Darkness falls

I guess i shouldn’t do anything when I am in gloomsville.  I managed to fuck up my wordpress update last night.  Now I had to reinvent my categories and things in the back end look odd and crappy.  Bloody shite.  Oh well.  I never know how to keep up with the bloody updates that wordpress and Joomla releases all the frigging time. 

Fucking annoying.

I chatted to a friend last night even though the mood was blue and the black clouds were low  Funnily enough, by the end of the conversation, my mood had lifted a bit.  My shoulder responded to the pills this time and a bit more of the acid burning deep ‘I’m gonna burn your skin off’ heat spray also worked somewhat. 

I still have the pain, but it’s certainly less than yesterday.  I’m at work today, for an hour I sat watching the squirrels play under the bark, darting in and out of the green litter bin.  I didn’t realise they weren’t that fussy in what they ate.  They came really close, nervous little furry rats.  I like them though, they make me smile.  I caught some on my blacksmerrrrry ferry and I may well put them up at some time, never!  I am off to find myself a new blackberry theme.  I survived for one more day!

Killing Me Softly

That’s where I am right now. In a cage made of fat! I am in pain, I have this nasty weird feeling in my left shoulder, I don’t even remember when it arrived. It’s just there and it makes me feel scared and uncomfortable. My bones are weaker now, the more fat goes on, it seems the weaker they get. Like ivy crawling over a trees bark, eating into it until the wood is left hollow. I am drowning… After all this time, I am killing myself. I know it.

I have not much left to live for when I feel this bad. This is the first time that a large bowl of someting someting hasn’t taken my thoughts away from the way I feel. That pain in my stomach didn’t make me focus on it this time. This time I am thinking of death. It feels as though my body is dying. I am killing me softly…

Every time I breath i can feel my rib cage hit my huge stomach which somehow knocks against that pain inside my shoulder. It’s like a stitch inside my arm, aching. Nothing works to take that pain away. I took ibuprofen and sprayed Deep Heat, which only seemed to take off the first layer of skin with it’s burn and stench. I weighed myself after I ate - I never do that any more either. I am now 24 stones and a few pounds. I can’t even make a joke about it today. I am so far away from normal it is easier to keep killing myself. I have no idea how I shall ever be pulled back. There seems to be little option that works for my twisted brain. My way of thinking is changing, increasingly dark and deeply deeply unhappy. I have been here once before, when all seemed lost when there was nothing to keep me here. Then, I felt the brush of air against my cheek. Like a wisp of something and then it was gone. I can’t imagine there is anything there this time, waiting to keep me from the dark.

I cry more than laugh, I tire more than I feel energised. I am beginning to see the world through real shades of grey. There is no colour left inside me. I have to see the CBT therapist on Wednesday, I have very little to say. Two weeks on and I’m supposed to feel what? She wants me to keep writing things down. I’ve been writing in books for most of my life, telling myself stories on how I feel and what I want, how big my dreams were and now…Now- what difference does it make if I write the rules of why I eat this way? What good does it do me to concentrate on how much am eating each day for her to take a look over it in a second and pick out the most emotive words she can find in amongst the scrawl of anger?

I don’t quite see the point. The pain just grows along with my size - I have increased in weight since this hospital shite - just like I did years ago when I joined an over eaters group. The rolls of fat increase tenfold and the darkening of the skin as it runs against itself continues to discolour. Pain increases, I feel more low and isolated and then what? For years all I have seen is fat in that writing. In every picture I own, in any video’s that may have survived, FAT. It breathes. I hate everything. I don’t want to go back to work any more. I want to be free.

And all I have to do is jump. The more I think about how I would land if I fell from the window, is becoming increasingly intriguing. I sometimes imagine myself twisted in a pile below, blood oozing around me, hair matted, eyes open wide - no sign of life s I journey somewhere unknown. Sometimes I am naked, sometimes I am clothed and sometimes, sometimes I am covered in so much blood I can’t even see if it’s me. This is my worst self pitying moment in years. I am crying all the time and I want to run away from myself. The only problem is, I have no where to run to because fat always comes too. This pain in my shoulder just reminds me that I’m still alive. And that, that isn’t such a good thing right now.

Red Cross Food Parcels

I of course wouldn’t actually say no today to a food parcel. I bought some fresh bread from Porto’s this morning from a very stern bird behind the counter. She only ever greets the very posh in that place, to everyone else she cackles and frowns. I like the coffee, I like the bread, so apart from adding her to my shooting wall, there is little I can do. I don’t even feel like writing this morning. I’m at work, but not at work, if you know what I mean.

I won’t be adding my time to the sign in sheet until 11am, because I’m good like that *rolls eyes*. I’m bored and waiting for other workers to come in, goats fed, gates unhinged and so am I…. My belly is rumbling which is a very odd thing for me as it doesn’t really happen that often, I don’t allow it to. I do want something to eat though, and not oats. I will be happy when this week is over and I can do what I want over the weekend. More than not, that means .

Shrink or Swell?

Well, today was the second visit to the shrink.

D is a pale, slim, quietly spoken woman who speaks with a faint accent of which I can’t place. She is sweet and professional and laughs at my very poor attempt at humour, which covers up my shame I guess in having to even speak with someone in order for them to sort out why I eat the way I do and why I have compulsive behaviour.

She has a kind face, I kind of like her. Her eyes are big and pupils wide and she listens because she may well have to, but also because I think being the way I am and for her to have to suss out why, intrigues her. It bally well should, it’s her job!

The deal is this; That I concentrate on the rules I have made for myself around food which came from childhood. There are many, of course.

But then why would someone who hates towing the line, create or carry so many rules forward from childhood? I haven’t a clue. Safety net? Who knows. I know if I write my top ten rules, number at one will be Food Waste, and not to have any. use my body like a trash can and eat whatever it is rather than throw it away. As a past raw mentor once told me, by doing this, I am treating my body worse than I do the bin. Well, lets see what happens.

I wanted to record the session, but couldn’t. I don’t think my impressive new Blackberry curve allows that, and if it does I have found it as yet. I forgot to take the digital recorder. I arrived there at 10 past 8 so fiddled with the internet for a while on the BB and before I knew it she was walking towards me, an image in green!

We discussed what I need to focus on to change the behaviour I have around food. So I rambled on, confusing myself even more about why I am like this and why at 44 I can’t change this myself without the help of the woman in green.

She laughed at my jokes and listened and read the food diary I had done the week before. I don’t know if it made sense to her, as my writing was mostly in anger of the situation I found myself in for that week at work.

My eating was largely major over eating an once did I binge the way I have been in the last few months. More than not, that is pre planned and happens at a weekend, when no one can hear my belly scream. I sometimes think of the image of that fat person ‘Gluttony’ in the film ‘Se7en’ where the killer forced that fat bloke to eat himself to death. Force feeding him until his stomach popped.

Maybe I the feeling I get when I over eat or binge is that very feeling the killer forced the fat bloke to feel, and then he popped. Maybe I need to pop too!