(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.  

Solid rock or stuck in sinking sand?

Oh, yes, getting stuck in the sands of a 'safe' a common place in recovery, isn't it? But me? Stuck? No, surely not. I'm living on a solid rock aren't I? I am not like other people stuck in a half-way-house form of an eating disorder built on a not-so-solid foundation? I don't define myself as so, at least, so that makes me different. Well, en contraire. 

Before, I get started on the sand it appears I'm stuck living on now, let me take you back a couple of years, when I wrote this in a post about trying to fit life into the 'neat little boxes' of anorexia. 

"I can't fit, and will never be able to fit this stuff, new foods, new people, new experiences in to THIS life. They will never fit in to anorexia’s routine, rules or plan for me." - Me, January 2013

Right, so where have I built my house (or life) and why is it bothering me? Firstly, I'm stuck where I was when I was discharged this time last year I guess. When Dr B. signed me off, I KNEW I had work to do. I'm able to get by in life, I can work, workout, run and play. To an extent. I have lost weight since I left there too, something I'm probably too blase about to be honest. I knew I had physical 'work' to do to finish of weight restoration, it's obvious I haven't done that. But I am not sure why. I also had mental work to do, continuing the work we did in therapy/mindfulness about not believing the negative self-talk and reminding myself that, well, stuck is not safe. I promised myself I'd make plans to move house. 

But that's not going well. Yes, I'm safe-ish, but I'm also stuck on where I started putting the bricks.  I also knocked some of the walls I built with help down and now need to redo that work too. How do I know that? Well, for a couple of reasons, they might sound familiar 

1) The 'don't like/won't eat/want to eat' list 

Who knows what I do, don't or won't eat any more. What I liked pre-anorexia - I probably only eat 10 per cent of now. What I ate during treatment when working with Ms F - I probably only eat half of now. In conversations with C (the other half) over the last seven months, I've tried to justify and tell him there are foods I 'don't' like - when really, deep down, it's not that I don't like them - it's that I don't eat them. Because it freak anorexia the fuck out and I know it. So it's AVOIDANCE and I know it is. This is such an obvious sign on being stuck at a certain point in recovery. My biggest problem here is, that I've been stuck with these food rules for so long, I don't know HOW to move - or believe fully that I can. It IS restrictive and what's worse is, I know it. 

2) The same old routine.

That brings me to routine. Get up, eat the same breakfast, go to work, go home to the house built on sand, eat, bed. That's generally what I do, unless it's one of the days when I run or got to circuit training. Occasionally I do something different, when the boy comes over, or a friend wants to. But I have the daily pull back to my routine. Anything outside of that causes an internal niggling anxiety. I worry about when I will eat, what I will eat, whether I may or may not like doing what is planned. I CRAVE my normal when I'm not in it. 

3) Counting numbers. Worrying about numbers. 

With this I mean two sets of numbers, on a monthly basis, my weight. I still BLAME myself if my weight has gone up - like today - and just accept if it has gone down. But this also ties into the fact that I KNOW I haven't eaten more than standard RDA of calories EVERYDAY or always actively replaced the calories I have burned on runs etc.. So something must be 'wrong' with me to gain weight? So, there are the other numbers. Calories. I know roughly how many I eat a day, and when I know I have gone OVER that, I still feel greedy, glutinous and 'wrong'. 

4) Sitting still guilt

It's not that I run or workout to 'earn' food, but I'd be lying to myself or you if I said that it doesn't make life a little easier when I have. Like I can justify food or doing something for myself. I feel like self-hate or less self concious once I have exercised. It IS a self-esteem boost, so that's where this one gets complicated, because science will tell us that working out raises endorphins in anyone. 

5) Checking myself out

Body checking. Body image. Mirror work. Something we actually never got round to during treatment. Yes, really, they skipped this bit, but I wish thy hadn't. Partly because Mrs W. left before we got on to it, then Dr B's work with me took a different direction which uncovered more issues. But anyway, what this means is I still really don't like my body. I don't like bones, I don't like my 'fat bits' I don't like my bloated stomach and I micro analyse body parts too much. I get frustrated when people say my arms are still too thin, I don't like catching my reflection in the mirror at circuits and I am still very. very self concious when in the buff with C. I sway between NOT wanting to change my current body at all, wishing my imperfections weren't there and also looking fitter, more womanly and getting my boobs back. Like with food, I've forgotten what I ACTUALLY want. 

I haven't built my recovery on a completely unsustainable surface, I was lucky to get the help I did, but that doesn't mean I couldn't be on terra-firma though. I KNOW there is a firmer ground, a more solid place to lay down my roots, a place where other people will want to come to see me in, rather than on the sand. But for some reason I am struggling to move houses, and I am not sure why. Maybe because anorexia has convinced me it's a nicer house on the sand, with sea views? But that ocean is the one I swam not to die from this illness. So, would I ever jump back in fully? Not a chance, so why do I still need to look at it everyday?

Retreating to my bubble

It's hard to explain to other people, but sometimes I just need to retreat into a bubble, garden, space or place and switch off for a while. Not to sit and mope or get lost in my own head, but just do nothing, say nothing, be alone. Switch off. Recharge. 

Some will argue it's running away from the world, to avoid facing up to situations or conversations you'd rather not have. But I'm starting to realise it's not running away, it's just taking time to retreat a bit. But is that okay?

It's like I just need to function in my own world, on my agenda and not have to think past that sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I don't want this all the time and I don't want to shut people out from my world completely, that's not what I mean. I don't particularly like being alone, I get bored and feel lazy and miss people. But hear me out on this, you might feel it too. 

I know recovery has made me more selfish. But I see it as a positive, we have to be selfish to reclaim our lives from anorexia. It has made me more headstrong in what I do and don't like and how I choose to spend my days. In the past I spent far too long doing things I didn't REALLY want to socially, exercising when anorexia was driving it, and enduring situations I wished I wasn't in. I now know what I want to do now, and my God, I will (or will not!) do it.

I don't want to upset people around me by having this need to retreat to a bubble, but I do worry that it frustrates or annoys them. I accept some family and friends will never understand it (I am lucky my best friend complete gets it and feels the same herself). She explained it as needing to be alone to recharge, where some people need to be around people to do that - we need space. But it doesn't stop me over-analysing it like I am now, because I worry about others. I will always worry. I also think people take it personally sometimes, or think they know better about what's best for me. Generally, they're wrong. I am not being mardy, depressive or selfish. I just need to do my own thing.

And the times they're right? The times it would be better to be around people even if I'm apprehensive?  I am generally aware of it too,  know it's only anxiety or anorexia holding me back and know deep down it's for the best. That's when I pop my own bubble and leave my retreat. 

I'll be honest, some of it is because it's easier to be alone sometimes, because being around people means I have to explain why I still have certain rules or behaviours that are blatantly anorexic. It means that I have to fully understand why they're there too, and I don't. It's sometimes because I am just too anxious about life. Or my self esteem is so low that I think people wouldn't like to be around me anyway. Or it's just a case of control. If I am on my own, I can just function on my own agenda, in my own way. When I retreat I just function in a routine which needs no thought. It's a little bit of tranquillity from constantly trying to set a new order or agenda to make sense of a world I still get worried about.

I also still struggle to switch off, whether it be from work or just generally relax. There is always something on my mind, generally higher level of anxiety than most. But I find other people don't always help ease it, mainly because I get the urge to talk about what's going on in my mind, I tie myself up in knots and then feel worse. I feel like I have been over-doing leaving the bubble when I could do with staying in it, because I've felt I 'should' or actually the bubble annoys me and maybe that's why I've felt run-down?

Basically, sometimes, generally, my mind needs to retreat and can only function in my bubble. 

Life goes on, and so does exploring recovery.

Isn't it funny how life just goes on, how arriving in a new place, doesn't make the old one disappear? However much we try to stop the world moving sometimes and scream "let me get off!", it just keeps ticking over. That's, as they say. life. 

When I was at my most ill, life stopped. Halted. That 'anorexic mixtape' stuck on loop, over and over and over again, with no respite, the same thing over and over. Treading water, every day, terrified to swim either way.

But one thing that's helping me move from being in treatment, to living life away from life at the eating disorders clinic, is just trying really hard to not call myself recovered, or in recovery, or an 'anorexia survivor'. Just trying to move on with life, explore my new skills now I've finished the swim.

I'm learning to accept recovery is never probably going to have the end point and golden beaches I once dreamt of reaching. The place where it all made sense and life was, well, dare I say perfect, sorted and fixed. It was a mirage I thought I saw in the confusion of anorexia and during the four year swim I've just made to get here.  

This came up in an interview I did with a magazine this afternoon. I was asked to describe where I am at now with anorexia. Am I still in recovery, or have I recovered? It's the first time I've spoken to someone new about my experience since discharge, and I didn't know what to say. In some ways, I HAVE recovered from anorexia, I've recovered my BMI, I've recovered my life, I've recovered my career. I no longer have full-blown clinical anorexia. But have I set up camp here?

Sort of, I've found my plot. But in saying that, I'm suggesting that I have totally overcome anorexia. Out the other side, reached that recovery cove I once referred to. I may have out swam the sharks, I may have reached the other side of the recovery ocean, But it doesn't mean I'm settled here.

Now is where I perhaps rest my arms and legs a little after almost drowning and the epic swim that was treatment. Now is where I start to explore the new place I am in, walk along the shore a little. Now is the time to use the survival skills I've been taught by Dr. B, Mrs. W, Ms F. and others - and make my own way here.

After all, explorers don't land in new places and have a ready made camp, do they? It's about arriving on new shores and using the skills picked up along the way to carve a new life. And this is where life, and my recovery is now. Not over, just me, my life, moving on in a new place. 

One of the quotes my recovery tattoo relates to is apt here too.

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. 

Festive frustrations and Christmas confusions

There's no doubting this Christmas has been easier than the past three years, less anxiety, fewer tears and more conversations. I was more 'there' than not there, no meal plans and less 'escaping' to my room for a time out. 

Despite all that, it's not felt fully jolly...because of eating. 

The anxiety and tears of yester-years was replaced by frustration, doubts and confusion. And if I am honest, I spent time in the run up to the big day - and the big day itself - wishing I had the control I used to have not to be hungry, not to eat the stodgy food and to say away from the buffet. 

People often talk about recovery and the freedom to eat chocolates, crisps and nuts being liberating and making them feel great. Like they're fixed and recovered. Like their defeating their eating disorder and living. I've tried that. But I'm afraid I don't feel that and I'm not sure why. 

Maybe it's having food cracked to an extent for so long, that's made it less 'exciting' to treat myself or maybe it's not as cracked as I think. I haven't eaten a full mince pie this year. Because I know I like them. But what if I don't want more foodie freedom?

Eating or not eating a mince pie, a slice of cake or having a roast potato makes me feel indifferent. But I'd rather feel better for not having it - or choosing a new potato instead. I've eaten the cake, and it didn't make me feel free. It made me wish I hadn't cause it wasn't worth it. 

I think I'll feel great for choosing a white bread roll over some crackers, because anorexia does hate white bread- but I don't. Fitting in with people around me eating crap and not caring. Normal right? No, not for me. Maybe I just don't like eating like that. I get annoyed at myself for feeling like I have to - or should, so I do and then get stuck in this confusion. 

I can't shake the feeling of needing to 'fix' what I've messed up this Christmas. But eating food I didnt need or particularly want. I just ate it because it was sort of there and I felt like I had to be 'more normal' this Christmas. 

But I don't feel stupidly guilty. Just annoyed at myself. And also guilty about not being REALLY guilty about it. I feel frustrated that I will have put on weight, but not frustrated enough to make myself go exercise-mad or drop my calories to lose weight which then adds more frustration that I am not driven to change what my head tells me will 'fix' it all. 

Maybe I just know losing weight doesn't fix it all. 

But then again, eating more freely isn't fixing me either. 

Washing off the stains of anorexia

Frustration, anger, entrapment and guilt. The stains of imperfection remain and I wish they'd scrub off and I'd scrub up.

Unless you're also in recovery from anorexia, I'm sure those words don't automatically get linked to your body. They're probably not the feelings heightened during a Sunday morning shower after a lie in either, But for me, they are.

Every lump, bump and bulge was staring me in the face during my shower this morning. Every single imperfection screaming at me as I stood there, trying to wash off the thoughts and feelings. They've stained my skin, even as they fade. They are still there, and expanding. 

But I'm left feeling totally powerless to change my body, because over the past three years in treatment I know losing weight isn't a real solution. But what is? Is there one? 

I can reel off the textbook therapy answers, that fixing my body, addressing my faults, banishing the fat I see everywhere doesn't fix the mind. Won't ever wash the stain on my brain. 

But when the mind is still looking for a fix. It's hard to not feel frustrated, especially when my bare skin is staring back at me. I'm angry at being in this skin.

Frustrated that I can't fix me. Frustrated that I don't exercise. Frustrated that other people with and without anorexia are fitter, thinner and healthier than me. Frustrated that I feel like I am always going to be less than good enough.

That's where feeling trapped comes in. I feel that frustration which feeds the anger and guilt. But I'm also aware of the motivation, the reality, what other people would say to me. If I make myself feel better in the short term, by agreeing with anorexia, long term, these four emotions trap me more. They'd kill me. 

But then there is the guilt. The guilt for the gains, the guilt for the greed, the guilt for not dedicating more time and energy into channelling the 'willpower' that anorexia still tries to convince me made it all better. Recalling conversations, meals, calories and cakes. Yes, I can only blame myself. It's my fault I am feeling like this at all.

I know better than that. I know it's lies. I know it isn't a real, long lasting and peaceful solution. But in the shower, alone, naked, it's still so raw and real. I still hate being in this skin. I still want a solution. I still want to be better. I still wish I could control the flesh I now know I can't. 

A social butterfly with broken wings

There's been a few times in the last couple of months where I've been in social situations, where in my early 20s I'd have been chatting, smiling, dancing and laughing, long into the wee hours. Yet now, at almost 30, I feel as insecure as I did when I was 16...and haven't been that Sarah for years.

It's almost like since anorexia took hold, since I froze from the inside out and damaged my social wings it's been so much harder to fly. 

I feel like I am learning all over again. 

I'm not talking about big crowds, but just general chilled out nights chatting or when I'm with a small group of family or friends. I'm sure this aspect of anorexia (and recovery) is harder to accept or adjust to as my illness took control at 26 not 16, so I know I can fly. 

Without getting too self analytical it's like my confidence has been zapped, like there's no point in saying much, because what I do say isn't interesting, funny or profound enough to be worth people listening. Even before I've said what I'm thinking, I've decided people don't want to hear it. 

It might be because for the last four years, if I'd said what was on my mind, I really would have been sectioned or something. I've been so used to filtering my thoughts and for so long, not actually having much to contribute, unless, of course, someone wanted to know the calorie content of a cocktail or meal.

Like anything in recovery, I'm sure it gets easier the more I do it. The more normal socialising becomes, the less it'll feel alien. The more times I contribute to conversations again with confidence, the more I'll remember I can join in. The fewer nights in I spend with Ana, the less attractive it'll be.

Some of it is trust and not believing people would want to spend time with me, some of it is body confidence, but also it's like I've been either ill or swimming in recovery for so long that I've forgotten how to have fun. Especially when it comes to men.

I've lost the ability to let go of the seriousness of situations and just flutter away without a care. 

If I didn't WANT to enjoy being around people this wouldn't be an issue, but the thing is, I miss it. I miss the Sarah who'd have the most random of conversations to the most random of people or the woman who'd look forward to nights out or ordering a glass of champagne, just because.

I miss that Sarah.

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. 

It's not me, it's...

...well, I don't know what it is. But the full body mirror and nakedness after a sun bed didn't help. 

I know what it's not though, it's NOT body dysmorphia. You know why? Because I haven't got BDD, never have had.

I know I'm not overweight, I know I am not 'fat. The number on the scale makes sense, I am not 72kgs, so can't LOOK the same as I did I lost weight. I know this. I see a different shape.

I don't want to look like I did at my lowest. I don't want my spine on show, I don't desire arms the size of a child's and I am not too fussed about a thigh gap. I never was.

The problem is I REALLY don't like what I've got. But then again, how many women do? There bits of my body I wish were more toned. There are bits I'd pinch in and curves I'd like to add to. I get that. Most women are unhappy with some part of their bodies (aren't they?)

The issue I have is my fixation with my stomach. I have to admit, I DO prefer the way it looks at closer to my lowest weight than I do right now. I still spend far too long wishing there was a way of NOT starving but having THAT stomach. 

I just DON'T want the protruding pelvis and muscle wastage in my thighs which gave me the midriff I approved of back then. 

It's just so hard when anorexia made me feel confident in a bikini and recovery really doesn't. But the thing I do know is that, it's not real. That confidence isn't me. It's anorexia and that stomach comes with a whole load contracts I'm not willing to sign. 

I just wish I BELIEVED that when I'm stood in front of a full length mirror. And I wish people believed me when I told them this.

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. 

I know, I don't knows and I don't cares...

...and yes, that 'N' word again. Numbness.

I know I don't THINK about recovery as much as I do, which on one hand is the whole point. That therapy is about reducing the number of waking hours spent thinking or worry about weight, food and body.

There is a lot I still don't know - like the real ROOTS of my eating disorder or what it is I actually WANT - other than to just know what I want.

I don't want to be ill any more. I don't want a head full of worries. I don't want to be trying to fix myself or avoid failure, messing up and mistakes. I do want to be recovered. I don't want to be stuck here. But I do know I need to change something to do this.

I want to leave anorexia behind me, I just want to move on. If only it was that easy, huh? But there is more I know, more I don't and some where I don't even care.

I'm NOT terrified of gaining weight, but I can't say I know I WANT to.
I'm NOT terrified of eating foods, but I can't say I know for sure I WANT.
I don't care about calories like I did. But I still don't like not knowing.
I don't care about my weight. But I still HATE being congratulated for restoring it.
I know my BMI is underweight, I don't know why I don't care MORE about this.
I know I won't go from anorexic to uncontrolled....oh wait, I don't know that one.
I don't know what people think of me, but I won't ever know that. That bothers me.

I guess then, I DO actually know what I want....I want to be at ease, peaceful and just 'okay'....is that okay yet world world?

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?

Same time, same place...different thinking

It's been a normal 'Therapy Friday', the same appointment, same place, a date with the scales. All pretty standard stuff. 

Although this morning I started by not putting on the radio or turning on my music. I started with breakfast reading a chapter of Jenni Schafter's 'awesome book, Goodbye Ed, Hello Me' then picking up my notepad and doing some thinking to get in the recovery zone.

Maybe it's this sequence of events, really taking time to NOT think about things, but try to FEEL my 'truth' that meant when I got on the scales and I'd put on a big-ish chunk of weight, I was sort of okay with it. 

I have spent a week being more honest, not trying to convince myself I can cut corners and make 'no big deal' restrictions and hope that I'm still considered 'in recovery.' Gosh, on some days I've even added extra and felt like it was the right thing to do. This hasn't happened for a while. 

Then I walked to the EDU in the sunshine, read a newspaper article about my shortlisting for a Beat Volunteer award for my campaigning, took off my sunglasses and rocked on in to Dr B's room. 

The session started out like most have recently, me not really feeling the 'Hurrah, go weight gain, go' vibes. Feeling rather numb to it all. Wondering why it's ME who has to gain weight, wondering why it's me that thinks too much...WHY ME? You get my drift....

But then half way through, and after some mental prodding from Dr B. something pinged in my head. (I won't transcribe the entire session, and I can't remember all of it) But something occurred to me, made sense. Just felt right. Suddenly he (we were) right. 

We've been working on thoughts about why gaining weight is the right thing to do, obviously my head usually screams are you MAD, of course it's not. But today, I swallowed hard and had to agree, that gaining weight could actually be right for me, right now. 

There are a zillion reasons why I KNOW I SHOULD believe it's the right thing, I could reel those off to you. But today I felt different, I felt lifted, empowered and I opened my eyes to the possibility that it REALLY is, that I feel like it's the right thing to do. Why? 

Because deep down I know everyone is right. I am right. But I am spending my days arguing with reality. But I am sick of not being at peace. Sick of being tied up trying to suss out a way of not being a healthy weight and being recovered. I want to be an inspiration, but I can't do that when I'm not at peace in my own mind. I realised that Dr B was right.

I have the potential to change so much more in this world than my weight, by changing my thoughts about weight gain. By finding my peace. By putting on my big girl pants and making it happen.

I'm not really sure where to park these thoughts tonight. I want to make it make sense to you all, to the world. I want this to be the most ground breaking post I've written - it's not any of that.  But something felt good today.

Obviously me being me also questions where this blast of positivity and motivation has come from, I'm suspicious and I dread it stopping. Why does this suddenly feel different?

But right now, I'm willing to just go with it. Because maybe, just maybe, he's right.