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Found 7 results

  1. I know the title sounds a little silly but let me explain (buckle up this is going to be a long one) As a person that has struggled with heavy eating disorder tendencies for over 6 years now, you would think that I would have this all figured out by now... But that just isn't the case. It kinda just crept up on me when I was 10 and it never went away. I can't exactly pin how it started or why (otherwise it would be easier to treat it. Go figure) however, I never actively thought, "I want to skip meals and be thin". It just became a habit, one that I just can't break despite my best efforts. Its not that I don't want people to know because I dont want them to stop me, its mostly because I'm ashamed that my life has come to this. I am a very happy person that is friends with everyone and just wants the best for people. I just don't want this to change the way they see me. Such a strong and nice person being controlled by some thing so awful. Besides, there is a lot going on in my home life anyway and I dont want to add this on top of it all. I know a lot of people say that "biology eventually rules out" and "you're setting yourself up for a binge the more you don't eat" I wish it were like that for me. I don't even have to think about it and I end up not eating for at least 3 days to sometimes a week at a time. And the few times that I do eat I just end up throwing it up anyway. Everything just feels so dull and repetitive that I don't even notice. I actively try to eat. But I keep falling back into the same behavior I don't want to die but I don't want to keep living this way. What should I do?
  2. Hi everyone, I just wanted to pass on a tip from my therapist. I was starting to fall into anorexic remission, when they suggested trying microwaveable meals. They have small portions and almost always have all the components you need for a proper diet. This may be old news to some, but as somebody who has lived most of their lives without a microwave, this was inspiration. It is great not only because the portions are easy to get through, but you can also have food (almost) instantaneously. So when you feel a weak pang of hunger, you can pop some food into your face in about 2 minutes, encouraging your mind to listen to your body's queues. Hope this helps somebody get back on track! Poem
  3. So, it's been awhile - i've been away from the boards for quite awhile, hiding out, going inpatient, getting fired, moving, blah blah blah... Two days ago, i started purging again. After Two. Fucking. Years. I've been stressed out. Two jobs - by day, i'm caregiver to a schizophrenic teenager - at night, i bartend fulltime. This week will be my last week bartending full-time; my caregiving job is going full-time, so i'm going to one night a week slinging booze, which is a huge relief. You'd THINK this would be a huge relief, and it is. But, i've gained about 20 lbs due to meds changes. Now, i've gone back on the meds that make me lose weight, which is good - but it's still early on and i'm a former dancer, and extremely controlling about my weight. And, let's face it - i'm a sick little puppy. SO, i started purging. Not even BINGEING and purging, necessarily, although that happens, too. And the bitch of it is, to control the urge to binge, i swing over into the anorexia side of the spectrum, where eating anything at all makes me feel sick. I'm nauseous all the time, the scale is slowwwwwly,ever so slowly going down, but not fast enough (it's NEVER fast enough is it?). The craziest part is, i'm not even close to being overweight. My bf loves the fact that i have curves now. I just feel gross. And speaking of boyfriends, there are issues there, too, which i know are triggering me...but i don't want to get into that, having just blogged about it here. Anyway, i'm scared, because i've already spent thousands of dollars on repairing my teeth from previous years of damage done to my teeth, and i don't want to be going down this road. Not to mention the damage i've done to my stomach. I have an autoimmune illness, as well. I cannot afford to be doing this to myself, but i can't seem to stop. Today, i can't seem to eat at all - i've tried, but putting food in my mouth makes me sick. It's a vicious circle. I can't believe i'm back here, after two years of being done with all of this. I guess it's like being an addict - your'e never really done with it. I guess i feel better just spewing, so to speak, about it all here. Thanks for reading, anyway.
  4. About seven years ago I was diagnosed as anorexic along with other things. The meds I was given made me gain weight (which still makes me freak out sometimes). Anyway, of late I have just been off my feed, so to speak. Food doesn't taste good. I have a nutrional drink (nutribreakfast I think) in the am, maybe a yogurt cup in the afternoon, and a small serving of dinner. The only things that taste good are lemonade and pizza. Most of the time I just drink fluids. I know when I was first recovering, everything tasted so intense, so new. Maybe my current meds are affecting my taste. I could go a whole day without eating and not care. I just don't want to fall into bad habits again. Thanks.
  5. I've been in recovery for my anorexia for 1yr+. I gained a LOT of weight in that time, but have taken half off in a healthy way. Still, my BMI is showing 28. Not pleased. I've been fighting to stay in remission. My pdoc and tdoc are in on all of this. I just need some opinions, please. My sister had plastic surgery 2wks ago. She didn't tell me about it until it was over. She was afraid my anorexia would come out of remission. But, she's sort of my caregiver, as I'm blind and need rides to stuff. She had to tell me. And it's triggering me. I'm fine with all of it except the lipo. I feel so disgustingly fat now. I've been anorexic for 28yrs and it's always a struggle. I get that. This is the struggle that might beat me I'm afraid. I'm hyper focused on my weight/BMI. I can FEEL my fat move even if I'm laying down flat. I just feel it like its huge weights falling into me. It's the feeling that really isn't there, but you feel it with this damn disease. I'm struggling not to start the self harm back. I feel disgusting and worthless. All signs of coming out of remission. I've got so many health problems, I can't afford it to come back. WHY is her lipo driving me to hate myself even more? I've never been this way with her. How has this surgery on some other person wrecking havoc on my mentality? Any ideas of opinions? Thanks
  6. I so need some advice on this. My pdoc and tdoc are very aware that I have anorexia. It's been in remission for about a year+. They know I'm struggling. I just want opinions of people who KNOW how this feels. I saw on my dr chart that I have a 28 BMI based on that chart. I'm aware I'm not thin, but I know I'm not obese. I've been able to keep the weight in perspective for a long time, but I feel myself slipping. I've even lost weight recently, in a healthy manner. Some of my disabilities make it hard: legally blind (use a cane), fibromyalgia, chronic pain and a spine full of herniated discs/pinched nerves/moderate arthritis. I'm 42. I know my anorexia contributed to alot of that. I can feel the evil anorexia voices getting louder (not out loud, y'all know what I mean). I'm finding it hard not to self harm over it. My Drs know that, too. I feel like a tub of lard. I'm becoming really anxious and upset if I can't weigh myself a few times a day. I am struggling. Any ideas? Thanks.
  7. ** Please do not read this if you are easily triggered. I go into graphic detail about my past, as there is a lot I need to get off my chest anonymously. However, caveat lector. ** Hello! I go by the name Hellbent. I'm 18, and live in the British Isles. I have a long and storiaed history of mental quirks and quiddities. I taught myself to read at tewo from reading the captions underneath pictures in my grandfather's newspapers, and from reading food packaging. I was diagnosed with high-functioning autism at 5 or 6, and declared a "gifted and talented child". I'm uncertain whether the "gifted and talented" diagnosis still exists, or whether it ever meant anything at all. I was offered a scholarship to a prestigious educational institute for the gifted and talented in the Western Isles, but my mother held me back because "my emotional development would never catch up with my intellectual development". The institute in question mostly catered for teenagers, and my mother feared that I may have been bullied. I resent that greatly. If I had been sent there, I would have escaped the living hell that my mother put me through. Although I was originally diagnosed with "high-functioning" autism, my IQ testing well over 100, my behaviour as I slowly, slowly grew up would certainly have landed me in the "classical autism" group had my child psychiatrists been around to see it. (I spent a lot of time as a child playing cruel games with my child psychiatrists!) There were holires in the plasterboard walls of the house where I grew up because I'd throw myself against them repeatedly at the slightest inkling of frustration or sadness. Indeed, I don't believe I ever felt any emotion but frustration until my preteens - when my grandfather died, confined to a nursing home after a life of undiagnosed PTSD from fighting in the Pacific Theatre and depression resulting from a series of disabling strokes and TIAs, in and out of the local mental hospital in which I would later spend time, I felt more empathetic frustration for him, having been trapped in a dark, stinking, crude environment for almost a year, most likely the home's only inmate with an intact mind, than I did sadness. I feel strong empathy, but I am almost unable to feel sympathy. In a poem whose name I cannot remember, the Scottish poet Norman MacCaig talks of "the distance of pain which nothing can overcome". In that line, MacCaig expresses his frustration that he cannot share in his dying wife's pain. I am that nothing - I feel very acutely the pain of others. I felt everything that my grandfather went through, from his horror of a pot lid rattling - my synaesthesia brought on tehe exact same imagery of gunfire that I am certain must have occurred to him - to his unspeakable despair at his confinement to a nursing home. Thus, I felt no true sadness when he died, but, rather, an intense echo of his lifelong frustration at his inability to function. He had been an actuary before he had been conscripted - he taught me to multiply and dievide on an abacus when I was 6 or 7, and many, many arithmetic shortcuts - but, as far as I know, he never could hold down work after the war. Until the ages of 11 or 12, I never felt any emotion of my own, only empathetic feelings from others, except for frustration. I first experienced psychosis at around 9 or 10. I heard my aunt's voice calling my name repeatedly, as if from the sky. She wasn't so much as in the house at all. I ascribed it to angels, and became obsessed with angels. I was intended to be raised a Catholic, but after my parents' divorce my mother tried to get me into the Free Church of Scotland Continuing - which I had no time for. I found their cadence to be dour, inhuman, and deathly sexless. I collected holy cards obsessively. I was especially fascinated by St. Christina Mirabilis and by St. Sebastian, and I had quite a few of them. I ordered them from the Internet. At 11, menarche hit, and, in a fit (that word will occur again in quite a different context) of confusion eerily echoing what was later to be one of my favourite films (guess?), I believed that, for it to have come about quite so early, it must be a sign of something. I came to believe that I was St. Margaret of Cortona. I cut the word "Cortona" into my chest with my grandfather's whittling knife, and came quite close to slashing up my genitalia on several occasions. I tried, thankfully fruitlessly (funny choice of word!), to find one of those extremist Islamist doctors who carry out infibulations. Later that year, I came across a website dedicated to a - clearly somehow mentally ill - Internet artist and unintentional celebrity. Years earlier, she'd posted an innocent picture of herself on a forum, not realising how obsessive the denizens of that forum had been. They tracked down her Livejournal, where she had posted page after page of conceptual photography, some explicit. The website I'm now discussing sprung up as a place of veneration for this unfortunate girl. The website kicked off my first phase of serious self-injury, as the girl being so intensely deified had been a heavy self-injurer, and many of the posters on this website encouraged self-injury. I was a believer in mortification of the flesh, and I did some quite unmentionable things in pursuit of paying tribute to the girl I too came to worship. The website closed down a couple rof yearrs later, but a similar, although far less extreme, site survives, and I was a regular poster there until recently. I would dress up in the vogue of the "goddess"'s most famous pictures on group video chat. The worst phase of my cult membership, for it was indeed a cult, was the time I covered my school uniform in menstrual blood, smeared it across my face, and wrote the address of the website all over my school in it. That incident led to my first non-PDD diagnosis: psychotic depression. I was put on fluoxetine, which quite possibly explains what happened next. The next notable incident in the development of my health occurred, again, at the tail end of my eleventh year. Quite possibly my worst year to date. I had what I now recognise as a manic episode, and adopted an alternate identity. I developed a fixation on an anime cartoon, and spent all of my time on a website dedicated to it, mainly populated by older men. Being hypersexual (indeed, I am constantly hypersexual, even when depressed; I am beginning to believe that I am a clinical nymphomaniac) and a raging teleiophile, I attempted to proposition many of them, addressing them using my adopted identity. Said identity developed into a full-blown manic personality. I became somewhat bisexual, but in a very bizarre way: I was attracted to very, very young girls, and to far older men. These days, I've settled down into simply heterosexual attraction to moderately older men, but those days were wild. I never looked at porn, oddly enough - I gave it a try, but found it all too synthetic and silly - but I constantly fantasised about things I don't feel that I can mention. In the real world, I insisted on being addressed by my alternate name, and acted incredibly callously and antisocially. I became obsessed with computers, built one, and then began to collect them. My room was small, so I could barely move for all the computer rubbish. My mother indulged my eccentricity at first, but later began to lose her temper with my Victorian style of dress, borderline-hoarding, and use of gamers' language in Blakean syntax, and took me to a chiropractor, who "prescribed" multivitamins. By 12, the cycling induced by the fluoxetine had thrown me into a depression. I had had suicidal thoughts since 8 or 9, but first acted on them at 12. I put the Manics' song "Die in the Summertime" on repeat and attempted to slit my wrists with the same knife I'd pulled the "Cortona" nonsense with. Thankfully, I think I only hit a bunch of capillaries, and I managed to stem the bleeding in about seven hours once I realised it wasn't going to work. My mother let it slide, but I was bullied at school. I'd already been bullied at school for my meltdowns, but it worsened so, so much when my classmates noticed the cuts on my wrists. From 13 to 14, my mental health improved greatly. I was taken off the fluoxetine, shook off the manic alternate personality, and excelled at school. I passed my Intermediate 2s with seven As, and two Highers with an A and, er, a C. I was invited to an Advanced Higher English course, and accepted, but had to drop out before I began my dissertation - it was to be on Irish vs. Scottish black humour in literature, comparing MacCaig's poetry and The House with the Green Shutters with The Third Policeman and After the Wake - because my aunt, who mostly brought me up and whom I loved dearly, developed throat cancer, and I couldn't focus on writing when I could feel the agony that my aunt was going through. In late 2010, I began to believe that I was beginning to look old, and that I needed to look younger to find a re al boyfriend, so I stopped eating for days on end. In 2011 this worsened. In January 2011 I was almost 9st; in July 2011 I was close to 4st. I was hospitalised with multiple organ failure, and diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. In September I was sent to residential inpatient, where I spent one day short of a year. Being a CAMHS unit, it was dire; I would far rather have been sent to an adult mental hospital. My fellow inpatients competed with one another constantly to be the sickest. At one point, I lost my temper with one girl to the extent that I punched her in the face and slapped her against a wall. The incident was recorded on CCTV, and, had I not been so underweight, I would have been expelled from the unit. I was NG fed for some time. My more recent mental illness experiences are a little too raw yet to be spoken of in public, and, besides, I've rambled on long enough. My final major diagnoses were occipital lobe epilepsy - I had what I now recognise as partial seizures, many, many migraines, and a couple of possible tonic-clonics as a child, but was only given an EEG at 16, and had a tonic-clonic during the strobe test, and subsequently had several MRIs which confirmed brain damage and epilepsy - and schizoaffective bipolar disorder at 17, which I doubted at first, believing myself to be borderline, but, after some research into the topic, found that it fit (hah) perfectly. I hope that I'll fit (there I go with that same pun again) in here alright.
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