Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Picturesque survival

I am so physically and mentally tired that I want to go somewhere noisy and public and scream myself raw, before succumbing to a hibernating sleep. The idea of screaming back the chokes of sobs sounds so empowering. I'm tired of holding back the crazy, maintaining, as much as possible, the performance and choreography, making myself vulnerable by trying to disguise my vulnerabilities. I'm tired of thinking in circles and contradictions. I'm tired of thinking at all.

Really, I'm tired of the real world. The anorexic word is so small, just a fogged up, distorted bubble and force field against the good and bad, beautiful and ugly. The problem with being tube fed is that the bubble is popped much quicker than it would through oral food refeeding. And I miss the bubble. I shouldn't, it's a horrific place to be, but I do. It was easier than the overwhelming facts of the physical world. I heard the phrase 'picturesque survival' the other day, and that's how it's been the last few months, especially in the few weeks leading up to this NG. As long as things were/are superficially pretty- a nice dress here, explosive laughter there, and always cheerful tweets- and I kept breathing, things were ok. I'd rather not have survived at the time, and I'm not sure, to be honest, how I feel about that now, but it is as it is.

My feed is being decreased from tonight. I'm pleased, mostly because I feel like I've won. I could lose weight on the decrease, if I stop eating, orally, the bits I've been cramming in. I'm also confused, because I think it's more the anorexia making up stupid games to play, without explaining the rules to anybody else, and that's not a real victory. I'm competitive as hell, but I'd rather win on sturdy goal posts. Besides which, I'd really rather not have to go through the physical and mental aches of refeeding again. I'm still quite a way from healthy, weight-wise, and so it's more risky. Whatever weight I lose, I'll always have to gain. There is always an NG tube at most, a few months from the start of a new, hardcore, relapse. I don't coast.

I'm sorry, I'm not sure what point I'm trying to get across. Maybe, it's that I apologise too much. Maybe, it's that you shouldn't assume things are good because I've accepted the feed, taken in food, gained back some of the weight. Maybe, it's that there is no point. Maybe, it's that the point is the charade, the picturesque survival, and how much I need to keep it up.

Or maybe, it's that I'm a time-bomb, mentally.

1 comment:

  1. I understand where you're coming from Rebecca... it's like people think that because we look okay on the outside... everything is fine... but inside we are totally different. Don't give up though... keep holding on... that's what I'm doing until it gets better... eventually...