Sunday, 6 March 2011

A future with(/out) an ED.

Bit of the ol' therapy homework, dead generic- write where your life will be 5 years with the disorder and where it'd be without one.



Another five years yo-yoing between disorders; maybe it's the inbuilt exhibitionist, the drama queen within me, but that thought just leaves a black hole. Just... nothing- my imagination doesn't stretch to summat quite that big. When thin was still the priority, I always pictured, melancholic as you like, seeing my children mime vomiting in the way that most kids copy the shit that you really wish they wouldn't (my two year old cousin saying the word 'shit' about a million times whilst I babysat her) and hiding food during breakfast/dinner (lunch? Pahahaha) meetings with big important people. When thin was the priority, I didn't doubt my ability to blag my way to the top of whatever I fancied doing, nor did I doubt my fertility, nor whether it was even really moral to bring children into a world which I always presumed I'd leave by my own hand.

I think I'm less naive now. Or maybe slightly more melodramatic. I KNOW more than I have ever known anything that if my body does not give up, my mind will. The thought of going back to where I was, and being stuck there for the foreseeable future, makes me feel nauseous because I know exactly what that would entail. Scunthorpe. Being a welfare statistic, a drain. Scunthorpe. Alternating between being stuck in bed at home and being stuck in hospital beds. Scunthorpe. Directly and purposefully killing myself; indirectly killing my family. And being remembered only vaguely, only sporadically, as some sort of morality story for the crisis team to use as a weapon against other people in a similar section. And, equally disturbingly, probably as some sort of the martyr for the 13 year olds, desperately seeking the elusive eating disorder diagnosis.




I hope that I always have the balls to change. I think that if my life is going to change to the extent that I no longer have an eating disorder, in a way I'll sort of lose what's keeping me grounded. Maybe not grounded, maybe that's the wrong word. The word 'grounded' implies something good and I mean... stuck. Shackled. Whatever. And that emancipation, that sounds pretty damn good to me- I don't want any restrictions, not anymore than absolutely necessary, anyway. When I was younger, I always thought I was a Marxist, just because I loved (love) the idea of doing something different everyday; I just want everything to be exciting and lovely. And maybe that's unrealistic, but things now are more exciting and lovely than ever before, so why can't everything be so?

This is all very conceptual, I realise, but I find it hard to commit (even in as far as this) to anything or any solid plans, because I want freedom to try everything. And besides, I'm not used to speaking realistically about the future, because the possibility of my life extending beyond the walls of my home and my mind and THE MOMENT is all so new. I could say that I intend on doing x, y and z, but that's be bullshit. I can think logically- I want to get my MA in development and work on behalf of the UN, addressing the problems of the DRC. But if I wake up one day I decide I quite fancy being a bin lady... then that's what I'll do. And shit'll be good.

No comments:

Post a Comment