Since L was admitted, our relationship seems to have deteriorated. I was glad she at least made a choice about her treatment and I have tried to respect that. It isn’t easy to sit at mealtimes watching the clock, but we do it. However, L has gone from being able to eat meals reasonably well at home to struggling with anything. Because we follow the unit routine, she only needs to wait thirty minutes, and the food goes in the bin.
On her unexpected weekend at home, she manages ok refried bean redecoration notwithstanding. On a lunchtime visit after a dentist visit, she eats scarcely nothing. She doesn’t even try. And this evening at home, as part of her afternoon leave she eats a spoonful of potato and some peas, plus the strawberry garnish on the lemon shortbreads I made excitedly, still stupidly believing something I prepare with care and love might make her eat. It doesn’t.. She sits while I beg. She sits while K begs. She pulls at her hair and stares at the floor and nothing happens. The food goes in the bin. Except the chicken, which goes to the cats. They at least feel as if they have won. Along with Ed.
But even worse, I stop caring. I feel too ill. After nearly four weeks off, I need to get better and get back to work. And that will never happen while I have to deal with L’s illness. It has gone too far, the screaming sense of failure is too strong and too loud. Nothing I do makes any difference. So I have decided to do nothing. Perhaps she might eat for her father or The Boyfriend. They can deal with it. There is nothing left of L any more it seems, only anorexia. And I don’t want anorexia in the house any more. I have had enough. I am closing the door and closing my heart. Because it’s Ed or me. And K needs me well again, even if L doesn’t.