Marginally Less Parasitical

I thought about jumping from the top storey. I told my doctor about my impulses. Hospital was mentioned but I resisted. In the end I emerged from the doctor's with extra meds. Doctor S has perused The Mail on Sunday article and had been as disturbed by it as I was. 'For what it's worth, I think Daily Mail journalists are only marginally less parasitical than the drug addicts and the alcoholics the newspaper is targeting.' His words, not mine. Make of that what you will.

Suffering in Silence

I can only begin to imagine the kind of pain the family of Mark Saunders must be feeling right now. Losing a loved one to suicide (and that's exactly what it was) is one of the worst things that can happen to you.

Because of my situation (I have a mental illness and have spent rather a lot of time in hospital) I've lost several close friends to suicide. The repercussions of their actions cannot be underestimated. Journalists have repeatedly emphasised the fact that Mr Saunders was a barrister, destined for great things, as if that somehow should have rendered him immune to mental illness. I would imagine, if anything, that his situation exacerbated his condition. He was intelligent and resourceful, a 'high flyer'; he was not expected to ask for help and so he didn't.

Last year an ex boyfriend, A made his fourth suicide attempt. Like Mr Saunders, A was also a high-achiever. He worked in the City and it was amidst the intensity of that world that he had a nervous breakdown. He goes further: he calls it a meltdown. His name for it is his 'Chernobyl'. After his first suicide attempt he requested help. He didn't receive any. All the health services in his area had to offer was a cocktail of medication. People have asked why Mr Saunders did not ask for help. I'm speculating wildly here but maybe he did and was turned away like one in three people suffering from mental health problems who appeal to the NHS for help.

The authorities will conduct their inquiry. We'll shake our heads and ask ourselves why it had to happen and why it should never happen again. But nothing will change and it will happen again. Over and over again.

Binge...

Ate:

2 packets Sunbites (260cals)

Wrap (440 cals)

Chocolates (300)

Oatcakes (300)

4 slices toast w. peanut butter (thinly spread: 300)

Chocolate Muffin (300)

 1900 cals.*

And I couldn't purge.  I am fat, fat, fat.  

It appears that John Prescott and I share an illness: Bulimia.  The difference between us is that he is entitled to treatment and I am not.  I suffered from anorexia as a teenager and have been bulimic ever since.  I relapsed into anorexia in 1998.  I read an article in the Cambridge Evening News in which a Dr Jane Shapleske, who is part of Addenbrookes Eating disorders team, expressed sympathy with Mr. Prescott and rightly so but does she really expect us to believe that if  'Joe Bloggs' came in off the street and presented himself to her that she would have recommended treatment?  I know she wouldn't because I did exactly** that and she refused to accept me on her program.  We know why you express sympathy for Mr Prescott, Dr. Shapleske, it's because he is powerful, high profile and you are not obliged to treat him.  Words are cheap, aren't they, Dr. Shapleske? Maybe now we know that men too suffer from this condition the 'powers-that-be' will be more willing to invest real money into the treatment of this illness but, frankly, I'm not holding my breath.

I deviate from the norm but not quite dramatically enough to hold any interest for Dr Shapleske.

*That and 26 valium and I am still paralysed by anxiety.  Sorry, make that 46.  I am not in the habit of looking gift horses in mouthes.  I am invincible.  Invincible.

**Actually, I was referred to her by my GP.

I keep taking pics of myself. Not because I'm vain but because, at the moment,  I am not my usual fat, moocow self and I don't know how long it will last.  I don't know when my body will start rebelling again.  

And I know it shouldn't matter.  I know that we should be more than just our bodies.  But it does.  And I don't know why.  I don't know why I am capitulating to body fascism but I am and I wish that I could detach myself from it.  But it's all around me.  It permeates every part of society and, by succumbing to it, I am helping to perpetuate it.

It's the end of the world as we know it

It's the end of the world as we know it

And I feel fine.