back

There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.”

So my psychologist wants me to start journalling. So it seems I’m back. She gave me a book but I think this medium better suits me. Problem is I’m so delayed with what’s been happening so I’ll do a bit of back logging. It will be much more summarised though because I wasn’t writing every day so I’ll have to rely purely on my memory.

butterflies

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

I’m not afraid anymore. I want to get better. I want my life back. I want to be free. It will be scary and hard work, but that’s okay. I’m not afraid to say it anymore: “I have anorexia.” See. There. It didn’t kill me to say it. These things are fixable. Life is waiting for me!

walking

“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.”

I had an appointment with the dietician yesterday. My brain shut down.
She tried to tell my dad how he’s supposed to be supporting me during meals and stuff. How people with eating disorders feel more contained when there is that support and etc etc. He was having none of it. He still believes that I should be completely independent with it and says that if I’m not going to eat then I’m not going to eat and there’s nothing that he can do about it. It makes me scared because I don’t have that support that I need at the moment, but at the same time I was so relieved that he won’t pressure me to eat.

She also talked about hospital. How now it is just inevitable and that she’d talk to the GP and that and see if they could get an admission in the next week or two. I’m just sick of suffering. If I’m going to go to hospital then just make me go already, you know?

She also told me I shouldn’t be doing any exercise. I’ve been walking almost every day recently. I’m not going to stop walking because I’m already anxious about what I’m eating. Today I have an appointment with the psychologist and I’m going to walk there. I need something to kill my boring days and walking is how I cope with food, it’s how I give myself time to listen to music and think and give myself a change of scenery. She says I could faint on the side of the road or something and it’s dangerous. I don’t think it’s dangerous. I need to walk. It keeps me sane.

So that’s what’s going on in my life at the moment. I don’t really update a lot at the moment but I’m not feeling like writing. I like writing, I just can’t find myself able to think enough to do it, you know?

trust

“’It was a mistake,’ you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.”

I got a message from my mum this morning… way to turn my day to shit with a few short sentences.

losing

“The hatchet must fall on the block; the oak must be cleft to the centre. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Here is the pen and the paper; on the letters in the wire basket I sign my name, I, I, and again I.”

So at the moment, I am losing… in basically every sense of the word. Weight, life, cognitive function, the list goes on. I’m tired, but happy that I’m losing, because then I know at least one thing is ok. At least I am skinny.

I’m on instagram now; finally caved. If you feel so obliged, you can see who I am: http://instagram.com/millie1788

over

“In the end we’re all just chalk lines on the concrete
Drawn only to be washed away
For the time that I’ve been given
I am what I am”

This is it. I’m over it. I’m so over it I’m practically underneath it, being smothered by the relentless weight of the situation. I’m sick of having to choose whether to eat or not eat and always making the wrong decision. I’m angry at myself and the only way I see an ending to this nightmare is just to stop.

So here I am. I surrender, okay? Do you hear that? I give up. I give up and hope when I hit rock bottom, at least the only way to go will be up. Hopefully I won’t die in the process.

There is freedom in giving up. I feel I could fly.

down

“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”

Tonight I am sad. And that’s okay. I’m sad because I feel a little lonely. I want a mum, but I can’t have one and it feels unfair. It’s unfair that my life has turned out the way it has. Psychologists, nurses, GPs, psychiatrists say that it’s sad, and I always comment and say that it’s just the way it is. It’s always been this way. In saying this, I have been able to trick myself into an acceptance, but for the first time tonight I’ve decided it’s not okay. I’m not okay with it and it’s not fair.

I’m tired. I’m sad. I have no cure for these. I want to lose weight, I want to get skinny. I want to disappear because I put too much pressure on myself. I tell myself I have to be forgiving of the people that constantly hurt me, I tell myself I have to be hard working and make everyone happy — to please everyone all the time. I want to be perfect for everyone all the time. I don’t want to disappoint. But I’m tired. I’m sick of pleasing people.

I want to stop eating completely… and maybe I just might. It’s too much all the time.

anniversary

“Even the best of us are at least part-time bastards.”

So I’m tip-toeing through the internet to my empty-as-a-desert blog thinking I should write something today and lo and behold, it’s a year to the day I started this blog. So, as the dutiful little blogger that I am (or maybe not so much) I guess I’ll have to write something.

Everything’s been pretty terrible as of late. I cry most nights. I’m full of guilt, to the brim, leaking-over-the-edges full. I hate myself for eating and I hate myself for continuing to lose weight. I feel like I’m screwing up everyone around me’s life but I need to lose weight! I hate every dietician appointment because I always lose weight and aren’t using the strategies put into place to help me (because I want to lose weight) and then I feel like it’s pointless me going if I’m not doing what I’m told.

The psychiatrist and the psychologist want me to go back to the day program which will call me tomorrow asking if I want to make an appointment to discuss the goals of me going back, one of which has to be weight restoration, but the problem is, I don’t want to restore weight, and I don’t want to eat. So if I agree to go back I just feel like I’m lying to them because I don’t even know if I will be able to eat there at all. It all scares the shit out of me to be honest.

My GP has gone on indefinite leave due to health reasons, so I’ve had to get a new GP.

Last of all, it’s the Chinese new year this week, and there’s a bunch of stuff happening at the monastery. Tonight we’re having a big dinner and I am MC (same as last year). It’s tonight but I don’t even have finalised notes yet because I only got the Chinese version last week and then only had like 4 days to translate. Then it’s been screwed around with more and more every day since I did the translation and it has to be checked by the head of the monastery as well. So I still don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be saying >_<

I’m stressed. I’m tired. Happy anniversary.

stories

stories

“Even if it’s a dumb story, telling it changes people just the slightest little bit, just as living the story changes me. An infinitesimal change. And that infinetisimal change ripples outward —ever smaller but everlasting. I will get forgotten, but the stories will last. And so we all matter —maybe less than a lot, but always more than none.”

disorganisation

“Time’s a slut, she screws with everyone.”

My brain is disorganised, disorientated, disturbed and many other “dis-” words. I am melting to the couch and my mind is fighting hard to combat thoughts such as “Why the hell did you just eat lunch?!”, “How could you have been so greedy?!”, “You’re going to gain weight”, “Go and throw up like you used to, quick!”.

I have reasonable thoughts, I keep telling myself, “If you want to go back to taiwan, if you want to live a life where you aren’t just worrying about everything you put in your mouth, if you don’t want to feel suicidal when you eat then you’ve done the right thing, eating is ok. Everyone needs to eat. Eating = life, after all.” But my mind can’t wrap itself around the concept. “Surely you are different. Surely it’s everyone else that needs to eat, not you. You can be fine and be skinny and boney and happy, all if you just lose a teensy bit of weight. No big deal, right?”

Wrong. I know it, you know, deep down everyone knows being underweight (especially those of us who’ve been drowning in the depths of this same ocean before) is not indicative of happiness. Far from it. So why do I still want to do this? Why is my mind screaming at me because of what I just did — the sin of eating lunch when you also ate breakfast.

Today it is 44ºC (for the metrically challenged that’s 111ºF). I had a dietician’s appointment. I knew I’d lost weight (I weigh myself every day — usually twice daily) and I was nervous. I’d lost weight and I was happy that I’d lost weight and that is soul reason why I was nervous. I’m not supposed to be losing weight. I’m supposed to be sticking to my meal plan. The day was not looking promising. Lose weight, feel bad. Maintain weight, feel bad. We won’t even go into gaining. But it wasn’t even a debate, I knew I’d lost weight. When I saw my psychiatrist the afternoon previous she had weighed me. I, that morning had weighed myself. I knew.

I made my trek through the heat and into the confined but air-conditioned consulting suites of the medical centre. Needless to say the dietician was not impressed. We discussed the pros and cons of recovery. I know clearly what they are. I know that I want to go back to taiwan and continue my studies and I want to be free of the worry and endless anxiety that food causes me… but I can’t let go of the weight. She asks me why I’m not taking advantage of the support systems that everyone has put in place. “I don’t know I groan. “I know that losing weight isn’t going to make me happy. I know all this stuff you are telling me but I still can’t get past the fact that I don’t want to gain any weight. In fact, I don’t even want to maintain my weight, and I don’t know why.” I stop. I feel like it’s pointless. How can you tell someone that you fully understand you’re throwing your life away and you hate that fact, but at the same time you are fully invested in that very thing: throwing your life away. I was not, in fact, invested in throwing my life away (this was only vicarious), I was just so hell bent on losing weight, and I couldn’t seem to stop that. When you’re in that headspace you don’t want any “help” because that will just jeopardise your goal: to lose more weight.

She tried to make me promise, as I was leaving, to stick to my meal plan today. To go home and make up for morning tea. To go home and eat lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, supper. I told her I couldn’t say yes because I could not and do not lie. I told her I couldn’t make that promise because there was a huge chance that I just wouldn’t be able to do it. She said she’d leave me with the discomfort of my position. I felt sorry.

I melted my way to the bus stop in the heat and thought about what I could do. I could maybe have a coffee? I don’t know. At the train station I ordered a skinny cappuccino and drank maybe half, if we’re being generous. I couldn’t finish it. The thought of finishing anything at the point made me feel a huge discomfort.

After the 1/2 skinny cappuccino, after the train, after the bus and a discussion informing a fellow passenger on the meaning of the Chinese on his t-shirt (Long live chairman Mao, may his road of revolution be smooth), I did eventually get home. I did eventually eat. I ate lunch. This is what puts me in my current predicament. Do I eat afternoon tea? Can I live with myself if I do? Can I bear the thoughts? Can I even bear the fact that I just had my lunch? I’m tied, I’m melting, I’m wishing that I could just.fucking.lose.weight.

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