The last few days have been awful. This week in general has been hell-ish. This morning, I woke up early (I used to get up religiously at 8.32, but now I bloody well find myself up before 7. BEFORE 7. AM), and went for a fag. As I stood afterwards, bleary eyed, trying to shut my bedroom door, I found I physically couldn't. I flooded the ward once (it was pretty hilarious, to be honest), by accident and since them my carpet has swelled and the door is just a tiny bit stiff. It's not major and it doesn't generally bother me, but enough for me not to be able to shut it properly when I'm weak. I'm weak. So at that moment, let's call it 7.22, I decided I was already bored of this relapse and was going to take whatever it took to get better. I was going to kick arse.
Of course, it's waaaaaaay too easy to say that, even convince yourself of that, when you have roughly 5 hours before you're meant to eat. And by eat, I mean drink a Forti-Juice (high calorie/nutrient drink). Yesterday I didn't even manage a quarter of the bottle, so I am kicking arse, theoretically, because the whole bottle went down today. Honestly, though, I feel horrific. I feel huge and guilty and like I'm literally expanding, from the calories. I'd like to be really upbeat and whatnot, but I can't lie. Well, actually, I'm a bloody great liar, but lying here would be like pretending this bitch of a disorder is a bitch in the sense of a cute, newborn female puppy, rather than one of those dogs that maul people to death.
I've got to do it, if for nowt else, so that I can go out with Ginge (mum, in case you're new to SBIWYB) and Emily (technically cousin, but really little sister) on Sunday. The calories I'd have to consume over the next few days to be able to go out with them is insane, and I'm stressing like buggery, but I have to do this. I can't do it for me right now, but I think I can for Ginge and Em, plus my beautiful Alex. I think. I still have more calories to consume today and the thought makes me want to cry. I'm so scared, because I know I'm losing weight and it's making me a bit, well, horrible. When my weight goes past the healthy mark, I get all demanding and pedantic and a bit of a monster. I want to be well and happy, and I want to be well and happy with Ginge, Em and Alex.
I thought I'd beat it this time. Or at least that I was on my way. But nope, a year since I last relapsed badly, here I am. This can't be my life, because this is fucking grim.