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.