Two years ago today, I was told that I was being thrown out of the eating disorder unit I was inpatient on, due to me having too many other mental health problems. Sound familiar? It's pretty much the same line that my uni tries to use sporadically when they forget that I'm a chuffing brilliant genius (well, I can usually write an alright essay. When I write essays. Oh, I'm such a wasteman) and decide that MENTALZ MUST BE REMOVED. The thing about it two years ago, was that it had come after a year of being told I'd never recover from the eating disorder. There was so much going on with my eating, or so little, since it never changed- my life revolved around my scales, my toilet and whatever pill was my bread that week- that I suppose I never stopped to think there might be a touch more to it, despite being diagnosed bipolar and having chilled on the psych ward for the first time six months previously. I was a lot more ill than I realised, or rather ill with a lot more than I realised.
When I was little, my mum had a right temper on her (she's ginger, it's just the way of our people. We also bleed a lot, don't wanna be around us when we're on our blob, unless you're in scarlet). One night I was in the bath and started messing about with all the bottles on the side of it, including my mum's Henna shampoo. The problem with the Henna shampoo was that it was a deep red, and as soon as a gulp of it hit the bath water, the water turned a brilliant crimson. I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to herd the crimson into an area of the bath that I could hide under a flannel, for fear of the ginger one's wrath. Sometimes I feel like I'm just trying to divide up that bath water. I don't know what's my personality, what's chemical, what's due to the life that I've lived, what's due to all the bloody tele I've watched, even. Or if it even matters. I don't know what to hide, what needs to be addressed and what is just, well, water. All I do know is that every time you shift a bit of water one way, there's always some more that's going to flow to that spot. I mean, the water gets clearer. I fight. I sift through the junk and it gets easier and clearer. But it feels like there's always something.
I overdosed on Monday. I've overdosed before, more times than I care to remember or admit to, there's an odd sort of shame in my relief that I never succeeded; I don't fail things, I just don't. But this time it was different, this time I wasn't suicidal and success wouldn't have been death. And, ironically, it's the time I've probably come closest to death. I came around on Wednesday, in a hospital bed with the sides up, attached to a heart monitor, an oxygen mask, a catheter and three IVs. My chest doesn't feel right still and my kidneys are sore, they think there may be some long term, if not permanent, damage. So if not from being depressed or suicidal, why? Weeeeelllll, I stockpile medication. I have done since I was 13 and got put on Beta-Blockers for the first time. And my OCD for the last week or so has not let me think of anything other than the stockpile I had, and taking them. I had a week or so of my head being utterly empty but for the thought of taking them and trying to distract myself. The brilliant mind I made out I had in the first paragraph of this? Not so brilliant. They let me go when my physically stable, I was assessed to see whether I needed sectioning again, but I don't need to be, obvzzz.
If you could go back to the day I first went onto the eating disorder unit and tell me that I'd be discharged in an even worse position than I went in? My eating would be as bad, with the addition of the dam being broken and everything that had happened before that I think didn't effect me, would begin to ruin my life? Self-pitying is completely pointless, but I kind of feel a bit sad for the 19 year old me. I had no idea how huge the fight was going to be, how there wasn't just one huge fight, but rather a million gargantuan ones. Eating disorders are a shield, they protect you from feeling, thinking, knowing anything. And there's so much to feel and think and know. To bear witness to the good, you have to accept the bad, and that's what I didn't know then but know now. Two years and I'm beating the eating disorder and squaring up to fight the other beasts. Christ.