An obsession with food and being thin underlies everything in my life. The successes and failures in my journey are detailed here with the other ups and downs of my life in general. Politically incorrect proana prose and rants are scattered throughout and I hope to share my experiences and maybe entertain some of you.
Monday, December 19, 2011
losing it COMPLETELY
Firstly, thank you to Princess perfection for your lovely comment on my last blog entry. Secondly, I deeply apologise for the hundreds and thousands of blog entries I've been doing lately. I don't normally post every day (or more often than that), but recently a LOT has been happening in my emotional world for some reason.
It would appear that I'm sometimes seized by moments of absolute madness. Such as this morning when the professor caught me off guard with a meeting. I was just popping by his office and popped my head round to say hi. Which quickly turned into tea and a discussion about my eating. From my last post you can probably tell that my weekend didn't go that well. And I told him this.
Which of course leads to discussion and I cried in front of him again. Apparently I'm making a habit of this and I'm not proud. I swore I would not ever cry in front of a supervisor and I've cried in front of this one twice. When my self esteem is being discussed, I just disintegrate. He tells me that several people have been talking to him about my weight. I don't see a difference at all. In my eyes, I still look exactly the same. I'm amazed that people think I've lost enough weight for them to concern themselves over it.
He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I balk at the question. He knows the answer already.
"You should have a boyfriend. I would have thought that someone as pretty and intelligent and caring as you would have had lots of boyfriends. Do you not think you're pretty enough to have a boyfriend?"
The question sends me reeling backwards. It's not one I expected. Also, it took my best friend a good 5 years to work out that as the reason for me not wanting a relationship so for the professor to just spit it out like that stunned me. I'm still stunned. And a bit worried about how easy I am to read.
He is the only person I can't hold it together for. The way he looks at me just calls to some part of me and everything just comes flooding out. At some point in the conversation I feel like he's getting far too worked up about my eating. QUICK! DISTRACT HIM! is what my brain tells me to do. Without thinking, I say that my eating isn't a big deal, it's not what worries me the most. BIG MISTAKE.
The expression on the professor's face becomes totally unreadable and he stops mid sentence. He demands to know what worries me more. The new look on his face makes me literally squirm in my seat. I'm writhing around, twisting my hands, not looking at him. Slowly, and with much trepidation, all I can manage to say is:
"Well...there is the self harm...the cutting."
Something in the professor snaps upon hearing this. I can see in his eyes that he has lost all self control and he looks at me in complete disbelief. He doesn't say anything and in my utter folly I try to fill the silence and start rambling on about it and how it's not that much of a big deal. I talk about cutting my forearm and he immediately grabs it and looks for scars. I show him the cuts on my thighs and the heart of my chest. I talk about the cuts on my abdomen that I can't show him because of my dress.
Now there is a completely new dimension to his expression, which I'm studying with my heart in my mouth. If I didn't know better I would call it panic.
"That's crazy. That's absolutely crazy. It's just not normal at all. What's to say that next time you won't do something stupid like cut your wrists? You need help, you need to get help now!"
I'm scared now I've never seen him like this. He's not exactly angry, although it almost sounds like it. But his voice, his face, his manner, he's lost all self control now. If I were an outsider looking in, or if I were watching two other people in the exact same situation, I would say that he was rather scared and panicking and blurting out the frightening thoughts that raced across his mind because the shock had eliminated his ability to filter them. But I can't quite believe this of the professor. What he says next upsets me no end. It's along the lines of, my behaviour is completely mental and sick and he can't work with anyone this sick. There is so much judgement in it that I don't even bother trying to explain.
He's almost climbing over his desk to look at my cuts more clearly, pointing out parts where I have cut deeper. Slowly but surely, some of his composure returns. I start working in another city next year on Jan 4. That weekend, I am coming back and he is going to take me on a long walk to discuss how I am going to get help. He's forcing me to get therapy.
"People look back [at suicides] and say, oh that thing they did was a cry for help and wish that they'd done something about it. Well I'm hearing your cry for help and I'm going to do something."
Man, he's going to be PISSED when I kill myself.
I'm not entirely sure how to interpret all this. But I'm certainly beyond the point of no return now. The professor knows absolutely everything now. I don't even want to think about what he thinks of me now. He clearly thinks I'm an absolute nutcase. He can't possibly want to work with me now. I'm just waiting for him to wash his hands of me soon. He can throw me into therapy and then disown me.