Wednesday, 28 January 2015

Best/worst.

The worst part of anorexia is also the best... the ability to starve away any emotion in favour of feeling fat. When you're consumed by how little you're consuming, and all you can hear is your body crying for nutrition and the voice screaming at you about how fat you are, it's hard to notice much else. You don't have to be sad, you don't have to feel angry, you don't have to dislike anything but yourself, and that's strangely comforting. Like slipping into bed with an abusive ex, whose apologies and claims of love are far less frequently heard than the deathly whispers of your lack of worth, and whose kisses are felt far less from their lips than they are from their fists, there's an uncomfortable comfort in the nostalgia.

But when you hate yourself more than you hate the people who hurt you and stole your self-worth, there's a deadly discrepancy. Emphasis on deadly. What once was a viable plan to exist only in a bubble of self hatred, becomes an inescapable reality. The bubble gets smaller and smaller, until it literally begins to spread from a mental horror to a physical emergency, too. We all claim it won't happen to us, that our bodies can take more, but we're still human. Avoiding human emotions doesn't strip us of our humanity in a physical sense. We can die. We will die.

I'm faced at the moment with two options. I relapse again and I die, or I go keep going through hell to claw myself out of the suffocation of the bubble. I'm not being melodramatic and it's been said to me by numerous professionals; I can die. I will die. My body won't cope with another relapse- it barely survived the last one. I've beaten enough of my demons to decide, finally, that I don't want to die, but I feel like everyone is waiting for me to slip. In a way, they are. They want to catch me, should I fall, and try to prevent the apparent inevitability of my demise. I just want somebody to tell me that they trust me and my strength, but people, in general, have to look for the negative in order to plan to avoid it. We all need insurance. I'd worry, too.

Fighting is my only option, but it's harder than it sounds because, well, it just is. It hurts like hell and there's no promise of success, but I need a life. I want to feel 24, not 84. I want my freedom and I want options, choices, not inevitabilities. I'm ready for this, but I'm so, unbelievably, scared. All I know how to deal with is hunger pains, not mental ache. And God, do I ache.

Saturday, 24 January 2015

10(ish) facts about me. Part one.

This blog, naturally, is all about my mental health. My mental health problems are centric to my life, given that I'm in a psychiatric hospital and have been for years. But the more well I get, the more I realise that I'm not the anorexic, the girl who's always wasted, or that mental one in the corner. I'm not exactly sure who or what I am, but here's the challenge and here's the challenge I put to you... List 10 facts about yourself that have nothing to do with your mental health or whatever demons you're beating. You are not your past, your past merely shapes your present, but doesn't have to shape your future. No negatives about yourself, alright? Here goes.

1. Once upon a time, I was a university student. I made the mistake of ignoring everything I knew about southerners, and went down to Essex for it. Do not make that mistake. Southerners may look like us (well, they're usually cleaner and more, like, kind of shiny). but they are freaks. They don't have gravy with their chips and you can't get a double vodka for anything less than the price of a house in Scunthorpe.

2. The ultimate compliment to me is when people physically recoil from some of my bizarre (and downright ugly, in many cases) clothing choices. I can't even call them fashion choices.

3. I can more or less recite The Great Gatsby.

4. I think my skin is a really great show of the person I am. I have billions of freckles on the left side of my face, but only a few on the right side. I get random hairs pretty much anywhere, from time to time. That shows I'm odd and messy, get what I mean? No? Just me? That's cool.

5. I'm finding this really hard, actually. That probably says more about me than my skin does, because coming up with things about me, that are positive, is so difficult. I need to be nicer to myself. I might have to do this in two parts, especially because it's making me need a smoke.

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Faking it.

If you've ever met me in person, you'll know I have excellent boobs. In fact, if you've ever had a conversation with me, I'll probably have told you (stick with me, I swear I'm going somewhere with this). Truth be told, I hate more or less everything about myself, both physically and, yanno, in terms of personality and my past and things I've let happen (or feel like I've not fought enough against, anyway). It's not that I blame myself for everything, but sometimes I feel that if nobody else will take on responsibility for things, then I must. I've convinced myself- completely inaccurately- that negativity always needs to be absorbed and I'd rather take it on myself than have somebody else suffer. I'm no Mother Theresa, but I like everyone else a damn sight more than I like myself. Even the people I don't like.

Anyway, as ever, back to my chest. I often talk about it because I am so desperate to like something about myself, I'm so desperate to get better, that I almost try to convince myself that what I once took for a sign of my being fat is actually a sign of my health and so a GOOD THING. Health is good. Health is very, very good. I've never found it hard to lose weight, but why bother when it'll just shrink my chest? And my feet, incidentally. Every relapse I tend to lose a good half a shoe size. I'm an odd one, through and through.

I think what I'm trying to say, in a roundabout way, is that I'm getting there. I'm not nearly as confident as I come across, but I'm trying to fake it until I make it, because I think convincing yourself is the first step. I'm allowed to like something about myself, even if it seems shallow or unimportant, because I don't have to soak up everybody else's negativity. That's not how negativity- in this case low self esteem- works. Take the challenge- pick something you like about yourself, discover you are a likeable person, and shout it from the rooftops. Because you don't have to save the world. And even if you did have to, you can't save anyone until you've saved yourself.

Friday, 9 January 2015

Infected.

I've been so ill that I literally have not changed my underwear in a week, or eaten any chocolate. The chocolate thing is more of a shock, to be honest. Feel like without my fix, I've lost my superpowers. Oh, and cigarettes, none of them earlier. In short, it's been a crapper of a week. Glorious chest infection. Glorious years of anorexia and so terrible immune system. I get a lot of infections (not kidding, I'd only been off antibiotics for 4 days for a different infection, when my chest infection started), so usually I have to just get on with it, because if I let every infection stop me doing things, nothing would ever get done. This week, though, I just had to take a break. And it taught me a lot:

1. The world won't fall apart and people won't crumble if I take time for myself. That time this week was kind of forced upon me, but chances are if/when I take a step back, nothing will break (unless I bang into something and break a bone, or summat. I'm very clumsy).

2. Being woken up by a friend with a hot chocolate is a really lovely gesture. It maybe can only be done for the person/people you live with, but give it a shot- wake them up with a hot drink, just before their alarm is due to go off. It's nicer than a machine wake up call.

3. Feeling guilty and taking it out on myself every time I get ill is just going to delay my recovery. Maybe it is my fault for all the years of attempting to destroy my body, and succeeding to do that to my immune system. There's not a lot I can do now though, but rest and go easy on myself.

4. It's ok to let others take care of me. If that's sitting and crying over how ill I feel, then whatever. The important thing is not making one sided relationships.

5. As much as I learnt the above, I also learnt that you can't always rely on everyone else, because most people already know that they don't have to always be the superhero. You can't resent people for that, because the only way to help others is to make sure you are strong enough in yourself.

Today's been my first day out of bed, and I'm bored as hell. The last bit of being ill, when you're too ill still do much, but not ill enough to not care, always gets me down. Tomorrow should be better; I'll change my underwear, stuff down a bit of chocolate (sadly, only a bit. Struggling a bit food-wise, truth be told) and smoke. What more could anybody want, eh?