A disease for life?

People often say that eating disorders never really go away; people just learn to manage them. Well from my own experience this has some truth. I used to think that this would mean that I'd forever be consciously resisting it and never satisfied with the way things were, but I was wrong. I call myself fully recovered now because I think I'm as recovered as I'm ever going to be. I'm as recovered as I need to be. My eating disorder doesn't affect my day-to-day life any more. It hasn't since I dropped out of school. Not at all. But there is undeniably still the urge to give in to that anorexic voice.

Sometimes I'm triggered by something - it doesn't even need to be big - and all of a sudden I get that feeling back of needing to control my world. Suddenly I'm planning to go running, skip meals and start throwing up my food again and I won't lie, I love how it makes me feel. But it never lasts long; a minute at the most. It doesn't last because with a knee-jerk reaction I remind myself of where that road leads and how happy I am day-to-day without the need for weight loss.

Back when I was at the beginning of my recovery, I was talking to someone who had recovered from anorexia and bulimia. She told me that she still had to keep herself in check so as not to return to her old ways. At the time it sounded like the most impossible thing in the world. How could I possibly just ignore those urges? Somehow I found a way =]

A quick catch up.

Wow, it's been nearly two months since I last posted. I suppose I haven't really had anything to say because on the whole things are going really well for me.

For a number of reasons, one being my health, I decided to take my exams next year instead of this year so I can have an extra year studying. As a result I've not been at school since about a week before easter. The free time has allowed me to focus on my health and, lo and behold, I can eat. For the first time in god knows how long I actually look forward to and enjoy meal times. Food has become an ordinary part of life at last. I no longer have to dread situations in which I have to eat around friends. I no longer have to trick myself into thinking I'm eating enough when knowing full well that I'm not. I aboslutely love it.

So I turned 18 in April and celebrated with my girl friends. In England, turning 18 means that you're legally allowed to buy alcohol and I'm not gonna lie, I do love the freedom this gives me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a raging alcoholic or anything. I don't even like getting drunk. I tried it once and it didn't agree with me so I only stick to what I can handle, which for me is about 2 large glasses of wine. Personally I don't understand why people enjoy getting really drunk, especially with the dreadful hangovers people describe. Perhaps they enjoy feeling so out of control. To me it's just scary. But I love being able to go into a pub with friends and order a glass of wine at the bar. Ahhh simple freedoms.

The power of music

Music has been an enormous part of my life for as long as I can remember. As a child I sang and played a little piano and as a teenager I sang and played flute, guitar and ukulele. I also came across songs that spoke to me in all kinds of ways, lyrically and musically. Here are just a small selection of songs that I have found that really helped me in thinking positively. Though encouragement in eating disorder recovery may not have been their intended meaning, that's the meaning I have attatched to them and that is what they will always mean to me.

Selena Gomez & The Scene - Who says?

Jessie J - Who you are

P!nk - F**ing Perfect

Barlow Girl - Mirror

Superchic[k] - Stand in the rain

Colbie Caillat - It stops today

Eminem - Not Afraid

Christina Aguilera - Fighter

Natasha Bedingfield - Recovery

And my all time favourite:
The Strange Familiar - Courage is

A short story.

I started writing this story one day after having been inspired by a little thinking session I had. Often when I'm at school, if I need a little space to think I go and sit on the concrete floor up against a wall outside. There are plenty of benches around but there's something about being on the floor that makes me feel more invisible (though actually I suppose it makes me stick out like a sore thumb). So anyway, one day I was sitting in my usual spot looking up at the sky and feeling pretty down and then something about my trail of thoughts actually made me positive again. It was something about the people who passed by, something about the rain and something about the flow of thoughts that I had. I'd never before had such a dramatic change of heart in such a short space of time. So I was inspired to write this story. It's taken a long time to finish and I really hope it's not triggering. I didn't write it with any triggering intentions. It seems a little disjointed to me... maybe it's not that good. But tell me what you think anyway. It doesn't have a name. Enjoy!

Her face numb from cold and blank from bitterness, she sits cross-legged on the ground; solid concrete. She's been leaning stiffly against a brick wall for the past hour, not shifting her position once, watching the people walk by absorbed in their own ends. A small ginger cat watches her from a ledge on the wall of the multi-story car-park behind her as she reaches up a hand to brush the dark hair out of her dark eyes and looks up at the dark sky. It's dark grey; the colour so often observed on the streets of London and in the English skies. As she ponders the texture of the pregnant clouds, she reflects; the bringer of rain is, to one, a discomfort, but, to another, a cause for celebration. She remembers images of those in third world countries walking for miles to reach a water supply. Now that's put my problems into perspective.

She jumps as the phone in the pocket of her jeans vibrates for the sixteenth time since she left the clinic. The whole world is after her it seems. All she wanted was for them to leave her alone. That's why she ran away. Can't they take a hint?

The ginger cat approaches her, padding softly over the tangled grass and weaving carefully through filthy discarded food and drink wrappers. She holds out her hand for the cat to sniff and it rushes forwards expectantly but after realising she has no food it turns away, pausing for a scratch behind the ears before investigating a nearby MacDonald's wrapper.

“Sorry kitty, I don't really do food”

Her eyes follow the cat's movements but her mind is elsewhere; back in the clinic where she's been for the past four months, abandoned by her parents and forced to gain weight, dreaming of freedom, of starvation, of bones...

Was it worth it?

She shakes her head; she won't let herself think such things. She needs thin like she needs oxygen... doesn't she? Besides, eating makes her feel sick. It's become a daily routine of begging and pleading with her nurses to let her get away with less; less food, less effort... She's glad to escape. Recovery? Too difficult. Not happening. Stick me in a hospital and leave me to rot, I'm not gonna get any better!

A group of young teenagers turn the corner onto the street where she sits. They pass her by without a glance as though she's part of the concrete. But they smile and laugh and their faces reflect nought but pure youthful happiness. It takes her by surprise; it's been so long since she herself felt anything so beautiful. She'd forgotten it was possible to experience anything other than depression. She tries to remember being truly happy, searching through memories of starvation and tears, back through the months of therapy, through solitary school lunch times and dizzying, punishing exercise routines. She goes back to before the divorce, before her dad moved away, before the hours spent crying in her room listening to the sound of arguing, her world falling apart...

She was twelve years old. It was the last day of term before the summer holidays and they'd been let out of school early. The sun was shining for the first time in weeks and as she walked out of the school gates, arms linked with her best friends, tiny droplets of rain began to fall. Her friends complained. She just laughed. Nothing could spoil her mood, not that day. She breathed in the sweet, summer-rain scented air and knew in that moment that however hard it rained, however cold it became, nothing could alter the freedom she felt and the sheer joy in her heart. Surrounded by friends, free from the demands of school after so long, she was happy.

But the world is different now. She is different. She doesn't know how to feel happy again. As she'd discovered more and more about the world, it had only disappointed her, scared her and made her feel guilty. Wasn't it Aristotle who said that to perceive is to suffer?

She'd thought about ending her life before, feeling that life simply could not get any worse. She'd decided that if it ever came to it she would take her dad's gun and shoot herself in the head. That had to be the quickest, least painful way to do it. She'd even sneaked into her dad's bedroom once and just stared for hours at the wooden box containing his hunting gun. It had a large padlock keeping it shut but she happened to know where he kept the key. She'd thought at the time of Hamlet's soliloquy

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

That's one thing she does enjoy about the world; Shakespeare. Shakespeare and Jane Austin and Tim Burton films and the music of Take That. She laughs inwardly at herself. See, it is possible to like something about life.

The ginger cat it creeping towards her again, eyes trained on a long twig she has been playing with absent-mindedly. She holds the twig still, watching as the cat draws slowly nearer. She marvels at the animal's beauty; such an aesthetically pleasing creature though essentially a ruthless hunter. She's always thought of cats as manipulative little things; enjoying the luxuries that result from staying with humans but coming and going as they please. Dogs are dependent like small children, and cats are independent like teenagers. She moves the stick suddenly and the ginger cat pounces, clinging on to it as she continues to wiggle it. A small smile spreads its way across her mouth as the cat stares intently at the moving twig, trying to hold it still with its velvet paws.

Her minds strays again, this time to the cat that used to live across the road from her when she was still in primary school. It was a timid little thing. She used to go looking for it outside with her little sister skipping along behind her. They'd almost always find it hiding in the big bushes round the corner, eyes wide and fearful, back arched. Her sister had tired of it fairly early on, realising it never came out to be stroked or cuddled. But she had sat by the bush for what felt like hours at a time just talking to the animal about... whatever children talk about. She liked to imagine it could understand her and was answering her back. She had been happy then too; aged six or seven, talking to a scared cat about the world as seen through a child's eyes. She had been happy.

A couple of months ago she met a boy who'd recovered from anorexia. He'd been brought into the hospital in an attempt to inspire us. He said that he used to think happiness wasn't possible any more; that It was something for children to enjoy and depression was just a part of getting older. Until he'd recovered of course. She remembers his words “The real battle was learning how to be happy. It's a skill. It's choosing to live life and experience everything it has to offer. That's the real way out of anorexia” She hadn't been willing to listen beck then, but now she's so sick and tired of feeling the way she does. Her body aches all over and she doesn't even have anywhere to go. Perhaps it's time to let go?

She is startled out of her day-dream by a drop of water landing on her nose. She looks up to see the few tiny droplets turn into a downpour within the space of a few seconds. In moments, her hair is soaked through but all she can do is smile at the twelve year old in her past; so optimistic, so in love with life. What's stopping me from embracing the rain like I did before? She stands up slowly, steadying herself on the wall behind. “Nothing”. She says the word out loud. She runs forwards and the cat follows her across the road, through an alley and out into a park filled with the sound of rustling leaves. The rain beats down on her head and she smiles, wishing she had the twelve year old in front of her now, needing to embrace her; to thank her. She sprints to the middle of the field, stumbling as she pulls off her trainers and socks. The grass beneath her feet is cool and forgiving and she stares up at the sky with wonder. This is what life is for. It's for the exhilaration of running barefoot in the pouring rain with a confused cat and a smile on your face.

The phone in her pocket vibrates again. She picks it up almost immediately

“Mum? I'm going back to the hospital.”

A permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Today I'm going to talk a little bit about suicide. Sombre topic, I know, but it's a topic that has recently been a huge part of my life. I'm not suicidal, don't worry. No, I'm full of the joys of living at present. Unfortunately a close friend of mine isn't so positive these days and I often find myself thinking about her and aching inside at the thought of losing her.

It was about two months ago that she tried to end it. I wanted so badly for her to pick herself back up, dust herself off and learn to be happy; but through talking to her I've come to accept the fact that it was never going to be that simple. I suppose I should have known; I'm no stranger to suicidal thoughts. I just think of this particular friend so dearly and hate the thought that she's hurting. I worry every time I say goodbye to her that I'll never talk to her again; never hear her voice or see her face or cause that laugh I've come to know so well. I prepare myself for the news that she's tried again and this time succeeded.

I know this friend will be reading this... I just want you to know that whatever happens, I'll be here. I'm honoured that you even consider me a friend - you're actually that amazing. I know that as long as we both walk this earth there's not a single thing that could break us apart for good. The only thing I'm scared of is if one of us leaves this earth...

Look at me, getting all emotional. I love you girl; that's all I can say.

xxxx

A challenge

So I'm supposed to be doing coursework right now...

I just wanted to post a positive message for everyone out there struggling at the moment with an eating disorder or with anything else.

Sometimes life can test us in all kinds of ways, and it can seem mighty tempting to lay down our swords and give up hope. When we've picked ourselves up for the hundredth time and still we find ourselves falling back down it's difficult to see the point in carrying on. You're exhausted, you're in pain and you're scared. You want nothing more than to rest for a while. I dare you to keep going.

That's right. I dare you to challenge yourself one more time. Just once more. I dare you to push yourself up and try again (as the old saying goes, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again"). Now stop reading. Find the song called "One More" by Superchic[k] and listen to it.

Still not convinced? You may be wondering whether the fight will be worth it. I'm here to tell you as one of a growing number of recovered eating disorder patients out there that the fight is worth it. I'm by no means the only one who says so. Now stop reading. Find the song "Everybody's free to wear sunscreen" By Quindon Tarver and listen to it. This is life. Want to live it?

Perhaps you're worried that you won't be able to lift yourself up. You want to but you're afriad. You feel like a small child afriad of the storm outside. Though rationally you know there's no reason to be afraid you sinply can't help it. I know the feeling. And this is why your friends and family are there to support you. They are there to carry some of the burden and to make you feel safe. Now stop reading. Find the song "Lullaby for a stormy night" by Vienna Teng.

I want to leave you with a song that has literally helped me through an awful lot of mealtimes. I hope it can do the same for you. It's called "courage is" by The Strange Familiar.

Well I hope I helped in some way. Much love xxxx

A life of stress?

It's saturday afternoon, a fairly nice day outside for England, and I find myself sitting in front of the computer trying and failing to understand and write my maths coursework. This year I've tried hard not to get myself stressed over school work; I mean, what's the point of it? Really? I enjoy learning, it's true. But learning is something we do naturally, do we really need to be forced into it? Does this coursework really mean anything? It's dull and it's pointless in every sense of the word. I'm not demonstrating any understanding in it at all. It's one of those paint by numbers things; we're given the mark scheme with a breakdown of exactly where every mark comes from. The last peice we did like this I got 17/18. Where did I drop the mark? Well I found an unusual, novel demonstration of a point instead of sticking to the expected demonstration. Exams in England are such rubbish.

From such a young age it's drilled into us that to be anything, anything at all, we have to study. Intelligence is power it seems. And I suppose that's true. It's the clever people who become "successful" and with success comes influence. But how many "successful" people do you see who are truely happy? Not many I bet. Sure, there's a lot to be said for job satisfaction but I honestly think that a job is what you make of it. I work part time in a small independent supermarket. It's not the most challenging of jobs and it's very repeptitive, but I look forward to going and not just because I know I'm going to be paid.

My point really is that it's easy to get stressed out by everything you feel you should do but that's not the only way to live. Often people who lead stressful lives are striving towards something; they want the fleeting happiness that they get from feeling successful, from feeling admired and from feeling useful. But sometimes the stress just isn't worth it. I've said before that it's my belief that happiness is a choice and I suppose this is what I was talking about. You can get yourself stressed out or you can enjoy the ride - after all, we only live once. When you're old and grey and you look back over your time on this earth will you remember stress? Or will you be the person with the interesting stories of getting into scrapes and living as full a life as you could muster?