running up that hill

there's a half empty squeezey jar of Discovery Salsa sitting on a shelf in our kitchen. last night while I was standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, a random urge to smell this jar of salsa came over me. haven't a clue why, but just the smell of it took me back in a wrenching, almost painful way to about August/September time. when I was trying to gain weight and having problems with delayed gastric emptying, I devised a lot of low fat/low fibre meals. one of these was salsa on a tortilla with low fat mozzarella cheese and sausages or tofu. now the salsa is sitting there sadly abandoned because just the concept of keeping down such a complete 'meal' is terrifying to me. a lot of the time I just live minute to minute and the reality of how bad things have gotten doesn't hit me. but last night it really did.

compared to late summer my days resemble some kind of bizarre futuristic torture chamber. I wake up, aching all over from the mattress which seems to poke through the two blankets I've folded over it, and turn over hoping not to have to get up. when I do, after a few dodgy attempts at standing, the muscles in my legs feel like I ran a marathon the day before. trust me, I did nothing of the sort. I debate the merits of a cigarette before breakfast, because the potential to pass out is fairly high. after making it through making breakfast, with a few trips back to my room to sit down so my housemates don't see that I'm not so great on the vertical-ness, I eat it slowly while reading BBC news. for some reason I feel the need to reheat my porridge in the microwave maybe two or three times, because it has to be almost burning my tongue. this irritates me immensely, partly because I find it pathetic and partly because standing makes my legs ache again at that hour of the morning and before some calories have made it past my digestion of doom into my system.

in the day, it's rare that I accomplish much. somehow small tasks seem to become mountains and the relative energy they require is daunting. funnily enough I always make it to the supermarket without fail. what I buy varies, but it always includes two 250g packs of butter. yes, I keep the dairy industry going. I tend to also try and make it at the optimum time to scour the reduced section. when you're going to eat everything you buy that night and not digest it anyway, best before dates don't tend to matter to you. I have a massive handbag to bring my shopping in because my housemates would be somewhat confused to see me buying so much given how ridiculous I look. later on in the day I repeat the porridge fiasco but with other foods, soup is another one which irritatingly has to be reheated over and over. I drink black coffee and Pepsi Max or Diet Irn Bru, and rotate coffee/soda/mouthful of food over and over like a quiet rhythm which will keep me grounded. after eating I have more energy and the potential for being able to do normal things like push a supermarket trolley or hang up my laundry without needing to sit down and rest is improved.

about 10 o'clock I start cooking, if everyone's in bed. sometimes I crave certain things and get into a habit of having them, a lot of the time though I rely on cheap staples like toast, spaghettios or supernoodles. something to sit and eat mindlessly. there are very few savoury foods I don't add disturbing amounts of butter too. tastes change bizarrely with starvation...the idea would have disgusted me at a more reasonable weight. there is a high, a thrill in eating, but more and more I dread the night going on and feeling more and more drained and scared and alone. inevitably most nights I will at some point lose feeling in my feet and calves, and start swaying, then get it back with a strange buzzing sensation. concerning initially, but now that it's routine and I'm fairly sure on the origin (electrolytes) I tend to ignore it and down more Sando K. this is how I ended up waiting for the kettle to boil, needing more water to purge over, and over, slightly dazed and trying to distance myself from it because I feel so physically dire, actually feeling relieved when I can taste pure acid because then I am 'allowed' to stop, of course how I feel physically is nothing to the emotional torture I would put myself through if I thought I hadn't gotten rid of every last morsel of food. along with showering, lying down while the world spins around me in those moments is one of the most rewarding times of my day. ultimately, extremely pathetic.

sometimes reality hits me in those times, at 2 or 3am when my heart is racing and jumping in my chest. it's sad, that someone would do this to themselves. someone, who, I once thought, had a life or at least a semblance of one. who ate tortillas with salsa and was scared about the future but hoped to face it head on.

it's probably unsurprising that Katie inspired this post, along with the salsa. I've also wanted to be brutally honest with myself, and anyone else who reads, for awhile and write something to show what the experience of being very ill with my ED is like for me. I know I can be in a lot of denial, and come across quite 'together'...I'm at uni, I 'get along' in life, maybe being at a low weight isn't so bad? it is, and I know it on some level too. unfortunately I don't have an ending to my story yet, a way to look back on how things are now. guess I'm going to have to build one from now...