Last week was a marathon of appointments. I met with all the members of my treatment team, each one throwing words at me that I find hard to hear. I can feel them trying to dig around inside my mind, attempting to figure out what led me here. Part of me thinks that they think if they crack me open, these untold secrets will come spilling out and the anorexia can as a result be tamed. What I know to be true though is that I am hollow inside, there are no answers to find, no secrets that need to be unburden anymore or mystery in the origins of behaviours, thought patterns or emotions that I am not already aware of. I am not a conundrum that is buried under layers waiting for someone to turn up with the right key to unlock me from the anorexic chains. I am just trapped in a cage that at some point I built for myself and no matter what I try or how hard I look, the escape hatch has been left out of the design plans. Perhaps I made it like that? Perhaps in the beginning, when this was new and I was unafraid or determined to burn myself to the ground, I made sure that there was no way out, no way to be saved and no way to save myself. I don’t think that I thought it would go on this long, that I would change or even be alive. I didn’t expect that there would come a day when I no longer wanted to die so I didn’t create a back up or a get out plan.
I am running out of things though to say to them, words to explain how I can hate something and want out so much but feel so unbelievably hopeless when I try to work out how I am going to do it. In this fight, I am losing and at the moment, here is the only place I can admit that. I am losing to anorexia and in the process I am losing myself. The hardest thing to bear is the sense of powerlessness that comes with it. I feel the presence of the disorder but I also feel the powerlessness that comes with even having a treatment team. Everything I do, every action or aspect of my life is open to their opinion, assessment and ultimate judgement. My social life, nutritional intake, mood, physical tests, driving, engaging, hobbies, finances…picked over like I am no longer an adult capable of making reasonable choices. I think this was a big part of why I did not want to go back into services because I knew that once I did that I had to answer to other people again. I had to allow them into my life and give away bits of myself that would bow to their impositions and rules. I understand why it needs to be done but I despise it all the same. Part of me wants to check myself out of treatment, be done with this and them even though its only been a few weeks. I know though that I won’t survive very long if I do that because the thought of living forever with this disorder is what truly terrifies me, which drives me to the brink of where I begin to question the reality of me staying alive. I want more from life and already it has been made abundantly clear after trying and failing and trying and failing that I cannot do this on my own. I have already had to swallow that bitter pill which I promise you did nothing good for my ego or sense of pride. I need help but the help isn’t really helping right now. We’ve begun to tiptoe around the possibility of Inpatient but admittedly that is something which fills me with dread every time I think about it. I think of even more loss of power, the meals, the rules and environment and it makes me shudder inside. It’s not that it’s a terrible place but I just don’t want to go back there. I’m not sure what’s going to happen but there is a sense in the air that I am running out of time.
I hope your day has been kind to you.