I woke up late today to a cup of tea with skimmed milk. After the 'eleven stone' debacle, I decided to buy a scale. It took me a bloody long time to find one in the huge expanse of Tesco and by the time I stepped on my new scales at home, I was already worked up. Turns out that this scale has suffered an attack of indecisiveness and can't choose which weight to tell me that I am. Variations were between 9 stone 8 to 10 stone dead on. Most commonly 9 stone 8.4. That's a loss of about 5 pounds this month which, considering the amount of bingeing and purging, is pretty amazing. 9 stone 5 is my next goal, then 9 stone then 8 stone 9 then 8 stone 5. My ultimate goal weight is 8 stone.
Just before I weighed myself, my mother called me into the front room to have a 'talk'. She broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago and has been crashing around the house ever since. She told me that if I don't do more work in the house I'll have to move out. She went on and on for half an hour about how I'm shitting all over her and she can't take it as I quietly cried. She started shouting and I went to my room. I couldn't handle her. She doesn't seem to understand that I've given up college and my freedom in a foreign country to recover because a part of me can see how important it is and will be for the rest of my life. It's been a horribly difficult decision and I should have flown out to Bosnia again tonight. Just sitting at home has been torture all day. I went to call Simon and found out that in some frenzy yesterday, my mother has thrown away all the phones in the house.
I ate a cup of shredded lettuce, three gherkins, a cup of chopped cucumber, half a spring onion and a small can of tuna in sunflower oil. I felt ill for about half an hour afterward but kept it down because it was in my plan for food today. A calming cup of tea later and would-be flight time was arriving. Anger and frustration rose up in me and an irresistable hunger screamed out. Eurgh. I had been doing so well that ruining it was such a horrific prospect. I felt like I was sitting on Pandora's box and all my feelings are about to come pouring out and drown everyone. The nearest thing to me was a bag of marshmallows.
Binge averted. I threw the marshmallows one by one out of the car window.
Another cup of tea later and I feel like I need to be tethered down. Like a kite. I need to change. I need to pretend everything is fine. Then maybe it will be fine. I want to move out but getting a job might seriously jeopardise any chances of me recovering properly. Working is so draining and I'm barely surviving as it is. I don't need this shit right now. This hypocritical shit from her is doing my head in; after her recovery from depression which took over a year of me looking after her, I can't take a month to recover without her saying I'm 'shitting all over her'. For fuck's sake, woman?
I'm so close to self-injury that I literally feel like screaming. I was in therapy all summer stopping cutting myself and now I'm relapsing. Shit. It's better than bingeing, I guess...