My psychiatrist makes me so fucking angry every time I see him… without fail. On the expectation sheet I asked for hours out home and a discharge date, and he failed to provide both. Yes I am finally coming off of two shitty meds but now he is putting me on Sodium Valporoate as well as the Lithium and he didnt even tell me the dose or possible side effects or what it even does.
I told him “haha yeah keep saying the word bipolar and I’ll manoeuvre my hands towards you saying the word :shotgun!!!” Because calling me bipolar is like shooting my self esteem.
He keeps reminding me I am detained and calls me hypomanic no matter what. Fk him and his crew. I dont want to go to group therapy… boring.
I better be out within a week since he deliberately played on my nerves by not giving me a discharge date.
It’s all mindfuckery in this stupid unit. Close the poophole down. 😠
I’m back restricting. My option was to have either breakfast or dinner and skip one so I chose to have breakfast… one medium boiled egg and a slice of brown toast,plain. Black coffee. That’s 185 calories.
I am just gonna rest for a while and gather how to space out the day without getting frustrated or exhausted. I think that the doctor comes between 10-11 and I am a bit more mellow from the pain of cutting calories, so hopefully he will say I am not manic today!!!!111. Really I am depressed but when you’re labelled bipolar, he would rather see me looking dull and not responsive. Maybe. It will be a change from me going in enthusiastically trying to steer him from bipolar labels by pointing out that I am multilingual and wrote a book etc… a big “fuck you look how normal” I am happy speech.
So yeah 185 calories. Will rest now and resume activities like listening to music or something to distract later. Sitting on the bed fidgeting your legs is a good way to burn calories and just pass the time wallowing repetitively in your misery, whilst practising discipline and control, and self punishment.
I want to see bones. Beautiful, clean bones of my body. Touch the ribs, count them, admire them, astonish in my hard work of starvation and near perfection of this carved doll who is no longer a human. An extraterestrial Gregor Samsa stick figure who doesn’t want to exist in the world but can’t fathom to suicide— so chooses to be a living dead girl walking. People see your frailty. They know not to fuck with this frail creature who has felt all the pains of the world and inflicts pain even further out of desperation. My ribs, I cry… my spleen, it aches for those sharp rips to return. Where my tailbone hurts when I sit down and that, my friends is success. Lucky BMI of 13 again???
30g muesli for breakfast at 8.30am plus orange juice. Coffee at eleven am. Just refused dinner at 1.30pm.
My meds are being cut. Some of them besides Lithium. So hopefully the drive to strive for thinness and perfection will resume as opposed to the mindless eating. I can exercise so much when not doped up.
The Diet Coke I bought can be for 5pm tea time and I will have a black coffee.
If the nurses give me crap, I will say go away anyway because like they care. I can afford to lose some weight now my period is over and the chocolate is gone.
Anorexia has been my best friend that got me through rough places. I welcome thee with open arms.
One more mindfulness colouring sheet and I’ll shit on it.
Muhahaha. There’s an evil psychopathic streak in me. I dont buy being 24/7 “cared” for in a place that serves dinners like dog food, staff are overpaid and love themselves too much, and the patients aren’t given much say or dignity. In my mind they are Nazis. Bad nazis who just hand out pills and don’t listen to anything, just dictate. Some of them anyway…
I am Hitler reincarnated sometimes. Hahahhaha. So ein fich.
This is a morbid love of mine. Cendrillon/ Cinderella the prettiest twenty year old then becomes a junky and dies in an ambulance…. listen to it.
I miss Frankfurt am Main so much. It was such a crazy place and I even got stalked by a psychiatric patient who cuddled me. Ahhh the memories. I went to Metz wearing pink and the army held a demonstration in front of me with shotguns whilst I laughed like a demon for being accused of being a fresh recruit of the illuminati. Alsace Lorraine was strange.
Then sitting at the breakfast table disassociating from Anorexia Nervosa. My aupair father’s lines were “ET phone home?” And straight away my little BMI 13 extraterrestrial deep ocean blue eyes would smile at his and the families. That was before I had to leave with the illlness.
I want to go back and visit but am afraid of looking fat. I can talk fluent German now but have a BMI of 19.
bMI 17 and I think people would like me better…
People honestly like me better when I am Anorexic and not so intelligent. A bit skinny so they pity you and then have to repeat stuff once or twice with the malnourishment so they feel happy about themselves. Hahaha.
I want to LoOOse some libbiez **** new year new me. .
Be the Picasso in a field full of sheep.