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I just cooked and ate a ... well, fuck, I don't know what you'd call it.

I wanted to make oatmeal cookies, but had no butter or eggs - and nothing to make vegan replacements for either. So I decided to make vegan pancakes, as I had coconut milk in the fridge. I got the flour out... only had half a cup. I also had no salt.

I still made a bowl of... some form of batter... put the oil in the frying pan, just enough to cover the bottom as I had no butter... accidentally put in too much oil, WAY too much, poured batter in... fried vegan pancake.



DEEP fried vegan pancake.



I move in 3.5 days, and literally the only food I have left is 1/4th a carton of coconut milk, oats and weird Swedish chocolate or vanilla barley fibre sachets, which are supposed to be drunk like Sustagen.

I am not fond of those.



I need to buy cat food tomorrow... so maybe I will get some cheap food for myself. I have already had oatmeal today, and that plus the crazy THING I just cooked have made me feel ill.



But who am I kidding, everything makes me feel ill.

As the time is getting closer, she's getting snappier.

On Saturday, I had a bad meltdown. I calmed down enough to make rational choices, and started planning.



As such, I am moving next Tuesday. It's official, it's done, it's planned and booked - I've got a 1-way ticket, and so does my cat. Hopefully the shipping company can come on Friday or Monday - if not, they'll have to come later in the week (we're talking about next week) - and my stuff will be shipped.

Awesome.



I am so happy. I'm financially stressed, but it is not terribly bad.

I called everyone and apologised for being so upset and hysterical while talking to them - they graciously accepted my apologies.

I'm feeling fucking blessed to have people in my life who understand that sometimes my mental health gets out of control, and I tend to react with hysterics and catastrophising.





I've started planning my recovery.

Since I've calmed a little... I am so happy that I may be moving soon. Mum made me promise a thing or two, and she was reluctant to get off the phone with me, but I'm sick of hiding how badly I am not coping lately. I've lost, as of today, about 11lbs in the last two weeks - I think it is the extremely large amounts of stress and fear, eating away at me, forcing my AAN back into extreme-mode.



I don't regret telling them how bad it is. I don't regret it at all.

COMMENTS

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Cinnamon
15:45 Sep 21 2015

I'm glad you'll be going home soon. I sincerely hope things get better for you. Much better! *hugs*

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Today was incredibly difficult. My housemate pushed me, pushed me, and pushed me... until I broke into a million little pieces, each seeping blood into the carpet.



My boyfriend helped me put myself back together. I cannot express how much I love and admire him, for that and many other things. I was near hysterical. He helped me more than I can explain. It takes a truly amazing person to do that.



I calmed down enough, but kept having after-shocks - so I talked to Lifeline (a suicide prevention hotline with counsellors on the other end) for a couple of hours. They were good. They gave me resources, and just listened to me vent.



I then told my sister that I am NOT okay, and desperately needed my mother to call me (I can't make phone calls, I had to use Facebook to contact my brother in law, who then contacted my sister, who contacted my mother... seems ridiculous, but it was absolutely necessary) and I explained to my mum what had happened, what was said, and that I cannot take it any more, and that if it got worse over the next week, I would go to a women's shelter and stay there, with my cat and everything... or I'd end up doing something permanent, which I would deeply regret.

Mum was so worried that she was going to call my dad, at 11pm, and tell him to come get me. It's a 16 hour drive to get here. She was THAT worried. I started crying because I was worried that I was being a burden and that I would annoy them but, then I told her "I feel like a selfish fuck for asking you to come get me, but I cannot do this any more. She's getting so nasty and vicious. I am scared of what I will do to myself if I have to live here any more - I need to get out of this house as soon as possible."



Mum will call me tomorrow and tell me if they're going to come get me this week. I really, really hope so.









It all happened after I had a really good morning. I woke up, after sleeping 15-16 hours. I woke up to my kitten purring beside me, blinking at me slowly, sleepily, and so contented. I didn't wake up to the dog barking, for the first time in weeks. I lazed in bed, messaged my boyfriend, listened to music and watched Youtube for a bit. I got up, fed my kitty, made myself eat, enjoyed it, felt proud of myself for finishing a bowl of soup.

I played a game with friends, we had a good conversation, and my mum even called me, which I love.

We talked about my brother, who I adore, and who I am very proud of, lately. He's really turned his life around, and I am so pleased for him. I can't wait to see him again.

I made a half-joke half-concerned-big-sister comment to my housemate: "My brother's working three 12 hour shifts in a row, poor guy."

She decided that was a good time to tell me that my brother's "fucking lazy" for not having a license or a car or for not wanting to move out of home. She went on about what a "burden" he is, and how he should move out and essentially 'get a life'.

She went on like that for about 30 minutes, maybe more. I left the room, and didn't see her for a few hours, but when I DID see her again... she decided she still wanted to bitch about my brother (who she's never even met).

I must not have given the needed reaction, because she decided to push me deeper and harder - she told me I have to pay the internet bill within a couple of days. She did not tell me how much it was, just that I had to give her money for it, and soon, and it was more than I normally have to pay.

I had a complete meltdown.



I really hope my parents get me out of here. It's not a big thing, that she said, but I think it happened at the wrong time, and the way she kept bitching about it... she was baiting me for a reaction, which she does a lot. I never give her a reaction. I never let her see me lose it. So I sat there and let her go on, then left the room, about 10 minutes after she got bored with her monologue. It hit me at a bad time - it hit me all when she KNOWS I am already anxious as fuck, when she knows I am sick with fear and worry, and above all, when she knows I am crushingly lonely and really missing my family.

The fact that I had an EXCELLENT morning did not help - it was the second time in the last month where I was blissfully happy - and she ruined it, and took pleasure in ruining my mood.

And with that - if they let me go home, I will celebrate by buying corn cobs. And maybe even making soup. That would be so lovely.

I cannot wait to be back in pleasant society.

Two weeks until I move. I told my parents that I am going to be heavily relying on them in terms of my eating and helping me feel relaxed again, not just around food, but in my life - I still feel like I have nothing in this house other than my literal possessions and bad memories.

Any time I return to this city is too soon.



I'm considering scrapping EVERYTHING academic that I have worked towards for the last 5 years, and trying for an Associate's in Allied Health. This means I could be a number of things - a Podiatrist, OT, Physio, possibly even a social worker, or a Psychologist... or if I chose to continue, doing the Allied Health Associate's will help me in midwifery and nursing.

This won't be for a few years, though.

I need time to figure stuff out and recover. I've been sick for two years now, and in those two years, nearly everything I have tried to study, I have had to drop out of.

I'm not putting myself through that again.



I also need to ask dad whether he suspected he may have had an issue with eating, since there's research coming out that estimates up to 58% of Anorexia Nervosa cases prove to be passed down through generations. I'm curious to know whether mine is genetic predisposition or just bad luck.

I have a Die Antwoord stuck in my head. It could be worse, I could have a terrible band stuck in my head, but... it's just one line of their song.

I should listen to something nice, something classical, as that usually fixes it.



Holst's Jupiter is divinity... so that will do. Or The Four Seasons.

Australia has a new Prime Minister. He was kicked out 72 hours before he would have qualified for an annual pension that is over half a million dollars.



Australia is in a state of utter shock. It happened so fast - they announced that his own party was holding a vote against him, they held the vote, he lost, he was kicked out, and all of his cronies (bar one - the token female).



Next step: surviving until next year so we can get rid of the Liberal party for the next three years and try to fix the disgusting damage Abbott did to us.

I've been rewatching Supernatural from the very beginning, for a couple of weeks now. I've watched... 37 episodes, which is a lot, but I'm only up to Season 2, episode 16. I'm impatient to get through the last 6 episodes of this season, and then the next 16 of season 3... because I love the very first angel episodes.

I'm debating whether or not to just skip to season 4, ep. 1.



I've already slogged through 37 goddamn episodes... but I still have 24 more to go, before it piques my interest fully. I have been watching 2-5 episodes a day, and at this rate I won't be able to reach season 4 before I move home. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. No pun intended.



I think I may just skip ahead, or watch something else entirely. Only a couple of weeks of Netflix left... may as well make the most of it.

I've been up since 11pm. It's now nearly 4am. My kitten was adorably sleepy, cuddling, purring, napping and rolling around in the bliss of what I can only imagine is "safe, warm, loved" feelings that he gets.

I was de-fleaing him (I swear the dog is bringing them home from puppy preschool), and he started biting me, and then instantly licking where he bit me. He wasn't biting hard, more like "I have had enough of the kitty-massages, stop now."

Eventually I left him alone, he fell asleep again, happily purring.



I opened my bedroom door, and all hell broke lose.



I decided to make something to eat... at 3am... and the naughty little cat got into the fridge and tore out his container of food, and proceeded to stuff himself like a roast chicken.

When he had eaten his fill (you're not getting breakfast now at 8-10, buddy), he then turned into a psychopath, screaming around the house as fast as his now swollen little body could take him.

I cooked my sandwich (grilled cheese and tinned spaghetti is surprisingly good), and saved a crust corner for him.



It took me about 10 minutes to get him back into my bedroom, and then he proceeded to run and jump on almost every surface in my room - he ran under the bed, up the curtains (*deep sigh*), ate his crust of bread and continued to run like his tail was on fire.

At one point, he stopped, looked at me with huge, wild and batshit fucking crazy eyes. I asked him "Are you high?", and he ran towards me at full speed, stopped when his face was inches from mine, and spat at me - once.

Then he was off again.



What the actual fuck.

He hasn't spat at me in a very long time... so long that it makes me think it was an accident, or he wasn't spitting, he just made a funny noise as he stopped in front of me. When he used to do it, he was only about 5 weeks old, in the first couple of days after we rescued him. He did it enough that we nicknamed him and his equally aggressive brother "Hisser and Spitter", but it only lasted about 3 days - then he adjusted. Since then, nada. He growled once, when I tried to take away food he had stolen, a few months ago, but nothing else. No hissing, so spitting.

Until 3.30am this morning. He wasn't aggressive at all when he spat at me this time, and he's usually really gentle anyway. He sleeps with me every night, he is always snuggly -he always prefers to be close to me.



His spit (or spat? haha!) is so bizarre that it's hilarious.

I asked him a question and insulted his kitty-integrity (say no to drugs), and he ran up to me, put his face close to mine... and spat once, before running off.



xD

I have 6 days until my next appointment... c'mon, I can do this.

I'm so tired.

I had clinic yesterday, or rather, on Friday. It was exhausting, combined with what came after.

Sigh.



I cancelled an appointment at an employment agency, because I had a NASTY headache on Thursday.

That was all by-the-books - I followed the procedures and protocols. I got a rather rude phone call, a couple of hours later, saying I HAD to come in on Friday. I agreed. The appointment was for 2pm.



I got there at 1.50 on Friday afternoon, after my appointment at the clinic, and waited.

The woman my appointment was with completely ignored me.

She took the appointments of three people before me, and after waiting 40 minutes, I simply left to catch the bus home.

I had been awake since 6.30am.

She knows I am chronically ill, and I attend a clinic on Friday mornings.

She. Knows.

I was not staying there until 4pm (which was when the next bus came if I waited longer), because I literally would have passed out, and then they'd call an ambulance, hospitalise me, intubate, and I'd be fucked over.

Like... that's just great.

Being so exhausted that I pass out, the hospital checks my medical records, they find out I have AAN, involuntarily intubate, involuntarily admit me for 2 weeks.

I'm sad that I am not joking about that. I am literally a hairsbreadth from hospital. All it will take is one degree below normal temperature, chest pains, a loss of 4lbs or more, passing out or vomiting... bam. Into hospital.



When she phoned me rudely the day before, she demanded to know what was wrong with me. I told her "I'm sick" - and she replied with "That's not good enough, you have to tell me why".

She full-well knows I am sick, knows I am an outpatient, yet she still had the gall to ask what my illness was - which she has no legal right to ask. I could have refused to tell her and she has no grounds to demand I tell her.

I should have said "I've overdosed on laxatives and cannot move out of the bathroom.", or something similar and equally as awkward for her to hear. Not that I would do something like that to myself, but she didn't deserve a nice answer to such a disgustingly rude question.

I simply told her I had "an amazing headache", which was true.



As a result of walking out, I am now no longer being paid. Which is fucking great.



I have a doctor appointment on Monday, and then I will be making a formal complaint with the government, and attempting to change service providers. I can get a doctor's certificate and/or a transcript from the clinic I went to on Friday morning, confirming that I was ill, and complained of being physically sick.



I hope she loses her job.

My mother called me a couple of days ago and gave me the best possible news I could get... she is bringing me home, one way or another, in a month.

My father wants me to fly home - which is only a 4-5 hour trip. That's good. I am hoping my cat's flight (he goes on a different one) will be shorter, for him. Poor little guy.



I'm so fucking excited to be moving. I have priced up my flight, my cat's flight, and just about everything else.