What's the point?

What's the point in writing this blog?
What's the point in anything?

 I'm bored, lonely and sad. And a broken f*ing record.

I go from obsessing over my relationships, to obsessing over my ED...now i'm doing both and it's suffocating. I only have the mental energy to talk about certain things and to certain people.

I want some fun in my life, something to look forward to but i don't know how to make that happen. Nothing seems enough anymore, very few experiences give me any pleasure apart from going out and getting drunk, or losing weight. And the latter never seems to happen cuz all i do is fucking stuff my fat arse face with food every night and then cry all day afterwards.
(me talking to myself) What a fucking joker - like seriously who do you think you are shoving all this crap into your mouth? no wonder you're growing more and more covered in flesh, face ballooning like a prize pig. I actually fucking hate you. Piece of shit. No words can begin to describe the hatred i have for you and the flesh and fat you have covering yourself. Quit moaning like a sissy bitch and control yourself. You look like a saggy whore with your fat tits sticking out and curvy bum. Arggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.

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I'm scared of my own thoughts lately, i feel so hopeless about everything. Feel like i'm slowly giving up on life now. I want to be happy, i want to feel loved, cared for and cherished. Someone other than family members to love me unconditionally.

Trauma work has started, i guess this is making shit worse too but has to be done. I'm finally realising where this eating disorder came from and the fact that I can't go back in time and change it makes everything seem even more hopeless.
Next session i have to go through all the details of the attack, something which i have not done with anyone in full - i have been through segments and bits of it with a few trusted people, but no-one in full. In my mind i split it up into 4 sections:
The prelude - The 4 hours before it happened
The attack itself.
The journey home afterwards.
and, The mental abuse in the following month.

I have been so so desperate to get it out and off my chest, in totality - like its this filthy festering secret inside of me that i need to tell someone just so i can hear the words 'Its okay, it wasn't your fault'. But i'm too terrified of exposing myself like that and the fear of judgement...or worse...what if someone says 'well actually you could have done more to stop it' 'you should have done this/that/the other'.
There's so much shame and disgust surrounding it.

I feel too sick and distracted to write anymore.

Formal letter.

I am posting a copy of an email i have just sent my therapist. Kind of a formal complaint if you will. I put a 'cc' on the email to include the family therapist and psychiatrist so they can see what simon has been saying too. Ha.

Hi Simon,

I’m writing to you because I feel I need to say a few things which I have been too scared to in recent sessions (and indeed a few sessions last year), and have quite frankly been distressing me so much that I just can’t hold them in any longer.

Some of your words have stayed with me and tormented me daily since I heard them. I need to let you know how much you have hurt and affected me. I don’t mean to place blame but hearing some of your comments with the combination of my already poorly mind has just amplified and ‘confirmed’ my insecurities and fears.

Last session when I brought up the subject of not being weighed and your reply was that you ‘could tell I hadn’t been losing weight from various body parts you had seen’. This comment was probably the most distressing thing I have heard in relation to my ED – the fact that you were commenting on my body was, I feel completely inappropriate to someone with an eating disorder. I though therapy was a place where we could come to feel safe and not judged, but now I don’t feel either of these. How can you make assumptions on someone’s body weight under baggy clothing? I make such an effort to cover nearly every inch of myself (bar my hands and face) and you know how distressed I am with my body and other people looking at it, and then to hear your comments about you being able to ‘see from my face, wrists and collar area’ that it wasn’t a cause for concern! Do you know how damaging those words are to an ED sufferer? It was like you had confirmed everything my eating disorder tells me every single second of the day – that I am ‘not thin enough, not ill enough and not really anorexic’. And just because someone’s eyes aren’t sunken and cheekbones aren’t hollow does NOT mean they are not underweight! You cannot rely on someone’s face to accurately tell you of their body weight. I have seen plenty of underweight people without ‘hollow cheeks and sunken eyes’ – this is such a stereotype and it has made me feel like fat failure. Thank you for confirming this.

In the session previous to that, when I opened up about my feelings surrounding my body and eating and you were shocked at how ‘eating disordered’ I sounded, you said that “these were the kind of things you’d expect a severely underweight patient at the beginning of treatment, who is about to go Inpatient ASAP” to say and what you would hear from them, not me. Just because my weight is not low enough to be classed as ‘serious’ does NOT mean that my thoughts, feelings and behaviours are any less strong/controlling. What about Bulimia patients or other types of eating disorders, would you be surprised if you heard my thoughts coming from them? Just bcoz their weight may not come into the ridiculous BMI brackets. I honestly feel like the fattest, most disgusting whale after those 2 sessions, and equally triggering ones from last year.

I realise this was probably not your intention but you have made me feel like crap. Like I don’t matter as much because of my weight, like my weight isn’t even an issue, that I don’t need to increase my food intake or put on weight. But this is what I thought anyway and have done for a while now but these past 2 sessions have just confirmed this.

The comparison of believing in father Christmas, then not, and then starting to believe in him again I found quite strange (and insulting). How a mental illness can be compared to that of father Christmas I do not know. The fact is, just because I got a bit better and have now gone backwards (in my thinking not my weight I know, thanks for pointing that out) does not make it ‘an odd pattern’ as you said. People DO relapse and although some people may follow a pattern and fit into a nice tidy box – not everyone does and I obviously don’t.

I don’t really know what else to say because I have gotten too upset writing this now and all I can think of is how disgusting and revolting fleshy I am.

Katie.

General

GM is coming round for dinner tonight and i'm scared. I get so triggered being around her and i know its wrong but i just can't help it. Not only is it her skeletal frame, but her constant talk of food while she's eating it/before-hand and "oh i won't have all this bcoz i had quite a big lunch" and bringing 2 mini Petit Felou yoghurts for her pudding like some bloody child ...eugh :(  (she has stomach problems)
I'm a bad person i know.
And then i'm just sat there like this massive prize pudding covered in flesh, with my cheeks hanging down, my legs all coated with this layer of fat and shit, and she's sat there so small it's ridiculous - i'm a fucking joke of an 'anorexic'.

We also have Ashleigh my niece staying from 4pm today until tuesday afternoon, which is nice. She's 10 so a nice distraction.
She has Type 1 Diabetes though so everything has to weighed/calculated/carbohydrate monitored and written down, not going over a certain number for every meal etc...
Please fuck off ED and stop making every damn situation about YOU.

On another note, i was looking back through pictures of myself on my Tumblr and saw some where my hair was shorter, like by my collar area and I like it like that. I'm torn. I've wanted to cut my hair for a while now but there's things holding me back and then...well basically, I like my hair being long(ish) bcoz i feel 'safer' in the sense that i can hide behind it and it's a distraction from my fat on my face..BUT at the same time i feel more vulnerable bcoz i look more feminine with longer hair and more at risk. I like my hair shorter bcoz it felt like the Adult Me...who i really am. But my ED is convinced that my face looks fatter with shorter hair.

Everything comes back to f*ing ED.

Questions/A letter

I need closure. This is fucking killing me.

Where are you? Newbury or Leeds?
 Do you think about it ever? What do you feel? Do you even have any remorse?
What happened to your ex-girlfriend? Is she still ill? Is that why you did it? Did you know that I am now afflicted with the same damn illness she had???
Did you know, every second of the day I want to tear all my flesh, my breasts, my femininity, everything off - so I resemble nothing like the girl I was. I'm too afraid to wear fucking skirts because of you. Too scared to have less than 2 layers of clothing on at a time because of you. Too damn scared to leave the house when my body is even slightly curvy or feminine because of YOU. Fucking housebound BECAUSE OF YOU.

Why did you do it? WHY. Did you get a kick out of mentally tormenting me at Chris's afterwards? Mouthing that you were 'gonna fuck me again by march'. Creeping up on me in the bathroom while I'm brushing my teeth, stupidly thinking that i'm safe.


Where the fuck are you and why won't you answer my questions?

Blue Blanket

I was browsing through videos on Youtube earlier and listening to some of Andrea Gibson's work - love her, plus she's cute lol. And i stumbled upon a poem/song called Blue Blanket, having no idea what it was about I started listening and the words seemed to speak to me so I continued to listen. About 30 seconds to a minute in I realised what the poem was about and was just dumb-struck. From then on I was hanging onto every word she spoke with tears in my eyes and pain in my chest.
Every single line of this poem is incredible and speaks so loudly to me that I can barely articulate just how much it has moved me.
At the end line i just said 'fuuuuuuck' out loud to myself sat in my room, and then listened again, and again, and again. Each time finding new words/phrases and meanings in this piece, and each time it still makes me cry.
Just wow.

It's not something I speak much about due to various reasons but something I will be starting Trauma work on next month. I am scared.

*growl*

I despise Simon SOOOOOO MUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Fucking unprofessional, ignorant and neglectful fuck-wit i have ever encountered.

I realise there is a lot of 'foul language' flying around here but this is how I expresses myself. So apologies to any non-swearers...but whatevs. Don't like? don't read :)
Plus I write how I speak so scuse the grammar.

Anyway, back to shit-head Simon. I don't think he knows his right foot from his left foot y'no. Omc i have so many emotions and anger at him that i could just cry. How dare he associate weight with severity of disordered thinking. He's a shitting ED therapist for crying out loud - why you act surprised dick-wad? don't you know ammm loco?!

Well, he's got a lot to think about now and will have a lot of explaining to do come the referral to Marlborough. Looks like someone's been slacking in the observation department.
If I were a lawyer (coulda happened lol) I would call it gross negligence! haha so dramatic.

Also who in their right minds gets angry & uses scare tactics in the middle of a therapy session?
Head of you field are you Simon? more like head of you arse!


Annnnnnnnnnyways, lets end on a calmer note of...manwell is sat with me snuggled in blankets on my bed and looks like a prize pup. I could put a bow on him and he'd be all bonny.

Same old same old

I've realised i rarely blog, and i always want to but then get scared that it'll sound too negative and depressing...so then i was reading back over some blogs and although they are quite sad yes, they don't actually seem half as 'triggering/harmful/whatever' as i was thinking they were.
So i thought fack it, i'm 'allowed' to write another. And i'm bottling everything up so much atm that i don't quite realise where or what position i'm in.
There's some really strange thoughts that you think and realise, only when seeing/hearing it from someone else. That sounds simplistic, but it's not. I can't be arsed to explain it by typing cuz i'm not very good at articulating myself via the written word (!).

So, i am still fat - still blobby - still chunky, curvy and revoltingly fleshy and 'plump'. Reason? greedy arse fuck.
I've been wondering if i have an under-active thyroid or something lately cuz of how big i am :(
I DO NOT LIKE BEING THIS SIZE. But nothing ever seems to change.


I haven't been out of my street for a month now. It's really saddening to me. I have been on 2 dog walks in this time period, which is in the fields behind my house. And then i tried to go to a therapy appointment last week but my car broke down. But that's irrelevant, just me adding all the details like i do (OCD).
And the main reason for me not leaving the house is bcoz i can't bare to be seen in this state..this pure revulsion of a body. I don't want people seeing how curvy and fleshy i am, how my tits stick out, my bum is wide and my legs wobble. I don't want to feel the fabric of underwear/a bra touching my skin that closely bcoz it makes me feel physically sick to the point where i can actually be dry-heaving. I don't want ANYTHING touching me or my body or my skin - i don't even want this flesh touching me bcoz it shouldn't be on me, i don't want it here and i didn't ask it to be. It feels like a violation :( 
I could just cry and cry at how much i hate myself and my body - it's more than i can even explain.
I don't WANT the waistband on joggers to touch me or be around my hips, i don't WANT to feel the bra underneath me. GET OFF ME :(

So this is the reason i haven't been out for so long, and the reason why the whole of last year was basically spent at home, bar a few 'okay' moments of being able to have anna come stay, go up to lil-dawg's, and go shopping a few times in my periods of stability.

Basically, it all comes down to - if i'm over a certain weight i'm not allowed to leave the house. Period. End of story.
I want to break freeeeeeeeeeeeeeee from this fucking cage but i don't have the energy or strength too anymore.