Peace In Arms

I keep looking at my arms for some sort of weird bitter sweet comfort.  They seem to accurately reflect the two sides to my soul.

On my left arm there is nothing but clean skin, a reflection of the “good” part of my soul that has control over her life. This is the face I show to other people, my work arm. It is the part of me that does not tell outright lies, but instead simply lies by omission while knowing all the secrets of my right.

My right arm, the “bad part” tells the tales of past truths, when I roll up my sleeve I am looking at the evidence of past wrongs etched into my skin, I hate the way I have to be so careful not to expose my naked, angry arm even in front of my husband, until the scab comes off and the scar fades because I hate to admit that I have to burn in order to cleanse. I am bound to long sleeves throughout Summer in case I bump into someone I know.

On the other hand (pardon the pun) it makes me happy that the last burn is scabbing well and I am internally hoping it will leave a noticeable scar, a reminder of my inability to retain self- control for any length of time and an incentive to do better next time, I hate when they don’t scar, because I feel like a failure and I just wish I had the courage to just sit down for the last time and slit along the vein with a knife to end the lies and end the pain.

Because I ate raisin bread...

Again and again and again, rinse repeat and yet I don’t seem to learn.

Etched in my skin forever, release the hatred in my mind as I let my body burn.

The binging needs to stop, clearly the burns don’t hurt enough, I am numb in my soul and in my skin hiding sins under long sleeves and cuffs.

I am running out of arm space and vague excuses for my scars,

So time will soon come to finish this fight but the victory won’t be ours.

 

I self harm as punishment and 99.9% of the time it has been related to eating something I shouldn't have. It never really hurts enough to stop me binging again though. I burn because there is no blood to clean up and I get to feel the pain again in the heat of the shower- symbolically cleansing to me for some reason. Then I look at my arm and I realise that I have to try tod hide it. The flatter blistery burn scars I blamed on our fire place, which can be feasible. I look at my arms when I am alone and feel secretly proud, but the rest of the time I have to hide it with long sleeves. I was called out once by a girl at my work, she is bipolar as well but it was OK because she just smiled at me and showed her the scars on her wrists.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Friday Five: Fucked-up-ed-ness

You know your fucked up when....

1. You spend the morning sorting out your pre written suicide notes to see which one fits best this week.

2. You put 5 days worth of your pills into a pile, take a photograph and cry about having to take meds every day while simultaneously searching for your dope stash and swigging from a wine bottle.


3. You wake up in the morning and decide to take a shower. The reason this is fucked up is because you are planning to burn yourself and you know that the hot shower will sting it more, even though you know that you deserve that pain anyway.

4. You drop the kids at school early and spend the next hour pacing past the club waiting for it to open so that you can blow all your money on the pokies.

5. You cant cope with eating something that is 100 calories during the day but you get home and binge yourself stupid on ice-cream and raisin bread.

Intermission

A glance in the mirror reveals a mascara streaked, tear stained face, bright red cheeks showing through layers of caked on foundation that would be the envy of any cracked up hooker.

Hair tied back in a ponytail with a head band holding back the stray curled up fringe. Slobbery tooth brush in slobbery hand, sleeves rolled up revealing scars born from self hatred. Put my earphones back in, listening to a “mental illness happy hour” pod cast while kneeling over the toilet trying desperately to remove the litre of cookies and cream ice cream and crunchy nut corn flake ridden sins of the last hour.

It’s ok really though, because that was just a brief intermission from filling out the “legal will kit” that I finally bought so I can commit suicide with the peace of mind that comes from knowing my 6yr old daughter will legally get that necklace and my husbands accounts wont be frozen for 8mnths.

The worst part about this picture is when I look at it I am just pissed off that I cant purge properly.

I’m so fucked up.

Depression Impression

I never liked the word “depression” always seemed so, I don’t know – overused? Fake perhaps?

It’s the new black. Everyone has it.

So many people I know go around saying how terribly depressed they are/were and that now they are on anti-depressants and life is a fucking fairy tale again. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that the diagnostic criteria for depression is only low mood for two weeks – so I am sure that all of these people have been “depressed” but I had always personally viewed depression as something that stayed with you for months generally brought on by something bad happening.

 I on the other hand have always kept quiet and generally refused to admit to myself that these recurrent low moods I experience were ever actually as severe “depression” after all, nothing traumatic had ever happened to me. Sure I had done rather a lot of things for my age but nobody had died, I had a happy relationship, job I liked and a healthy baby – for me to feel this way, was just akin to the stupid selfish bitch I was always told I was by that inner voice that never ceased. I wanted to die so badly, in many ways with no proper “reason” it was just because I knew that my husband and child would be so much better off without a fuckwit like me around.

I couldn’t tell you how many of those little survey things the doc gives you after you have a child that I lied on – its rather obvious which boxes you are supposed to tick to say that you are happy as fucking Larry and the thought of coming across as anything but happy was not ok.

Sure I felt like killing myself, off and on since I was about 8 and more seriously starting to plan the when’s and where’s at around 14.  But everyone feels like that surely, its not like I had actually killed myself yet. I was a teenage mother and had to prove to the world I was capable.

My psychologists now ask me why didn’t I ask for help? Help for what? I didn’t have a problem, I sure as shit didn’t have a mental health problem and if I want to kill myself then that’s my body and my business. I was clued on enough to the fact that I thought a touch more intensely than the other teenagers I hung around and that telling anyone that I felt that way would have given me a one way ticket to the loony bin – a place that I was hell scared of at that time in my life.

My biggest fear about an enforced stay on the psych ward as a teenager was that it would most likely be due to the slightly psychotic anorexia I was experiencing and in vicious denial about. I knew that although to myself I felt the size of a house, that all they would do is make me fat –although I thought everyone was trying to make me fat. I honestly believed that my mum was trying to poison me by adding fats to my foods and I refused to let her prepare or even walk past any meals I was making… just in case. How I managed to avoid incarceration at that point I still don’t know.

Depression was the place I fell into with a thud time and time again, usually after an intensely chaotic part of my life had started off wonderful and then brewed and brewed until it got out of control and I burnt out into a depressive oblivion.  The job I was excelling at suddenly became an impossible task, I would want to quit before I got fired because I was so fucking hopeless and the constant suicidal ideation that had subdued for months would come back with force, a voice for every action giving an equal or greater reason why my death was a better option, for me, for my family and colleagues.

I am wallowing once again in the pit of what’s the fucking point? I’ve been back here for a while now months in fact but its hitting rock bottom again, not coping with life at all - I walked out of work on Thursday after pressing send on an e-mail that involved a multitude of swear words and a “you want to know why I didn’t do XYZ in the allotted time frame? Well frankly it’s because I am a fucking loser who sucks at her job.” Not sure quite what the repercussions of this are but it’s likely to involve a meeting on Monday. I might just quit, I can’t hack the pressure. I ran out of work a few weeks back after a panic attack of sorts and ended up sitting on a cliff edge with a bottle of pills in my hand ipod playing the current list of songs I want to go out to, just ready to lie down and go to sleep forever, knowing that once I passed out I would fall off that cliff I couldn’t jump from just to make sure.

Before I got a chance to enact my plan some random guy turned up walking towards the lookout area where I had jumped over the safety fence and I had to do a quick scarper away as being caught on a cliff edge with a bottle of pills generally results in police, a psych stay and if you are unlucky a spiel on the evening news.

I drove home slowly, bumped into my parents very randomly in a supermarket nowhere near their house and arrived home that evening to find friends were visiting. I thought how different everyone’s afternoon would have been if I had been successful. I wish I could say that these thoughts deter me, that I am glad that man walked down, that I am glad my liver is apparently made of steel and no amount of drugs can kill me- but I am not.

I have never once regretted taking that overdose last year. Though I was high as a manic kite at the time and stuck rather firmly on the “flight” response, my only regrets have been that it didn’t work. While I know that the depression will eventually be replaced with a productive hypomania where I will accomplish much, solve the world’s problems and sing happily again when I’m walking around the house blissfully non suicidal. Even if that doesn’t escalate to the dizzying scary heights of Mania again where I will likely try to fly from the roof top, it will still as always be followed by a crash and continued suicidal ideation, but this time I don’t think I can handle anymore crashes.

Summer Car

I like sitting in the car in the middle of summer, It’s nice to be alone in my own space. A place I can cry without being seen, it’s like I have my own invisible force field protecting me. There is also something really comforting about the heat, it’s like a warm if not slightly sufforcating hug.

Perhaps it’s in the knowledge that if I sat here long enough the heat could swallow me up forever.

 

Two days, two moods, two options, too hard to choose.

I wish I could drag a blade across my flesh and watch the blood run down my arm. Let all the sins and sadness seep slowly from my wrists and pool upon the floor.

Forbidden wishes are usually only denied because they frighten the naive – similar to people who were enslaved because they were not understood, I wont be held against my will so I am instead chained within my own shell. Please release me, set me free.

Hypocrite

I seem to be spending an awful lot of time at work referring suicidal ppl to social workers, telling them how we will help them and that they are amazing just for trying.

Fuck I’m full of it, I hear the words come out of my mouth and I want to throw up a little. As a bystander I have to assume that these ppl don’t want to die, that they just need help. Doing this makes me realise that that is the same for the ppl that try to ‘help’ me – they don’t understand how well thought out my actions are, that it is more than a freak out to a situation.

Currently trying to come up with a decently practiced argument to support my decision, one that ppl will realise is my actual thought out choice, not something thrown upon me by a devilish mental illness hell bent on destroying me. Really, if we spent less time stopping ppl killing themselves we would be breeding a stronger race ;-)

I suppose I have become an accidental non practising Buddhist – I have hit nirvana and have no further business here, I’m impatient to become one with the earth again. Every day that I live is so fake – going through the motions – I don’t really see any benefit in it at all, I am done, quest complete. The date I was aiming for isn’t going to work unfortunately, the substitute date is the last possible option – I suppose that makes sense really, of course it is – whatever the date is it will be the last option, cause there are no more options once you’re dead LOL.

Just like the object you are looking for is always in the last place you look!

Can't take it anymore

Well that fucked up. I don’t know what the fuck I want right now, part of me is angry most of me is sad – suck at life, suck even more at death. I have EVERYTHING, the best life anyone could hope for so WHY don’t I want it? Why do I just want to dissolve away into nothingness?

Why when I ask that question does it not change my thoughts at all? I cant stop moving, thinking, I wanna run, I wanna scream and I want to curl up and go to sleep. My mood is varying between agitated as fuck and euphoric, I have been anxious all day because of ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING! I have nothing at all to be sad, angry or anxious about. I should be euphoric all the bloody time, I have everything that everyone could ever want. I dont know! I cant fucking handle it, Im so damn shakey I just want the whole thing to end, except I SUCK at suicide. I keep remembering and forgetting everything, EVERYTHING from why I walked into a room to that its my sons birthday next week so WHY WOULD I TAKE THOSE TABLETS THEN????? I sure as shit don’t want help for it.

Followed by fuck I keep waking up and the tablets havnt bloody worked, I will take more… Oh wait its my sons birthday next week, I FUCKING FORGOT AGAIN!!!
I guess im in a mixed state at the moment. Cant stop thinking, its like a runaway train – I cant think rationally – which brings me to my next point – if I KNOW I am not thinking rationally, then how do I know that they are actually wrong – I may not want to kill my self later, however if I go ahead with it I wont br able to regret it because I will be dead. So it wont matter.

I would love this fucking lithium to work, I would love this lithium to keep supressing my appetite. I would love this pressure neck head thing to stop – I don’t know if it is anxiety or the lithium causing it – only get it when taking Li but by the same token I am generally taking Lithium when I am rapid cycling/manically mixed state and by definition anxious.

God I just need it to stop, if if wake up tomorrow and this is still the same I don’t think I will be able to go to work. It just needs to stop – the fucked upedness is that this will NEVER TRULY GO AWAY. I cant live with myself knowing that my family, my perfect fucking family should be subjected to a crazy wife / mother / daughter. I cant EVER deal with the in laws finding out about this, which means I cant be truly honest with my Psych or GP because I know they would hospitalise me. Frankly I am aware that this is what I really need, but I cant be hospitalised because then the family would find out. NOBODY can find out. Its not ok for this to be me – I don’t care if other ppl have mental illness and I would jump up and advocate for them in a heart beat, but not me. That’s different.

If I end it they will never have to live with the shame, I wont have to live with the shame. I don't want to go to work tomorrow I don’t have the ability to cope with the pressure of the new training that I didn’t see. I bought new dresses to wear to work – this should mean I am subconsciously happy about going but I think I was just spending money cause I could, and besides I keep eating like the fat whore I am and this means those dresses wont fit much longer anyway. Another tick in the pro suicide column, I can die skinny – that would be so much better than having to become fat again. I CANT become fat again. Essentially I think that answers any question I have left. But again then I remember that its my sons birthday next week. OH GOD the original date is SO CLOSE, if I can just hold out until then. But I don’t think I can, if I make it that far it will mean that I will already be fat and I will already have suffered through work. I just want to quit, I have already written my resignation, its sitting on my desk top waiting to be sent. I cant be there, I jst want to cry and there is no reason for that either – they have done nothing, but I just cant help it, I cant be there. There has got to be a way to escape it other than the obvious – until after his birthday.

This is too hard. Way to fucking hard.

A reflection on how mental illness has affected my life

The brush has claimed yet another clump of my rapidly thinning hair, I pull it from the knobbely pins and drop it in the waste basket. Taking a deep breath I look down over my skeletal frame briefly acknowledging the place where my breasts used to be. My skin has become a dry slightly greyish colour and the dark circles under my eyes could make people begin to question my husband’s integrity.

The sad thing is while I endure the day in day out nausea and dizzy spells caused by this war I am fighting, it is inevitably a losing battle. This battle is not against cancer as an outsider looking in may imagine at first glance, no, this is a war against myself and one entirely of my own making.

Suicide is a funny thing, usually a quick solution to a painful situation that feels inescapable, in my case it is a long slow drawn out process, but one that can no longer be stopped, and one I have no will to stop. I have anorexia nervosa and bipolar disorder, I am putting a psychologists children through the finest collage and keeping the pharmaceutical industry running.

Whatever motives I had when this journey first began, back when I still had a choice in the matter, have long since been replaced by a compulsion, the simple terrifying phobia I have developed about gaining weight.

My relationship with food and weight loss isn’t because I want to look like some super star in a magazine or attract a man, it never was. This began as a teenager when I was bullied for being overweight and decided to do something about it, lose weight or kill myself. When I did manage to lose weight the thought of ever going back to that dark place was so terrifying that gaining even a gram was unacceptable, in fact I needed to keep losing a few, just in case… Of course that spiralled out of control quickly and soon I was in the grips of Anorexia.

Lots of things happened after that, long story short I moved out of home at 16 and met the love of my life, that relationship saved me in so many ways, I slowly stopped caring about my weight, I was truly happy, one thing led to another and at 17 I was expecting my first child. That pregnancy forced me to give up my vegetarianism due to anemia and that let me cut my final tie with the weight obsession that had owned me for so long.

Over the years 3 more children followed, my weight issues came back from time to time but only in a mild manner, I was able to acknowledge that I didn’t want to go back to that place and chose to eat in a more health conscious manner to avoid excessive weight gain.

Although my weight issues weren’t taking over my life I was still waging war on myself, I had always been at the mercy of my moods, I was generally fairly content and had no reason to complain at all however I would go through months of severe suicidal depression which I tried very hard to hide from the outside world, I had the perfect life after all I shouldn’t be unhappy, it was WRONG to feel that way. In stark contrast to these bleak times I would sometimes find myself so increadibly happy and grateful for the things that I had, my spiritual oneness with nature would bloom and blossom, I would make it my mission to inspire those around me, I would join groups and committees and come up with hundreds of brilliant and grand ideas that I would stay up all night filling notebooks with lists and lists of the things I would do and achieve, telling anybody that would listed all about them.

I went through different phases and tended to spend too much money for our meagre budget on these things, like the time I spent $2000 on Christmas lights after seeing a house all lit up on TV and deciding that I could DEFINITELY win that competition the following Christmas. The time I joined AMWAY which my family and friends have kindly never spoken of again, or that time when I decided that I was going to immerse myself in learning how to cook – a task I have always loathed – so I looked up and saved hundreds of recipes off the internet, I went and bought a stack of expensive pots and pans and cook books and made spreadsheets and lists of menu ideas putting them in catagories. This phase, like all the others ended when eventually I would burn out from trying to do absolutely everything on my list at once and plunge into another deep depression as I was a failure who couldn’t do anything right and generally rather broke given the unwarranted spending on my latest failed venture.

Fast forward several years of similar scenarios and I finally cracked it totally, I went through one of my energetic excited learning phases when I got a new job, this started out great as my bosses loved my enthusiasm and drive and the fact that I was inspiring others too, I won a stack of office awards and life was peachy, then the depression hit again this time was different though, I was still energetic and felt electricity running through me but simultaneously wanted to die. I won another award and hated myself for getting it, I knew I didn’t deserve it, the other staff were whispering about me behind my back and how I was the teacher’s pet. ( A few childish types really were)

 I didn’t trust anyone, they were all against me. I started getting really forgetful, I couldn’t control my thoughts their fast pace I usually used to my learning advantage had gotten out of control, I would sit staring at my work not having a clue what I was doing, I was struggling to remember my name. In order to concentrate even a little bit I had to put headphones on with fast paced dance music, this seemed to occupy the part of my mind that was running away from me and let the other part get a little bit of work done.

Every lunch time I would go for a fast walk to get the energy out and try and hopefully lose a bit more weight while I was at it– I couldn’t control my thoughts but I could control my eating. I didn’t want to sit with my colleagues, they would notice I wasn’t eating and whisper about me even more. I would walk up the little hill and work out the best place to go to die, should I run down to the highway and jump in front of a truck? If I popped out just past the bridge they wouldn’t see me so definitely wouldn’t have time to stop, I didn’t want to fuck it up and end up quadriplegic or something.

Just as Christmas approached it got too much, I thought my head was going to completely explode, I was fairly aware I was going crazy and trying desperately to hide it. I had to go to my in-laws for a big family Christmas do on Christmas eve and I was terrified, I could barely construct a sentence, they would surely know something was up, they couldn’t know, they could never know. The only solution I could come up with was killing myself before Christmas eve.

In a brief moment of clarity I thought perhaps I should see my Dr, so I rang to make an appointment but she was away. I then asked a friend if I could have the number of a psychologist she was seeing, she wasn’t available until after Christmas. So fete had spoken, suicide it was.

I dreamed up several different ways of performing the act which were all dependent on circumstance, I guess I knew I was nuts because I had a paranoid fear of people trying to lock me up in the psych ward and most of my suicide plans involved escape scenarios and fast acting suicide for that exact situation.

My favourite scenario at the time was to do 180km into a particular tree I had picked out. I was doing a lot of high speed driving, the 100km speed limit of my daily journey to work and back felt like snail’s pace to my racing mind and so I tended to float around the 140 mark and on a quiet stretch where the police don’t hang around I tended to do 160 to 180km p/h I had a personal goal to hit the 200km but I kept running out of road.

I had decided that 180km into the tree should be enough to kill me, retrospectively 100km was probably enough but it felt so slow at the time that I remember thinking I would be lucky to sprain an ankle at that low speed.

The trouble with Christmas time, is that our family has A LOT of birthdays in December, so trying to pick the optimum day to kill yourself that wont make the death anniversary on or too close to a birthday proves very difficult. I felt bad for the kids and thought that if I knocked myself off before Christmas it would screw up Christmas for them as someone would have to arrange a funeral and insurance etc so ppl might forget to give them their presents.

So I decided I needed to wait until after Christmas and try my very very hardest to get through the holiday period without giving away my position.

This post is becoming very long and drawn out, but after one failed suicide attempt I did make it through Christmas, My birthday, New Years and just barely my sons birthday in Jan – which there is a post somewhere on here about, the rest is pretty much documented below.

Dark Nights

The nights are getting darker, in a figurative sense. I close my eyes and see things I never used to see pictures of unfamiliar people and places, playing like slideshows in my mind have now given way to early motion picture style sequences of the same. Who are these people? Why do I know them?

I hold on to most of my guilt throughout the day and it comes exploding out into my mind when the house grows silent and I close my eyes, I come up with imaginative ways in which to punish myself and prevent the infinite loop that encircles my mind, I dream of being able to cut the excessive flesh from my body with a knife, burn welts into my skin – the physical pain a punishment and the scar to serve as a reminder of the regret that always comes later, every time I open my mouth.

 Like the depression that always follows the mania, food and guilt are entwined together and always will be, but there is no chemical compound to silence that incessant voice that chastises every worthless move you make. When it comes down to it I lie awake on these dark nights pondering, imagining and yet I always come to the same and correct conclusion; that there is always only one way to permanently end this cycle.

revival and resistance

Well I haven’t blogged for so long I have almost forgotten how to do it. So much has happened, so much has changed yet nothing at all is really different. I don’t know where to start, my life has done a full circle repeatedly over the last 18 months and yet I’m loathed to be back to the beginning again, phases – Always phases, I really should be used to it by now, a high wouldn’t go astray either.

I guess this is just another one of those rapid cycles. I can’t keep it up much longer, my pseudo life is starting to collapse – ironically it’s not the blogging one I think of as false, but the real one where I try and hide all of my sins and dirty secrets…

Speaking of secrets, forgive me bloggerverse for I have sinned.

 I stopped taking my meds cold turkey and lied about it.

I went to the shrink on a bit of a high ages ago now and promptly forgot everything she told me within 48hrs. It occurred to me just now that I have not filled in a single day of the mood chart that I forgot she gave me and my moods have been all over the place for a little while now too so I really should have filled it in, but I can’t even work out how long ago I should have started because my memory tends to fuck up when my mind goes…

 I also can’t remember when my next appointment with her is and I’ve miss placed the appointment card I was given. I would ring up and ask but her name escapes me as well and I really don’t care enough to bother trying. I wonder if I shouldn’t have taken myself off the meds after all, however the side effects are no longer something I am able to cope with and I have been off them too long to go back on them anyway. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Not much point going to the shrink really anyway if I’m not going to take what she prescribes. It becomes an expensive and pointless visit. I do kind of miss seeing The Guru though, I call her my ‘rent a friend’ to her face and she laughs. She is a great wall to vent to with a few zen contributions where it counts. Unfortunately money issues and school holidays make it impossible to go to see her at the moment though – besides I would probably just end up dobbing myself in about the meds and I think she has to tattle tale on me in to the GP/P doc and that simply doesn’t work for me.

 Tomorrow marks day one of the end project. I am committed to this now. Temptations are inexcusable and willpower is the only answer. This is what needs to happen and I am the only one who can make it happen. This is the one chance I have to get something right and I will bloody succeed.

Still Alive, Still Crazy

Today… Still alive, slightly less foggy headed from the lithium OD, but still dizzy as hell, shaky sore eyes with trouble focusing but not quite as bad as yesterday, very strong pressure in my head that comes in waves – feels similar to ice-cream headache only you start blacking out. didn’t take Lithium again as I cant stand this feeling a moment longer

 I was triggered horribly by a fucking 13yr old. I tried on a pair of jeans that were a size 8 and while they went on, my big fat calves made the bootleg look like skinny leg, I already wanted to cry seeing my giant shape in multiple mirrors is confronting enough.

As I was getting dressed again I hear someone talking to a girl saying “ooh lets try the size 7s shall we?” and when I walked out I saw miss size 7, the jeans were way too baggy. I KNOW she was only 13 and I am a grown women nearly 30 FFS but still, I guess cause I’m a fruit loop it triggered the crap out of me, I want to be that small, I NEED to be that small. On my way out of the shopping centre all I saw was stick thin women with perfect legs and perfect hair and I just wanted to die.

Then I had to pick up like 4 things from the grocery store that weren’t for me, I had them in the basket in 5 min and proceeded to spend nearly 40 min doing the old pick up and put back things that I wanted to but could never eat. I hate being this ridiculous.

new job, old tricks

Start Job, End life

I need to die now. I am ready to go, its time. I had a great life and for that I am truly greatful, but I have now hit the point of no return. I am not willing to give up the demon that has reclaimed me, her voice is too strong.

Started my new job today, it sucks. The team leader is like a size 4 and drop dead gorgeous, I am so intensely jealous I cant function when she is in the room. My legs are unforgivable. She must not have eaten in years.

Today I fucked up, I narrowly avoided having lunch at the mall, got as far as the food court before having a panic attack and getting the hell out of there. I then ruined this COMPLETELY by having a 500kj boost juice after work. Instead of learning to throw it up like I should have I had 5 grapes and got home only to eat a vege meal of possibly up to 100 cal. I can’t believe what a loser I am. I have already gained weight from it, you could see in the mirror when I went on the cross trainer this evening, ass thighs and my size 8 jeans that fit yesterday are snug and downright tight on my calves.. Now its going to add an extra two days at least.

I have started Lithium in place of Sodium Valporate and it is making me feel awful, got a call from the dr 2 day re my lithium level bloods & other bloods.   enough Li levels r too high and my liver is mildly affected (yay! Now how to finish it off, or better yet, induce heart attack – quicker method. Have been downing V drinks like a madwomen for the heart and slipping in many Panadol as possible to quietly finish off the liver. What got me was that my cholesterol was really high!!!!!!!????? Im not complaining, its 1 more thing to add to the self destruct arsenal, although this fucks with my head majorly as I don’t understand –WHY? – I don’t really eat... – particularly saturated fats, god maybe thinking about eating those foods really can add calories… I guess this simply means that I need to reduce my food intake generally and stop thinking about all those fat causing artery clogging foods, as much as it would increase my heart attack risk, the chance of weight gain just isn’t worth it,

Must go to bed now, tired & dizzy. With a bit of luck lithium toxicity will set in and I wont wake up, otherwise I need to be ok at work tomoz as now that I am casual, sick pay doesn’t exist for me any more. Try and earn some more $ towards my funeral costs. I need to cut or burn to remind me that food is forbidden, then I can poke it everytime I think of eating as punishment.