Friday, 30 May 2014

'Smile luv, it mightn't 'appen' (TW)

This is the smile of an under-fed, colour-less brain.

This is the smile of a woman who knows she is nothing but damaged organs trapped inside tainted flesh and covered in a papery skin.

This is the smile behind a tsunami of thoughts and plans and even hopes of destruction.

This is the smile of the woman who is beaten black and blue every time she turns around. Her tormentors fed by the sight of all the beauty in the world, a beauty that includes everything but herself.

This is the excessively fake smile produced with hope of disguising the fact that any smile on this face right now would be fake.

This is the woman behind the smile, who thinks that maybe if she can feed her brain and body, it'll add colour back into her life.

This is the woman behind the smile, who thinks maybe her organs will pick up their function if she nourishes them, and knows that since cells flake and die, she cannot be not the person she was all those years ago.

This is the woman behind the smile, the smile she's going to build protective flood defences around.

This is the woman behind the smile, who thinks maybe beauty is contagious and so ought to spend more time basking in it, than running from it.

This is the woman behind the smile, who is petrified of her body and at the health of body needed for the health of brain. The health of brain needed so that healthy smile she's hiding from is never too far from dancing across her face.

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Radio silence

Sorry for the radio silence, been a bitch of a time of it, with everyone's favourite demonic parasite. I'm not off to get dead into it now because hopefully tomorrow I'll have my laptop and be able to type better than I can doing this on my Kindle. All there is to say really, is that things got very bad, and I'm back in the medical hospital, not so eagerly awaiting getting an NG tube being forced up my nose, down my throat and into my stomach, in the morning.

I keep thinking I'm lucky. Yesterday I literally collapsed every time I tried to stand, but even then, I'm lucky. I'm alive and demonic parasite can fling whatever shit she can find at me; I'm alive.

Thursday, 15 May 2014


And now... it gets complicated. To follow on from my last post, the consultant on the gastro ward refused to admit me because the ward is mostly used to refeeding drug addicts and s/he didn't think it was the right environment for me. Now, I'm not one to judge; I see a bloody alcohol worker, for a bloody reason (although, she's so lovely that she lets me use our sessions, right now, to rant about my Anorexia and its mismanagement). I really couldn't give a damn who the other people on the ward are, especially given the fact that because I'm sectioned I'd have to have a worker from this hospital with me at all times. I think, really, s/he couldn't be arsed with taking on 'The Anorexic' (in cases like this, capitalisation is necessary). I found this out yesterday and got told that I'd have to be moved to an ED unit.

I saw the ward manager yesterday and she told me that she's working on getting around the consultant on gastro saying no. Then the ward doctor told me a bit later I was getting assessed for an ED unit, on Monday. I saw the ward manager a few hours later and she told me they'd put in a complaint with what's basically the OFSTED of hospitals, because due to my BMI, the consultant can't refuse me. I know, complex. It just really boils down to a bit more time left languishing, a bit more weight loss that I'll have to put back on. In short, a bit more of a bloody mess.

I'm ok, though. I don't want you to think I'm not, because I'm fine. A bit numb and totally exhausted, but I'm trying to just let whoever get on with whatever, and trust in their abilities. I just wish somebody could tell me what's going to happen from here, and I hope that the answer isn't that my weight is going to drop further and I'm going to be further up shit creek.

Thursday, 8 May 2014

One small step for woman, one giant leap for Rebecca Condron.

I love a good conspiracy theory. I don't know that I actually believe man walked on the moon, but I can't deny the greatness of the supposed first line uttered. I took my first, giant leap today, but let me explain the background and then it'll maybe make more sense. I've been collapsing. A lot. I collapsed on Monday and was taken to the general hospital with low blood pressure and low blood sugars. It was such a pointless trip because I ended up refusing all treatment, then there was a big thing about whether they could force it upon me and it was all a bit of a stressy mess. In the end, I discharged myself and got back to my regular hospital at about 3am. Just a tip- never let anything go wrong on a bank holiday. A&E was so busy that even when I passed out in the waiting room, after having been waiting hours, we still had to wait another 2 hours. Horrif. I ended up back at A&E yesterday for the same reason, refused all treatment again, and was sent back to my hospital with a letter to the ward doctor with instructions for her to call the gastro department at the general.

When you have anorexia, being told you're being sent to the gasto ward means one thing. Dum, dum, dum, nasal-gastro (feeding) tube. Between refusing treatment and waiting for my discharge letter, I realised that I've really been a bloody great tool over this whole thing. I look horrific, like a 70 year old prisoner of war, and I feel even worse. I'm fighting with my mum constantly, which never happens when I'm well because the woman is my best friend and completely incredible, and so feels my disorder probably more than even I do. I'm bitching and snipping and more miserable than I thought possible.

So here is my giant step; I've agreed to an 'elective' NG tube. I'll walk in, head held high, not fight and need sedation during it being fitted (they usually bring a needle when they bring NGs, with me, haaaa). I'll accept the feeds, but work on my eating, towards getting off it as soon as possible. I'm just going to get it long enough for my brain to be sufficiently nourished for me to think straight, because that's the main problem  right now. I just can't enact the logical side of me long enough to force calories down. It'll be difficult, but it'll be worth it. And saying this is one giant leap for me- I've never done it this way- even if it only takes a minimum of steps to get to the gastro ward (I am on restricted movement, after all ;)).

I don't know when it'll be, but because of my weight it probably won't be too long. I shall keep you updated as much as I can, and hopefully I'll come out of this kicking arse. No, wait, I WILL come out of this having kicked, and still kicking, arse.

Friday, 2 May 2014


I am officially a wreck. Far too little food and far too much thinking is exhausting. I'm spending most of my life fantasising about food, and the time I'm not fantasising, I'm feeling guilty about fantasising. I'm not sleeping properly and I look a bloody state and I have nobody to blame but myself. I think in the way your brain blocks out the pains of labour and past mistakes and trauma, my brain has blocked out the mental and physical pains of relapsing. It's like it's begging me to repeat the past, on and on and on.

I don't think I've ever truly worked on the core issues of my eating disorder. In a way, this is at least what I hope, because maybe this time will be different; I'll face the issues and finally conquer the beast. I can't live with the idea of spending the rest of my life doing this to myself and the people around me. I'm torturing myself with the facts of what this is doing to my mum especially, but also to the rest of both my blood family and the water family I've acquired- a ragtag bunch of the most amazing people you could ever hope to meet. They don't deserve this and the fact that they assert that I don't either is inspiring, given the pain I'm forcing upon them.

I don't really know where I'm going with this, and by 'this' I mean both this post and this relapse. I haven't a clue on either, in fact. I tried to leave this hospital today and was restrained back (bear in mind that I'm detained for my safety, rather than here by choice). I've been told that it's got to the point where I need to be 'very worried' about my BMI, banned from fizzy drinks, put on 5 minute checks and I lost all my time off the ward, earlier on this week. I'm on a fluids chart, have to keep my door open at all times and further restrictions can be put on me at any time. I'm trying my hardest not to fight them and to accept the help, because I know I'm lucky to live in a place where this treatment is paid for by the taxpayer and to be in a place where people want to help. I want help. I just don't know that I can accept it when I don't feel like I deserve it. I'm so confused and muddled and my brain just isn't working in the way that I'm used to.

I'm sorry this is so whingey, I'm just drowning. Screaming. I can't keep doing this.