Crisis Management

I’m broken.


734am – Wake. Weight 47.3kg, BMI 15.44, DOWN 0.8kg (1 day)

900am – Appointment with Disability Network. You’ve got funding for this and that, generic support, money for transport. But a dietitian was not approved. I’ve been granted funding for being disabled from Anorexia Nervosa and they won’t let me see a dietitian. Fucking Australian system. I have access to one in community mental health, but I’ve waited now about 2-3 months to see her and no doubt once I finally do it’ll be scares. And useless. All I wanted out of these disability people was for them to fund a psychologist and a dietitian, so I could see the same ones consistently and regularly and maintain my physical and mental health enough to keep my job. They wont allow me a dietitian and they wont fund my specific psychologist. Now I’m rapidly declining. Drinking, cutting, seen the psychologist once, waiting a month between appointments. Losing weight, to the point where I’m gone. One track mind and can’t turn back now. A dietitian would have been helpful a month ago, maybe could have even prevented this. And they could be helpful in the future. But right now I’m completely unable to stop the weight loss.

1100am – 60 hours B/P Free. Intake of caffeine and vodka only for that time.

1200pm – “Emergency” Appointment with Psychiatrist. Talking. Meh. Talking of a brief voluntary crisis admission. Case Manager was there (she also went to Disability appointment). Talked with psychiatrist for a half hour. She wants alcohol free 2 nights a week and a max of four drinks on the other nights. She want’s minimum 49.0kg. She can’t condone any amount of cutting. In all honesty I can’t agree to any of those. I hate lying. Can’t tell the truth. Say nothing. Psychiatrist had to go to a meeting at 1230pm. I think she said we’d talk in 2 days after I’d thought about it all. Case Manager kept me there for another 40 minutes. Worried, wearing me down. It’s Tuesday, Work is unusual this week due to supervisors holidays so extra shifts – Full Days Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Eventually I agreed to 2 nights in the hospital to “break the cycle” / “keep me safe”, until work starts. Case Manager seems relieved. Starts calling people and takes me home.

330pm – Case Manager calls, no beds at the psych ward tonight. “Will you be safe tonight” blah blah. “Can you see your GP for stitches today” blah blah. Yes, yes. No, I’m going to nap. I haven’t eaten for 60 hours and caffeine tastes great and gives me something to do with my mouth and hands but does nothing for me chemically. Bed. Arm is fucked. Impromptu decision. I will see GP.

400pm – My lovely GP isn’t there, see the nice lady I’ve seen for stitches once before. So much pain. Something’s fucked. Cleanser hurt like a motherfucker, much more than the injected anesthetic, which is the reverse of what’s usual. My whole body was literally shaking, maybe even convulsing in pain. Never happened before. It was a bad cut. I hadn’t looked at it til then – since I was drunk and did it last night. I’m not squeamish but when i took the band-aid off I outwardly swore and had to turn away.

440pm – Pays in. Buy vodka, SF cordial, energy drinks, treats for dog. Drinking, but I’ll try not to cut tonight. Blood splatters over my computer floor, printer, outside (smoking) table.

I just want to lose weight.


The last 24 hours

About 24 hours ago I was drunk. Drunk and cutting.
It went real bad.

I could see my heart beating in the muscle, meaning once again I could see the muscle.
This is a newly achieved depth as of late. And it would have been “fine” if it wasn’t gaping like 1 inch and had I not been drunk.

Drunk “wisdom” says I better call for help.

I called the Acute Care Team.
They called an ambulance, though thankfully listened to my request of no lights or sirens.
They took me to the ER.
It was okay, for I don’t know how long. Til after an hour (or Three?) I freaked out. I don’t remember if it was triggered by me trying to leave for a smoke or leave for good because I decided I didn’t want to be there. But either way, it ended with me being pinned to a bed by I don’t know how many people. I couldn’t move my head but it felt like 5 or 6.

This went on for a while. They shoved a needle in my butt cheek. It did nothing and I knew. “It’s Lorazapam isn’t it?! That shit doesn’t work on me, I’m immune”. “what does work then?” “So it is Loraz! I knew it. I’m not telling you?. Another injection. Fake sedation. Restraints loosen. Thrash free. Another injection, actually I think it was two more. Whatever it was it wasn’t Loraz. I slept until 3 or 4 pm. When the injection was probably at around the 300am mark.

I dont remember much from that time. Beds moved. A lady tried to talk to me but got angry when I was incoherent. It must have been around midday when i talked to someone. I don’t remember their position. Psych nurse or psychiatric intern maybe. Said I wouldn’t be talking to a registrar.

But it must have been 3 or 4pm and a lady came in. I don’t remember her name but she was a Psychiatrist or Psychiatric Registrar. She was lovely. Tears started rolling down my face when i mentioned my inherently anxious dog stuck at home alone, and my rostered shift to work tomorrow. She gave me a tissue. Not from a box that was handy she fished a little bag out of her purse.

We seemed to be teetering the line between going home and forced psychiatric admission. She tried to get me to find someone that I could stay with for the next couple of days. I couldn’t. I have no family in town and only have one IRL friend who was working the night shift. I don’t know what did it but she agreed to let me go home but said she personally would see me soon because my real scheduled psychiatrist appointment was too far away for comfort.

Is it bad that I hope she does contact me. She was nice, that’s all

She asked to see my cuts.
After sounds of shock or despair she stopped. “…There’s no stitches” she said
“Did they say they stitched them? They definitely needed stitches” I told her.
She kicked up a fuss. I get the sense in a setting like an emergency room psychiatrists probably aren’t taken with too much esteem. That must be difficult for someone who’s worked so hard for respect.

After a bit an ER doctor came round. Looked at the cuts. Said they’d stitched the muscle back together internally but not done anything form the skin. 20+ hours and ER and I’m finally getting real stitches. Nurses coming in saying like “you were here for so long, and asleep, and the files, we just thought they’d been done”. Ah the supreme treatment of mental health patients in public AU system.

Head ER doc I think came over to stitch. Joined by a junior too. I think the one that did the internal stitches cause he seemed to be learning and said “it wan’t gaping so much when we did them”.

They were ALL really nice after that. Let me go, complete with a taxi voucher to get home.

Home at 623pm

I told the nice psychiatrist I wouldn’t have any caffeine when I got home. But I was on sedatives and slept all day so I’m not going to sleep toning anyway. A brilliant welcome and forgiveness from puppy dog ❤ and 2 "strong" cappuccino sachets.

Vodka. Technically I didn't tell her I wouldn't drink. Silly think not to ask for really.

2 reasons drinking is okay.
1) After being completely sedated ALL DAY there's no way to sleep without vodka, even for me who can sleep at the drop of a hat. Straight after an energy drink and all.
2) I am CERTAIN I will not cut tonight.

So, tomorrow.
Work 1000 til 300. I am absolutely beyond relief that I do not have to call in sick. After calling in sick Monday last week for self harm that got out of hand (job is 2-3 months old, first time calling in sick/injured)
Apparently I'll be seeing my Case Manager tomorrow. Not scheduled but nice psychiatrist said she'd contact her and it would happen.
Calling my 1 IRL friend tomorrow. Spoke to her today (briefly – she was at work) was honest about what had gone on the last 24 hours, and said I'd call once I finished to either chat it through or catch up in person
Have to call my mum. On Saturday (I work – and can't deal with social interaction after 9 hours at work) so was like "I'll call you tomorrow :)" Didn't realise til like 700pm that I'd said I'd call and didn't cause I was unconscious. Told her the truth, spent the day in ED. Said I'd call her tomorrow/as soon as I could with appointments and work. They're really good. All this involuntary "treatment" and exposure to my mental ILL health over the last 5 years they know that I cant talk when I'm worn out (work) or otherwise in a mood. Mum, to her immense credit, didn't even send me a message today asking why I hadn't called etc. ❤

I've poured one more vodka. This ones only 1 shot instead of 1.5. Makes it 7 shots once I've finished the glass. I WILL go to bed after this one. After, of course, I puke out what calories and hangover I can.

Goodnight. Hope your last 24 hours were less traumatic.

Nerve Pain

I’m burning Jasmine incense. I love it, that’ll make everything better.

Chaotic day.
Did some sort of superficial nerve damage cutting last night. An intense burning sensation kept waking me last night. I thought it’d be okay but I woke up this morning and couldn’t move my arm without a high amount of pain, still “burning”.

Plan for the day was work support appointment at 800am and work 1000am til 300pm. My job is semi heavy lifting on a usual day. 12kg boxes of apples above head height and 20kg bags of potatoes lower down, among lesser things. Today would have involved less weight but more constant, intense, and more mechanical movement – lift, twist, stack etc. I couldn’t fathom it and called in injured. My supervisor answered the phone – she was super cool about it but did ask what happened. What do you say? “Oh I was just being a dickhead”. Of course I’m Australian so I didn’t even think twice about using that phrase to work people ha. But it’s still suspect.

So anyway, went to the 800am appointment. She called my GP to get me an urgent appointment. She also called my case manager to voice her concerns, and ask about me going IP but still being let out to keep my job. Made me promise to call her after GP appointment.

Wen’t and saw case manager at 900am. It was pre-scheduled but I’d attempted to reschedule to a different day cause I thought I had work, but I didn’t, so we didn’t. She’s going to see me everyday I’m not working to try and avoid IP. She’s going to try and help me start my psychologist homework (relaxation) tomorrow. She got me a visit to my Psychiatrist on the 12th December. She FINALLY did my followup cognitive assessment regarding the significant side effects ECT had on me 1 year ago. She was meant to do it months ago but I was apparently “too underweight” at the time and that could skew the results. Like bitch please I’ve been emaciated for most of the last decade, memory problems started straight after ECT – let go of the bias. But hey, she HAS done a lot today so that’s cool.

I went to GP after that. She said, which I knew that the painful cut wasn’t as deep as the other recent cuts and therefore not bad enough to do any major damage. Only explanation was something like, superficial nerves normally just numb and die but sometimes they react differently and that must be the cause. Decided against stitches cause it’s such a time ask on her (as they’re ALWAYS older than 6-8 hours by the time I get to see her). And I’m cutting so much anyway. Futility. But OMG the lovely nurse gave me a whole big syringe of lignocaine topical numbing gel and that shit is GOLD. She Steri’d up my open cuts and took the stitches out of the stitched ones. The latter was a mistake. A few hours later the steri’s don’t stick cause it’s such a high movement area and one of the stitched cuts was apparently removed too early cause it’s burst right open and there’s vile yellow fat cells bulging everywhere and great. But whatever, I ripped off all the steri’s and just stuck perpendicular tough-strip bandaid’s along my shoulders to close the gaping wounds. Much better than steri’s. Sore cut started burning again, though this was like 5-6 hours after first application. More gel. All good. Oh GP ALSO gave me pathology form, ECG, and antibiotics. Like I said. Busy day.

GP is across the road from B/P supermarket. Time to buy supplies (after pathology). I’ll call job support lady when I’m walking home. Or not, legit ran into her at the shopping complex. Legit picked up medication and the same time, at the same place. And then she drove me home. With a bad full of B/P food lol.

Kill time.
Binge again.
Start drinking.
Write “today” that turns into an essay before the vodka takes effect.

Got super drunk “social” last night before cutting. Messaging people on FB messenger I haven’t spoken to in years. Oh gosh lol.

DID NOT lose weight. Always the start to a shit day.
Nah today’s not too shit considering I’m no longer in pain because of it AND avoided IP.

Did however (not for the first time), shit myself toward the tail end of binge. Not on laxatives for months but have abused them for the better part of 10 years. Not sure if this is a side-effect of long term laxative abuse or just of long term Eating Disorder. But hey, always a class act.


Started drinking 1 week ago.
Lost 1.4kg.

By the morning, 8 days, it should be more.
Knowing that, it’s not possible to stop ANYTHING now.

Weight loss is all that matters.
Sub that is keeping my job – avoiding a three month stint in hospital.
BUT I’m fat so that’s not todays problem. And besides, I’ll try and make it long story short but…

My actual psychiatrist said to me that I would improve if I had more purposeful things to do with my time and day and life. She’s not about to jeopardise my work. Me working is what she wants. Secondly, my Psychiatrist is no longer my psychiatrist while I’m an inpatient. The Psychiatrist I had last time I was IP, which was the first time I was IP without her ever since she because my shrink. He basically got me the job. IDK if DR I was whispering in his ear or if he independently shared her view. But I was IP when I told him I had the potential for a job interview and would he let me go. I was IP when I got the job and he agreed to accommodate my shifts. I was IP for my first week of employment and then he let me go – 5kg below the ED guidelines. I have hope that he’ll be my psychiatrist again IF if comes to that. And hopes that he will again accommodate my “purpose”

So what’s the draw back?

I’m drinking, and getting the pleasure of being drunk. And losing weight and am not in hospital.
I’m cutting, and am grounding myself. And losing weight and am not in hospital.
I’m sleeping excessively. Because I don’t want to be alive. But I’m losing weight and am not in hospital.
I’m bingeing and purging. But less – financially and calorifically. So I’m losing weight and am not in hospital.
I’m smoking, and relishing in the “fuck it”. And I’m losing weight and am not in possible.

I’m fine.
How can I stop when everything’s in my favour.

BMI 15.87

November 20th 2017

I’m drinking again.
I’ve drunk 6 nights out of the last 7. Binge drunk.

Today’s been… whatever.
I woke up at 744am. Late for me, cause when I woke up at about 5 I didn’t want to be awake. 2 sachet cappuccino’s, 1 B/P (6754 Cal), then I slept again, for over four hours because I didn’t want to be alive. 2 sachet cappuccino’s. It’s past 500pm. That justifies vodka right?

If I can not binge again it will be a major achievement to have binged between 800am and 1000am and not binge later in the day. Hell pre vodka it would be a major achievement to end the day at 3 instead of 4 binges that day when starting early. I don’t know if I will binge again. It could go either way. Drunk at dark out means if I do it’ll be from work shop. How low is that? Shopping for food you’re going to throw up, while being drunk, at your place of work. But yes. I am that low of a human being. Scum.

What I do need to do is cut. There’s not much left in the vodka bottle.

Plan. Plan is to finish vodka, avoid B/P, incise my flesh down to the muscle, home job repair.

I got a text from my new (Private but Bulk Billed for 10 sessions) Psychologist today (I’ve only seen her one time). I was bingeing when I got the text, didn’t notice. Slept without checking my phone and didn’t reply til after 400pm. But it said that my GP (re stitches) had contacted her asking her to get me an earlier appointment, and when was I available. I haven’t done my homework. I didn’t know my GP was worried. I had 3 cuts stitched by her. 1 cut stitched by a different doctor when she wasn’t there. I refused to get the last one stitched because it wasn’t fair on GP. Til too much pressure (or, support?) from appointment people and I caved. She wasn’t there and I thought I’d skated by by getting a different doctor to do it. But that doctor or maybe one of the nurses must have mentioned it too my GP and she thought, as I knew she would, that it was one time (in a short space of time) too many. I’m just relieved she didn’t contact my case manager. Case manager is part of the PUBLIC system. And public system is all too trigger happy in institutionalising me.

But, saying that. I haven’t seen my Case Manager for a number of weeks. I’m due to see her on Wednesday morning. But work rescheduling means Wednesday is well, doable but not ideal. I’ve been meaning to reschedule her for either tomorrow (Tuesday) or Thursday. So shit’s happening and I can’t avoid it.

I need to see my Psychiatrist. I love her but it always seems she’s away or incapacitated when I need her. I wonder when she’s back in the fucking country?

I need to cut.

I’ve lost weight since the alcohol started at least.

Drunk-O-Rexic Cutter

WordPress. Neglected.

I’m drinking because I don’t want to be alive.

About 1 year ago, I don’t remember for sure because it was at the height of my ECT induced memory problems, but I fasted. I think it was about 9 days. Because of that I completely lost the taste for some things, mostly #1 Alcohol (I only ever have drunk Vodka) and #2 One of the two energy drinks I used to consume. So the short story is that I haven’t consumed a single drop of liquor in about a year.

That has changed tonight. Not all smooth sailing though mind you. I bought lemonade (SF) to mix it with, opened the bottle and started gagging. I did however have SF green cordial on hand so all is well on the getting drunk front. I am however, running out of green cordial. But I do think I’m hopefully intoxicated enough to keep down lemonade if it comes to that. Typing is hard right now though lol.

But anyway, why tonight? Approx 365 days (minimum 10 months, I know the fast was around Christmas 2016) sober. I’ll say this on my relationship with alcohol – Frequently abused, never addicted.

So why tonight? I’ve been spiralling. I haven’t written here for ages. but I went forced IP a couple of months ago. While I was there I also managed to get a job and thankfully, massively thankfully, my Psychiatrist at the time was fully supportive and agreed to accommodate the opportunity. I was released shortly after despite being 5kg below the ED guidelines. Again, thanks to the faith that Psychiatrist showed me. So I’ve been working. Working and bingeing and purging and gaining/maintaining weight – whatever it’s higher than I can stand but also lower still than that retched ED guideline.

So I’ve been cutting. I did this afternoon. I go through phases with cutting. By that I mean I generally cant stop once I make the first one in a while, and it instantly becomes an everyday, or every second day think to a depth that would require stitches. My GP is amazing, she’ll stitch them up for me, generally avoiding dramas from the public mental health system, even if they’re old she’ll trim the edges that have started to heal then stitch. But after a few it just becomes unfair (and risky) to ask that of her, and anyway from my perspective it’s just like what’s the point? Anyway this “phase” lasts til sooner or later I’m deemed unsafe and incompetent, forced into hospital, continue cutting at any opportunity, but eventually the opportunities are run out and I’m forced to stop, and do try (and temporarily succeed) at not starting again.

I started again about a week ago. have 6 open or healing wounds. Latest was this afternoon. Deepest so far and the effort required to stop and not make it deeper… I can’t put into words. I held out, held out for the inevitable evening binge. (already had twice that day so far) But for reasons I can’t explain when I was running through my mental shopping list I realised I could (should?) buy vodka. And it was instantly decided.

Alcohol shop is right next to supermarket where I would buy binge food. I even bought 1 binge item at the shop on the way to the main shop. Buy I bought vodka and entered the main shop with the intention of buying that damn lemonade and the binge food and decided after I’d put two items into my trolley that I didn’t need or want to binge. I just needed to get drunk.

Instant validation and justification. I can cover the expense of vodka if it reduces the bingeing even slightly. Which legit I spend AU$400 per WEEK on.

Will I still cut? The answer is probably.

Drunk-o-rexic Cutter. With a Job.
I’d be happy with that as long as the scale goes down.

Memory, Emaciation and Survival

When I talked about the memory problems I’ve suffered due to ECT, no one believed me. Well that’s not entirely accurate – 1 person believed me, R but she’s related to job searching and participation requirements for my disability pension, not my mental ILL-health directly, and my friend, well you’ll think I’m just saying this for effect but I genuinely don’t remember what her stance on the situation was. But my parents, my case manager, my doctors all insisted it was a normal response that would alleviate with time, that I was overthinking and that I “remembered the important things”. It didn’t matter that I reminded them I’d had ECT treatments PRIOR to the offending round and it wasn’t like this. It didn’t matter that I told them I KNEW with every ounce of my being that this wasn’t within the realm of normal or that it wasn’t improving or going to improve with time. I knew something was seriously wrong, and I don’t know if others were in denial, or afraid of culpability/covering themselves, thought I was uneducated or just dramatic. But of all the things I have forgotten, and still am forgetting I don’t think I’ll ever forget the feeling of a NO DOUBT problem falling on a crowd of deaf ears.

Even when my Case Manager conducted a memory and cognitive test on me I honestly believe it was done with the intent of easing my concerns rather than assessing me. But it was an assessment. And I failed that assessment. I failed that assessment enough that my Case Manager is now set to consult with workers on the aged care team who have experience with dementia. We have to be taught how to use some sort of computer program (pseudo-educational) to assist with trying to bring my results up. I have to be retested I don’t remember when, to see if it’s improved.

But the point of this post isn’t strictly for me to vent about my memory. What I realised while I was out smoking, before I just HAD to open this page and write is that misunderstanding and marginalisation of KNOWING something and being constantly told you’re wrong is also what happens with me and my eating disorder.

I know that I NEED to lose weight. I know that it’s the only thing that will keep me alive. I’m told I’m wrong.

At BMI 17 and heavily B/P the doctors and nurses and MH staff and support staff and family and society tell me I need to recover, that it’s dangerous and my weight might be stable and high for me but it’s not healthy and it’s risky and it’s just food and numbers.

At BMI 13 and heavily B/P they see emaciation and an irregular heart rate sitting at 28 and jumping dangerously high just by standing. They see low potassium and a mass of other electrolytes. Critically low blood pressure and blood sugar. Whatever else. They see dying that they have to fix. They see disorder that I have to fix.

Those problems they see, I’m totally asymptomatic. I’m not in denial, they just don’t matter to me OR my body because I’m doing what I have to. What I KNOW is right. The risk of one or a combination of those things killing me is real, and at that weight, or the BMI 12 I need to be it’s even imminent. I KNOW that. But what I also KNOW is that the risk of my death by suicide due to my depression is far more real, more painful and more imminent – especially at BMI 17. I’m not being dramatic. It’s real both in psychology and biology. At a low weight my MIND is more focused and satisfied by living in a world of numbers and achieved or achievable goals. Simplicity. And a far lower level of self loathing. Not because I’m classic AN with body dysmorphia and see an overweight girl in the mirror. But because of these goals, the feeling of changing, of taking forward steps in a direction I NEED to go and because of my (I’ll admit disordered) obsession with numbers, purity, deprivation and societal rejection. Physiologically a deprived BRAIN is slower, thinks less, processes less, doubts less. This is science. And when your internal environment is brutal and dangerous and full of blood and hate, this is a welcome reprieve. A LIFESAVING reprieve.

Do they understand yet. Do you understand yet. There is no healthy wonderland when your reality is turmoil. There is only SURVIVAL. And this I KNOW.