Saturday, 26 March 2011

Magician's Assistant.

A friend sent me this a few years ago, when I was really struggling. And it hurt so much to hear, it still hurts so much to hear. It's probably the most... I don't know. Listen, you'll get it.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Treatment of the mentally ill.

I'm supposed to be writing an essay about human rights law, but I've had to stop because it was pissing me off too much to write about how prisoners should be treated so well, by law. Not that I have anything against treating prisoners well, but tell me where the clause is about treatment of the mentally ill?

On Saturday night, I was dragged into an ambulance by several policemen, paramedics, security staff... to an audience of other students at my university, quite literally shouting and screaming. I had my wrists and ankles cuffed and my knees and shins restrained, with long straps of velcro. I was taken to the nearest hospital, where I spent a good six or seven hours completely terrified and utterly confused as to why I was there, shouting, screaming, writhing, begging for release. Being dragged by the cuffs and restraints, every time I tried to move. Being forced onto my back, then my front, then my back, lifted by the cuffs or straps- whichever suited the six police officers who were holding me in a room that was empty but for me, them, my boyfriend and a bare mattress.

I know you don't believe I did nothing wrong. Or maybe you don't believe quite how bad it was. Maybe you think that the fact that I'll openly admit how hard I fought shows that I needed to be restrained. I've been told that I smacked one paramedic and attempted to bite another; so now maybe you think I'm lucky that I didn't get taken to the police station instead of the hospital. So how about I tell you the story from my point of view, and you try to imagine you're a twenty year old with mental health problems, just trying to be a normal student?

Actually, you know what? I'm not even going to go into it. Because the point stands, whatever I say- if I'd have been arrested, they couldn't have treated me so roughly. But because the police were acting on their power to remove 'a mentally ill person from a public place to a place of safety' (Section 136), I was fair game. But I wasn't safe, I was less safe with them- my entire body is now covered in bruises and cuts from the fight and I ache. God, I ache. And all I remember mentally, is the absolute fear of being held and not knowing what was going to happen or when I'd be free. Every time I asked why I was there, they told me they'd told me previously and that I was proving that I wasn't safe to be free.

But who gets that choice? Who makes that choice?

Friday, 18 March 2011

10 things.

1. Obesity would be preferable to life on an eating disorder ward. I may not have ever been obese, but ANYTHING is preferable to that shite.
2. My last therapist, who was a bitch, said that I'd never get better. I'd like to rub her face in my (non-laxative induced, thank-you very much) shit.
3. Eating with friends is actually very nice. Maybe because of how hard it is, it's intimate (in a not-so-sexual way. Although I have seen most of my mates' sexual organs. But not whilst eating).
4. I'm not fat, I just looked it on the pictures from earlier in the week because my face and neck were swollen from vom'ing.
5. That means I'd look slimmer if I kept food in.
6. Gaining a little bit of weight is fine, because at some point it'll come off.
7. And if it doesn't, it doesn't.
8. More people like me than dislike me.
9. 'The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.'
10. When people say I'm not fat/ugly/blahblahblah, they're probably more trustworthy than my eating disorder. Because those people have never tried to hurt, or starve, or upset, or have me hospitalised, or kill me, like that has.

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Crying over last night's pictures.

God, I have got massive. I really have. I've gained so much weight recently, I feel like I'm drowning in it. Fuck it all, I want it off. Fuck it all, I'm getting it off. I'm not going out, I'm not doing anything, I'm not even going to be on a CCTV lens until this is off.

Game on.

Sunday, 13 March 2011

Prayer.

The religious piss me off. I'm not going to rephrase that, I'm not going to attempt to make it PC. I criticise Christians sporadically, but never those of other faiths. That's because I feel I know Christianity well enough (13 years of Catholic education) to state my views, whereas I'm more careful about my knowledge of other faiths.

But now I'm being general.

Religion is this big invisibility cloak. Or maybe it's rose tinted glasses. Why would an all powerful god (whichever god you think you worship) do something just because you prayed enough for it? Why would your god be so childish and demanding? Surely a god would rather you use the resources he supposedly gave you, to DO something. I can't help but think a god would be disappointed that he gave you all this shit, and instead of using it to the best humanitarian way, you sit and beg him to sort shit for you. Move. Do something. Don't sit there and pat yourself on the back for asking somebody else, somebody you don't even know for sure exists, to do it for you.

Friday, 11 March 2011

30 photos (well, ok, 5 photos), part deux.

Part two of the photo thing! If you click on the tag at the bottom of this entry, you'll get the link to part one! Alrighty...

6. A picture of a person you'd love to trade places with for a day.

My best friend, Aisling Gallagher. I'd like a day as her, purely so that her body and mind could be treated the way the deserve to be.

7. A picture of your most treasured item.

Not because I'm overly patriotic and proud to be British or whatevers... But without it, I'd never be able to buy alcohol!

8. A picture that makes you laugh.

Drag queen for Hallowe'en 2010 (I'm hilarious).

9. A picture of the person who has gotten you through the most.

Momma Ginge <3 (isn't my mum fit?)

10. A picture of the person you do the most ****** up things with.

Pfft, no idea what the stars are censoring ;) But me and Smelliott have done some right shit, hahahahaha.

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

I'm more woman than you.

I went years without having periods. Amenorrhea is sort of like the consolation prize with an eating disorder, sort of like when Weetos gave away free trolls in the '90s- shit cereal, great toy. You're hairy. You're bloated. You become a selfish, immature shell, existing only to service your demons. BUT ON THE PLUS... you save a few quid every month on tampons. If white wasn't so unflattering and impractical (especially if you live in Scunthorpe, where everything gets coated in soot), you could wear white all month long.

But now my body has decide that now I'm eating better, I must be a woman. Which is good, my boobs have definitely got better (they've always been good, but still) and I don't get as much body hair, but do I really need to be QUITE this much of a woman? I swear, I'm bleedin' every other week. Pfft.

Sunday, 6 March 2011

A future with(/out) an ED.

Bit of the ol' therapy homework, dead generic- write where your life will be 5 years with the disorder and where it'd be without one.



Another five years yo-yoing between disorders; maybe it's the inbuilt exhibitionist, the drama queen within me, but that thought just leaves a black hole. Just... nothing- my imagination doesn't stretch to summat quite that big. When thin was still the priority, I always pictured, melancholic as you like, seeing my children mime vomiting in the way that most kids copy the shit that you really wish they wouldn't (my two year old cousin saying the word 'shit' about a million times whilst I babysat her) and hiding food during breakfast/dinner (lunch? Pahahaha) meetings with big important people. When thin was the priority, I didn't doubt my ability to blag my way to the top of whatever I fancied doing, nor did I doubt my fertility, nor whether it was even really moral to bring children into a world which I always presumed I'd leave by my own hand.

I think I'm less naive now. Or maybe slightly more melodramatic. I KNOW more than I have ever known anything that if my body does not give up, my mind will. The thought of going back to where I was, and being stuck there for the foreseeable future, makes me feel nauseous because I know exactly what that would entail. Scunthorpe. Being a welfare statistic, a drain. Scunthorpe. Alternating between being stuck in bed at home and being stuck in hospital beds. Scunthorpe. Directly and purposefully killing myself; indirectly killing my family. And being remembered only vaguely, only sporadically, as some sort of morality story for the crisis team to use as a weapon against other people in a similar section. And, equally disturbingly, probably as some sort of the martyr for the 13 year olds, desperately seeking the elusive eating disorder diagnosis.




I hope that I always have the balls to change. I think that if my life is going to change to the extent that I no longer have an eating disorder, in a way I'll sort of lose what's keeping me grounded. Maybe not grounded, maybe that's the wrong word. The word 'grounded' implies something good and I mean... stuck. Shackled. Whatever. And that emancipation, that sounds pretty damn good to me- I don't want any restrictions, not anymore than absolutely necessary, anyway. When I was younger, I always thought I was a Marxist, just because I loved (love) the idea of doing something different everyday; I just want everything to be exciting and lovely. And maybe that's unrealistic, but things now are more exciting and lovely than ever before, so why can't everything be so?

This is all very conceptual, I realise, but I find it hard to commit (even in as far as this) to anything or any solid plans, because I want freedom to try everything. And besides, I'm not used to speaking realistically about the future, because the possibility of my life extending beyond the walls of my home and my mind and THE MOMENT is all so new. I could say that I intend on doing x, y and z, but that's be bullshit. I can think logically- I want to get my MA in development and work on behalf of the UN, addressing the problems of the DRC. But if I wake up one day I decide I quite fancy being a bin lady... then that's what I'll do. And shit'll be good.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

30 photos (well, ok, 5 photos).

I know this is tres tumblr of me, but I've decided that I'm going to do the 30 day photo thing. Except I won't do one everyday, I'll do five whenever I can be arsed and tag the posts so that you can stick them together IF THAT'S WHAT YOU FANCY. Worry not, my mental health babbling will continue shortly (ahem, probably tomorrow. Hahahahaha), because I know that's what you want from me and I aim to please (that's why I'm so fit). But hey... now you can pretend that you know me and not just my mental state, hahahahaha.

1. A picture of yourself and ten facts.

10 facts about what? Me? Pfft! You should know more than 10 facts about me! YOU SHOULD STALK THIS BLOG! Can I give you 10 facts that I just LIKE? Yes?
1. Margaret Thatcher went on an egg diet in '79, to prepare for the election. When she got in, she just ate the souls of the working classes. And babies.
2. The most fatal biscuit is a custard cream.
3. Koalas have forked penises. Except the ladies, they have two fannies.
4. Southerners can't drink for shit.
5. The most delicious drug combination is Valium and Seroquel. I advise all to buy and mix, it's like being drunk but SO MUCH BETTER (and calorie-free). 'Cept if you die or summat, I would like to disclaim um, that I'm not REALLY telling you to take them?
6. Women are most attractive just after their period. I think it's probably the relief that they can have sex again and wear white and they're not bleeding or PMS-ing no more, but apparently there's summat sciencey about fertility about it. That's why old ladies aren't fit.
7. Red lipstick makes men think of fannies. That's why they like it. Although, see above... Blood? Weird.
8. Whales are really big.
9. So's the solar system.
10. People once thought that bumble bees were too fat to fly, aerodynamically, and there was this big mystery around it. Then someone realised the bloke who said that had got his maths wrong. Tool.

2. A picture of you and the person you have been closest with the longest.

Me, Momma Ginge and James, circa 1991 <3

3. A picture of the cast from your favourite show.

Obsessed does not even begin to cover it.

4. A picture of your night.

Tesco value vodka. All night, every night... and day ;)

5. A picture of your favourite memory.

NYE 2009/10, setting fire to a pair of size 0 shorts. So excited for the new decade, the prospect of health.