If there’s one word which could describe the way I look and feel at the moment, it would be ‘Heffalump’.
Up until this point, one of the only real physical effects of recovery I’ve had are stomach aches and bloating. This past week however, I seem to have blown up like a bloody balloon! My stomach is still like a beach ball, and my whole body feels weirdly bruised and tender. This is probably (hopefully) water weight or something, but it’s pretty uncomfortable. My skin feels really sore to touch and I feel like such a weakling. A wimp. With any luck it will settle down soon, I’m just feeling a bit pathetic at the moment.
Last week, when my found jeans didn’t fit any more I genuinely didn’t mind, it felt like an achievement and realistically – I know it’s a good thing that they don’t fit. Now, I’ve realised it’s not just those jeans which don’t fit. NONE of my nice jeans fit. Hence the Heffalump. The only jeans I can still wear are my baggy comfy jeans, so I don’t have any suitable for a nice meal or night out. I’m holding off going shopping just yet though. Partly because I know it will leave me feeling miserable, and partly because I now need an 8, and in a few weeks (the way I’m gaining) I’d need a 10 so I can’t afford to keep buying clothes and growing out of them. It’s almost like being a kid again and growing out of clothes quickly, except this time round it’s at my expense not my Mum and Dads! It’s probably a good thing that I’m no longer a social butterfly, and have no job to go to. This means I stay indoors in my tracksuit bottoms which have plenty of ‘give’ and room to move about.
There have been a lot of disordered thoughts floating around my head recently, and my mood has been pretty low, but I’m really trying hard to fight it. An example:
Me (1): ‘Oooo that brownie/biscuit/apple/cake/melon/whatever looks nice’
Me (2): ‘Yes, it does, but you can’t eat it. You shouldn’t eat it. You’ve already eaten xxxx today, you don’t need it’
Me (1): ‘Hmm. You might be right. Actually, no. You’re definitely NOT right. I’m having that brownie/biscuit/apple/cake/melon/whatever’
The actual thought process is a lot longer and a lot more complicated than that but 9 times out of 10 the real me, (Me 1) wins. It doesn’t matter if I actually genuinely don’t fancy eating whatever has caught my eye – I’ll eat it anyway. Sometimes it does leave me feeling rubbish, I won’t pretend it doesn’t – but I’m starting to realise that it’s only the disordered part of me who feels rubbish and defeated. So essentially, it’s a good thing. I hope.
^^ that whole thing probably doesn’t make any sense at all. Meh. I lack eloquence, what can I say.
Basically, even though I’m eating a hell of a lot of food sometimes it feels great, other times is feels unbelievably rubbish. Ultimately, I’m working through the rubbish horrible days because I have no choice. I have to get my weight to a number I’m entirely uncomfortable and scared of, a weight I have never been in my whole entire life in order to get better. For good. I honestly cannot remember the last time I had a period, my bones are disintegrating, I probably won’t be able to have children. That fact devastates me, and is something I have only realised this week believe it or not. Being skinny surely isn’t worth that? In fact it’s definitely not worth that.
It feels as if I’ve not posted in ages but nothing has really happened in my world other than a few nice meals out but it’s all ‘same old same old’ for me. Hopefully a full recovery will bring exciting adventures. Onwards and upwards so they say.