I dreamed that I was on a boat, but my quarters were exactly the same as the room in which I live now. For some reason I was entrusted with a tiny tiny puppy who could fit into my palm: about the same size as my (now much bigger) kitten Popoki was when I first got her. For some reason, I tied the puppy up under the bed and forgot about him for ages.
When I came back he was half starved. I had to wrench Popoki back from him to give him a chance to eat. Then, Mr Linguist found out that he got a job in Sweden, and the sky turned purple.
This was really meant to be a blog detailing how I was dealing with DBS, which Rebecca Park told me to do back in November. It was meant to be about weight gain and eating disorders and feelings and research.
It’s turned out kind of random.
I’m losing weight now. I can’t be bothered. I put in all that effort and I got nothing back for it. The DBS trial is no longer going forward FULL STOP; it’s not even a matter of waiting anymore. And I don’t feel physically any different at all – my cognition (memory particularly) is as crap as ever, I’m still tired, I’m not any physically stronger, I’m still struggling to move sometimes, still as many thoughts as before. So I got NOTHING from it.
I want to scream: THAT’S NOT FAIR at the world. But that’s childish, so I’m screaming it in my head, and losing weight. What’s the point anymore?
[I need to look back in my notes and see how much I weighed on my 24th Birthday; I’m guessing it will be about 2kg lower, and lower again on my 23rd… I know that looks positive, but it just feels like I’m even failing on the one thing that I know I CAN do. Ah well.]