I had a bit of a secret cry today. It was borderline pathetic (it would have been completely pathetic, but nobody knew/saw, so I'm allowing it the title of 'borderline'), and it all revolved around a bag of lollipops. Two of the women from the ward were nipping to the shop, and I couldn't go, so I asked them to pick me up a can of raspberryade. They came back with cherryade, which was still pretty damn great, and a bag of lollies for me. When people buy me food, I am notorious for over-thinking the gift. Are they buying me it because I'm fat and fat people like food? etc etc etc. In reality, they know I'm struggling with food so bought me something back that I'd hopefully be able to eat. It got me both sentimental and, I don't know, mental, I suppose. They're on a high shelf and hidden so I can't see them right now, but I'm still scared.
It's been a strange week. I went to go see my giant lesbian crush, Alex, on Thursday and every positive adjective you could throw out there went on. Wandering around Derby, hand in hand, lovin' life. Life at its best. It got hard, because when we went back to her flat we had the kind of heart to heart that actually breaks your heart. Not in a romantic way, just talking about plans and life and the world and the universe and everything. And leaving her hurt more than I could possibly have imagined. As well as my GLC, she's also my best friend and she's hurting and I can't fix that and it rips me apart every time I think about her, so bloody much.
The rest of the week has been a blur of general junk. My eating has got worse so they've put me on Fortijuce, which feels like a failure. I suppose because in a way, it is. It's a failure of a primal nature, the innate self-preservation and all that balls. I don't start them whilst Monday, and I have ward round on Tuesday and I don't think my consultant could give less of a bollock about my eating, so maybe I'll get out of it, I don't know. I don't know what I want, because it was me who asked for help, but every idea they came up with, I couldn't do. I can't increase the volume of what I eat. I can't change the time, the place or the food itself. I really don't know what the skeleton is going to make of an extra 300 calories, in the clinic, at dinnertime. I need to stop thinking as I type because it's making me stress.
Ok, a positive note (it's taken me a while to come up with one)... 20 days of not purging. Going from vomiting fluid 15+ times a day, to 20 days cold turkey has been hard but good. I should end on a positive, I think, so LET'S DO THIS SHITE. RA-RA-RA CONDRON.