Written yesterday


103 lbs. BMI: 17.8. Finally in the 17s. Of course, if I'm not careful, it'll go right back up. But being careful doesn't seem to be so much of a challenge these days — that is, if I can accept feeling tired and fairly miserable all the time, and waking up with cramps in my legs. Which I can. I can handle that just fine. My bones don’t hurt on the bed or when pressed together yet, so that’s something. I’m not sleeping most of the day… although, to be honest, I wish I could.

I also got bloodwork done a week and a half ago, and when I and my psychiatrist looked at it during my appointment yesterday, everything was normal, including my ferretin (which was, a few months ago, at 5, and is now 30 something — normal is 11+). So I’m like, "Dude, my body's totally fucking fine! It doesn’t matter if I feel tired or sick because it doesn’t mean I’m anemic!" And I know my head will totally run with that.

However, my pdoc did actually do my vitals (sitting and standing). She said something about how she works with cancer patients, etc (she’s an inpatient psychiatrist for basically whoever needs to see a psychiatrist, regardless of unit), and so she had some things that other psychiatrists didn't. I thought it was good that she did that, but also strange. Mostly because I've NEVER had a psychiatrist who even had a stethoscope in their office, never mind a blood pressure cuff and a pump! I have a feeling she may check my vitals either every time I see her or every other week... especially because my BP was low-normal (I think she said 110/80) and my heartbeat sitting was 104. It went down to high 90s when I stood, though, and it's usually the opposite way around when you stand, and my orthostatic BP wasn’t much different either. So I'm 'okay' for now but not really okay. If that makes sense.

I looked toward the back of the clinic where I’d never been before as I was walking out from my appointment (which was therapy and not just vitals, etc) and noted that there was a scale, saying, "Oh, there IS a scale. I always figured there was one here somewhere; I just didn’t know where." She kind of smiled and said "I’m not weighing you". I said "I know"... but she then said "There may come a point at which I do weigh you, though." There was nothing I could say to that because I knew exactly why such a time might come, and I couldn't argue about it because that would be pointless. It IS kind of reassuring to know I probably won't die if she's keeping an eye on me. Note the word probably.

I can't lie, though… if/when I do start to get weighed, it's going to scare me shitless. I know I will be tempted to waterload and/or put weights under clothes, etc. Because I know that if I go under a certain BMI I can be certified into hospital, and I do NOT want that to happen. I mean, maybe if the time came I would feel differently, but at the moment, being certified and forced to gain weight is one of the worst things I could possibly imagine. That fear tends to increase as I lose weight, not decrease, so... *sigh*

Anyway, I'm rambling and this is stupid, so I'll end it. All I know is that a) I’m not medically unstable, b) My appointment frequency is going to be increased when my pdoc can possibly do it, and c) I don’t think I'm going to be able to stop this without some sort of intervention. The ED is already making me more depressed and stuff, on top of the physical aches and pains, so honestly I think it's just a matter of time before I totally lose my shit and end up suicidal anyway... but then again, maybe not. I am trying my absolute BEST not to let that happen, because that's how I ended up on protocol last time. I DO NOT WANT TO BE ON PROTOCOL AGAIN. Chances are pretty good I'd refuse it, anyway, and either end up dead or on a tube... neither of which would be fun... aaaaaagh. Why do I torture myself thinking about shit that's never happened to me and would take a long time to happen even now?