(Un)comfortably Numb

There are a few things swirling through my head this morning and I need to get them out: 

1) I feel UNCOMFORTABLE in my skin today, clothes are digging in, they feel tighter, It feels like I have to hide my body, I body checked and 'feel' like a 'barrel' and bloated.

2) I feel UNCOMFORTABLE not being able to identify how I feel.

3) Everything feels a little NUMB.

*Yes, feelings are not facts, blah blah. I know this. 

As for the numbness. My best friend and I were trying to get our heads around this one over coffee yesterday morning. We're both on headmeds, and know that can make a difference to this. In taking out the high anxiety or low mood, they leave us both feeling a little middle-ground, a little, well numb. I can see why they're not always given to people recovering from anorexia though, as for every time they take the edge of anxiety - they take the edge of any motivation to see the NEED to eat more, exercise less or keep myself in 'check' with the lessons recovery taught me. 

But this numbness bothers me - and comforts me at the same time.

Reality is that to me, I am being lazy and greedy recently. I've exercised a lot less, not been for a run for more than two months, I've spent more time at home, doing things like watching TV or pottering around. This feels uncomfortable, but I struggle to find the motivation to put on my trainers or go out.

Don't gasp in horror or shock, it's obvious, but I still track calories more than I possibly should do. Recently, I've been more relaxed about seeing the total at the end of the day rise. A good thing you say? In my head it still isn't. Most people would tell me that I don't consume enough per-day, but in all honesty, I hate a) that it's a high as it is - but I don't know why? b) I honestly feel like I am a secret eater, because my weight isn't going down and c) I assume the secret eating 'tops up' and takes me to RDA. I wish sometimes I could just blurt out how much I eat, what I eat, my weight blah, because it would stop the hypothesise of others'. Yes, I still feel like this five years on. 

"But it's good that you put on weight" said the best friend yesterday...well, it STILL doesn't feel like that to me. It feels like, NOTHING. Numb. I don't want to lose, or gain or think about it. So I block it out. Probably not helpful, but what is? I guess it's helpful that I don't ACTUALLY know what I weigh - I stopped my monthly weigh-ins in November, so of by accident, sort of because I don't like seeing it go up. I am not in a dangerous BMI, I am not overweight. I give and shit and don't care at the same time. 

Many of you know that I went back for a few sessions at the EDU, well they've written suggesting that I DONT need the services, and need to decide my next move if anxiety is the issue. The private therapist I was seeing through my employer can't see me anymore - you only get 6 sessions. The general talking therapies counsellor told me I was too complex (it's how I ended up back at EDU). But the thing is, I can't be arse with any of it, because things are sort of comfortable.

But what niggles at me is that they're sort of comfortable, because they're comfortably numb.

Riding the recovery waves

I'm here, I'm still here, swimming, promise.

A few people have messaged me asking if I was okay, seeing how the new meds were going, checking that I'm still swimming forward. Thank you for reaching out, all of you. I've been riding waves. 

I'm still swimming, I'm still staying afloat, but it's not been plain sailing. There have been some rough seas and I'm not quiet out of the riptide yet. I'm just thankful, I guess, that I have the strength and skills to keep my stroke going through this. Navigating each wave as it hits me. 

So, what's going on in these waters? 

Well, the first few weeks on the headmeds saw me up and down, feeling emotional and paranoid. I thought I'd made the wrong choice to be honest, should an anti-anxiety drug REALLY be making me worry MORE about what people thought of me? I thought not. However, 50 days in, and I seem to have gotten used to them. Although, I really don't feel much different. I am still worried about the same things, still not fully confident in embracing challenges to anorexic rules, still worried about gaining weight and still not able to relax. 

I went for a session at my local well-being clinic, for some counselling -  that was part of the deal at the Doctors. I get meds and a booster shot of 'How do you feel about that..." And to be honest, blah, they were honest, given the therapy I had at the EDU, there was VERY little they could help me with. I think the word was, "too complex" with anxiety still so connected with the hangover of anorexia, that I was too much for their little brains! So, here goes the referral BACK to EDU. Hmmm. 

That is where I am at. Waiting for my assessment back at the clinic I swore I'd never walk back into. With a psychiatrist I haven't seen before, but am aware of. It all feels a little strange. Weird because I don't feel like I need to go there. Yes, my weight is lower than when I was last there - but am I in the same place? No way. I have bought a house, kept up work, been in a relationship for almost a year and I have been running and not running in balance. Much better.

On the outside. On the inside, underwater, what thoughts often creep up? Well, I worry about my imperfections still, I don't like not planning my food, I very rarely eat out, I still haven't let the boyfriend cook me dinner, I still count calories and worry about over-eating. I don't like change and I don't like surprises. I still worry about what people think of me, still don't like my body. I can be too thin and too fat at the same time. All of the above. In waves.

And that is how I am 'ok' and not at the same time. I am not drowning in anyone of those thoughts. They are not always at the front of my mind, but they come and go in waves. Splashing me in the face and making my nose tingle like when I used to somersault in the water as a little girl. It's little reminders that I haven't fully stepped out of the ocean and on to the shore - however close I get, I just stay in here for one more minute. Just in case.

Maybe this time, a little more help - and my beach hut, warm towel and ice cream cone will be ready at the other side. And I'll walk in and enjoy it? 

Riding the recovery waves

I'm here, I'm still here, swimming, promise.

A few people have messaged me asking if I was okay, seeing how the new meds were going, checking that I'm still swimming forward. Thank you for reaching out, all of you. I've been riding waves. 

I'm still swimming, I'm still staying afloat, but it's not been plain sailing. There have been some rough seas and I'm not quiet out of the riptide yet. I'm just thankful, I guess, that I have the strength and skills to keep my stroke going through this. Navigating each wave as it hits me. 

So, what's going on in these waters? 

Well, the first few weeks on the headmeds saw me up and down, feeling emotional and paranoid. I thought I'd made the wrong choice to be honest, should an anti-anxiety drug REALLY be making me worry MORE about what people thought of me? I thought not. However, 50 days in, and I seem to have gotten used to them. Although, I really don't feel much different. I am still worried about the same things, still not fully confident in embracing challenges to anorexic rules, still worried about gaining weight and still not able to relax. 

I went for a session at my local well-being clinic, for some counselling -  that was part of the deal at the Doctors. I get meds and a booster shot of 'How do you feel about that..." And to be honest, blah, they were honest, given the therapy I had at the EDU, there was VERY little they could help me with. I think the word was, "too complex" with anxiety still so connected with the hangover of anorexia, that I was too much for their little brains! So, here goes the referral BACK to EDU. Hmmm. 

That is where I am at. Waiting for my assessment back at the clinic I swore I'd never walk back into. With a psychiatrist I haven't seen before, but am aware of. It all feels a little strange. Weird because I don't feel like I need to go there. Yes, my weight is lower than when I was last there - but am I in the same place? No way. I have bought a house, kept up work, been in a relationship for almost a year and I have been running and not running in balance. Much better.

On the outside. On the inside, underwater, what thoughts often creep up? Well, I worry about my imperfections still, I don't like not planning my food, I very rarely eat out, I still haven't let the boyfriend cook me dinner, I still count calories and worry about over-eating. I don't like change and I don't like surprises. I still worry about what people think of me, still don't like my body. I can be too thin and too fat at the same time. All of the above. In waves.

And that is how I am 'ok' and not at the same time. I am not drowning in anyone of those thoughts. They are not always at the front of my mind, but they come and go in waves. Splashing me in the face and making my nose tingle like when I used to somersault in the water as a little girl. It's little reminders that I haven't fully stepped out of the ocean and on to the shore - however close I get, I just stay in here for one more minute. Just in case.

Maybe this time, a little more help - and my beach hut, warm towel and ice cream cone will be ready at the other side. And I'll walk in and enjoy it? 

While my head quietly spins

I used to suffer from panic attacks, the sort where my body trembled, I could focus on nothing bar the trigger of my panic, it was clear for all to see. I was the girl with anxiety issues and it was obvious. 

In social situations I'd either a) worry for months about going, then not go to avoid panicking or b) I'd go and have to hide or leave after not being able to control the anxiety spin. That was the story of my socialising experiences from the age of 7. Be a meal out, a day out, two-week holiday or a school trip. Of course, I learnt to cope or avoid from an early age, so actually, as much as I know life could have been MORE enjoyable, I'd not been a hermit! 

Things have changed now though. Thankfully, I've not had a full-blown panic attack for years, but that doesn't mean I panic though. I see 'getting though events' as a tick-box, despite craving the enjoyment and for good times to last. So, inside, I might not be filled with terror or paralysing fear of situations, I rarely am, but my GOD I worry.

Wow, do I worry. 

What's worse is I TRY to keep the worry in and cope. I try to be normal. But my head takes me somewhere else. It quietly spins. When most people are embracing the moment, I am worrying about the food I've eaten, what I look like, what I've said, what I am (and what I am not) how I come across. I compare myself to those around me, I envy people's calmness, their clothes, their skin and their lives. Don't tell me I should stop comparing. I know "comparison is the thief of joy..." and all that. 

So what am I trying to say, why does my head quietly spin? That I don't know. But what I do know is that I am REALLY guilty of taking it out on those closest to me. Projection, getting snappy because people can't sense my spinning. I think they should be mind readers, obviously. I wish I didn't do it, and then what's more, I wish I could explain. 

If anyone is the same as me, and has a fairly robust 'brave face' and can turn the confidence on, you'll know what I mean when I say it's sometimes harder than being an outwardly anxious (or avoider) type. It's like I let it all build up, going round and round and round my head then purge the emotions.

I find a quiet moment to try and explain to someone and CAN'T effectively do it, because I don't understand myself sometimes. Not only that, there are thoughts I don't WANT to explain sometimes. I realise this makes me really hard to be around sometimes, I hate it. It's about being in control, I know it is. It's about the fact that my insecurities eat me alive sometimes. It's about seeing myself though negative eyes still. 

Basically sometimes, instead of panic attacks these days, I just let my brain remind me of how I should be.  

Oh. My. Weight.

One of the HARDEST things about sharing my recovery openly is that a big part of it has never been open. Most people know what that part it and why it's the 'Great Unshared' of those in recovery.

Sometimes I just want to blurt it all out, why? Because NOT talking about it is exactly what anorexia wants. Whether that's the 'shame' the illness makes me feel for gaining - or the 'secret' happiness of it going down - or for me - the relief of it being EXACTLY the same. 

So, this morning was my monthly 'weigh in day'. Still a date with a big 'X' on my diary which plays on my mind, whether I like that or not. It's a morning I dread and over-think more than I probably should the night before. 

I don't have scales, I get myself out of bed early and go to the local leisure centre to use the digital scales (right outside the 0700am spin class and a bustling gym which makes me feel guilty for not being 'so dedicated to fitness. I'll touch on that soon!)

This morning was no different. Same clothes, same routine. Driving there my mind goes over the same thoughts as last month, and the month before that. I set the 'acceptable gain' I won't freak out about....I allow myself the sneaky excitement that it MIGHT have just gone down 'a little bit' and then the most comfortable thought. Just please be the same. 

I step on the digital scales, pop in my pound coin and '"stay still and stand upright" while the machine measures my height and weight. I don't even look at the screen to see. I wait for the print out instead. I hold on to the handles and measure my body fat, even though I have no faith in what that ACTUALLY measures (I always think maybe it'd have a true reading if it could measure the fat somewhere else. Like my stomach not my fingers?)  

Let me put this next bit in context. **Don't read this paragraph if you're easily triggered. I am just being honest** For the last couple of months I have tracked my intake roughly - and generally day-to-day I don't reach 2000 calories, despite knowing I should be, and not being far off, it's not 2000. For those of you who want to know...it's probably 1600-ish. So, if I am NOT at the 'ideal' recovery weight, and I'm under-eating on a daily basis, and doing about two days of exercise a week (one run and one HIIT/Circuit session) my head is jumbled with thoughts as to why I have gained weight. A little more context. 

Anyone well into their recovery or battling on from a relapse will know what I mean when I explain that it's not like the SCREAMS of anorexia when you first start WR, it's more a mix of a thousand-and-one questions as to WHY it's gone up, just wanting answers. Of course, I know it's anorexia asking them. I also have to consciously remind myself I am still slightly short of where I was when I was discharged - and even then I had a couple of kilos to go to hit the 'ideal' initial WR target. Want a little more context? I'm talking about 0.3kg, a POUND. That's anorexia's magic, all those questions, over 1lb. It makes me analyse what I have done to 'deserve' the gain. 

I don't want lie or hold back but know to protect other people in recovery - I do. It also helps to avoid having to explain myself to people who don't get why this is still an issue a year after discharge and almost five years after stating treatment. But it is. 

So I will have to end this here. A pound. 

In Sickness and in (less) Health

Well, when I say in health, I sort of mean less health, more illness. 

Since the start of the year I've been getting a cough and cold and feeling totally exhausted and wiped-out more that I ever have, well, at least in a very long time. But why?

If I take a moment for a reality check, I'll tell you where my finger points. My weight?

It can't be complete coincidence that since Autumn my weight dropped and THEN I started getting viruses can it? That my weight dropped and I ended up needing an ambulance at work is it? As much as part of my head (the anorexic part) thinks all this is a load of BS. I need to get a grip here.

I DESPISE being ill. I mean, sickness, obviously with emetophobia, but generally feeling under-the-weather or having coughs and colds really increases my anxiety. Therefore, I've always been thankful that I've never been that prone to picking up bugs. Until now. 

It's one thing after another, and I know there are loads of nasty ones around this Winter. Not the type that knock you off your feet for a week viruses, but the lingering type, which strike when you've had a few nights bad sleep or a rough day. Yep, those. 

Well, I am ill again and it's got me thinking. I get PLENTY of fruit and vegetables in, I take my vits etc, I am obsessed with my hand sanitiser and cleaning down my desk. So, it must be my body, unable to fight things off as well as it used to. 

I resent being ill. Like really hate it. Because I can't explain or manage my anxiety well when I feel like this either, I just want to be alone. It's like I am disgusted at being ill and scared that I'll pass it on - or that I will get more ill if someone is here. So, I stay alone THEN get anxious that I am alone and feel really vulnerable and lonely. 

I guess I need to find a way to restore some weight soon, like five kilos. Because I want to have the health to get my trainers back on, because running has been hard since my chesty cough, and because I just need to NOT get ill this much. But seriously, I am not sure HOW to do that anymore. 

It's a bitter pill (or Lemsip) to swallow but I need to if I am going to be fully well at some point this year. I've got to do it somehow. Because if I got something like a serious tummy bug (worst.fear.ever) I'd end up in hospital, because my weight would drop from the fear of eating. 

I am leaving myself vulnerable and open to more illness and less health if I don't. And I know it. 

The downs and ups of life and scales

Or should I be more honest, and say the downs?  Yes, Let's go with that for now. Not downs, as in emotionally, but downs, drops, falls in weight. 

Let me set the scene again, I stopped seeing my dietician Ms. F more than 18 months ago now, I left the eating disorders unit a year later, back in May 2015. Fully discharged after three months of step-down sessions. Back in 2011 when I was admitted in a blur of anorexia, and started the long, long road of recovery, a target weight of 60-odd kilos was floated around, knowing realistically, ideally in their eyes it'd be a bit more.

The bit between August '11 and now is pretty much what this blog is. Let's not go over and over all that and let's fast forward to now shall we?  

When I left the EDU and waved farewell to Dr. B we put plans in place for monitoring my weight, without falling down the trap of getting scales at home. That's been successful and works for me. Once a month I get up and go to the leisure centre and jump on the public scales. Yes, there is still a routine there, I won't eat before hand, I do wear the same outfit and it plays on my mind the week and days before, but it doesn't consume me. 

But it's when we dig down to the facts, numbers, digits and what that means to me, it's where it's less clear than the routine I've now established to gain them.

When I last stepped on the scales at Kinver, my weight wasn't 'quite' where they would have liked it. I stepped off and was very blase with Dr B about being able to push on, fully recover and do the last bit myself. Not blase in a 'I'll get away with anything I want' rebellious, let anorexia takeover way - I don't want that. But more-so in a 'it doesn't matter...it'll happen as life happens' sort of way. Quite frankly, I didn't care. But also had a niggle of 'I'm fine at this weight thank you...' For now at least.

But that's the thing. I was fine at that weight, but I'm no longer that weight. 

It's lower. Whether I like it or not, whether it's intentional or not, whether I think I look it or not, whether I feel it or not. It is lower. 

Now, it's NOT been intentional, but I'm not kidding myself, I feel better about it being lower, than I know I would if it had gone UP the same amount. I haven't consciously sat down, colluded with anorexia and had an urge to LOSE weight. At all. That much I know. But that's also dangerous, because I can quite happily live like that, because I don't feel restrictive and restricted. 

Do I like it? I don't like the fact that I know other people will judge me, and whether they are honest to my face about it. It's just easier to swallow than gains. 

As for thinking I look and feel five kilos lighter than a year ago? Not. a. Chance. 

I just don't, In fact, over Christmas my weight went down slightly again, a few grammes, but still down. But I spent some of December feeling the old, greedy, gluttonous, unhealthy, piggy thoughts. But it was down. Do I BELIEVE the number. Well I am not blind I can SEE a lower number on my little print out, I know the digits are fewer than the ones in November. I get it. But I also don't. 

I have always fallen into the trap that I think LOWER weigh-ins are the anomalies, this has been the case throughout recovery. Gains felt forever, losses felt temporary. I still have this mindset about  my weight and that's how I've wound up here I think. Every month I've told myself it wouldn't be the case next month, so I just carried on the same. Not restricting more, not counting calories any more closely, not eating more, not reducing exercise, but also not increasing it. I KNOW there are things Ms F. and I worked hard to put back in my diet, which since leaving I've not eaten in a 'no big deal' way, I am aware this is how it's dropped. That's were I'm realistic in how recovered I am.

Every month just believing because I DON'T FEEL or SEE anything BETTER or THINNER or LIGHTER in the mirror, because I don't feel any different in my own skin, or feel any more comfortable in my own skin. 

I've just carried on as I was - not trapped, clinging on to ED, but not massively challenging or moving any further away either. Just generally keeping things the same. 

But if we take the cold hard numbers. They are down. I'm not out, but they are down. But the thing is now, what am I going to do about it? Hm.

Farewell, it's been emotional. But I'm not.

Almost four years after being shipped back to my home town under the cloud of confusion of the deadly downfall into my eating disorder, I'm here. I've reached the eve of my farewell to the hospital that's helped me save my life. 

I had no idea it would take so long, after all, back then I didn't even believe that I was ill at all, let alone be as ill as I was. Four years ago my eating disorder had swallowed my entire life. I was desperate, trapped, holding on to something I thought was the answer to all my worries, problems and desires all wrapped into one. Oh, how wrong I was. 

It's been a rocky road, like anyone who's recovered from anorexia will understand - and anyone who's supported a friend or family though recovery will recall. It makes my head spin to sit here tonight to try and sum it up, it's almost impossible, so I won't really begin. It's been horrible, painful, agonising, confusing, amazing, eye opening, exhilarating and extremely emotional. And everything in between. 

Although on the eve of my discharge from the unit, I'm feeling anything BUT emotional about it. 

I always thought I'd be feeling like I understood myself at this point, like I'd really hit a milestone, that discharge would be like a dissertation or something. Like I'd get a big tick, a mark, feedback on how I'd performed. That I could call it a success. Complete. But it's not like that.

My appointment is actually before work tomorrow, I'll probably go, be asked how I've been during my three months without treatment (I've done okay actually) I'll ask lots of questions, be asked lots too - and not really know how to answer. Then that will be that I guess, 

To be honest, I feel guilty about not being as upset or emotional about not seeing them again. My gosh, when Mrs W left, I was an emotional wreck. but I guess that's the whole point, back then my life was my eating disorder, then my life was my recovery and now that level of emotion has gone from the process. 

Life has sort of been cross fading from the last four years into my future. 

I was always told I would begin to use the tools I've been taught by my team on my own eventually. I never believed them. But now it's starting to make sense. The more I use them, the better skilled I'll become at getting through life, carving my own way. There is a sense deep down that the reason I'm not nervous about moving on is because I don't think my use of these tools have REALLY been tested yet - so I don't really know how I will react. But I will live and learn how to soon enough I guess.

I know that I've not had to deal with weight gain on my own yet, I still don't eat the foods I find challenging very often. I know that I avoid stressful food situations and need to be in control of most of my meals. But as a friend said to me earlier today, I am aware of my behaviour, and know what I am doing and where the line is. And he's right. I fully understand when the tools need to be used. It's only when I step through the next entrance, only when I walk this path that I'll learn how to use them like a pro. 

So, whether tomorrow ends up being an emotional affair or not, it will finally be farewell. A door closing on that chapter of my life. That much I know. 

Is it about time I turned a page?

I've been contemplating the corner of this page for a while not sure if I dare peak ahead or not, but I think I know what the next chapter starts with already...

"Life isn't perfect and recovery isn't a destination" Would be probably be the title of the chapter, or something along those lines. 

Although what makes me feel a tad sick is the fact I've always held on to the hope that I would swim ashore some place in recovery and everything would be sorted. I wouldn't hate my body, I'd eat what I wanted and not compare myself to others. But the longer I've been on this journey, the more I've come to understand that might never all arrive at once. 

I'll get to the point. I've always been kept afloat, or encouraged to keep turning pages, by Mrs W, Ms F. and for the past 18 months by Dr. B, which I've needed thus far. I've needed them to read to me at times too. However, it's felt recently more like I am just not bothering to read at all. 

So am I wasting their time, when they could be reading to someone else, someone who needs that comforting sound of being read to more than I?

I do pick up the book and focus sometimes, go over the punchlines and headlines to get me through, but I sort of know the chapters and pages by heart now. I can recite them when I get the time. The thing that's keeping me where I am, are the niggling thoughts that I haven't REALLY understood every page I've read up to now. Even when I have, I can't say I like those chapters or want to refer back to them. Let me explain...

..I still don't particularly like the idea of this 'free' eating thing, and I still know the calorie content book more word-for-word than the mindful eating manta. I feel guilty about enjoying foods. I can't say I like my body, and yes, I still think I need a way to fix it. I still get anxious about mistakes and mishaps and if I wanted children tomorrow I couldn't have them. 

That aside, I don't FEEL anorexic now. I don't think 'anorexically', I am a healthy BMI, although not 'quite' at mid-range target (Yes, that's a BMI of 22ish) and I generally focus on other parts of life for 90 per cent of the time. Which makes reading chapters with Dr B feel like I'm wasting his time when I see him. Like I already know the end of the story anyway.

However, the reason I'm not turning the corner is I also feel like I am reading ahead and that closing the book fully would mean I crave rereading it. It also feels like a bit of a disappointment. Like I was hoping the final chapter would be the best, and yet it's not feeling that way. I sort of also feel I have skim read a chapter or two, and never quite finished the book....

Despite being sick of the same old story, and reading 10 other books at the same time, putting down the recovery book NOW would make me feel like there was always more I could ha.........................

Rewriting the rule book

Rules, rules, rules. The 'number one sin' in recovery from anorexia, I know.

It's the rigid food laws that landed me here, I'm pretty confident they sure to hell aren't going to save me. But still I write them (and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite) always living in hope that I can follow them from time to time, like a good gal' should?

Not in recovery, no. It's like the reactive processes I go through each time I get panicky about weight gain or greed or really just feeling bad about eating what I still see as 'too much' and being a problem. 

Even if they don't get written down any more or signed in blood 'To Ana, with love and devotion from Sarah', I'd be a fool to believe they don't get thrown around. It's more akin to promises of politicians bringing options to the table, to appease people of all persuasions in the hope for one vote.  Constant debate, no actual action (most of the time.)

Let me take you back to my weigh in a week ago. It went up. Okay, so that's been happening fortnightly since I battled April's relapse, one should think, well done Sarah, high-freaking-five. Au contraire. The first things to flood my mind are; "How do I make it stop, slow down..why do I eat too much, I'm too used to eating for weight restoration, what will happen when I hit target and still over-eat...why am I so lazy, unhealthy, greedy...and so on...." Which being sat with him, I talked through with Dr. B sat opposite me, waiting patiently for my usual 'Don't care' response. He then reminds me (over and over) that at this moment I do need to eat this much and not burn it up. Hmm.

But anyway, without a meal plan or food diary these days..I walk away and start scribbling a new 'mental manifesto'. 

I don't need to add that to my breakfast, I could go back to that lunch option, I'll only have that snack once a month, I won't pick at that, I'll be free with that, but make up for it....and so on.

This would be a hell of a lot easier to fight back at if I didn't BELIEVE it was needed. Deep down, when I stop thinking about it and ask myself if I NEED a rulebook for eating. I still believe I do. This also makes 'good-girl-me' feel guilty for NOT following the mental rules I create. Once again, putting myself firmly on the fence and going back to times when I was willing myself to stick to the law. 

I do have major apathy for anorexia's manifesto, I know picking up that militantly-enforced, handwritten and blood-signed law book ends badly* (*in death) But I'd be kidding myself if I didn't admit that I still keep rewriting rules mentally, and finding comfort that I try to stick to them - even if most of the time I do throw the rulebook out the window.

But there is the problem with this manifesto method. Guilt. The need for change, always leaves us open to be brainwashed by rule books which ultimately are full of lies.

Here's looking at you

Seeing a very ill woman in the supermarket this morning stirred something inside me, not in an envious, triggered way, at all. Not pity, just somewhere in between.

I must add that this is off the back of a bad body image day, and after bumping into a few people who are more petite, slimmer, fitter and smaller than me. 

But back to the supermarket. She was around my age, in the clothing area, looking at comfy PJs, jumpers and fluffy socks. I knew straight away, she was trying to find a way of warming her bones - without needing to eat.

                                 

A few years ago, she would have looked at me doing the same thing, and I know with the benefit of hindsight, that she would have known I was riddled with anorexia too. 

This time was different. She looked up and saw me looking at her, I wanted to smile and tell her things get better, but also still had that pang of wanted to guess her weight, wish I had her 'control' and again, I felt chunky, huge and just rather invisible. All, of course, are false pangs of nostalgia. 

I also saw a man and his wife notice her, her fragility and coldness wrapped in baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, she looked Ill, so ill. And they knew it, but I'd be kidding myself if I didn't wish they could see that I once struggled as much as her. 

I don't want to be her, look like her and I definitely wouldn't want to have the anxiety, pressure and consuming thoughts I know she'll be having.

There's just something about seeing her that struck me, I'm too recovered to be like her and yet, not recovered enough to not notice her, or feel those feelings. 

Or maybe it's just on a day where I'd already woken up regretting weight gain, worrying so out my body and feeling guilty for not trying to fix it.

This is where I put 3 years of recovery and therapy in action and remind myself that life is much better in the food aisles, not wasting money of layers of clothing that mask the real problems. 

Secure in my insecurities

It seems I've been able to free up space in my head from anorexia (which, of course, is what recovery is about.) But it's being quickly replaced by all my old insecurities, worries, anxieties and self-doubts.

It's disheartening to be honest. One can't help but be left thinking 'I thought this was going to be better this side of recovery?' You know, that the insecurities would be significantly less once anorexia took a back seat again? Wishful thinking perhaps, regardless, and true to form, I'm worried they're not. 

Don't get me wrong here, therapy is working. I'm so much more aware of the thoughts and feelings than I was before, which really does help. That awareness means the thoughts bubble away, but don't blow up. But it doesn't mean they haven't stuck around.  

However, instead of constantly worrying about what to eat and what I have eaten recently, or pondering over the number of kilos I weigh, I've defaulted back to worrying about what people think, how to fix things, what I've done wrong and how I can be good enough. I don't know which is worse. 

Obviously the latter is 'older' than the first set of worries, which also make them harder to shift. And like I mentioned in a previous post it's those thoughts that are harder to turn down on that internal mix tape. 

It's like I'm back at square one sometimes. Worrying about upsetting people, worrying about the future, all the what if's, my need to maintain a status quo where things are always going well. It's my obsession with improvement and the fixation on fixing. It's the doubt in myself and the problems I create in my head, then dwell on. It's the competition, the race and the fights I worry are going on around me. It's that constant overwhelming worry that I've done something wrong. It's the lack of trust in things working out. It's the insecurity in me. 

Like I said, the awareness helps. I have the skills I've gained in recovery to challenge these thoughts, to remind myself that the biggest doubter of me, is in fact me. I remind myself that each day is a new day and that people seldom think about others, so I'm probably flying solo in my concerns. I know I can turn things around and as important as learning from mistakes is, I don't need to be perfect, instantly. I know this.

But I still want to be okay. I want everything to be okay. I am okay in some ways.

However, that niggling, self-doubt, that overwhelming feeling of not being good enough lingers. The clash between doing well, starting to believe it'll all work out and being terrified I've messed up or WILL inevitably mess up is mentally exhausting. Especially with the added hangover from anorexia claiming it would sort it all out too. 

I just wish I BELIEVED I was good enough to believe that 'it' (nor me) need fixing, that I was able to 'Let it Be' and just live without being so god damn insecure. 

Volume Up, Volume Down

Life recently has been more up, than down, with regards to how I feel and the digits on the scales. It's felt good,  but there is still a tape going round and round. The same mix tape that's been on repeat for the past 20 years or so, and it's still bothering me.

It's okay when life is go, go, go. I don't have time to stop and think too hard about it all or tune in too much. I let life and work drown out the inner monologue, which is all well and good until I stop. 

Then the volume cranks up again and I can't ignore it, but honestly, I'm not sure drowning out the noise is the best solution anyway. Because then, in those quiet moments - or even just the less noisy ones - it's making me feel like shit.  I woke up this morning with the volume cranked right up. Not in any fully-tuned in and taking orders from anorexia sort of way, but just in an irritating, persuasive, believable sort of way. 

Some of the anxieties, thoughts, worries, beliefs and doubts reduced me to tears this morning. It's like I don't know what to do when the volume is turned up any more. Before it was so simple, I'd hear something on my inner mix tape, listen carefully and then act - fully confident it was a legitimate solution. 

But now, I hear the same message played out - the same concerns are brought to the surface in hearing it, yet I have no answers. I have no solution. I have no way of responding or replying to it. 

What sort of messages Sarah, I hear you ask? 

I hear the same old lines about the state of my body, I see the un-toned physique in the mirror. So I feel under pressure to be more active. I hear the worries about my seemingly ever-lasting weight gain, and worry when it will end. Those two combined inject anxiety into the NEED To exercise and I don't know if I want to - or have time. I hear the worries about NOT remembering what I've eaten. Which causes me to panic that stopping meal plans and diaries was irresponsible. I worry about every lump and bump on my body. Which takes me back to longing for skin which was just covering bone, not fat. I hear healthy, healthy, healthy messages and doubt every mouthful of carb, sugar and fats.....Pressure to be, do, don't be, don't do. It's overwhelming. I'll stop now, but the list is endless. 

It just goes round and round and I feel like I don't have the answers. I feel like the mix tape is right. I am trying to re-record over it, wipe it out and move on. 

I don't even feel like I can TELL anyone about this, why? Because you get the same old 'you're doing well', 'you're not fat', 'you're not greedy' answers. Which may be true on the outside, but they can't hear 'Radio Ana' playing inside. So I don't bother telling the rest of the world. Which is ridiculous as I tell everyone else to talk about it. 

But hearing it this mix tape so loud, without everything else to drown out the sound is still so hard. Even harder still is having it playing and dancing to a different beat. 

Ahoy there, recovery

I've been at sea for 1095 days. Swimming onwards towards recovery, dodging sharks, treading water and overcoming a few days lost at sea when I thought I was sinking.

Today marks three years since I was admitted to my eating disorders service. Three years since I sat, frail and pale in Mrs W's chair, my bones and body frozen to the core. Three Years when the diagnosis made no sense, nothing made any sense. I wasn't ill. Three years when I'd given up and thought my life was over. Forever. I thought I might as well drown.

Three. Whole. Years. 

I can't say I've ever really just DIVED freely into recovery, it's been more like jumping from a pier, trying to get away from something on land. It's still a bit like that - and there's a bit cloud of doubt hovering over me going forward. I've got to navigate a little bit longer.  

The recovery cove I had dreamt of seems less crystal clear and more murky and 'under construction' than I thought it would. I still don't think I am good enough to run freely through the sands - but I've got time yet.

But what I can say is after three years swimming, I can finally see the shore I've been aiming for. I don't know what's made me swim in a straight line in the past few months, but I've made up some of the ground I'd halted on at the start of the year. I've healed the wounds of the shark bites. 

If I was to provide a full account of the journey this far, It would take me as long again, but one thing that has occurred to me is just how quickly life passes us by. Stood still with anorexia on the end of that dark pier, the days of pain and hurt seem endless, but months and years are over in a flash. 

I can't get the last 1095 days back. But I don't think I'd want to do it any differently - I'd even keep the sharks and rough seas in too - because I've learnt more about myself since 2011, than I ever thought I would and I know I'll keep learning for a long time yet - but smooth seas never make a skilful sailor remember. 

To be honest, I thought recovery would be quick, a sprint not a marathon. I assumed that a quick physical descent into anorexia, the free fall bit, meant I wasn't ill enough to need the full works. The 15 years of keeping anorexia's abuse secret wouldn't affect recovery, right? Oh, Sarah.

I've had people try and push me under, I've had others cheer me on - some have even dragged me through the waters when I really didn't think I had the energy to keep moving. But I have. 

But sitting here, three years older, three years stronger, three years closer to freedom and 1095 days closer to recovery - one things I do know, is I've left anorexia stranded on a dinghy about a mile back - and she's not going to catch up now. Even her sharks are giving up nipping at my toes.

Ahoy there recovery, get the anchors ready. I'm on my way. 

It's not you, it's me.

Follow, unfollow, friend request, unfriend, text, ignore, visit, walk away... all things throughout my recovery I've done over and over again. I'm still not sure where I stand on it either. I'm unclear on what is helpful and what holds me back. But I'm starting to figure it out, finally. 

Yes, I'm talking about being friends and surrounding myself with people 'who get me', who 'understand how it feels', who know instantly who or what 'Ana' is and why I still stress over a pick and mix. But really, I keep asking myself just HOW helpful it is to be 'friends' with other people in recovery.

It'a a similar situation as when I used pro-anorexia websites, they got me too. We were there same and they were my 'friends' who understood me, for a while (when I'd lost the plot). It may have been more toxic than talking to people in recovery, but sometimes it's too close for comfort.

The theory is, that as a group we can almost normalise the real abnormal - do non-eating disordered people really write the word **trigger warning** or live in fear of letting their weight or BMI slip out in conversation. Do they really ask 'are you okay hun, I saw you ate more potato'. The answer is No. If I am aiming for non-eating disordered life, surely talking to those with EDs more than others is unhelpful?

I'm guilty of craving the understanding and those conversations now and again, I just want to indulge in purging all the eating disordered craziness I'm dealing with to someone who 'gets' it', but really, how helpful is it to maintain these relationships? Is maintaining them, keeping me in my illness? Yes, I think it is.

Don't get me wrong 'breaking up' isn't easy, you do share a lot with 'recovery buddies' but sometimes on my account it's about approval and acceptance, I want to 'check in' with people and see that I am doing okay, comparatively. But here is the problem. It's NEVER going to be healthy for me to compare to anyone, let alone someone else living with, recovering from or who's beaten an eating disorder. 

Of course, some people I've met during my recovery are now some of my closest friends. They are the ones I usually rant with, they are the ones who know my weight and I don't care that they know it. I know their weight and it doesn't matter. I trust them - because we've shared a bed, hour-long phone calls, spa days and meals out where we've both gone 'fuck, this is normal'. But there were people in the past that I thought were the same, but turned out to be toxic to me and my recovery. I had to let them go as well.

Yes, they left a hole and I craved their 'friendship' for a while afterwards, but at the end of the day, my recovery is about me, and this is the classic cliché of 'it's not you, it's me' and we all need to be selfish on these journeys and in all honesty, I miss my life-long friends who I pushed away for the the understanding from 'recovery buddies.' I prefer days spent with colleagues and friends - not THINKING let alone talking about anorexia. It's not always about the eating disorder now, it's about living. 

Sometimes clichés DO have a place and I am starting to think (again) in recovery, they really do. 

Why? (Oh...right)

Why now? Why have I decided to leave rigid rules behind, to move away from meal plans and to just accept that I've got to gain ALL the weight back if I'm to fully recovery? Why after three years of hating numbers am I now just going with it, why after three years in recovery am I starting to allow my body to dictate what I eat? Why now am I finding myself planning to eat out, and heaven forbid enjoy it?

Why? 

Well, Dr. B made a good ol' point during my last session. Maybe it's because therapy is working.

Not on a concious CBT level, that came along a while ago and I knew the actions I needed to take to change habits. But on a deeper level, one I DON'T control.

I felt a little embarrassed after nodding in agreement with Dr B's suggestion that with out me even realising THERAPY is ACTUALLY WORKING, after all, I guess that's the whole point of him seeing me every week. He's doing his job and doing it well it would seem.

I've always been so caught up in trying to understand anorexia, trying to control my thoughts, really trying to get to grips and question why I do (or don't do) things. Since starting treatment I've always asked why I am able to push myself to recover some days and other days give in. I've wanted to understand guilt, pride, motivation and inertia too. However, now, maybe just maybe, I need to accept the idea that I won't always know why. It just is. 

If I spend too long thinking about it, I hate that I am eating more, I hate the flexibility and I still don't like my body, I REALLY don't like the way my clothes feel. But you know what, I am more accepting of the fact that I just need to grin and bear it to get where I need to be. 

I basically, need to stop asking WHY I can do things and just get on with leaving anorexia behind. 

Being positive is stressful

It's one of the most frustrating and ridiculous things about my recovery, it always has been, but I find being positive really freaking stressful. I don't fully trust these waves of positivity. 

I know part of it is because being positive about recovery puts Ana's back up, it aggravates her, because let's be honest, if I plod along not challenging anorexic beliefs what on earth can she kick off about? But I am VERY aware that in doing that I'll get stuck in what I now refer to as 'recovery purgatory' forever. 

No thanks.

It's not even stressful in a early days stressful way like eating my first carb or drinking Fortisips was. Those 'positive' moments felt more like having my bikini line waxed, by a troll or something. I don't get into huge panics about positive recovery things like I used to, which is a bonus, but it's still bothering me. 

I know it's the whole 'the right thing for recovery will feel wrong for anorexia' I'm aware of that and I do battle those thoughts as much as I can. I still can't understand the praise or congratulations for weight gain. Dr B. always says 'well done' when the scales read higher, and I know what he's getting at, but I just don't feel the positive vibes there, sorry. 

The things stressing me out about positivity is that I don't know what's making me positive all of a sudden. (Heaven FORBID therapy is working?!) but aside from the growing understanding of my own fucked-up-ness, there are little things, like wanting to go to supermarkets more again, try new combos of food, accepting when I am more hungry. Don't get me started on other people being positive for me, that really stresses me out. 

They all cause stress, but ARE positive.

I guess what is most stressful is the fact that I am going with my 'gut' feelings, without REALLY trusting them fully yet. I'm listening to my TRUTH and trying to go with it. But questioning my every move. It's also stressful (but positive) that I'm becoming more flexible with life and meal plans. 

It's probably the same stress you'd feel getting into a plane and the pilot telling you they've still got their 'L' Plates. But alas, if you want to arrive at your destination, you've got to stay on board haven't you? 

Or maybe I am just being positive and it is just anorexia getting in a tiz?

Shred the research and leave the lab

Yet again the question 'What's holding you back?' is scrawled at the top of my journal and all I seem to be able to write is 'I don't know.'  I screw up the page and try to get my ideas out on a clean sheet of  paper. 

I have the same conversations with Dr B. and then repeated with my friends, but each time I seem to tie myself up in knots trying to find a way to explain 'where I'm at' or find a way to keep learning. Even whilst typing this, I write, backspace, then write, then backspace again, constantly confused as to what I think, feel and believe about myself and recovery.

Then I thought back to the theories Mrs W's therapy was based on..."Every man is, in his own particular way, a scientist" (George Kelly) The idea that we go through life 'researching and building our view of ourselves and the world.

I know I have BELIEFS or 'constructs' which are still really anorexic. I don't seem to be able to shake them, even if most of the behaviours don't match the beliefs these days. And that's the problem, I'm somehow still searching for PROOF for my faulty beliefs. Like writing a really bad thesis, which I've sort of lost interest and confidence in. 

It's like I've worked on a research project, trying to source proof for my 'too fat', 'too greedy', 'you'll mess it up' and 'you're not good enough' hypothesises for the past 20 years and now I've realised that maybe I've been wrong all this time...

(Eating less + exercise = weight loss) = being happier + good enough

(control + confidence) 

It's like I've been searching for evidence to back up these beliefs for so long that I'm just really pissed off that I have to admit I was wrong. Especially when, for a while, the formula seemed to make sense.

Part of that is complete frustration with myself, now that I can see where I've been going wrong. Through therapy work, my mind can see the other options. But inside I'm still apprehensive about scrapping this thesis idea and working on another project.  

I still have niggling hopes that I'm right, that if I just hold on to anorexia's research there IS a way of proving it. I can solve this 'problem', that I can find a solution to fix me. Or at least be right about SOME of it. That I can recover and still have these beliefs. Someone must have cracked it? No?

It's this stubborn, 'dedicated' researcher in me which holds me back. I've always been bad at wanting to make something work, to not give up, to keep searching for answers and solutions. But in this case, that part of me means I can't move on right now. I'm stuck in this lab.

I've become 'numb' to the practical research now though, too busy to really dedicate myself to testing it out. I know that weight loss doesn't solve the problem, so I've not been driven to try that experiment again. I have done the initial food tests, but still have more that I'm scared of experimenting with. 

Some days I admit, I'm really up for anorexia's research briefs, I feel like an idiot for not sticking with it - after all it did feel good for a while. But sometimes I want to work on a new project, I get a head full of NEW ideas to work though, but I don't trust my NEW project fully either. 

But really, I am just sick of working on ANYTHING at all. 

I KNOW what I need to do, research NOTHING and just live and learn. There is NO solution, no fix, no right answer. 

I just don't know how I can shred years and years of research without a firm plan or hypothesis to work towards instead, what will I do then?

Number Numbness

Somehow in recovery somewhere, I've gotten lost in a number numbness, a sort of numerical fog that won't lift. 

One of the first lessons I was taught in recovery and still hear lots is 'You are not a number' and that you can't measure your worth in calories, kilos or clothes sizes. All very true.

It's not even that. It's different. I know I am not defined by my weight. 

But I've realised after being weighed last week - seeing a smaller number - and following six months of the numbers slowly creeping down. I've slipped into a disconnected number numbness. 

Let's clear a few things up; I have NO drive to lose weight, at all. 

I don't want to be 'thin' or underweight.

I am not jealous of people's low weights/BMI.

I don't have a BMI that 'bothers' me.

I've been an adult healthy weight.

I don't add up my daily calories total.

I don't weigh all my food out. 

I don't know the calorie content of all my meals. 

I have clothes in all sizes and accept that.

But something is not right, that's become clear over the last six months where my weight has dropped without me WANTING it to or me consciously TRYING to. It has just happened. 

I am TOO disconnected from the scales.

It doesn't even make me feel good. I feel NOTHING about my weight. The numbers don't mean ANYTHING to me. They don't represent anything to me and they don't represent success or achievement. So what does this all mean?

Again, I've been told it's about balance, it's needing to care enough to be concious about what the scales say, but not consumed by it. It's about knowing I'm getting enough calories but not counting them. It's about noticing if my clothes feel looser, but not body checking. But all those things are double edged swords, depending if I let anorexic thoughts creep in. The problem is, because I'm not fully weight restored, I NEED to be concious that I NEED to gain more weight, I need to eat ENOUGH calories. 

It's like I've overdosed on numbers over the past three years in treatment, to the point that they don't mean anything to me now. 

To be honest, the numbness is driving me insane. I just wish I was numb enough to add the EXTRA to restore weight fully, but something is stopping me just letting go. And I can't feel it. Too much too numb.