What to say, what to say. Where to start.
I continue to overeat sporadically — sometimes out of anger; sometimes out of defiance; sometimes out of desperation. I am gaining more and more weight and the panic compels me to eat. Doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Today I woke up on a friend’s couch, where I had slept after her party last night. I breakfasted on two small pieces of chocolate cake, as I was hungry, my friend was asleep, and it was on the coffee table in front of me. That was fine. Perhaps not ideal from a nutritional point of view, but fine. I’m allowed to eat cake. She and I later went out for a nice brunch. She’s an amazing woman. Kind and funny and smart. Switched-on and bright and witty. She’s passionate about things in a way that I don’t know if I am any more… but that might just be the OCD again. The doubting disease doing its work. Anyway, over a smoked salmon breakfast and an egg sandwich, we spoke openly about our lives. It’s funny to be honest with friends and talk about my condition and my struggles while at the same time feeling that I’m lying. Feeling that I’m doing an amazing job of convincing everyone that I’m worthy and good, like them, while I know the truth — that I am obviously bad. I’ve been playing this role for a long time and I excel at it. I deserve every god damn acting award there is.
What a hellish disease it is that I have.
Anyway, I came home and retreated to my room, where I proceeded to overeat. Half a bag of M&Ms. A block of white chocolate. Garlic bread, wedges and the majority of a pizza. Here we go again.
My room has, yet again, descended into disarray. My bed is unmade and there are piles of clothes around — most of which no longer fit my slowly but markedly expanding waistline. I hate the mess but I do not have the energy to clean.
I think my new med – mirtazapine – is draining me and also increasing my appetite… neither of which are side effects I’m willing to put up with. And so I’m fairly sure I’m going to make an appointment with my doc and tell him I want to go off medication. I want to rediscover myself without synthesised serotonin and hormones flooding my system every day upon the swallowing of a tablet. I wonder what it would be like to be unmedicated for the first time in about four years. I want to find out. I wonder what my doctor will say.
I can’t honestly say I’m not afraid of what might happen, because I am. I feel OK these days, for the most part… ish… is it wise to mess around with that? But it’s my body. My choice. If I find I am not coping, I can go back on the drugs. I just want to see.
One of the reasons I overeat is because I feel on some level that I no longer deserve my naturally slender figure. How can I possibly deserve it when my empathy is so deadened that half the time I can’t connect with it any more? How can I deserve to look and feel good when I hear about drowning refugees on the news and not really feel moved? How scary it is to write that. I overeat in the hope that someone will notice, but nobody does. I’m skywriting HELP in enormous letters but everyone is looking the other way. Or they’re looking but they’re not comprehending the oversized wispy shapes as an actual word.
I feel dumbstruck when I think about how big an impact my trauma and condition have actually had on me. I don’t think about it often but the truth is like a rotting carcass that a cat dragged in and left to reek in the corner. I try to ignore it for the most part but, when I finally steel myself to look, I am horrified. Aghast.
I have started to develop feelings for someone. The feelings are not reciprocated. The crush is just silliness and fantasy but when I’m alone I imagine him kissing me, holding me and clinging to me. Loving me. Loving me as I know he never will. Loving me as I have not been loved for a very long time.
I will endure. I will endure as I have endured everything else. I will go to work on Tuesday and pretend that everything is cool. I will buy yet bigger knickers. I will see my crestfallen, sallow, chubby and tired face in the mirror every day and try not to mind that I look so sad. I will continue because I must.