Another Star In The Sky

I've been sitting in front of my laptop for about half an hour, trying to formulate some kind of coherent thoughts/words right now.

I haven't yet come up with anything.

I received news today that a friend of mine passed away at the end of February. She was someone I have known for years- through the depths of her disorder, then as a "role model" after she entered residential treatment a few years ago and remained in a solid state of recovery from her eating disorder since then. Over the last couple of years, she has made random appearances with updates about how things are going, how recovery has taken her places she never thought she would go and how she was well and truly embracing life.

She was someone I have often thought about in my own difficult moments. A kind of, "she did it, so can I..." type way. She was actually one of two people who prompted the change in my own motivation to recover and seek out the admission I have been discussing the last few days.

Her struggles apparently didn't end, and her absence was not necessarily due to life being great/wonderful/absorbing. She took her own life on February 22nd.

It seems like yesterday that I posted about Lorrie passing away. I guess when your entire social circle is composed of people you meet through the common ground of an eating disorder, as time goes on, the chances increase that you will be losing more friends than any 26 year old would ever expect to.

I want to say more. So much more. So much about what I am thinking right now, what I am feeling, more about my friend. It just doesn't feel "right" this evening. There aren't words to do her courage and spirit justice.

Love never disappears for death is a non-event.
I have merely retired to the room next door.
You and I are the same; what we were for each other, we still are.
Speak to me as you always have, do not use a different tone, do not be sad.
Continue to laugh at what made us laugh.
Smile and think of me.
Life means what it has always meant.
The link is not severed.
Why should I be out of your soul if I am out of your sight?
I will wait for you, I am not here, but just on the other side of this path.
You see, all is well.
-St. Augustine

Facing The Past, Clinging To The Future

I woke up today feeling much calmer and happier than I have in days. I read through your comments from yesterday and went on a special (secret!) shopping mission before an appointment I had. I had so much fun! Your words were still on my mind about relaxing and having a good time, and it was great.

I mentioned a couple days ago about how this city holds a lot of painful memories for me. I don't want to go into the whole shebang right now, but suffice to say that I know a lot of people here that I could quite happily live without ever seeing/hearing about today. So far, that's been pretty successful. I am careful about where I go and what I do- part of the anxiety in my new apartment has been not quite sure about the area, but I'm taking it one.day.at.a.time.

I was a little early for my appointment and was standing on the street looking in my bag for tic-tacs when all of a sudden someone called out my name. I looked up to see about fifteen people pouring out of a doorway next to the building I was about to go into. I knew 5 of them. I don't know if they remember things the same way I do, or if I misinterpreted things or if my anxieties and fears have altered my memories somehow, but they seemed happy to see me and started talking and asking lots of questions: the usual, "where have you been/what are you doing". I am generally pretty open about my 'life'- at least, with people who know my story/situation but I was NOT comfortable sharing any information with this group.

Honestly? They scare me. They know me and my history, and I know theirs. They aren't people I feel safe talking to, let alone sharing any information about my current life. I could feel myself getting more and more anxious and frightened- they were friendly to me, and I am going to sound like a complete b**** here, but it just took me back to all those years ago when I watched them chat with each other the same way, then like the flick of a switch, turn into unrecognisable violent monsters.

I know I have changed a lot over the last few years, and I have NO doubt that they have changed too. But it's hard to seperate who I WAS from who I am today.

But being there today, on the street, talking to me the same way they did back then as if nothing has changed at all was unsettling, to say the least.

I can't think straight right now. My thoughts are going a hundred miles per hour, yet at the same time my brain feels strangely empty.

I'm not the same person I was- whether they have changed or not isn't important. I have changed.

I'm not that girl.

I am safe.

I am going to be okay.

Fake It Till Ya Make It

That's been today's theme, and you know what? I'm feeling okay about it. I'm not bursting at the seams with self-love, but I'm not beating myself up for pushing away the negative thoughts that came my way today ("go away- there is no time for YOU today").

I've been struck this week by how precious life truly is. Both in blogs and through the loss of my friend last week. I'm still not ready to talk about that in great detail, but it's just hitting me quite how fragile life is, how we never really know what lies around the corner. That's what makes life so exciting and wonderful, but also where heartache and pain and fear lie. Uncertainty, loss, unpredictability.

I was just wandering around town (shoe shopping!), but obsessing over my usual jazz ("if I eat abc for dinner, then I should have xyz for snack") when I got to thinking quite how much time I spend thinking about food, weight, calories, etc. The sheer amount of time I devote to essentially trivial stuff. None of which is going to matter in a week, a month, 6 months, a year...next Valentine's Day, am I even going to remember what I ate for snack on February 11th 2008? Hell no.

It just really got me thinking- when I'm old, I don't want to look back on my life and remember nothing more than endless hours in grocery stores, making lists, walking the same walk every.single.day. Enough of my memories NOW are of hospital, treatment, disaster. I don't want to waste more of my time- I want to look back and remember the trips I took, the relationships I formed, the cool adventures I had with friends. I want photos of nights out partying, vacations, celebrations. NOT piles of boxes of notepads filled with calculations about exactly how many raisins to put in my oatmeal. Life's too short.

Spend your time wisely- you never know how much you have left.

I want to look back and laugh and cry at the ups and downs, but I don't want to look back with bitter regret at all the things I never did because I was "too busy" with an eating disorder.

Pushing Through?..

I haven't written for a few days because things have been going well. I seem to have less to say when I'm feeling better- I've been busy with non-eating disordered things, applying for jobs, planning, planning and more planning. I've been eating better, sleeping better- altogether on a far more even keel. I've been excited about the future again and pushing away any negativity and doing what I need to do in order to MAKE a future.

Until yesterday.

I don't know what happened, or why my mood crashed or *what* happened. I just suddenly realised that I had no desire to do anything, nothing concrete to hold on to. My dreams and hopes suddenly seemed incredibly unattainable and childish. I got up yesterday, on autopilot, ate my breakfast and stared at the wall for an hour. Went back to bed and slept for 3 hours. Got up and didn't really do anything all day. It's VERY unlike me to not even go for a walk, but I had no desire to even brush my hair, never mind pick a play list on my iPod, throw on my scarf and hit the streets. I ploughed through the day somehow, hoping that today would be different. I followed my planned meals, acted "as if"- hating myself for eating, hating myself for making the couple phone calls I mustered up the motivation to make, for filling out the forms sitting on my desk. I did it anyway thinking that today would feel different. Better.

Today has been a similar story. Got up at a ridiculous hour (4:30 am), ate breakfast on autopilot, stared at the walls and went back to bed and stared at the ceiling. Decided I might feel better if I got out and DID something so walked for a couple of hours in the freezing cold until I couldn't stand being outside anymore.

I've been home for a few hours and everything feels wrong somehow. I'm tired. I feel deflated, hopeless, despondent. I don't know what the answer is right now- nothing has changed from 3 days ago to now. I just don't feel motivated anymore.

Maybe I went too fast? Maybe I didn't go fast enough? Maybe I did too much, too little, the wrong things? I don't know. I wish, wish, WISH I could go back in time to 18 months ago and try to do things differently. Or 2 years ago. Or 3. Hell, 15, and see if knowing what I do now, things could be different.

(not that this way of thinking is actually helping anything...)

Food For Thought

I wish I had something more to say than just, "I'm still around". I feel really empty at the moment and have little to say at all, not just in the world of blogging. Everything feels strangely quiet- an eerie kind of silence which usually means trouble is brewing.

I'm not doing well, but there isn't any thoughts/feelings behind it. I'm falling into the same old patterns, not because I am highly driven to do so, merely that I lack the drive NOT to do so. It's getting old, but it's a default mode that I revert back to when I have nothing else tangible to cling to.

I know that the people around me now have long since given up. It's hard to stay focused on a "recovery" that you are constantly told will never happen.

"...because you don't want it"
"...because if you DID want it, you would have done it by now"
"...because you have tried every kind of treatment and it hasn't helped"
"...because you are too wrapped up in anorexia"
"...because this has gone on too long"
"...because the sky is blue/it's a Thursday/I just painted my nails"

None of this really means anything. I know the statistics aren't in my favour. I know what treatment I've tried. I know that a lot of the "treatment" has done more harm than good, I know that there is more that I could be doing to move forwards. I know this is frustrating for you too. I know, I know, I know.

I also know that things could be worse. A lot worse. They have been before, and I figure that staying relatively sane is a balancing act that very few people seem to understand- people that knew me 10 years ago would not recognise the person I am today. People who know me now would not identify with the 15 year old me. Things HAVE changed. Things aren't all rays of sunshine right now, but they are a hell of a lot more stable and "livable" than the world I had created for myself back then. Maybe it's the natural process of maturing. Maybe something in the treatment I have had has sunk in. Maybe it's just all part of the healing process. Maybe I am looking too deep into things and should stop brushing off how the "here and now" is just because it could be worse. It could always be worse. I guess focusing on the "it COULD be worse" part shuns me of taking responsibility for the present situation.

Food for thought.

Ha ha.

Memories...

Friday will be exactly eleven years since Jenny died. I rarely talk about her, but not a day goes by when I don't think about her.

Backtrack a little- Jenny was several years older than me, and one of the "cool kids" at synagogue. I hung out with the kids my age, and we all looked up to the slightly older ones (you know how it is when you are 4-5, and there are these oh-so-cool 9-10 year olds!) My family stopped attending synagogue for various reasons, and carried on with our day-to-day lives.

Fast forward to me, aged 14, when I was admitted to the local hospital for treatment. Jenny was also a patient. We grew close again- her attending each day, me returning to the ward after "program" to sleep. We talked a lot about our similarities between our families, our upbringing, the daily battles we faced. Her eyes sparkled at her excitement about recovery, her determination to get well shone through her frail appearance. As time went on, due to Jenny's family circumstances, she hit a bump in the road and started to go downhill. She was admitted to the same ward I slept on, and our bond grew stronger. It was heartbreaking to see her struggle, the twinkling in her eyes start to fade. Still we talked, made grand plans for when we were well and out in the real world.

A couple of weeks later I was transferred to a unit 300 miles away, leaving Jenny behind. She made me promise that I would never stop fighting for recovery, that I was worth it, that I was stronger than this disease. I kept the card and picture she gave me by my bed and thought about her all the time. A week later, I got called into the nurses station to take a phonecall. I took the phone, and it was one of the nurses from the hospital Jenny and I had been in together. She didn't have to tell me. I knew. I remember falling to the floor, and I remember crying for what felt like months. I don't remember much else about the days/weeks that followed.

All I know is that a part of me died that day.

Eleven years later and I am plagued with guilt that I didn't keep my promise. Every time I use some kind of "symptom", I get flashbacks of Jenny and I huddled in the hallway of the hospital- me, promising that I would stay strong, that I would beat this. I hear her voice, hear the excitement about the prospect of being well- it comes in flashes, and I want SO badly to live the life that was taken from Jenny. I feel guilty that I survived and Jenny didn't. That I wasn't there for her during that last week. That I didn't DO something, that eleven years later I still don't know what I could have done.

I am angry with the hospital for letting her die. Angry at the doctors for standing back and watching someone so special just deteriorate without intervention. I am angry at the healthcare system and lack of resources in Scotland that took away the best friend I have ever had, and continues to to take the lives of others. It is so unfair, so cruel, so wrong.

I don't know quite what I believe about the afterlife, but I hope that Jenny is at peace with her demons now.

Jenny... I miss you.