It’s been a frustrating start to the year.
The cold I had last week has morphed into laryngitis. Yesterday, I had no voice whatsoever. I was worried about being alone last night and being unable to call anyone if I needed help, but luckily I slept well. This morning my voice has upgraded to a croak and I have a nasty, chesty cough. But I don’t feel too terrible.
More frustrating is my weight.
(I am a little bit ashamed of what I have written next, but I want this blog to be an honest portrayal of anorexia, and these are my thoughts at the moment).
I hit my lowest ever weight last week. Every day since then I’ve been hovering 0.3kg above it. It won’t fall back down again. I’ve written before about how conflicted I am over losing weight. I am well aware that if I keep losing, particularly at this rate, I will be in hospital soon.
But that said, it has been niggling at me all weekend that it has remained the same. There is no reason that it shouldn’t have fallen. I have done my normal amount of exercise. Aside from one higher calorie day, I have eaten as usual. It should be lower than it is. I used to get a thrill when I saw it drop. I don’t really get that satisfaction anymore. Just an endless frustration when it doesn’t fall as I expect. I’m hoping I can blame this plateau on being ill. I’m hoping that once this infection has cleared up my weight will be back down to where I expect it to be.
I have a weigh-in on Thursday.
I know lots of anorexics try to falsify their weight for a weigh-in. I have never been one to do that. I always feel like a weigh-in is a test. If it is higher than I want then I have failed. Almost like the weigh-in is my chance to show off the weight loss I have achieved. It’s a strange old mentality is anorexia.
If I’m honest, I don’t really have any desire to recover at the moment. All I want is my weight to be back down by Thursday. And down again next Thursday.
I feel powerless to stop.