I had to go and get a new birth certificate today. My old one had somehow ripped, despite living safely in my very special adult responsibility folder. Given that it’s as old as I am, I guess it aged just as well as I have.

Fittingly, my body felt like it was disintegrating along with it as I went to pick up the new one.

The Existentialism of Proving I Exist

It’s strange how, even at 41, you still have to periodically prove you exist. I don’t have credit — because giving someone with Bipolar Disorder a credit card is a terrible idea — and I don’t drive or leave the country due to my disabilities. The DVLA would absolutely not let me behind the wheel, and frankly, based on my track record in video games, that’s ABSOLUTELY for the best.

I am, without fail, a menace to NPC society in every open-world game. My driving usually results in fiery explosions, vehicular chaos, or falling through the map entirely because I zoned out for a second. If Cyberpunk 2077’s NPCs had voting rights, they’d start a petition to keep me away from all motor vehicles. Thankfully, Night City doesn’t have democracy.

Because I don’t have a driver’s license or credit history, proving I exist always comes with an underlying sense of existential dread. What if they can’t find me in the system? Do I even exist? Will I become stateless? Will I be erased from the UK like I’m in a Black Mirror episode? Thanks, brain.

Luckily, I found out that birth certificates can be issued the same day, which saved me from waiting indefinitely for the one I ordered from the Passport Office (which, of course, still hasn’t arrived). At least I could physically go and pick this one up.

Or so I thought — until I realised I had no idea where this place was. The last time I went to the Register Office, I was registering my sons birth 20 years ago, but, it had moved across the city since then.

That meant relying on Apple Maps, which comes with it’s own anxiety. The last time I used Apple Maps to find a Jellycat shop (of course), it led me down an alley and straight into a brick wall. Apparently, it assumed I could quantum tunnel through solid matter to the other side. Unfortunately, being the size of a human and not the size of a quanta of light, this was not possible — even with a running start.

But First, Coffee.

Since I had to wake up ridiculously early to deal with this existential adult admin, I definitely needed my Tassimo Americano first. Waking up with depression and an eating disorder already leaves me exhausted before the day even starts, and today, I had to somehow find the strength to complete my “proving I exist” mission.

I’d smashed my favourite coffee mug last week, but while I was in Asda, I found a really pretty rainbow glass star mug. Ever since replacing my old one, I’ve actually looked forward to my morning coffee again — it’s just so pretty. I even bought a backup mug yesterday, just in case I break this one too.

Because, let’s be real — with my joints, it’s only a matter of time.

I have joint issues, which means smashing things is a common occurrence. My joints randomly give way without warning, especially when I’m holding something heavy. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve spilled the kettle, dropped glasses, or sent mugs flying. My mental health isn’t stable, and neither are my joints.

I sat there, nursing my coffee in its really pretty mug, hugging my Jellycat cow, and Googling the directions to the office while waiting for their call. The area looked so picturesque on Street View, so I figured I’d take my Jellycat bee for emotional support and maybe even snap a few photos. After all, people get married at this place, and well, Jellycats are basically my spouses.

Midway through eating my protein bar (a choice I would regret more than anything later), my phone rang.

After paying £38.50 to prove I exist, I was told I could pick up my birth certificate after 12pm. I was actually shocked at how smooth and efficient the process had been so far.

Of course, my body would take care of adding stress very soon. After battling with Corrupted Clippy – my eating disordered thoughts – while getting dressed because of it’s ridiculous opinions I was finally ready to leave the house and make the trek to acquire my certificate.

I Walk Through the Valley in the Shadow of My Digestive System

I was actually doing well with Apple Maps, despite its creative navigation choices, when I felt it — a terrible doom approaching. My digestion has been a disaster for years. If I eat before activity, all hell breaks loose. No walking, no cleaning, no functioning.

I thought I was safe with a protein bar, since ANY carbs WHATSOEVER in the morning guarantee destruction, but I was very VERY wrong.

The symptoms hit me in the same way a runaway train would: sudden, labour-level cramps, nausea, acid reflux searing through my chest, shoulder, and left arm (full heart attack cosplay), violent bloating, belching, and the dreaded mass evacuation protocol. Oh no I am in TROUBLE, once it starts, it lasts for hours.

But I needed that birth certificate. I pushed through — stopping every few minutes because the pain knocked the air out of me. Passing the hospital, I genuinely wondered if I should go inside instead.

Despite all of this, I somehow made it there. I was relieved to sit in the waiting area, finally doubled over in agony. Of course, the one time I wanted slow service, they were absurdly efficient. I did wonder if I should wait there a few more minutes because I might need a death certificate at some point. But I grabbed my trophy of participation and left, hoping that moving slowly would help.

Oh it really did NOT.

I tried taking photos and little videos of Beean Beeale the Jellycat bee in the pretty surroundings, but I was in too much agony to enjoy it. The walk home stretched endlessly, stopping every few minutes, holding everything in, my entire body in full mutiny.

But I made it. After spending a large amount of time in the bathroom, I collapsed with my birth certificate, blankets, and hot water bottles, waiting for the next few hours of digestive exorcism to finally end. Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The Curse of the Pea and Ham Soup

After hours of begging for mercy, regretting my life choices, and wondering if all my organs were still accounted for, I had another decision to make: to eat or not to eat. Corrupted Clippy was having an absolute field day in my brain, gleefully pointing out that I now had a legitimate reason not to.

But it was 6 pm, and I had been out, moving around, existing against my body’s will. The only thing that had fuelled me all day was half a protein bar — the same protein bar that caused this entire disaster. I needed to eat something. I chose soup. A safe choice. Half a can, nothing excessive. Pea and ham, extra Himalayan salt to replace everything my body had violently expelled over the course of the day. It made sense. It was logical. It was the correct decision.

It was NOT the correct decision.

I had barely finished before the betrayal began. Less than twenty minutes after eating, the symptoms started creeping in, slowly at first, then with an intensity that made me regret every decision leading to this moment. My initial pride at having done what was best for me despite Clippy’s warnings quickly turned into regret for not listening. Why does Clippy have to be right so often when it comes to my body? Why does my body have to be like this in the first place?

The cramps were worse than before, as if my gut had taken the earlier attack as a warm-up. My son took one look at me, declared me a biohazard, and evacuated faster than the soup did. There was no saving this. My digestive system had decided it wasn’t done with me yet, despite the fact that there was nothing left to get rid of.

I don’t know where I stand with food anymore. I needed to eat, and I did, but now I feel worse. It’s a constant battle between what I know is right and what my body is willing to tolerate. I am exhausted, curled up with a heat pack that isn’t doing its job, and debating whether I should ever trust soup again.

One thing is absolutely certain: I have figured out, over and over again, that I cannot eat at all in the morning if I have to be even slightly active. I’ve tried, I’ve tested, I’ve hoped for a different outcome, and every single time, my body has made it painfully clear that it will not allow food and movement to coexist.

And yet, all I did was walk. I didn’t run a marathon. I wasn’t pushing my body to its limits. I walked. So why did my digestive system decide I needed to have a full Paula Radcliffe moment when I wasn’t trying to be Paula Radcliffe?

It doesn’t make sense. It never has. And yet here I am, once again, curled up in digestive ruin, betrayed by soup, questioning everything I thought I knew about how a human body is supposed to function.

This Wasn’t What I Planned When I Had the Idea for This Post

When I woke up this morning, I thought this post would be about my trip to pick up my birth certificate. After my last post, and given that I’m still very much depressed, I figured writing about it would be a distraction. Maybe it would help. I’d share how Beean Beeale and I went somewhere pretty despite everything. I could write about the fact that, even while feeling like this, I still got out of the house and did something.

I even started writing this post before I left the house. I had NO IDEA my day would turn into this.

That’s the thing about having hope when you have a body that doesn’t function properly. It just laughs at you for even trying, releases noxious gases as punishment, and throws in searing pain for good measure. If my body could talk, it would have spent today laughing in my face while physically assaulting me.

In a way, it was still a distraction — just in the WORST possible way. I still have no idea how I managed to get my birth certificate, but somehow I did. My body, however, has officially declared itself exit-only, so I won’t be risking any more food today. I’m going to need a few days to recover.

This is exactly why recovery from my eating disorder is so difficult. Between this mess and my blood sugar issues I have legitimate reasons at times, not to eat. And this issue? It’s much worse at a healthy weight. My eating disorder had nothing to do with today, but ironically, I would have done better if I had listened to it. That’s the absolute truth of the matter.

This isn’t my mental illness talking. It’s not Clippy in my brain making sarcastic suggestions. It’s a fact. If I had restricted today, I would have had the distraction I wanted. I would have been able to be in the moment with Beean posing in the pretty scenery. I would have looked at those giant trees and appreciated them instead of watching the video later, while praying for mercy in my bathroom.

Instead, it was a horrible distraction — a reminder that it’s not just my mental health that is abnormal, but my physical health too. I’m exhausted from everything. At least Beean had the good day I imagined for myself.

I’ll be spending the rest of the evening in hibernation mode — wrapped in blankets, heat packs, and sipping electrolytes while waiting for my body to finally accept that this is over.

It has to be over. There can’t be ANYTHING left.

My brain went straight to the Lego Movie for the song for this post. It’s perfect.
Everything’s not awesome
Things can’t be awesome all of the time
It’s an unrealistic expectation
But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try
To make everything awesome
In a less idealistic kind of way
We should maybe aim for not bad
‘Cause not bad, right now well that would be real great