Firstly, I just have to say that I lost a close friend recently, to anorexia and bulimia. I cannot get over it, I cannot accept it. Teena (aka, to most people, Cat) was one of the most beautiful people anyone could ever meet. She was so dedicated to our friendship and I am lucky to have known her. Then a few days ago, I saw on the news that she had died. I met her in this admission, in ’07, when I was at my lowest weight. She was the thinnest person I’d ever seen, and was tubed the entire time I knew her (and for many years, too), and in a wheelchair for the most part. We were together there for two months, until I left. We got up to some crazy stuff, were were smoking buddies, shared clothes (we were the same size… eek), mucked around like school kids, and had our own little games we’d play on the hospital staff, and we even fucking binged and purged together! Makes me smile thinking about it… but then the tears come again. She had suffered for eight years, was in hospital almost literally the entire past six years, and had been in the newspaper before I met her, then on TV last year asking for help because of the lack of resources and funding to treat eating disorders in our country. Her father now wants to start an investigation into the hospital treatment she received. There are a few articles online, but this one refers to what I saw. She died at my lowest weight, in the hospital we were at together. They showed interview footage with her, and photos and her family (including her twin brother), who I remember well. As soon as the story started, I burst into tears and I haven’t really been able to stop. It’s such a nightmare. I still have her cards to me, and the jewellery she made me. I hope her death effects everyone at that damn hospital. They deserve it.
RIP Catena Di Mauro, 1989-2009. You were so much more than your disease. You were a uniquely precious person, with such a beautiful smile and personality. I miss you so much.Well, it’s hard to keep from thinking about her, but I need to do this update while I can. Yes, I was so close to death, too, just a few weeks ago. So close. Damn my timing!
Okay, um, where to start where to start… So I didn’t do anything till after New Years. I was alone at Christmas and NYE but I kept putting “it” off for stupid reasons. Finally, just after New Years, I did it. It’s my fault I’m here today, because I did it the day before mum was coming over. If only I’d done it a day earlier, I’d be dead for sure. I took an overdose of numerous medications (or a “polypharmaceutical overdose”, as they put in my discharge papers!), and a lot of them. Even the thought of what I did makes me gag – I don’t know how I did it.
Mum found me in bed, put me on the floor and called the ambulance. I don’t remember any of this of course, but another ambulance was needed because the first didn’t have the right equipment and they needed someone more experienced because I had to be intubated and had a central line through my neck to my heart. I was in a coma for three days, and was incoherent two days following. Mum said I couldn’t talk or write anything. One thing I do remember, though, was a while later when I was a lot better, and a doctor asked me what month it was, and I said “March” (“No…”). “February…?” (“Nooo…”). “Okay then, you know so why don’t you just tell me”. Heh. And I remember when they took my catheter and the tube in my neck out (oweee!). I don’t remember the tubes, the oxygen mask, them calling my name over and over. I don’t even remember being transferred to the Psych Unit afterwards, and I was in a wheelchair by then.
I’d been there before, of course. It was hell, and I didn’t really get any help. I gained a lot of weight there, because I refused food and water the first few days and was told I’d be kept there weeks longer if I continued to be uncompliant, so I ate and drank and gained and gained. I was an “involuntary patient” because I was fighting against what they were doing, and was sent to the “acute” part of the Unit, where there’s only six patients because they’re the worst of the worst. Everything is taken from you there. I was there 6 days! I’m now on an anti-depressant too; Prozac! Bad idea, people. I was back in the general Psych Unit after that, and stayed there till last week. There was a psychologist there that I did find helpful, but a lot of the talk amongst my “team” was about my eating disorder, rather than the fact I’d swallowed a shitload of pills.
Mum used to be a nurse and she said I almost died. Sitting here, I still can’t believe all that happened and I’m here writing about it like it was nothing major. You’d think after all that, I’d feel differently about my life… scared, not wanting to go back to hospital etc, but unfortunately that’s the opposite to how I feel. I already have “plans”, and I couldn’t give a shit if I end up back in hospital. I’m pretty certain this next time will work, coz I’ve learned from my mistakes. I actually miss being in hospital, even though I fought so hard to get out of there… I’m sure if I was still in there instead of discharging myself early, I’d rave about how much I hate it there, so who knows. My 27th is coming up, and I really don’t want to be around for another year of this life. I’m not going to do anything soon, but I’m not going to say when, because of what happened last time after I updated. (Oh, and to the stalker bitch that called the cops on me? You’re an idiot. I don’t know how you knew my address, but never ever do that to me again. You did not help at all; in fact, you did the opposite. I know where you live now. So just shut the fuck up.)
I hadn’t left a “suicide note”, but I did leave mum a letter with random things she needed to know, like my bank details and silly things like that (I don’t know, I just felt I had to sort those things out), and I left a letter to my counsellor I’d written before Christmas. Her and I had had a huge fight in November because she was going overseas for six weeks and didn’t tell me till three days before she left, because she thought I would “do something” if she’d told me earlier. Stupid stupid woman. While in hospital, I asked mum to call her and post the letter. It was a full-on, angry, blaming letter. I asked mum to call her when she got back, to see if she was angry at me, and apparently she wasn’t, but she wanted to see me and talk to me about it. So I saw her last week. This was massive deal on my part, because I hadn’t been out at all because of my weight, and I don’t think she’s ever seen me like this, ever, and I was so scared we’d fight. Well, we didn’t “fight”, but it didn’t go well. I’m no longer seeing her. It’s been 4½ years, and it’s all over. She seemed annoyed with my letter, and we didn’t really get anywhere, and then at the end she said she’ll leave it up to me to call her for another session, so I took that as a major hint that she didn’t want to see me again. It’s a whole big mess, but it’s over. I can’t live without her though, and mum is really worried about me.
Also, while I was in hospital mum quit all my paper delivery jobs (I had five)! I managed to get three back, but it still sucks ass. I’ve also already been to see my GP for more meds – she knew what had happened coz the hospital called her a couple of times, about my history and my meds etc. Man they’re such morons – they got my overdose so wrong it’s not funny, but I’m not about to tell them how much and what I really did take! I thought they would’ve checked via a blood test, but they just guessed! Idiots!
… But all that actually seems like forever ago. I don’t know what will happen next, but if I’m not around for a while it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Unless, of course, I don’t update for a long time. My thoughts are with Catena at the moment, and I’m just struggling to live day to day.