So the past two nights, since the monster dreams, I have cuddled a teddy. It was from my boyfriend and really is too small to ‘cuddle’, being about 2 inches tall and 1 inch wide. She (yes it’s a girl) only really fits in the palm of my hand, but I guess what matters is she’s there with me.
I’m in a weird place, still. I haven’t binged now for 9 days and counting. Every day I want to eat but I can’t. I went to bed feeling sick and bloated, I think because I’d gone hungry then had dinner whilst also being tense. Eating something else would have cured it but it wouldn’t have made it worthwhile because mentally all night I’d be questioning and trying to validate my actions of eating something.
I went to do my shift at the hospital yesterday. I carry out surveys, and was on the oncology ward (cancer). It really put things in perspective and it was so sad. People were there fighting for their lives with something invisible to them that was so unimaginable yet so life changing. They couldn’t see it or hold it or grasp it, they couldn’t run from it, they couldn’t escape it. All they could do was wait and hope. They knew it was there inside them, growing and crawling all over them, eating them, devouring their physical bodies and their souls, their mentality, their wellbeing, their dignity and pride and happiness. But at the same time, they were still themselves and they didn’t want to be dominated by this mere mass of cells. I wished so much that I could help, but at the end of the day I had to walk away, numb myself, and forget them. So hard. In the past I’ve sometimes thought it would be less of a struggle to have a physical illness because then it actually exists, but yesterday made me realise how wrong and how selfish I was being. My illness may make me very ill, but my life isn’t hanging in the balance. I hope, so much, for them all to make a recovery, but I know that’s wishful thinking. Life can be so, so cruel.
I didn’t really do anything for the few hours after the hospital. I felt too down, too confused and too unmotivated. I just sank into myself, and let my thoughts push me further from reality. My boyfriend finished work and came on Skype before going out for the evening. He saw how tired, weak, and miserable I was. He begged me to eat, ‘1200 calories isn’t enough’. But I wouldn’t. Please eat something, if you’re hungry why can’t you just have some food? An egg or some chocolate? I refused. And my eyes filled with tears because it bought back memories of anorexia, when my mum would plead with me to eat more than 500 calories but to no avail. I am balancing between the two extremes when I just want to be healthy.
I went to bed quite early, and woke about 3:30. I felt so jittery and alone. Scared. I still felt like being sick. All I wanted to do was run, and I hate running but I needed to. My legs felt like they were pumping with electricity and I didn’t know how I could sleep with that. I felt so anxious and nervous of nothing. I tried to reassure myself but couldn’t. I put in some music, and concentrated on my breathing, and lulled myself back to rest.
Now it’s day 10. At least I’m getting somewhere. But I feel hungrier than ever yet need to go to the gym later. I’ll end today on 1200 minus 500 calories which I’ll burn (ie 700 calories in total). I know that’s not right but I can’t help it. It’s that, or binge, and I am terrified to do the latter because I have promised myself, my family, my boyfriend, and you that I won’t.