The old adage ‘ When life gives you lemons, make lemonade ‘ may hold true and for some, they have the ability to turn things around and find the positives in every situation. Sadly, for this melancholic pessimist, things have never looked or felt worse and today, I find myself wanting to simply weep. I feel so desperately low and unable to do anything other than perfunctory tasks , mindless meandering and merely breathing as a way of existence.
I start therapy next week. I have waited months and months for this appointment after fruitless searching and research , being blocked at every turn because there are so few therapists in my area and they have been inundated by clients since the pandemic. I’m not so foolish as to believe that this therapy will be the panacea to all my woes, a miraculous cure that will set me right with immediate effect. Firstly, there is the question of the chemistry between me and the therapist, my sense of trust in her and the process and whether I feel I can work with her for a significant period of time. I don’t know what I am looking for, what my requirements and needs are – at this point I am so far gone, so lost that I am entering into the process as a last resort. This in itself places tremendous and unrealistic pressure on myself as well as the therapist but it is all I have right now and I have to take it with some hope or expectation or it is doomed to fail before I even begin.
What I do know is that I have entered into dangerous and perhaps even life threatening territory with my weight having dropped even further . My last weigh-in saw me reading the scale at 42.6kgs – a weight that I haven’t held since before I was 12 years old. It is utterly ludicrous and insane and yet it’s real and before my eyes. I firmly believe that not only does this place me physically at risk, but it has seriously eschewed and compromised my brain . I simply cannot function normally when my brain is trying to use some of the energy that should be utilised by all the organs of my body and in so doing, putting those organs in danger of malfunctioning at best, and completely shutting down at worst. I type this with this possibility posing this huge threat and yet it’s as if I am typing about someone else and have no connection to the fact that this is ME, this is happening to ME . I think I am incapable of feeling any emotions or attachment to the situation because I don’t have the reserves required for rational thought and actions. I see it, I feel it, I know it and yet I am such a prisoner , so bound and so incapacitated that I sit here typing away , as far removed from it all that one could possibly be. I’m now actually going to have a shower and wash my hair. I shall try to return to this later.
I’ve returned to this posting and having read it over, yet despite its revelations I still feel strangely disconnected from the enormity of my situation . Yes, I can discuss it or write about it with a certain amount of clarity ( or maybe not, I cannot assess anything in my given state ). There is however, this nagging doubt that how I see things and experience things is so far gone, that I cannot look at anything dispassionately or objectively because I am perhaps not in my right mind. This leads me to the thought that even though putting on weight is such a physical and psychological impossibility for me, yet, there is a part of me that is curious and wants to know how I would approach life with a weight gain that would place me in a healthy state. I am so messed up. It’s obvious that I am totally miserable right now , existing from day to day without pleasure or happiness. I’m not doing this to myself to punish myself – I am completely controlled by this condition and helpless in the vicelike grip it has imprisoned me with. To others, worn out by the tedium of someone banging on and on about this subject, to them its a simple choice and solution, just eat for goodness sake! How amazing they think, to be given permission to eat whatever you like whenever you please. If only they realised how insidious, pernicious and destructive this disease is, even to the point of death. They could have no idea about the complexities and difficulties eating presents but its more than that when one gets below a certain threshold. One’s body and brain is so starved that one cannot do what one knows is vital and completely necessary for recovery. Its the chicken and the egg: Therapy can help one but the weight gain should come first so that one can comprehend the psychological aspect of one’s behaviour but how does one put on the weight without the help of therapy? Little wonder I am depressed.
I’m really droning on now. You’ve heard it all before. The promises I make and the hopes that I wish for. I have failed over and over again but have always tried to end posts with some optimism, some semblance of hope. In seeing a therapist , there is some indication that I must have a smidgeon of hope or else why would I bother? Right now, I’m simply too numb to hope. Scared, terrified in fact that something tragic will happen and it will be too late . I cannot go there – it’s too dark to enter into the territory of someone who has given up.
I’m beyond feeling shame or guilt. I’m worn out by it all. Normally writing something, no matter how banal or monotonous it may seem to others , gives me some pleasure. Not so today. If anything, it has highlighted how bleak things are and is only making me feel worse about myself. I sound like such a victim, so wrapped up in self pity. Yes, I do pity myself because it’s pathetically sad. Could have, should have, didn’t. That’s me.
