Untitled

I used to have my day timed to perfection (circa May, 2015. Thankfully, no longer.)

Wake up. Stay in bed for as long as possible, until I had gathered enough energy to get up and to repress the crying infant inside me. Sometimes hours.

Go downstairs. Cup of mint tea. No milk.

Shower, dry hair and dress. Always the same – jeggings, t-shirt, jumper and fleece lined winter-weight hooded jacket.

Leave the house fifteen minutes before the bus due to leave. Must be precisely a quarter of the hour. If not, wait.

Walk to the bus-stop. Stand on each and every manhole cover on the way.

Pray that the bus will be at the bus stop as legs hurt.

Get on the bus. Close all the windows and sit two seats from the back.

Sit on the bus for an hour as it chugs through rural Nottinghamshire.

Listen to the same series of songs on iPod.

Get off bus in town.

Go to library.

Drink sugar-free Red Bull and black coffee to stay awake (also possibly alive).

Pretend to read a book.

Pace round the usual places.

Go to Starbucks. Buy a mint tea (as a treat), with ice to cool it down.

Queue for the bus.

Pray that there will be a seat because standing hurts.

Sit on the bus for an hour as it chugs through rural Nottinghamshire.

Listen to the same series of songs on iPod.

Walk home.

Go to bed.

Repeat.

This was not a choice.

There are only so many times you can try to explain that anorexia is not glamorous.

*This isn’t about the food, just as anorexia isn’t about the food. So what and when I ate is not included in this post.

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2 thoughts on “Untitled

  1. You are so wonderful and you deserve so much more put of life than this b*****d of an illness will ever let you have. You are incredible at so many things – especially writing and having the best hair I have ever seen. The world needs more people in it like you, so please keep fighting – you are worth so much.

    Like

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