I am trapped in a corner, a cowering animal running from what feels like the inevitable slaughter. Sacrifice the weak. I am most definitely weak, or I would not be in this situation. Today the call came, as I think part of me knew it would "We are highly concerned" they said "No longer medically safe", "high risk of organ failure" all together equals "we want you to come in next week, a bed will be ready, and we will monitor you heavily up until then". I went cold, my entire body shaking. It seems ridiculous, I got myself into this position, I knew it was coming, especially after my weigh in yesterday. My weight is the lowest it was been, even I was shocked as I climbed onto the scales and the number flashed in front of me. A BMI of 13.2 is not good. How have I lost so much weight so quickly? I do not know, I couldn't answer it for you, all I know is that I am drowning. So what am I doing? I am determined to turn it around before they drag me in. I cannot spend Christmas on the ward, I can't think of anything worse than that. Eating the slop they serve. I asked mum to hold my hand and I said I needed to prove to them that I can do it and that i'm safe, from home my blood pressure, blood sugar and temperature can be monitored. Blood tests every two days and re-feeding. How awful does that sound 're-feeding', it just screams of the brutal images of suffragettes with tubes down their throats to me. I can promise you though, re-feeding at home is a hell of a lot better than in Vincent Square. At least from home I can have delicious food, as oppose to hospital food. So what did I do to prove my strength...we went to Carluccios. I ordered pasta. Pasta with butter and mushrooms and herbs. We asked for a kids portion yet when it came it was terrifying. To me it looked huge, beautifully cut ribbons glistening with butter and sprinkled with golden mushrooms and chives. Bite by bite I ate. Slow. Painful. Each mouthful was painful, but I pictured the ward. I pictured Christmas. I pictured my friends, boyfriend, family and for them I ate. Anorexia has taken so much from me, I have had to defer this year at university, I have not been able to move out, I am not Maya. I am not full of life, vivacious and happy. I rarely laugh like I used to. It came in and pillaged and I opened the door. But now I must try, so so hard, to prove to them that I CAN turn this around. I can. I can. I can.
Any words of advice would be appreciated.
Something to stick up in the kitchen as we prepare food.
I must keep going and hopefully keep out of hospital.