Well, we're just over a week into the NG refeeding. I hate the word, I'm thinking more of this time as an excuse to eat a shit tonne of chocolate and marathon Desperate Housewives, with the aim of being able to fill a bra again. It's quite nice being flat chested, dead handy, but the novelty is wearing off. This is Glass Half Full Condron, obviously. She's quite a nice person, especially when given sugar. Glass Half Empty Condron is not quite as amiable- she'll fly into a rage about being denied Pepsi Max, with the argument that she's an 'adult with capacity' and if she wants to fill her body with chemicals and fizz, she's entitled to. She's not so lovely, especially after sugar.
I'm obviously a bit of a mess right now. The highlight of my day is the 300ml of Pepsi I managed to get my consultant to agree to. The lowlight is every single comment around how well I look/sound/seem, compared with before Operation: Get Boobs Back began. I've found myself coming up with an excuse every time as to why I seem better. I can't seem to accept that it's because, yanno, I actually am doing better. I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to have to gain weight, whether it goes in my mouth or down my NG tube, so I might as well eat everything I've denied myself. Yesterday, no word of a lie, involved a cheese sandwich. It was rubbery, institution cheese, like, but cheese all the same. It's like I've been given permission, because like I say, I'm going to be forced to gain weight anyway. For some reason though, I find myself defending the recent improvements I've made, hiding my progress behind crappy excuses. I'm not quite ready for everybody else to realise that I'm changing, in both attitude and body. I suppose I'm embarrassed, but I'm not entirely sure what of. The Anorexia still has its claws in there, and as ready as I am to kick this shit, my changing body is both terrifying and invigorating. I'm two different people right now.
So, with that being said, please don't comment on my physique. Don't tell me how well I'm looking. Pretend you haven't noticed. Do not, under any circumstances, comment on what I'm eating. Just let me get on, and we'll be just fine. I feel huge, scared and alone, and to get on with beating this under those circumstances is pretty hard, but don't make me isolate myself and hide, because of the fear of what you might say. I'm going to be fine, it's just a hell of a rocky road. I need to get the NG out, get discharged from the general, sort my head out, get out of my usual hospital and get the hell on with my life. One hell of a rocky road.