Wednesday, 30 July 2014

Body-shaming.

I'm terrible for making excuses about any changes to my body, and I've recently sort of twigged on to the fact that it's not just a me thing. It's not just an eating disorder sufferer thing. It's not just a young person thing. It's not even just a woman thing, although I do think women are expected more to apologise for weight-gain, in particular. I think already I'm wading into excuses by referring to the general issue- body-shaming, in its forms- by making my previous assessments of those groups of people into a 'just' thing. There's no 'just' about it, it's an issue that claims acceptance, happiness, contentment and life. It's a bigger, more grotesque, issue than my thighs ever will be.

My latest excuses have been to blame other people for making me gain, when in fact it was me who agreed to the NG, and then it was me who finally accepted that I would gain the weight I needed. I've gained roughly 15kg and there are still a few more to go before I reach the point my body naturally settles at. I should be bloody proud of that, and sometimes I am. It's taken so much out of me, but the rewards of acceptance, happiness, contentment and life itself, are what I need to concentrate on. I'm not there, but I'm nearer there than I am the opposite. It's not about the number on the scales, it's my body having a natural shape and natural size. I may never be comfortable with the fact that I view my thighs as so big, but I'm healthier now, and that should be the focus.

But for those on the opposite end, those who are clinically overweight or obese (such a horrible word), they shouldn't have to fear their bodies and have other people judge not only their bodies, but also their lives. Maybe they're happy, and maybe they're not- but until they ask your opinion on their dietary intake, you don't deserve to have one. Anyway, that's kind of different. What I more mean is, right, it's bikini season. Chances are, you look hot in a one piece or a bikini. Every woman does, because whether you're aware of the battle or not, you're sticking two fingers up to your insecurities and the ones society expects you to have. No matter where you fall on the bloody BMI chart (don't even get me started), it's a fight that at some point, many points, you'll probably fight. You can win; you look fantastic.

Society, the media, wherever you want to direct the hate- you go for it. Be a warrior. Be strong. Stop shopping for ways to hide your size, and accept that whether you're an XXS or a XXL, you deserve to dress for you. Wear pretty things, eat delicious things and realise your power. You are powerful. You are strong. And you don't ever, ever need to be ashamed.

Monday, 21 July 2014

Passion.

I'm actually ill, again. I need to stop eating crap and congratulating myself for the fact that I'm actually eating, and occasionally shove in summat healthy. I need to do that, but I'm not going to. I really don't understand the point in calories that aren't delicious. It's a big part of how I got off my last NG within a month. I actually refuse to eat salad and fruit because it's no fun. Everything, everything, ought to be fun.

I'm thinking a lot about the future- being shut away in your room does that. I have a rough idea of what I want to do, and what I need to do to get there, and I think this might be an area of my life where my constant need for excitement and fun and passion might come in handy. To recover, I think you have to kind of think, 'right, I can be thin and miserable, or I can be healthy and mostly miserable, but with the energy to have some bloody great laughs.' I went out this weekend with Ginge, one of my aunties and one of my cousins, and it was so great, in the sort of casual way that I wouldn't have been physically or mentally able to a month or two ago. It's more complicated than just fun- isn't everything, always?- but that pretty much sums it up.

I'm almost constantly revolted by my body, but I'm learning to appreciate what it does. Aimee, one of my closest friends, made a comment about how the worst thing about watching my last decline was when I lost my ability to express myself, because that's such a big part of who I am. I've been chewing this over (ok, ok, slight pun intended), and she's right. I'd rather have my boobs and my brain, than a 3 mile wide thigh gap.

I'm pretty sure that I can make this the home straight. I'm going home for the first time since NYE, this weekend and I can't wait. I'm going to use it to spur me on, because sometimes you need a reminder than life goes on. The mundane activities still need doing. Life isn't always great, but it's far better than the alternative.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Get me out.

I've been ill for a couple of days and I'm pretty sure that although the symptoms have been physical, it's probably a bit of a mental thing. I've been exhausted and mentally beaten down and just generally, I don't know, sad. I'm only just realising now how knackered I've been and how I don't think I've had a bug. I know I complain a lot, and I also know I'm really, really lucky. I hate the word lucky, because I'm just about the least superstitious person, ever. Probably all that Catholic upbringing I had, all I feel now is human. I have a great family, brilliant friends and really amazing boobs (that's only slightly a joke). But at the same time, I carry a heavy, old heart and a fire that writhes and dims at the most delicate provocation.

It's been rough, recently, fighting the anorexia. It's always been tough, but I'm so desperate to be done with it that I'm maybe expecting too much. It's weigh day today and I know I've lost weight, despite kind of supplementing my own diet of a night. I add up my calories that they've given me through meals and snacks during the day, realise that it's below even what a dieter would eat, never mind someone who is meant to be gaining, and then add my own, extra, snacks. It's never enough, though. I'm so alone right now, because although I'm on a busy ward, with both staff and patients, it's just me in this situation and just me nobody knows how to help.

It's not really any great wonder I've been ill from the exhaustion. I'm trying to dig myself out of my own grave. My funders want me moved to an alternative hospital and I don't know where or when, or even if any other place would be beneficial, or if I just need to be out, because I'm basically doing everything now I'd be doing for myself on the outside anyway, just without the freedom. Being sectioned is, at times, really quite degrading. I can't keep begging for food, for example.

Get me out of here.

Thursday, 10 July 2014

Complex

"For somebody who is complex, she's actually really likeable."

Let that one sink in a bit. Seems complimentary, but, well, really? The assumption that as I "complex" person I don't get the benefit of the doubt afforded to everybody, makes the compliment into an insult.  Also, I kind of- sappy as this may sound- feel insulted for everybody else who is classed as complex. It's a majorly shitty thing to have on your notes anyway, because complex really means nothing in real life, but in the mental health system it's a code for them not having a clue what to do with you, and so everyone just passes you on. I am, once again, the ginger stepchild. I'm trying to not really draw many conclusions from the original statement, back-handed as it was, but I'm constantly chewing it over in my head.

In other news, there really is no other news. I'm taking it hour by hour, smoke break by smoke break (still not over scheduled fag times. Amazing they don't have organised toilet breaks, to be crude). It's a dull way to live, but I've got to do what I've got to do to get through, and that's about it. Oh, and I have the giant stress of them deciding I'm moving hospitals, but nobody knows where. Life is bloody stressful. I reeeally can't be arsed going into it now, but expect a rant in the next few days about it. Urgh.

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

To love and to be loved.

I love a lot of people. Sometimes so much it makes me angry, because everyone is suffering in one way or another, everyone has those doubts and insecurities and demons, and I just don't get it. I don't get how the people I love, who are so worthy of all the good things in the world, can possibly not see that. It sounds a bit sappy, but I'm so angry because I just can't vanquish the mental demons, all I can do is sit and watch, try to be there, and that's a pretty crap position to be in. I just really don't get how they don't see their power and beauty. I just don't get it.

I love people so much, yet I fail to respect them, in a way. Let me explain. I think part and parcel of loving people is faith in them and acceptance of their beliefs. I think we kind of own the people we love and they own us, because if they love you back, you've also got to accept yourself their love, and therefore, the fact that they have faith and acceptance in you. In being loved, you become real and you have a duty to protect the beliefs of the other person. If I love people, and they love me back, why aren't I accepting them, and their faith in me? Why am I breaking something that they love? What kind of person destroys a loved ones prized possession? Whatever kind of person does that, is a kind of person I don't want to be.

Recovery is a personal journey through a maze towards loving yourself and believing that, loved by others or not, you're worthy of health and happiness. I'm somewhere in the maze, not at the final destination, and so I'm not in a place where I can do it for myself. I hope I'm not far from the destination, but the maze is complicated and sometimes you have to double back on yourself to find another way, and that's fine. I've doubled back, but I've found another route and hopefully it won't be a dead end. I may not be ready to do it for myself, but I think I'm in a position to love and be loved.

I've got my fight and motivation back, I just want myself back now.