On My Own

Last night ended rather disastrously. I don't know what triggered the surge of emotions, or why I didn't even fight the urges I was having. It seems that as I give up some behaviours, others crop up- hitting hard, with me, unprepared to adequately fight them.

In hindsight, I was tired. I hadn't slept well for a few days. I'm incredibly lonely here in Scotland, becoming increasingly frustrated at the conflict that arises from wanting to *be* well, and not sure if the steps I am taking are the "right" ones. I'm tired of fighting myself. Tired of fighting the constant barrage of obsessions and compulsions, and tired of...well to be honest, the overwhelming desire to recover. If there was no WANTS involved, I'd surrender to the thoughts and the conflict wouldn't arise in the first place. It's the in-between stage of wanting to be sick/wanting to be well that provides the breeding ground for any kind of negativity.

BUT...

Today is a new day. I got up and ate breakfast. I've been trying to increase my intake over the last few days and for the most part, have been successful. It's causing a lot of anxiety for me, but I am pushing forward and hoping it gets easier. Nobody KNOWS I am doing this (well, anyone reading this does!) and it's hard without support, but I've come to realise that people, for the most part, don't actually care anymore.

It's not about them anymore.

It's not about who has answers, who can help me, who can support me, who can love me.

I'm on my own now. I'm terrified and lonely and spend a lot of time fighting the urge to SCREAM or CRY or just reach out and hug someone (ha- sure that would go down well, lol) but it's the reality I am facing.

Perhaps it will feel more empowering in the future- to know that *I* did this. That *I* created a life for myself, got back on my feet and said a big "F*** you" to the people who have caused more of a hindrance than anything else. In the future. For now, it hurts like hell.

The Importance Of Belonging

I have decided, that no matter what, I need to make sure that I am *okay*. Not in a selfish "it's all about ME" way, but that despite the chaos and negativity going on around me at home/with my treatment, I am able to take care of myself. I am in the process of cutting off contact with certain people- they ones who mean well, but have too many of their own issues for me to be a part of their everyday lives.

Anorexia provides me with the security/predictability that my home life never has and it's only now that I am realising how important it is to have some kind of "family", whether they are blood-related or not. To be a part of a caring and nurturing environment is what I want (and need) if I am going to heal. Maybe I'll find it in friendship. Maybe religion. Maybe living in a small close-knit community. But *somewhere* there is a place where I will be unconditionally accepted.

It's okay to want this. It's okay to need this. It's okay to belong- to find my own niche in life where I am in the company of others walking the same path. I need to figure out who *I* am, beyond the identity that anorexia gives me, and then find a place to finally call "home".

Uncertainty Breeds Opportunity?

I'm still swinging wildly between highs and lows, and still have no idea what is going on.

I've realised a few things over the years- the main one being that without a definite plan, I tend to go a little crazy. Also that even when I have a definite plan, I'm looking for the *next* thing which results in me being crazy. This knowledge is all fine and well- doing something with it is a whole different story.

The current plan is...there is none. I still have the option of going to London I think. I'll find out more on that front on Wednesday. Honestly? I hope that the day program says they are only offering OP initially because then I can cross London off my list without having to make a decision myself. I know that I want to be in New York, and I know that in order to get there, I need to be stable enough to work full-time without having some kind of breakdown/relapse. Struggling with anorexia and dealing with the US health care system is difficult. Struggling with suicidal ideation and dealing with the US health care system is NOT something I want to face (leather restraints and visions of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" anyone?)

So somehow I need to get back onto my feet and figure out how this time in New York will be different.

AHA!

Back to the drawing board.

Wednesday is the day I find out about London and what the eating disorders service there are recommending. I also meet with my therapist in Edinburgh (lovely woman who told me I am a waste of NHS resources...quite a self-esteem boost). I also have an interview for a part-time job which sounds interesting/cool/fun/useful (in terms of something concrete on my resume/experience and all that jazz...)

Wants V Needs

I'm definitely feeling a lot brighter today. I feel like I have more clarity in my thoughts, my ideas are less clouded by despair and hopelessness. I have a clear vision of WHAT I want, and that's part of the battle.

The last couple of years have been about trying to figure out something very basic: do I want to live or do I want to die?..

Having made the decision to LIVE am now faced with the task of figuring out exactly how I go about *doing* that. It's not so simple as breathing, eating and sleeping.

I want to create a "life worth living".

I know, on a basic level, that food, sleep and oxygen are essential to staying alive. There is so much more than that. We have other needs and wants too...there is a difference between "wants" and "needs" and I struggle to see wants/desires as important in day-to-day life. Maybe that is part of the problem.

It's okay to want things. It's human nature to want things. It's okay to want to have friends, hobbies, pleasure. Food...that's a tricky one for me. It is, to all intents and purposes, a basic need. A part of me believes that, and another part of me believes that it is merely a "want" that can be brushed aside and ignored.


According to this, food is a basic physiological need.

There are so many layers above the basic needs. At least I know where to start though, right? Prioritising physiological, then working on the rest. One layer at a time...

What Should I Do With My Life?..

In order to avoid falling into the same panic as I have been, decided maybe writing down my thoughts/feelings and the facts might help me figure out what I am going to do from here.

Backtrack a little...

The plan when I returned from London was as follows:

- get involved in local Buddhist community events
- use the limited support available from eating disorders service to the best of my ability
- enrol in a part-time course to brush up on computing skills, etc so that when I do move back to NY, have better job prospects
- look for part-time work (either voluntary or paid)

Then I got a phone call this afternoon from the eating disorders team in London saying that day treatment MIGHT be an option for me. Which would mean delaying New York and somehow figuring out a way to live in London whilst engaging in treatment. This poses a few problems. First of all, London treatment was the better of the UK options available to me. It's hardly great treatment. Better than what I have right now, but I'm not convinced that it's reason enough to move (initially had been combination of school AND college). I know and trust this program, but again, the treatment for adults in the UK isn't about recovery in any way/shape/form, and I don't want the stress of moving to spend 5-6 months in a day program where the goal is to "live with my anorexia". I've pretty much made up my mind that I *will* recover and will do anything for that to happen. I don't know if I can do it myself, but I am not convinced that going back to London PURELY for the day program is a wise move.

But it MIGHT work. Yes, I would much rather work things out here whilst living in a semi-stable environment, focus on learning/work/community activities/socialising but again, I don't know how well that is going to work out...it's pretty much what I did when I came back this time last year.

There is so much to consider. So many options and so many limitations.

A few things I am certain about...

- I want to live in New York
- in order to DO that, I need to be in a strong enough position mentally and physically to hold down a full-time job and not *need* so much input from medical team
- friends are what keep me going. It's my social life and the culture in New York that I absolutely LOVE
- I need to recover. No more time to waste pissing around, trying to "stabilise", pretending I am tryingreallyhard when I know I could be pushing myself a LOT harder than I am

The real question is, how do I get from where I am to where I want to be? If I get the opportunity, do I try the day program in London? Or do I try to work with what's on offer in Scotland? Or do I brush it off and focus on building a life for myself based around community support/the real world and try to 'squeeze' my eating disorder out of my life? Or do I go into an inpatient program in NY (refeeding- nothing more) and hope that with weight gain comes something more? (Kind of "been there, done that").

Aaaaaargh. I'm so confused.

Yet More Whining

Being back in New York, albeit briefly, is causing a whirlwind of emotions. There is a part of me that wishes I could live here and wants to try, again, to somehow make it work. Then there is the other part of me that is overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle, the bright lights, the craziness and can't wait to leave. I'm feeling unsettled, anxious. I'm still not sleeping, and spend my days walking (and walking, and walking). I'm spending as much time as possible with other people and for the most part, enjoy it. I LIKE the fun stuff I do with my friends, and my laughter is genuine...and for moments, I forget.

I forget what it was like when I did live here. I forget what it was like in London. I forget the mess of the last couple of months. I forget that I leave New York on Thursday, and have nowhere to go when I leave the plane. I forget that I have no concrete plans beyond this week, because...well, who knows what landing back in London really means.

I feel like I am in some kind of limbo period. I'm not sure what my next move will be and I lack the patience or clarity in thought to give it any real consideration. I'm exhausted- not in the sense of jet-lag/overexertion, but in the sense that I don't want to DO this anymore.

I'm tired of the constant barrage of thoughts dominating my brain. I don't know how to make it go away- some say weight gain, others suggest medication, some say psychoanalysis, CBT, DBT. I've spent more time talking to psychologists than I have to my own brothers. I've tried eating my damn chicken salad sandwich and drinking whole milk. I've taken the anti-depressants/benzos/sedatives/mood stabilisers/anti-psychotics. There is no magical fix. Food isn't the answer. Medication isn't the answer. Therapy, relaxation, hobbies, friends/family, avoidance...sure, they all have their place and at times have been invaluable, but in terms of long-term stability? I'm starting to wonder if there IS such a thing.

I don't want to try anymore. I'm sick of doctors, hospitals, group therapy, affirmations, meal plans, drugs. I'm sick of pretending I am fine and falling flat on my face because in my haste to be "normal", I forget to eat or sleep. I am sick of wanting a life where I am not bound by the chains of anorexia, yet not knowing how to break free.

I want an answer. I want to know how the hell to get OUT of this mess. Because as time goes by, my options are becoming more and more limited, my vision becoming more and more narrowed. As yet another door is slammed in my face, I become more and more drawn to desperate measures to make it all just *stop*.

Lost

I have been sitting in my room all evening, thinking, planning, reminiscing. Out of nowhere, it all seemed to make sense. I've been avoiding thinking about the last few months. The last 2 years. Ever since I went to New York for treatment...all the time that has passed between now and then. The amazing people I met, the amazing taste of a life without anorexia I had briefly, the amazing opportunities that were handed to me, and how fucked up. Time, after time, after time.

I miss New York more than I can say. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it, dream about it, ache for it. I miss what I had- my friends, my family, therapy, goals, and most importantly, hope.

I've avoided thinking about it in depth because at this point, it's dangerous. I tried, and almost succeeded, to kill myself 3 weeks ago. I genuinely did want to die, and I still do. I don't see a way out of this. There is too much reality tied in with my emotions now. This isn't a chemical depression- this is the cold, hard reality of the choices I made, the mistakes I made, the trail of destruction/pain/heartache/anger I have left behind me.

I don't think I have the strength to make another attempt. And that is almost worse. It wasn't a decision I came to easily, or a path that I wanted to walk down. I simply saw no alternative out of this hellish existence I created for myself.

I want so much, and it hurts. It hurts because I can't HAVE it. There is no tangible reason for WHY I can't have it- it's not overly ambitious, not extravagant in any way/shape/form. I have tried, and tried, and tried again to make it work, make it happen, make my dreams come true.

Accepting that it may never become a reality for me is not sitting well.

I feel shaken, agitated, angry, hopeless. I sit and I drift off into the fantasy of what life could be like. I feel powerful, happy, excited. I think about the past and tears run down my face, my body cold and limp. I stare at the ceiling and count. One, two, three, four. Anything to make the memories stop. I count calories, protein grams, fat grams, sodium, sugar, fibre. I calculate weight in kilos, pounds. BMI, RMR. Numbers, numbers, numbers. Anything to block out the relentless stream of questions in my head: "why did I do...", "why did that...", "how can I...".

I want so much and yet so little at the same time. My brain is split by conflict that I need to resolve. Somehow, somewhere, someday.

There's No Method To This Madness

I feel so divided right now between what I am doing, and what I should be doing. I know better than this. Years of treatment have forever entrenched into my head that I do indeed need to eat. And yet, deep down, at my core, I don't believe that it's necessary. I don't see why it's so essential. I know the science, the facts, the physiological reasons behind nourishing the body, and yet on an emotional level, it seems so unnecessary, so absurd, so self-indulgent.

I feel like I should be taking better care of myself, and then find myself questioning, "why?". What have I done to deserve to eat? What have I done to deserve to feel strong and healthy? What is the point in taking on energy when I don't particularly want to face whatever challenge tomorrow brings?

Then of course, there is the basic survival mechanism that kicks in. I'm sleeping a maximum of 3-4 hours a night. My feet feel numb and tingly, my body shivering, my thoughts racing, my nights haunted by images of food leaving me stumbling around the house at 3am, weighing myself, just to 'make sure' that it was, indeed, nothing more than a dream.

It hit me today that I am back in the UK- yes, it's taken a while. It also hit me what I have left behind. I feel like a piece of ME was left behind. I started crying as I was waiting for the bus...on my way "home", and yet feeling like "home" doesn't exist anymore. I am so incredibly lonely here. I miss my friends, I miss my regular therapy appointments, I miss having reasons to get up each day, a purpose. I miss what could have been, rather than what *was*. I am still clinging to this fantasy that I have in my head about how life in New York COULD have been. And yet wasn't. It wasn't until today that I started to miss it, romanticise it, want to try again.

But I can't.

I am left trying to pick up the pieces or the horrible mess I am left with, and falling apart in the process.

I have no sense of what I want to do right now. Until today, I have been completely shut off from feeling anything, and now the heartache has set in. The numbness that initial restriction brings is starting to wear off, and there is an aching longing, yearning, wanting...for something that I don't know if I can ever have back again.

Pick myself up, dust myself off, start all over again, right? No. It doesn't work like that. Radical acceptance? Perhaps. Or maybe more of a begrudging acceptance. This is what happened, this is where I am now. How do I deal with it? I don't know the answer to that. All I know is that it hurts like hell, more than I will ever be able to put into words, and that I am dealing with it the only way I can right now.

The Year That Was

I want recovery.

I want to be normal. I want a life that doesn't revolve around food. I want to be able to concentrate enough to read a book or watch a movie. I want to spontaneously meet friends for brunch. I want to be able to laugh and joke around with people, and feel like I am contributing to the conversation, rather than just pretending/being an outsider. I want to be able to fill my time with both cool and mundane 'stuff' and be okay with both, without being terrified of having empty gaps in my schedule, or filling endless hours with walking and grocery shopping. I want to have people in my life that I can lean on a little, without being overly reliant, or determined to show how self-sufficient I really am. I want to sleep through the night and wake up at a reasonable hour. I want to look forward to the day ahead as I fall asleep. I want to come home each evening with enough energy to do more than just sit and stare at the walls. I want to be able to dance again, to play my harp again, to make t-shirts again. I want to go to movies, ice skating, bowling. I want to travel, eat at restaurants, visit family and friends. I want to have a job that I am comfortable in, which doesn't make me want to jump out of the window (from either stress or boredom) that I can balance with everything else without running me to the ground. I want a place to call home. I want to look in the mirror and smile. I want to be free from all this craziness. I want to throw back my head and laugh like I used to.

I was thinking about this all in Starbucks this evening. I was starting to feel excited, hopeful, happy. Then the thought popped into my head: "once I lose another Xlbs"

Recovery to me has always felt conditional. I'll recover without gaining weight. I'll recover but I won't eat such-and-such a food. I'll recover but I won't do xyz. The one time I really decided to throw these conditions out the window and do WHATEVER was recommended I do, I fell flat on my face. I gained weight, did my affirmations, my DBT homework, my body image homework, ate at restaurants, ate "fear foods"...did it all. For a while. Things were...interesting. I remember a lot of crazy mood swings, impulsive behaviours and depression. I also remember sleeping better, having more energy and having fun with friends. I remember having a freedom around food that I hadn't experienced for a while. I remember being busy to the point where I was exhausted, but scared to slow down in case my eating disorder clawed it's way back in. I remember interacting with people again, being part of the world rather than just a bystander. I remember making people laugh. I remember calling suicide hotlines at 2am utterly despairing. I remember doing stupid shit that I never thought I would do. I remember banging my head against a wall until I saw spots. I remember running through the streets at 4am, trying to escape the cloud looming above my head. I remember spending lots of money and ending up in some seriously messy (dangerous?) situations.

It was definitely a mixed bag. Am I happier now? I honestly don't know. My moods are slightly more stable. I feel safer, more in my comfort zone. I know the path I am taking, I know where it can lead, and I know how to maneuver my way through *this* maze. The maze of recovery was unknown. I didn't know where the potholes were placed, or where the quick-sand lay. I didn't know what was coming, or what might trip me up. Reflecting back, I still don't know quite what went wrong, or how, or when. Or if I was even on the right path to begin with...

Oh! I Love My Life (and all that jazz...)

I don't know what's happened the last couple of weeks, but something is different. I don't know whether it is partly physical, or purely mental, but there is something wrong. I'm not sleeping. I've stopped working. I have a hatred for myself that runs so deep I think of little more than ways to destroy myself. I don't know if it's based on facts- I have been applying for jobs, getting invited to lots of interviews, and getting rejected, time and time again. I feel useless. I feel stupid. I feel lazy for not working/trying harder/being a better person. I wake up each morning, my pillow wet from my tears through the night. I've started isolating- wanting so desperately to reach out to people, yet not willing to inflict myself on people I care about. I am a waste of space. I do nothing but suck the life out of everyone around me.

I hate myself.

I hate that I have screwed up the last 14 years of my life. I hate that I can't just be normal. I hate that all I am good at is losing weight. I hate that I can't get/keep a job. I hate that I can't just comply with treatment that may actually help. I hate that I am so self-obsessed and wrapped up in my eating disorder that I don't notice anyone/anything around me. I hate that I have become so unreliable and unpredictable. I hate that I am lying to everyone around me. I hate that I am doing all this STUFF and hate even more that I don't know how to stop, or if I even want to.

I need a job.
I need a support network.
I need some non-eating disordered friends.
I need an anxiety relieving hobby.
I need to take better care of myself.

I need lots of things. I want lots of things. It hurts to want, because they are things I'll never have- "normality". A real job, an apartment, friends, a life that isn't dictated by doctors or illness. Is there a difference between wants and needs? They feel the same to me. They are all WANTS. I don't "need" anything. Or so I like to keep telling myself.