Damp and drizzly with the prospect of an hour in Church coming face to face with God for the first time since I walked away from the vows I had made, followed by the cremation and tears. Not the sort of day anyone would really relish.
Add in my impending homelessness and the fact that one of my toes had swollen up to twice it’s normal size through some fungal complaint that is directly related to stress… none of these things is conducive to a healthy appetite.
In my new-found independence, I hadn’t taken account of the huge role played by my flat in giving me a solid foundation from which to build. This unforeseen insecurity has knocked me for six. I don’t like uncertainty at the best of times but not knowing where I’m going to be living in six weeks time…
I’m a very proactive person. I don’t tend to sit back and think it through, I want answers and I want them now. If these are not forthcoming, things start to ferment inside my head causing a thick soup of fog that clouds my better judgement. With dire consequences.
It’s all very well saying that I am no longer anorexic but my mind has other ideas. It’s not that I physically stop myself from eating, more that I don’t feel hungry.
I know that I should eat but, if I try, it doesn’t taste of anything. I just go through the motions of chewing and swallowing – there is no real pleasure in it or indeed incentive to think of food. And, without Ruf to physically cook the food and put it on the plate in front of me…? Well, it’s a slippery slope.
I guess the one good thing is that I can recognise the problem and write about it. Force myself to acknowledge and own the fact that I am not cured at all – only in rehab.
I was reading about true anorexia rehab and this is dealt with in three stages – treatment of the physical effects of not eating enough, counselling to help ascertain the psychological cause and then working with a dietician to develop a proper eating plan. I had hoped I had accomplished all three and was well on the way to normality, but the truth is that I will probably never be fully recovered.
This mental illness will lurk in the darkest recesses of my mind, no matter how hard I try to root it out. Waiting to strike when I am emotionally unstable. But I cannot live my life with a guarantee that things will always go according to plan.
I have to accept that shit happens and learn to deal with such upsets more productively.