hung up on the phone call

Yesterday I received a phone call. One I have been expecting for around a week. Let me first describe the preliminary ordeal which has led me to this particular telephone conversation.

I was referred to a specialist team to for an assessment around my ED. I arrived at the office, terrified as I knew the questions I was required to answer. However, during my 20 minute assessment (That's right... 20 minutes) the questions weren't asked. The assessor didn't really ask me much at all about my ED.

I left the building, feeling hopeful that there would be enough information in there to support my referral to the specialist eating disorders service. My hope was misplaced.

I waited for three weeks with no letter, call or even any incling of what was happening. So I called the specialist service and asked what was happening (I might add that during this time and currently my ED is getting progressively worse).

The call left me in tears. Apparently there was not enough information in my assessment and I had to wait until the doctor who did my initial assessment gave them the information. Which I knew meant having to wait at least a week for a call from him, as he only works on Mondays and Tuesdays.

Anyway, the ending is reasonably happy. I received this call yesterday, and answered the questions which I knew I should have been asked in the first place. I asked what would happen if I didn't meet the criteria, and joked with the distant man on the phone that they might say "Come back to us in 6 months when you weigh 6 stone". But my joke was edged with a little genuine fear.

What if I don't meet their criteria? What if I haven't jumped accurately through their ridiculous diagnostic hoops? What will happen to me?

The Trickery of Mr Twix

I don't know where I start and she begins anymore. Did you know I spent all weekend arguing with the two separate sides of myself?
I can't believe you gave in so much today. You are a useless, greedy pig.

Now don't mistake my current state for being the constant, I do have good days. It's just that today, and the days constituting the last three or four weeks, are not my most viable good day samples.

Twix Man

Today I was sat at my desk when from within my drawer I heard an ominous deep vibration, a sound which I have been ignoring for that last 4 hours.

"I am Twix man! All ye behold at my mighty combination of both confectionery and baked good! Bow down at my dazzling combination of textures in a wonderfully tasty explosion!"

"But alas sir Twix man, you are but a fun sized shadow of your former glory..."

"Indeed this may be true, but this makes me more special. For I am safer and will be easily defeated and cancelled out by this evenings sweat busting gym session. I am safe for you and you WILL love me..."

So there it was. An impenetrable argument that cannot really disputed.

Excuse me madam I appear to have lost my found

I feel a little lost today to say the least.

Not only has work dragged like a blimp through treacle, but I have spent this extended slowed version of time being plagued by thoughts of sweets and treats. so much so that I just want to sleep to escape it all.

Today has been an odd montage of typing, phone calls and chocolate calorie laden dreams, with an infusion of social awkwardness and heavy snow showers. I feel as though I am drifting between two separate sides of myself. Their discourse is getting more agitated and argumentative and as I listen I appear to forget where I am.

"Don't you dare fucking eat anything you weak pathetic excuse for a human being!"

I have spent the last few hours yearning to leave the small 90's static ridden pod that is my office and get home to pack my pants and sleep for the whole weekend at my boyfriends. My worry speaks volumes across my face, as my fear for the future increases.

Even with ten minutes to spare before I can legitimately flee, I still feel like there are hours to go....

First Support Group

Last night, I went to my first support group. It has taken me at least three months to build up the courage to go.

The primary reason that I have for avoiding such a helpful intervention is simple. Last year, I worked as a support worker in a specialist eating disorders unit. I would love to say that this was only because I wanted to help others who had been through what I had, but there was another reason. If I am being totally honest with myself, I knew that this position would keep my own ED at bay, and keep me on an even, three meal a day keel.

Anyway, back to why this support group was so difficult. I was scared. Scared that I would see someone I knew, either a patient, or a fellow staff member. I was terrified and ashamed that anyone would find out my failings as a strong pillar of recovery.

But I went last night.

I arrived at the group and there was only one other girl there. I found myself immediately asking her who ran the group. As I asked, the facilitator entered the room.

Fuck.

I then had a further agonising choice to make. Do I run out now before I am seen and my shame and failure is exposed, or do I do what I know is the right thing for me to do? I got up, and spoke to my friend.

And it was OK.

In fact, the group went well, and although I left upset, I found it helpful. It was nice to see that there were other people going through the EXACT same fears as I was. I also realised from looking around the group, that eating disorders are NOT all about BMI, as I was around average size wise to the majority of the group.

After the group my friend said that I should join her and some of my old work friends for a drink. Even after knowing about my relapse, they still wanted to be my friends. It would appear that my shame was unfounded to some extent.

So there it was, my first support group, and I think I'll go back next month.