You might not get this from reading my crap over the last few years (I can't believe I missed my 3 year blog birthday. Blogaversary?), but I'm actually pretty damn chirpy, a lot of the time. I actually sometimes do my own head in, 'cause oftentimes the inside of my head is like watching Cbeebies. My wardrobe is definitely about half pre-school tele presenter, a quarter old lady and even a secret quarter of pure slut... a sex crazed old lady with an annoyingly sunny disposition; that's me. I'm lost during my dark days and moments, because it's like after 7pm when you just really need to watch happy crap and Cbeebies is finished for the day and you're dead lost. I've found though, as my BMI is dropping, I'm becoming Unreasonable Condron, a creature pretty much the same as the beast Teenage Condron- who everyone hoped had been lost to time, like I always hope the fact that Teenage Condron went by 'Bekkii' has been lost to time- but without the acne (praise be Baby Jesus) and with a lower threshold for girl drama (which is unfortunate, given I'm living with a shit tonne of women).
They said that I couldn't come to a unit like this one, which is a long-term personality disorder nightmare, at a low BMI because at a low BMI your cognitive skills are, um, something (that was my low cognition attempt at funny; I can tell it fell flat, don't worry). Christ on a bike, am I feeling that now. It's dead bizarre, I've never noticed this happen in the past, which seems ridic because it's so bloody obvious now. I've gone from hardly ever getting angry or owt, to having strops over anything that's not just so. I kicked off yesterday and ended up being restrained for over half an hour, which is a bloody long time to have blokes sat on you in a sex free sort of a way, because of staff trying to enforce a rule that I objected to as it wasn't in my care plan. Today I lost it a few times, basically over technicalities. I can see, as if my life is spread before me like a magazine spread or film, when I'm becoming Unreasonable Condron, but there's shit all I can do about it, apart from inwardly cringe after my blood has gone from boiling back down to simmering.
I'm nervous about what's to come. In my last ward round, moving me back to an eating disorder unit was mentioned. I really, really don't want that to happen, 'cause I've got a bloody long stretch ahead of me in here, and the thought of shoving another admission in now, then returning here in months to come to start all over, is bloody grim and I'll fight them all the way on that one. Saying that, the number one top joy of being sectioned is you really have absolutely no say in what happens to you, so saying I'll fight means shite all. Unreasonable Condron wants to run away and hide, but luckily that's one bit of UC (I've got bored of typing out the name) that I can keep a lid on. I feel like I'm losing control though- which is ironic given that eating disorders are always oversimplified down into being about control- and like I'm just a passenger, rather than the pilot, of this plane.