Archive for August, 2008

On being fat

August 31, 2008

I’ve been a compulsive eater for as long as I can remember. I can remember being in trouble at 4 years old for eating all the chocolates in the house, but my problems spiralled out of control when I hit puberty. Partly due to the hormones I suppose, but mostly to do with the available cash I had from my paper round, all of which went on sweets until I started smoking a few years later lol.

My mother was as thin as a rake and that’s where the problems started. I really feel that if less emphasis had been put on my puppy fat as a child, I wouldn’t be over 20 stone now. Fat women were always pointed out to me with the promise that I’d end up like them if I didn’t stop eating. I was told I’d need to take more baths as fat people smell. That I couldn’t have long hair because it makes my face look fatter. At the time I was at the most, 10lbs overweight.

During my twenties I drank (a lot) which helped keep my weight down to a fairly acceptable level. But since hitting thirty I’ve gained at least 6 stone, especially since I left work last year. My day revolves around getting and eating food. I live on ready meals and snacks, despite loving healthy options and veg. The depression makes me so lazy and fatigued that just the thought of making a sandwich is too much for me a lot of the time so I buy preprepared food. Yet I have the energy each day to take a bus to my supermarket and buy binge food. So of course this fatigue is all in my head.

Today I was sent some photographs of myself taken recently on a day out. I barely recognised the woman in them. Huge arms. Rolls of fat and a disappearing chin. I look ten years older than I am. How did this happen without me realising? Perhaps because I refuse to have a full length mirror in the house.

Self harm scars can be hidden from most people. Drunkeness can often be explained away as socialising. But fat is seen by everyone. From the kids on the street who shout ”ugly cow” to the men in the pub who push their friend into you and shout ”she’s yours” whilst they all laugh.

Yes I eat too much. No I don’t exercise. Yes it’s my fault. God I know all that. But when you see that fatty on the street, stop to think for a second. Would anyone who was happy really let themselves get into that state? From the moment I wake up I panic about where I can get food from. I’m sat here right now obsessing about the indian food in my fridge. I’ve tried Weightwatchers, National Slimming Centres, Atkins, Caveman diet. I’ve tried swimming until someone laughed at me. I’ve tried exercise dvd’s at home but just can’t motivate myself. Every time I attempt to restrict my binges the urge to cut comes back ten times worse. So I have a choice between scars or fat. Hobsons choice. I wish I could starve myself.

cute pic from a day out.

August 31, 2008
bambi grows up!
bambi grows up!

From a recent visit to a local lavendar farm just outside of York. I’m lucky enough to see wild deer quite often over my garden fence, as we have a golf course out back. However they don’t come close enough to feed like this beauty.

Early morning blues

August 31, 2008

Hate waking up with that sinking feeling. Eyes stinging from lack of real sleep. Another day just like the rest. The first thoughts are always of food. But I don’t have the energy to make breakfast so it’s straight to the sofa again.  Switch on the tv to watch news from the real world but don’t really care. Smoke the first of many cigs and cough til I’m sick. Survey the filth and mess around me but know I will fail to start the clean up yet again. It’s easier to close my eyes again and hide for a few more hours.

Down on the farm ooaarr!

August 30, 2008

It’s funny how the simple things can boost your mood, isn’t it? As I sit here at my lappy stinking of animals and’ mud but reflecting on what has been a lovely day. My great friend J (ocd,mad as a hatter) whom I’ve remained friends with since group therapy, picked me up this morning and took me out for a drive. It takes a lot to get me out of my pit. Sometimes I feel like I only switch on when someone presses the button. The rest of the time I’m in some sort of stasis, although unfortunately one that requires a lot of food lol.

So to my travels. The first stop was our local cats protection centre who were having an open day. It always saddens me to see what cruelty humans can inflict on animals. The volunteers do such a fantastic job with them and only rehome to nice cat people. I won some mini liquers on the tombola which will come in handy for my next pity party, and bought a few pieces of tat from the stall which will no doubt be saved for the next car boot sale.

Then on to my favourite part of the day. Our local farm shop. Ate some scrummy scones with cream, gossiped for an hour then went outside to stroke the animals. They have the cutest piglets, goats, ponies, rabbits and guinea pigs. I could have stayed there all day. And it was lovely to see the hordes of kids running around and having free fun, rather than being dragged round Asda as usual.

It’s so true that getting out and about lifts the mood. I just wish I could motivate myself to do it on my own. And as much as I enjoy days like this, there is always an inevitable come down afterwards. It’s as though I can’t permit myself to have fun without taking some pain later on. So finger’s crossed the dip won’t be so bad tonight.

Jeremy Kyle: The perfect pick me up

August 29, 2008

This programme and others like it make me feel so much better about myself. However crap my life becomes, at least I haven’t shared it on national tv with the rest of the great unwashed. Yes ok so I’m telling my life story on the internet but at least none of you would know me in the street. What makes me angry about the Kyle show however, is it’s resident trickcyclist Graham. How someone can consider themselves a professional whilst encouraging people to publicly humiliate themselves is beyond me. If he wants to do some good he should put Jezza in the chair and tell him to GET A PROPER JOB! And isn’t it slightly hypocritical to have your show sponsered by a bingo site when most of your guests have addiction problems?

Anyway rant over. Check out this great pisstake by Jon Culshaw who has Kyle to a Tee. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPZcN-PiomI

Why I dislike my consultant psychiatrist

August 29, 2008

Firstly, the woman is a bitch. Call it a typical bpd response if you like but she really is. I first had the pleasure of her company 6 days after I’d been admitted to a psych ward for taking an OD. For some reason my consultant of 15 years had transferred me to her, despite the fact that I’m known to have problems with female authority figures, or perhaps precisely for that reason.

I saw her once per week until discharge during which time I was repeatedly told how lucky I was. How other  patients were so much poorlier than I was. How all my problems would be resolved with a visit to the C.A.B to sort out my debts. Now I’m not the sort of patient who turns up at the gp’s every few days and demands all sort of treatment. I’ve held down jobs most of my life and only sought help when the depression has become so intense that I feel I’m losing my grip. It’s only in the last 2 years that I’ve received anything more than the standard 8 sessions of psychotherapy. I was ‘lucky’ enough to get a place at a therapeutic community for a year. Yet here she was telling me that I only had mild depression and that it had disappeared after a few days on the ward!

What does that do to someone with bpd? It makes them angry and it makes them feel guilty. I struggle every day with the thought that I might be putting this all on. That I’m a fake. A waste of space. A benefit scrounger. Doing the old starving children in africa routine doesn’t cheer me up and make me want to change my life. It makes me want to kill myself for being such a bloody failure.

So to week four on the ward. I was woken up from my afternoon med induced nap and pushed into a room full of the usual Ward Round numpties. ”You can go home” she sais. ”Oh ok, when?” I ask, suddenly very scared at the thought of leaving. ”Now” is the answer. And that was that. Sent home alone to my flat with nothing more than the promise of a follow up meeting a week later with a cpn at the hospital and a weeks supply of Venlafaxine.  Just a week previously I’d taken an od of pills on the ward. The day before I’d self harmed with a razor. But no, off you go into the big wide world with all the same debt problems hanging round your neck and not even a referral to the CMHT.

The NHS Don’t you just love it?

So I’m off back to see the Wicked Witch of the NHS in a couple of weeks to plead for a change in meds. My venlafaxine gives me an attractive all over body rash and doesn’t do more for me than take the edge off my anxiety. I’m so looking forward to that pull yourself together lecture which i know i will get. BPD is not a mental illness according to my consultant (and many of her colleagues). Well that’s alrighty then.

To blog or not to blog?

August 29, 2008

As the title of my lovely new blog suggests, I spend most of my time welded to my big red squidgy sofa. In that case, what on earth do I have to talk about? Well we’ll have to see what transpires I guess. Probably a lot of self obsessed musings about my depression, coupled with the occasional bitter rant at mental health ”services”.

So a bit about me. 35 yrs old, terminally lazy (my gp calls it chronic motivational problems but bless him for trying to be tactful), various dx over the years of reactive depression, bulimia, compulsive eater and the latest (drumroll) ………. emotionally unstable personality traits! Wonderful. It says a lot about me that my reaction to the latter was to take umbrage at not being given the full blown personality disorder diagnosis. I feel like i’ve only acheived 40% in an exam lol.

I’ve been in and out of psychiatrists offices since my teens, with varying success. Some were good. Some were bad. Sometimes I was good, sometime I was bad. Most of the time I just didn’t click with them and I do tend to make my mind up about people very quickly (i.e they’re all out to get me).

Last year I had a mini meltdown which resulted in a months rest in one of our wonderful NHS psychiatric hospitals. An eye opening experience as it had been many years since my last ‘holiday’ and one which I am yet to move on from.  But more on that another time.  On my discharge form I noticed my new diagnosis. ”What’s this?” I said. No answer or explanation was forthcoming from the nurse, and so started a long journey into the world of bpd and the internet. For the purpose of this blog I’ll be using the term bpd traits, partly because it’s more known than the term EUPD and also because that’s what my gp calls it. Also because having read up on it at length, I’m fairly certain that I display most of the traits if not all of the time.

So why start a blog today? Well it’s partly because I should be getting dressed and going out to the shop, so this is the perfect excuse not to. Secondly, a few things have been going on recently which have made me more introspective than usual. I don’t really expect anyone to read this (oh ok yes i do, i’m nothing if not an attention seeker), but I have found that keeping a diary helps me occasionally, and hopefully this will act as another distraction technique.

I’m a self harmer. Over the years my destructive coping mechanism has varied from drinking, over eating, cutting, hair pulling, to hitting myself in the head with a hammer or grinding gravel into my knee in the school playground as a kid. Self harm has been part of my life for as long as i can remember, but I always tended to only see the cutting as SI in the past. It’s never been something that I think of as cool. I love my scars. I hate my scars. I hide them from the general public, but I do tell the doctor if I’ve done it. A couple of nights ago I cut my wrist. I didn’t slash it. Nothing so dramatic. Just a cut deep enough to need steri strips and a quick trip to A&E. I’d put it off for two weeks.  In the last month I’ve been dealing with an attempt at coming off meds which failed and also finding out that my dad has cancer. I also have an upcoming appointment with the consultant from hell, although the dreams I have where I strangle her in her office are most enjoyable lol. But she deserves a post of her own.  Anyway the upshot is that I’ve been feeling very detached and the cutting was to bring me back to life. It worked for a while. Enough for me to start writing things down here.

So that’s who I am I guess. More to come.