I have made myself so ill through not eating. I eat once a week, on average and my weight is dropping by the day.
I have had the worst two days with it. I have had all of my problems come back that I had for those eight months. I feel very weak and run down, yesterday I had double vision and almost fell down several times from dizziness and faintness. I’ve been sick several times and I spend most of my time on the toilet. I’m having serious trouble breathing and I’m so dehydrated but I hate having liquid in my stomach and feeling bloated. And then this evening I went to the toilet (with diarrhea) and literally said out loud “Oh my god!” There was so much blood. I mean I’m used to bleeding a bit from laxative abuse but this was an insane and scary amount.
My boyfriend keeps insisting he call 111 or takes me to A+E, but I am so used to them not taking me seriously and sending me away, I can’t help thinking that will happen this time and it really annoys me when I’m clearly suffering so much.
I have to go to my GP about this though, I don’t exactly have a choice. I guess I will need a blood test to check my blood sugars and electrolytes as they are bound to be too low, it’s always the case when I starve myself.
I didn’t eat for seven days and then I ate half a subway sandwich. It felt like a binge. Afterwards, feeling bloated and ashamed but not wanting to be alone, I went to see my boyfriend play piano in a bar.
I wanted to kill myself.
I really did, and I had a plan which was to slit my wrists- as I have done before- but I thought I would be able to do it properly this time, learning from my failed attempt. I envisioned myself on our bed, knowing he would be out for hours, and I saw the blood pouring out of me. I wondered to myself: Do I want to be found, deep down? No, not this time.
The pain I go through after eating is just not worth it. I just hate myself then more than I have hated anyone or anything on this planet. I feel life is not worth all the suffering I am going through right now. Maybe I will starve to death anyway because right now, after that I don’t ever want to eat again.
But something that night kept me alive, I don’t know what but by some miracle I am still sat here. I know that I will feel like that again, and I know that if I decide to do anything I will, of course, drink. Then- and only then- will I drink (I hope) because being an active alcoholic is not a life worth living, either.
I just wonder if this pain will ever end. I was contemplating earlier if being thin is really worth it; there is so much pain and suffering involved every single day, and for what? For power. For control. To punish myself. To look pretty and to be desired by men? Is that enough to justify what I’m doing to myself? To my partner and my best friend?
It is likely that I will lose my life anyway, if not at my hand because my body is already so broken. On top of feeling so ill I get chest pains and heart palpitations. Eventually my body will give up on me, I know that.
But it is still not enough to stop me. I care for nothing anymore but being thin.
But no one is helping me. Deep down I don’t want this. Of course I would love to be thin AND healthy but that will never be the case, not for me. I would love for the pain and obsession to go away forever, and for me not to care so much about my size. I would love to have a happy life and a stable personality so that I wouldn’t feel the need for pain and punishment. Perhaps one day, but my past suggests that I will never really get what I want. Things have always been a total mess.
My love life is not really a life of love anymore, it hasn’t been for a long time. It is more an existence, made up of arguments, resentment and sadness. As of the last few days I hold out very little hope for mine and Jules’s relationship now, and I’m not really sure I want this anymore.
I need the support of my man more than ever, and I’m not getting any. Nothing.
He blames me for this physical pain, that it is down to my refusal to eat. This is true, of course, but it isn’t my fault. I am ill, even I know that. I wish so much that he would try, make even a small amount of effort to understand why I am the way I am.
I am an alcoholic. An anorexic. I suffer with bipolar. Did I ask to be so messed up? Never.
The least I expect from a partner is that they are by my side, through everything. Jules stands by me through nothing. I sent him an article and I poured my heart out in the text above. The article was a man talking about his now-wife’s journey with anorexia. In it he talks about not judging her for something that is in no way her fault, and that he loves her just the same for it, maybe even more.
I am in no way expecting Jules to support my actions in this, but just to hate me a bit less and not make me feel so very alone. If it wasn’t for my best friend I would really be totally alone in this world of mine, but this sort of thing is too much for a single person to handle on her own, I am sure she could do with a break from my troubled and desperate phone calls (she is not even here, she lives miles away and we see each other twice a year).
I need a reason to be here, a reason to love myself in some way, even to get over this thing forever.
In the meantime I can only take comfort in black coffee, cigarettes and weight loss.
I just need a reason to keep being me.