Let's Do the Time-Warp

"I'll have a double decaf skim grande latte with a splash of caramel syrup, no
whip, shaken not stirred, rebuked, and then served in a stack of three cups, no
cup sleeve, light on vanilla, a dash of nutmeg, sprinkling of cinnamon and then
punch me in the stomach"

No, that wasn't today's order :P

Yesterday was exactly 2 years since I quit my job at Starbucks. How do I remember the exact day? Because it was the same day I started seeing the therapist I grew to rely on over the next few months (and who probably saved my life, on more than a few occasions).

Back track.

New Year's Eve, 2006, I was inpatient in a research hospital in New York. It was not my first inpatient admission, but it was the first time that I sought it out, determined to recover once and for all. I flew from Scotland to what I thought would be a 4-6 week admission at the end of November 2006. Fast forward to March 2007 and I was finally discharged. It was the first time in my adult life that I had reached a healthy weight, the first time I had completed a treatment program voluntarily and the first time I had ever really believed that recovery was a very real possibility.

By the time I was discharged, fully weight-restored, I was working part-time in Starbucks a few afternoons a week, was taking an evening class at NYU and things were nothing short of amazing. I remember one of the first days after I was discharged- I was walking along the street and saw this adorable puppy. Those that know me know that I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, an animal lover (they scare me!). Neither am I one for mushiness and gushing over "cute" stuff. But the sun was shining and the puppy was jumping around, and I remember laughing. Really laughing. And really meaning it.

I had lived in such a state of numbness and malnourishment, that words like "happy" and "relaxed" really had no meaning to them. Until I was healthy. I sure as hell had MAJOR ups and downs at that point. I sunk to points of depression I never thought possible- but I also LAUGHED. I joked around, I joined in conversations, I slept until reasonable hours in the morning. My mind came alive as my body did and it seemed nothing short of a miracle to me that all of a sudden, the world was full of colours I had never seen before.

The world didn't stop turning when I stopped eating- I just hadn't been paying attention.

I commented on another blog yesterday when they mentioned the "freedom" they felt at a healthier point in their recovery and it really resonated with me. I still had hang-ups about food- I distinctly remember day treatment, when one lunchtime my salad was slightly bigger than usual. My "old" reaction would be to panic and pick out some lettuce/tomatoes- but no. I asked for extra salad dressing! I still weighed myself every day, walked a little more than most people would in the same circumstances, was struggling a lot to accept my new healthy body. But it was as if by gaining weight, a weight was lifted off of my shoulders and for the first time that I could remember, I experienced true happiness amongst the lows. Everything was so bright and intense because I wasn't hiding from the world behind my body- I was THERE, taking up the space I deserve, as if to say, "I'm here world- bring it on".

The months that followed were a struggle. I'm not sure at what point things started to unravel. I look back and it's all a bit of a haze. I did have some genuine physical issues going on which led to unintentional weight loss, resulting in the numbness I had craved during some of the dips amidst my happy/free moments. Piece by piece, everything started to fall apart and I really WAS oblivious. I kept brushing things off as "no big deal" because I didn't see the life I had built for myself starting to crumble.

First I cracked a bone in my ankle and had to leave my Starbucks job. Then my class ended (98% on my final exam- woot! A nourished brain = functioning brain, fo shizzle!), then the stomach issue...then before I knew it, I'd lost a pretty significant chunk of weight, was obsessing over the size of apples and people were making noises about inpatient/residential again.

Maybe I've just blocked it out. There is a huge part of me that is SO angry at myself for letting anorexia take hold of me again, for not trying harder/doing things differently. For taking for granted that I was doing better, and forgetting that there was a hell of lot of work to be done to STAY "better. For making the same mistake of going down the 'quick-fix' route when things got hard, instead of using some of the distress tolerance skills I'd been given in treatment.

There is also this incredible sense of guilt. My family in the US had never really gotten involved with my disorder/treatment when I was in the UK. When I came to New York and they SAW me get healthier, SAW the progress and improvements, they pulled out all stops to ensure that a relapse would not happen. A lot of people invested time, energy and money in my recovery and I don't think I will ever forgive myself for "throwing it back in their faces" (it wasn't intentional, but that is how it has been perceived).

This has been one long-ass post after a long-ass day so I'm leaving it there!

But, I need to keep reminding myself of the freedom that came with health, the happiness that accompanied the lows. Coming alive again hurt like hell, but the pain had a flip-side I don't experience now. I don't know if it's worth it- to have the highs but the deepest of lows? Or to stay in this steady "not quite despair but hurting like hell" state I exist in now. But the freedom to laugh and smile and sparkle and shine...that's got to be worth it.

Today's snack- looks like a repeat (pumpkin spice trail mix w/ yogurt), but I added vanilla extract to my plain yoghurt. Wowsers. That WILL be repeated!

Edit: apologies for weird formatting. No end of trouble with blogspot this evening...

Pushing Limits and Setting Boundaries

I tossed and turned all night, unable to stay asleep for more than half an hour at a time. I was annoyed with myself for a few reasons, and worried about friends and that I had stepped on people's toes yesterday.

I got up around 5am and sat smoking and drinking coffee and thinking. I was reading my old posts from when I was very active in eating disorders message boards where there are a lot of people not even contemplating recovery, and the shift in focus on my blog when my attention was drawn to the more recovery orientated blogging community.

I guess I am scared that I look to blogs a little too much for support and motivation, and I am worried that MY recovery is going to be dependant on other people's. Of course, that will never work- I need to OWN my recovery and be doing it for ME. Doing it for myself isn't the same as doing it by myself and I need to figure out a way to set some boundaries with myself regarding where I draw the line between using support whilst still remaining independently recovering. Does that make any sense?..

This is definitely an issue I have struggled with in the past- doing what everyone around me is doing because...well, if they can do it, so can I. It's hard for me to separate myself from anyone/everyone around me, and do what is right for ME- especially when I am struggling and either looking for justification for my behaviour, or reason to change. It's also been hard for me to feel good about myself/where I am when I go down the road of comparing myself to people who I was at school with and are now doctors/lawyers/architects, married, happy.

Essentially I think the problem is that I have no idea who I am, what I want or where I am going and I'm trying too hard to fit in where I perhaps don't really belong. Part of this is the huge ambivalence I apparently have towards recovery- don't get me wrong, I WANT to be free from anorexia, but struggle a lot with giving up the behaviours. for this reason, I don't fit in with the friends I have that don't want to get well, and I don't fit in with the friends I have who are actively making changes because I'm somewhere in between.

I have a tendency to put people on pedestals and give myself permission to eat/stop exercising/do XYZ because that is what my role models do and I really struggle to stay focused on my recovery when I see that the people I look up to are human too. And that's perfectly OKAY- the problem isn't THEM, it's my perception. I am fully aware of this.

This is not a criticism of anyone in particular, except myself- not even criticism so PLEASE don't see it that way. Merely an observance of my own thoughts, feelings, actions and a look at where I am right now. Food and weight issues aside, there is a hell of a lot of work I need to be doing with regards to recovery.

Anyway, onto my fun stuff...


Cheese is a bit of a "fear food" for me, so I decided I was going to incorporate it somehow into today's food. What did I come up with?

Apple cheddar oatmeal.

In the mix:

• 1/3 cup oats cooked in water
• apple
• cinnamon
• 1oz cheddar

I've never had apples with cheese before, but heard it was good- and it WAS! Love sweet + savoury combinations! Close up of the mixed-up cheesy goodness...


And due to Clif-burnout, a new snack :)



And finally, a quote I came across this morning...

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."
- Ambrose Redmoon

Dear You (yes YOU)

I've been reading blogs tonight and felt compelled to write a second post.

No pictures, no food talk, no sugar-coating- just me, at the risk of sounding like a complete hypocrite, wanting to reach out to everyone right now who is struggling.

I have about 50 blogs bookmarked which I have been reading daily for months. I don't always comment- not because I don't care, but because I find it so difficult to articulate what I want to say: how much I relate to your ups and downs, how much strength I draw from watching you battling in your wars (whether your war is an eating disorder, an addiction or just the fight to be the best *you* that you can be). I sit by my laptop, big mug of coffee in one hand and I see so much spirit and beauty in your words and pictures. I feel like I KNOW you guys. It sounds stalker-ish, but I know what you eat for breakfast, what you talk about in therapy, what you and your OH argued about last Tuesday. I feel so blessed to have stumbled upon the blogging community.

K, enough cheesiness.

I KNOW that a lot of you are struggling right now. Whether you are reaching a certain milestone/marker in your recovery, or whether you are just starting to contemplate the idea of recovery. Many of you have written about the struggles you are currently facing.

I wish I had some easy answers. i wish there was a handbook or instruction manual- a "HOW TO" guide to overcoming your demons once and for all. I don't. I struggle with the same thoughts and feelings. I have good days and bad, good weeks and bad. Some I express openly here, some I only talk about in therapy, and some that I'll never put into words.

I wish I could reach out to all of you right now and tell you that things are going to be okay, that tomorrow will be better, that this time next week you'll be free from the chains that this illness puts on you. I wish I could wave a wand and make things better. I wish *I* was in a better place and could say, "this is how I got through it...", and it infuriates me that I CAN'T. That I DON'T have answers. I can't take your pain away, I can't pave this road to make it easier for you to walk down. This post feels so meaningless and undermining because I don't have anything concrete to say or suggest...

I just felt compelled to say *something* because I have been so blown-away by the support within the blogging community and am so thankful each and every day for ALL of your words and wisdom. I wish you could see in yourselves what I see- the strength, the determination, the spirit, the wisdom, the shining light that will overpower any shadow that your struggles may cast on your worlds.

I want to stop here- I could write and write and write and write, and never really get across what I am trying to say.

But ALL of you out there who are struggling- know that you aren't alone. That others have fought this battle and overcome it, and YOU CAN TOO. I don't know how- I know it's not easy. I know it's not fast. I know what works for one won't work for another. I know there are no quick-fixes or magical answers and I know that it's not as simple as taking a pill or eating a sandwich (seriously- why is that such a typical suggestion from people?). I know that our battles are unique to us, though we have similar fights. I know that the paths we take and the choices we make are all individualised. I know that we are all waging our own wars with our own armour.

Okay- I am going to shut up know. I just want you to know that I believe in you and I believe in recovery.

And for the people reading this thinking "I don't have a blog/she doesn't mean me/she hasn't read my blog/everyone else can do this except me", you are wrong. The same way that eating disorders/addictions/(insert any emotional difficulty here) doesn't discriminate when choosing it's victims: neither does recovery.

Keep fighting guys.

Nobody said it would be easy. Just that it'll be worth it.

Baby Steps... Oh, Baby- Rip Off The Band-Aid and Start Striding

Tonight was the long-awaited phone call with my therapist in New York. I had emailed him a couple of weeks ago, before I had been offered a place at the supported housing project, to inquire about reapplying to do the dialectical behavioural therapy program I left prematurely in 07. The program is pretty demanding emotionally, and requires a certain level of stability with symptoms- I was starting to spiral downwards and had to leave- the recommendation was that I entered an eating disorder specific residential program, but I didn't have insurance coverage for that so was left with no option but to return to the UK.

I don't know why I have such high hopes for this program, or why I so desperately want to return to New York and complete the 6 months. I think that I am becoming increasingly frustrated with how slow my progress has been and want something more intensive to really propel me forward.

I've written about the difference between the two health care systems before- the high hopes of my team in the US for a full recovery (like ripping off a band-aid) and the s...l...o...w... way of working here. I am under the eating disorders team and I am giving my therapy sessions my all, but I find it really hard to hold onto much hope when the expectations seem so low. I want to be FREE from this completely- to suddenly be "okay" with food, health, life. To have a job, be living independently, to not be controlled by rules and rituals and compulsions. When I was receiving treatment in the US, I was really thrown in at the deep end. Quite a challenge for someone who hasn't been in full-time education since the age of 12 and pretty much grew up in hospital. I suddenly found myself being discharged from inpatient at a healthy weight, working at Starbucks, living by myself and taking college classes. It was weird. In a GOOD way. It gave me a taste of what life COULD be like. But in a lot of ways, it's made things so much harder for me- to have that all, and lose it all.

My team now want me to take this one class for 2 hours a week and not take on anything else (work, study, etc). We set small goals each week around socialising, food, etc. It's working for me- as in, it's sustainable. I'm not rushing into things, taking on too much only to have it crashing down around me. My team seem to have learned from my past history- so why is it so hard for me to do the same?

I guess I am just angry with myself for still being so stuck in this dysfunctional state when I know there is so much more out there, and having tasted it, want it more than ever.

I can't figure out why New York represents "health" so much for me. Or why I cling to the idea that I can only truly recover if I am in America. It doesn't make sense, certainly isn't based on evidence and is only further fueling my frustration. I have been working really hard at just accepting where I am right now- both with my recovery, and the more concrete facts of where I am living, the treatment I have available to me here and what that involves.

It's really hard for me to NOT compare myself to other people. I know I am not alone in my struggles with food and weight, but I feel so inadequate to others who somehow manage to go to school, work, etc. I don't know if I am just lazy? I don't know if I need to just somehow Nike-style "DO IT" or if for me, baby-steps are the only way. I should know by now that for whatever reason, just "doing it" doesn't quite work out. It's just painfully difficult for me to accept that *this* is how things are. Not that I won't keep working towards my goals, I'm just frustrated with how long and drawn out this all seems, and whether I am making things worse for myself. I feel like I can DO all these things- I can work, go to school, eat in a restaurant, deal with whatever stress life throws my way. But only for a very short space of time. Days, weeks, months- it doesn't matter. I just haven't been able to sustain things for any significant period of time without falling to pieces. Again and again.

Anyway... Back on topic. The outcome of the phone call was that the program doesn't think I am stable enough to return at this point for various reasons. This is just bizarre to me because my team here are perfectly happy with how I am doing/the way things are going. I WANT to try things here with moving into my apartment, carrying on with the small goals, and if TIME wasn't an issue, I'd be happy to do this and reapply for the program when I can stand up and say, "that was where I WAS, this is where I AM and I am ready to take it to the next level". BUT, I only have insurance in the US until October so it DOES feel like a "now or never" thing. Because it IS. I know that I am working towards that place where I can proudly say, "this is where I am NOW" but it doesn't feel like progress because I'm not there yet.

Scrapping "Plan B"

Every time I start to make progress, I have these niggling thoughts in the back of my mind of restricting at some point in the future. It's really hard for me to grasp the idea of never starving myself again. It's always *there*- I can do my grocery shopping for a week and plan my meals out and it's all good, but I can't seem to get my head around the idea of carrying on for longer than a few days at a time.

I am going to be moving into my own place soon, and although I am 100% responsible for buying/preparing my meals at the moment, and usually eat by myself, my thoughts are drifting to what I will have the freedom to do once I am on my own.

There is a small part of me that doesn't want to let this go. The identity that I have, the support I get now, the body, the whole kit and caboodle. Of course, on many more levels I DESPISE my eating disorder and am desperate to be 100% free, but there is this grey in-between area where it would be so easy/is so tempting to slip backwards into the shadows of anorexia.

I had an appointment today about accommodation (the plan is to move into supported housing, where I'll have my own place but have someone come visit a few hours a week) and whilst I was on the bus there, I started making my "new" meal plan, shopping list, etc.

I can't seem to grasp the concept that I don't need to do this anymore.

I still buy a lot of diet products- I argue with myself in the store ("why are you buying that one just because it's X cals less than the one you really want? you don't NEED to be stressing over such a minimal amount"). I still weigh myself daily hoping that the number will be less than the day before. I feel like my brain is splitting in two- the part of me that is talking the talk and making big efforts to change the way I think and act, then the lingering habits and romanticised notions of losing more weight, packing in the idea of "recovery".

I don't know if it's because I am scared of what recovery would really mean, or if I don't believe it's possible for me or if it's simply (ha- not "simply") the nature of anorexia itself to dig it's claws in every opportunity it gets.

Does anyone else find themselves doing this?

I am a little apprehensive of posting this. I don't want this to be construed as me NOT wanting recovery- I guess I am just struggling to get to grips with giving up my eating disorder. For many reasons. I think I had kind of hoped that having made the decision to get well no matter WHAT it took, it would somehow be easier.

I have to admit that this train of thought was prompted by me weighing myself this morning and seeing a significant change from yesterday which completely freaked me out.

Moving right now is a REALLY good thing for me and would be a GREAT opportunity for me to start afresh with the progress I've made recently and the support I'll have, yet my mind immediately jumps to how I will have the freedom to let anorexia run riot with no intervention.

(Possibly partly the idea that I will be by myself for the most part, and it's easier to give into my thoughts/urges than admit how scared I am that I'm going to fall apart without any type of accountability).

What's Normal Anyway?..

This has been on my mind for quite some time, more so the last few weeks...

As the title of my blog suggests, and as I explained in my introductory post, I was very into dancing at one point. I started when I was 20- initially to accompany a friend who was too shy to go herself, and I fell in love. Over the few years that followed, my passion grew and I attended more and more classes. It was hard to define what was healthy for *me*- it gave me a reason to nourish my body, maintain some semblance of "health" and let me see my body in a new light (in terms of what it was capable of, as opposed to merely what it looked like). There were definitely periods when it was more an anorexia-driven compulsion- I would "let" myself eat if I danced. I worked with my treatment team to try to keep up with dancing as it was the first "hobby" I had had...double-edged sword and they also had a hard time figuring out when it was a good idea for me to dance, and when it wasn't.

I sustained a few injuries when I relapsed pretty badly in 2006. My muscles weren't strong enough to support my bones, and the classes became too exhausting and definitely weren't for fun anymore. I pretty much stopped dancing completely as my health declined. I don't know if NOT dancing made things worse for me, but I was too depressed/deep in anorexia to feed the creative part of me that loved dancing so much.

Since then, my health has been up and down. I've taken a few classes as I've moved around, but never 1) found a studio/class that I really enjoyed, and 2) never managed to find that love of dancing that was once there.

(I am rambling, but am getting to my point!)

Anyway, about 2 years ago I stumbled across a food blog. For those of you not familiar with them, there are bloggers out there who show photos/post recipes of what they eat. The first one I found was a registered dietitian and this blog was part of her job. It FASCINATED me to see what "normal" people eat. Part of this is, no doubt, my obsession with food/nutrition. The other part is definitely sheer curiosity of how someone without an eating disorder fuels their body whilst going about living their life. Over time, these blogs have grown more and more widespread and my obsession has grown. They have been real eye-openers to read- I've spent so much time obsessing over my own food intake, or in hospital on "prescribed" diets that I really had no concept of what is normal in a world outwith my anorexic bubble. I now have about 40 blogs bookmarked, over half of which I read daily. I know the ins and outs of their every day lives. I know about the "barney butter" obsessions, the oatmeal creations, the holiday eats, the family occasions. It has helped me to widen my food choices, try new things- I do THINK about these blogs when I am making my meals/snacks and I do add/change/try ideas I would never have the courage to do without knowing there was someone out there doing the same thing.

A common theme on the majority of these blogs is exercise. I generally skim over the working out parts- I don't belong to a gym, I've never gone running and I don't think I could even identify an elliptical machine in a line up :P It wasn't until recently that I noticed quite how much exercise these people do, and quite how often. Working out for 2 hours a day? Running 7-10 miles a day? Woah. I don't know anyone in "real" life who does this. I get chastised for my long power-walks, but these people get admiration (so they should- hell, I can't lift 30lb weights and do 3 spinning classes in a day!)

But now I am wondering what is normal after all, and I am really confused. Does everyone do this much exercise? Do these bloggers eat the amounts they do ONLY because they exercise, or does their love of exercise fuel their desire to be healthy? Do they enjoy it? Do they even consider whether or not they enjoy it?..

I know if I joined a gym, I would do what I always do and give it 110%, setting crazy goals for myself and either giving up completely too soon to achieve them, or run myself into the ground (literally) and relapsing.

How do these people manage eating, exercise and their jobs/work/relaxation stuff on top of everything else? How do they keep it all balanced?

Or, is it not balanced/"normal" at all?..

Wordless

Something propelled me tonight to come here, log in, and click the "new post" button.

I have nothing to say.

I'm not "depressed", but there is this lingering wall of sadness standing strong around me. I'm tired. For no reason. I'm sleeping for about 12-14 hours a day. I've done absolutely nothing productive the last few days. I sit, I stare at the wall, I think, I try not to think. I start making lists, then tear them up and start over. I have an ever-growing stack of mail piling up that I'm not remotely interested in opening. About 10 unread text messages in my voice, several unplayed voicemail messages. I stare at the computer and click from one link to a next. I'm not reading or even looking. I'm being weird and I'm well aware of that. I just don't know WHY.

I microwaved an Amy's burrito for lunch today. Stared at it for half an hour then stuck it in the fridge. Dinner time rolled around and I pulled out the damp plate with the cold burrito sitting on it. I sat and ate in silence. I couldn't taste it, couldn't feel it in my mouth or going down my throat.

I feel completely dead inside.

Maybe we're not supposed to be happy. Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful is recognizing what you have for what it is, appreciating small victories, admiring the struggle it takes simply to be human. Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know and maybe we're thankful for the things we will never know. At the end of the day the fact that we have the courage to still be standing is reason enough to celebrate.

-Grey's Anatomy

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...)

Lack Of Therapy = Lack Of Thought

I have now moved. I’ve been here a little over 24 hours, and already am feeling the strain. Everything feels so unfamiliar, so daunting, so complicated. I’m struggling with the disruption in my routines, new environment, the crowds, the uncertainty. I’m finding things difficult that for so long have been easy for me- little things like buying a sandwich for lunch suddenly seem so complex and intimidating. I feel like arrows of anxiety and fear are firing at me, and I’m being beaten to the ground by invisible blows. I’m scared to go outside, scared to eat, scared to sleep, scared to breathe.

I am very aware of the fact that if I don’t get a grip, and soon, this is all going to come crashing down and end in disaster.

I need to enrol in college.

I need to find somewhere to live.

I need to, somehow, find a balance and be able to juggle “life” with the demons that continue to plague me wherever I move to.

Since coming back from New York, I haven’t been in therapy, and it was only yesterday that I realised quite how much this is impacting my world. Not only have I stopped talking about how I am feeling or what I am doing- I’ve stopped thinking about it. I’ve become increasingly drawn into the shadows of my eating disorder, because it’s just too easy to let it’s grips tighten when my voice is silenced. And in the silence, anorexia grows more and more powerful, until my voice is completely mute. My world shrinks and expands directly in proportion to the extent of my ability to step outside of myself and look objectively at the correlation between “me” and “anorexia”. Looking at what drives my behaviours helps me to understand exactly what’s going on and what I need to do about it. On the flip-side (NOT looking at it) I then get caught up in the web of anorexia until once again, I am too entangled to even have the motivation to try and find a way out.

I’m struggling, and I’m scared.

It's Really Happening (what is?)

"Overwhelmed" doesn't even begin to cover it. I am moving this week- most of my stuff sits in an apartment 500 miles away, and I'll be joining my possessions on Friday. I want to say that I am excited, happy, relieved...but this feels oh-so-wrong. I moved away from London for very valid reasons at the time, and moved to somewhere I believed would offer some different opportunity. To summarise, it's been a disaster from the word "go". My original reasons for moving, in hindsight, stemmed purely from fear. I was running. Not *to*, but *from*. I've been running ever since, and now am going back where potentially, I could be forced to face those demons once again if I don't tread carefully.

I know how the system works. Scotland has been a bit of a minefield for me, New York even more so. I've been out of my depth when it comes to certain areas, and it's shown. The stress eats away at me, little by little, until it has eroded half my body and half my brain and what's left is a vacant shell where my soul once lived.

London NOW feels threatening. I know it too well. I know where the obstacles are, and am a "pro" at avoiding them. I'm talking in terms of medical treatment here. I know the system better than I know the streets. Where to live, where not to live. When to show up to appointments, when to cancel. This could well work in my favour, unless my negativity is running the show, and knowing me/my patterns/my eating disorder, it's oh-so-easy to become a statistic when 1) stress from moving and college starts to become consuming, and 2) I know how to avoid doctors/treatment if I choose to.

I'm scared.

Scared because I know that things aren't going well. I eat my oatmeal, smile, say "good morning" to my family and go off on my adventures for the day. I pretend everything is fine. I want to go to college, I want to see my friends, I want to go back to dancing, I want to be healthy, I want LOTS of things.

But really, I don't. I don't want it ENOUGH. I am scared of eating, scared of breaking my rituals, scared of giving up my obsessions. My heart thumps erratically in my chest, my heart pounding against what feels like a boa constrictor around it. Every breath hurts. I'm tired, I'm dizzy, everything hurts. It's hard to think straight because I'm so exhausted, cold, confused.

I feel like a wimp for 1) feeling like this, and 2) verbalising it. I have said it on my blog, but I would never say it out loud. How weak of me to not be able to take the blows I throw myself. How pathetic of me to complain about something purely self-inflicted.

And yet I don't know if it IS self-inflicted. I'm not doing anything overly disordered. My body is perhaps just weakened, or maybe everyone feels like this and it's normal after all?

It's been a draining last 24 hours. I'm sure I'll feel differently tomorrow. If not, I can mention it to my therapist, who will confirm that yes, I am indeed, absolutely fine and should shut the hell up and get over myself.

Changes On The Horizon

Everything suddenly seems to be happening so fast. Too fast. I have been offered a place at college to do a course I am really interested in. I applied, thinking that 1) I wouldn't get in, and 2) that it didn't start for another month.

I got a place.

It starts in less than two weeks.

No problem with this, except that it is 500 miles away.

Suddenly it seems a little daunting.

I want to move. I NEED to move (which was partly why I applied), but suddenly have run out of time and there is just so.much.to.do.

I know me, and I know it will all come together in a manic organising frenzy. I'll sort out accommodation, packing, train fares. I'll do the paperwork, buy the textbooks- fly through the first month on adrenaline, then it will hit me that I really didn't think this through at all.

THEN WHAT?

Then I'll be 500 miles away from "home"- my family, my treatment team, all that is familiar. I'll be waiting for an intake with my new treatment team, the stress of my course will be kicking in, everything will be overwhelming and without the adrenaline, I'll crumble.

I need to stop this spiral before it starts.

Breathe. Relax. Remind myself that this course isn't the be-all and end-all. It's only a year. I don't have to do it forever if I decide it's not right. I can always come back here. I have more friends and support in London than I have up here- hell, the only reason I moved here in the first place was to live with my dad, and he moved 1000 miles away a year ago. I WANT this. I want to move, and at least with college starting, I'll have structure and deadlines and momentum to get me through the stress of moving (I thrive under pressure, then crumble when the initial stress is lifted).

This has the potential to be a disaster. It also has the potential to be amazing. I'm going to focus on the "amazing" aspect for now...

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.

Going Nowhere (would you like to come too?)

So, after 4 months, I am going "home". Actually, I am going to stay with my mom for a couple weeks, then a friend of hers for a couple weeks and hopefully somewhere along my travels will find a place I can call "home". Really, I don't know where I am going or what I am doing.

I have a flight booked in a month.

Between now and then, things are unclear. I have the option of continuing to temp as required. I have the option of going into hospital. I have the option of bumming around the city. Pros and cons of all three... Hospital isn't appealing for oh-so-many reasons. Mainly the fact that it isn't going to help my mental state, and if the treatment is purely physical, am going to be in a worse state when I leave than when I go in. Bumming around the city isn't as much fun as it sounds. The temptation to just walk and walk in 90 degree heat until my body aches and I am seeing spots is too hard to resist. Temping... At least I'd be kept busy and earn a little money. I just don't want to anymore. I'm tired. I don't feel well mentally or physically. I am in a self-destructive spiral, and I think the temping works fuels that. It confirms that I can't get/keep a "real" job. That all I am good at is answering the phone and stuffing envelopes.

Truth is, I don't want to do anything except get through the next few weeks as painlessly as possible. I am working Monday, will hear early next week about a bed for hospital- everything will be under review, day by day.

If I thought that not working and not going into hospital would be FUN, I'd do it. Summer in new York? 3-4 weeks to enjoy the city? Sounds great. It's really not though when you sleep an average of 3-4 hours a night, are too wired on diet pills to stand still and your brain can only focus on something other than food for a total of about 60 seconds.

I don't want to leave New York. Not like this. Not the way I have the last 2 years. I wanted so badly for things to be different this time.

Return To Blogosphere- the good, the bad and the ugly

It's been a really long time since I have written. A lot has happened, a lot has changed...and yet despite the drastic changes, so much remains the same.

Since my last entries, I have moved to New York. I've started seeing friends again (and developed an intense phobia of being alone after several long months in complete isolation back in the UK). I've restarted therapy. I've been working. I've been having fun. I've been trying desperately to appear "normal"- happy, carefree, conscientious, hardworking, sociable.

At night, after work, I come home exhausted and broken. I feel broken. Something still feels very wrong, and I'm not sure what. Of course, I am blaming everything else around me- my apartment, my job, the heat, the city itself...anything to avoid looking inside of myself and questioning what it is that makes me feel so empty and desperate.

Don't get me wrong. I am happier in New York. I am happy that I am doing all the things I have been doing. Yet some stuff remains so unchanged. My rituals, routines, my oatmeal-for-dinner habit, the constant weighing/measuring/checking...just to make sure I am not taking up more space than I deserve.

I have flashes of inspiration. Moments where I feel like I have everything now, and it's finally okay to let my eating disorder go...then moments so bleak when I cling to the darkness because it keeps me safe from everything around me.

I am confused.

I am conflicted.

I don't have the time anymore to give either recovery or relapse much thought. My eating disorder is in the background, running it's course, and I am ignoring it because, dammit, I have bills to pay, meetings to go to, work to do. I can't afford the luxury of indulging either the healthy or sick parts that exist within me.. Which of course becomes and excuse to fall further into my disorder. "I'm too busy to eat/I don't have time to cook/I don't have money to eat out/I can't take time off work to see a doctor". All of which is TRUE. To an extent. But I wonder how long the current status quo is sustainable for. Whether it is going to come crashing down around me like the past few years in New York, or if somehow, this is going to fix itself (I am really rather lazy when it comes to putting in effort to more than one thing, and my current focus is on being able to pay my rent!). I also can't afford the luxury of considering whether my current situation is even worth thinking through- because if I realise/decide I am not doing well, then I am obligated to do something about it. And I don't want to. Yes I do. No I don't/

Like I said, I am conflicted.

A few things I have realised since coming back though;-

- I am very easily influenced by what goes on around me
- if I don't make a conscious effort to take care of basic needs like eating/sleeping, I just...don't
- I need to spend more time around healthy people
- I am a really good liar (especially to myself)
- people who stand in line at Starbucks for 15 mins, then STILL haven't decided what they want by the time they get to the register are REALLY ANNOYING
- people who charge $150 to tell you that you should start painting and "all will be well" are also REALLY ANNOYING