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Sorry for my post yesterday. It’s very triggering to talk about weight, even if you don’t mention numbers. So, I’m very sorry.

Still, someone send me one of those things where you have to answer loads of questions and then tag other people? D’you know what I mean? I haven’t seen any recently actually…

Anyway, trying to keep occupied otherwise I feel like I’ll fall apart. Another life lost in the war against EDs. Just means we all need to fight harder.

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Bits and Bobs

So, this is how I looked when I woke up:


And this is how I looked after I had been weighed:



It’s silly. I hadn’t even gained weight, just maintained. But that bit of me is just screaming LOSE LOSE LOSE, and I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore.

But that all seems like complete crap now. More important things are going on.

I just found out, via FaceBook, that one of friends has died.

We may not always have seen eye-to-eye at times and you certainly had a cruel tongue when you wanted, but I always hoped something would change for you. To be honest, as awful as this sounds, I’m not surprised. When I first looked at you, I knew I’d hear about your funeral. I hoped and hoped and hoped that something would change.

Despite the fact that you seemed to despise me about 50% of the time (for no reason I can fathom, except we were probably the two lightest people there and I was ‘competition’), I really liked you Luci. I desperately wanted you to like me back. And you were a beautiful, generous girl. A lot of the time, all I could see was your ED, but when I caught those glimpses… you had a lot to give.

It’s not like we were mega close, but I’ll never ever forget you. And I always loved you. I always wanted to be liked by you. It was probably cringy how much I tried to get you to like me back. But that’s what it was like. I wanted you, not your ED.

But, I’m not gonna lie: bitching about the nurses on those nights we couldn’t sleep was always good fun. And I’m glad that I taught you to knit (or was it crochet?). Maybe I gave you something.

RIP, darling. You don’t have to fight any longer.

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A Meh Kind of Day

This is what I look like today:



It’s not quite right, but it’s almost there. Part despairing, but mainly frustrated.(And I hope I don’t have such a childish pout) I have all these things that I want to do, and things that I have to do and the ONE thing I was going to spend FIVE hours doing?

Zilch. No hours at all.

Anyone feel like you’re a waste of space on the planet? I really do believe it sometimes, even though I’m simultaneously aware that it’s my probably mentally screwed up brain coming up with it. My parents lives would be so much freer. I’m not saying that they wouldn’t be traumatised and everything for the rest of their lives, but they could do SO MUCH MORE.

Mr Mediator would be able to travel. It’s what’s in his blood, what he’s wanted to do his whole life. He spent his whole childhood travelling and it runs in his veins. The happiest I have EVER seen him is when he’s in Asia (he was brought up in Hong Kong). The first time I saw him cry was getting off the train at Heathrow after our one visit to HK. He has a skipper qualification and wants to sail round Britain. He wants to walk Lands End to John o ‘ Groats. He wants to swim and cycle and run and be elsewhere and not be in a position where he can come home at the drop of a hat in a ‘crisis.’

Dr Feline is slightly different. She likes a home life. But she likes seeing friends and that has always to be worked out so I have to tail along too. And she loves spending hours in the garden when I just want to sleep, and I’m not allowed alone in the house, so… I wouldn’t mind sleeping outside but she says it will give me pressure sores. How can you get pressure sores from half an hour lying down? She could work harder (not necessarily a good thing, but she wants to do it), she could go back to running a children’s group.


I’m not dim. I just think that in the midst of the trauma there would be life. And hope. At the moment we’re at a stand still: figuratively doing doggy paddle in a stagnant pond. It’s disgusting, we all hate it, and want out.

It’s me that’s gotta do it.

And I don’t want to, or can’t depending which way you look at it. I still can’t quite believe that this is an illness.

Sorry for being morbid. The black dog of depression has been biting me damn hard since January and I’m getting tired to keep on fighting.



Everyone else – keep going! Ignore me – life is the way to go 🙂 Up and up and up!

dbsgirl x

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First Date

Sorry I haven’t been around for a while – I’ll catch up on all your blogs soon. Had a very… er, crisis ridden week or so. No time (physical or mental) to do anything other than lie in a variety of different beds (varying comfortableness too!)

Anyway, here I am – and I’ll catch up with you all soon.


So, today was the day of my First Date. Last time I was completely stood up, and never heard from back from him. I have moved onto someone else. I may sound like a slut, and I probably am. People can think that about me if they want me.

Truth is: I don’t think I’m going to live that long, so I want to do a little living before I die. So, I met another guy on the internet straight away, and boldly asked to meet up shortly after meeting him. Mr Mediator and a support worker sat in the shop too, and I was upfront about that; saying my Mr Mediator wanted to be there because he was a ‘random’ from the internet.

So, plus side: he turned up!
New Guy: 1
Old Guy: 0


He seemed nice. I knew, like, nothing at all about him before.

Stuff what I know now:
– He went to uni at Plymouth where he was brought up, and did a BA and MA in sound technology
– He works as a chef, which he’s cool with even doing 12 hour shifts
– He lives with his sister (older) and a mate
– He was married at eighteen (!) and divorced at nineteen (!!)
– He’s in a band: lead vocals and guitar
– He used to own a motorbike
– He doesn’t have a car, but really likes cycling
– He’s currently reading ‘The Subtle Knife’ by Philip Pullman
– He likes ska, big band, indie, folk type stuff
– He plays guitar and drums, and stared teaching himself the fiddle three weeks ago
– He writes songs, and is planning to strike out on his own a bit
– He has a pierced eyebrow
– He has arm tattoos
– He’s lots taller than me and has nice sunglasses
– He doesn’t like Costa, and only drinks their ‘most pretentious coffee,’ some specific thing I’d never heard of
– He can do fire stick
– He recommended me a band that I think was called ‘The Cats’ Emporium’ (need to look up)

It was an odd experience. I had too much of my drink (I know how much 200ml goes up to on the latte cups and I had more because it seemed too rude to leave that much, and then I had to restrict for the rest of the day.) I guess it was nice. I think he was nice. What do I have to compare against? But although it was my only ever date, it wasn’t real. No one would ever go out with me for real.

I know he was only in it for the money.

Judge me all you like.



I’ll catch up with you all soon.

Peace out: dbsgirl xx

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lamb uno

The first three lambs have been born: two yesterday and one overnight. They are absolutely beautiful, so tiny and sweet. I love them. It’d be lush to bottle feed, but you only do that when something goes wrong (obviously), so I actually don’t want that to happen.

Three down, and at least three to go!

lambs uno dos