Asked my psychiatrist what psychosis meant yesterday, as she wanted to start me on a very low dose anti-psychotic. I think my face did something like this 😳 (Probably doesn’t help that I just read American Psycho.) It’s none of those things. Nothing bad or dangerous necessarily. Just a detachment from reality. We all have that sometimes, that feeling of ‘this isn’t real’, perhaps after a family tragedy. Or you can believe you’re the Queen of England & the honey bees are out to kill you. Made me think about how my eating disorder’s voice changed my reality, before I was able to recognise & even fight it.
I had lost 2 stone, & was just slightly underweight for my height. But I couldn’t sit in a chair with arms. I wouldn’t fit. I remember wheeling the chair out of the office & working at the computer kneeling up on the floor. Getting into bed was tricky, as it might break from my weight if I put too much pressure on one area. I knew everyone around me ate 3 meals a day & needed at least 2000 calories, but I didn’t. That was far too much. I’d be horrified & worried if a friend told me they were self-harming but it made sense for me, because I deserved it, & it didn’t matter to harm this body of mine.
Everything was nice & black & white then. I was in my own reality. Where this 3-dimensional mass of flesh tried to rid itself of the world & make everything simple. I was the ‘me’ inside the flesh – I wanted just to be thoughts, lines instead of shapes, shadowless, soundless.
Now the colours return. And the noise & the body. I don’t want want this reality. But I can’t survive without it. I don’t know what’s real. And that’s more than a little freaky. At least things used to be simple, even if it wasn’t real.