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.