New Leaf

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

I've been 'in recovery' for almost a year now, I realised depressingly and God, has it been a tricky one? I felt teary looking back at photos of myself from before I went travelling. Admittedly, I was not in a healthy place then, but I was doing a hell of a lot better than I am now. The most noticable difference is how much happier I look, out with friends, drinking, out for dinner, all things I find incredibly difficult now. I have been looking forward to Easter for weeks, countingdown the days until myfriends were home, indescripably excited about catching up with the girls,but then it came, and I was terrified. Anorexia has made me find it almost impossible to go out like I usedto love to. Why?
Because i'm so scared people will think 'Maya's gained weight' and because i'm dreading that line 'oh, you look well',
loosely translated into anorexic speak 'you've got fat'. It's ridiculous, being told you're looking more attractive, prettier, more alive, more colour to your face, all of these things give the anorexia ammunition, make it whisper 'I told you so' and gently drag you down again. Ironic, as I want so so much to be better, but being told I look better sends me in to a spiral of despair. I think its because I don't feel better, I still feel pretty low, ugly and like I can't really eat properly, so being told I look better is tricky when I know I am no where near it. So, toavoid this, i've hidden myself away, barely seen anyone so far and felt constant guilt and sadness over missing my friends. My friends are my armour against this daemon, they have been there to bash and batter the bitch whenever they can, in my saddest moments, looking at the photos which cover my walls, of once happier days with J, Grace, Hollie, Thea, Jess, Liv, Jo, Ro, Tay, Sophie, Heidi, Mouse, Em, Tula, Lou, Issy, (I could go on), has kept me strong, has made me remember why I must keep on going, because I truly was happier when I ate. On the phone to J last night I realised how sick of it all I am. It's not fair that if he doesn't hear from me for a couple of hours, my poor man is in a total panic that i've collapsed or worse. It's not fair that I've barely seen my friends. It's not fair that my family are constantly worrying, and it's not fair to abuse my body the way I have. So, I decided something, and by posting it on here, i've got to do it I guess. I am going to eat. I am going to banish this bitch and I am going to gain my weight. I'm on a downward
spiral again, restricting and losing weight, and you know what? It's not making me happy, it's making me a miserable recluse, so i'm giving anorexia the finger and starting a new regime as of my appointment on Thursday with my
dietician. I'm going to go in with a plan of food for the week, if he ok's it all, that is what I shall eat. I wish I could say that now i've made this resolution and decision, it'll be easy, but I know it won't. It's gonna be a bloody mountain to climb, but at the moment, i'm just living with this disease, and it's not doing anyone any good. So, what do I need to get to?When I came back from traveling, I was about 42kg (I think)-about 6 stone 8 pounds...that's the first photo in the purple.

At this weight I was TERRIFIED people would think i'd got fat whilst I was away, but it's not enough for me to be healthy.
In a matter of weeks, I dropped down to the second photo(orange shorts), about 37Kg (5stone 11pounds). I
remember being
unhappy with this photo as I thought my hips looked huge. It took me about a month before I was hospitalised at 34kg (5 stone 5 pounds), skeletal.
In Vincent square, I managed to get my weight up to about 37.5kg again. I was discharged about 8 months ago. I am now somewhere between 39 and 40kg and honestly I feel huge. I need to get to at least 47kg, which to me sounds absolutely terrifying. It's about 7 stone 5 pounds and would give me a bmi of 18.5. A bmi of 20 is healthy for most, but due to my small frame, I might be ok at 18.5 apparently. The sign is getting a period again (sorry if that's tmi for some). I think that is about the photo on the left, (in a bikini in Spain),
maybe a little less. That seems so so daunting, but if I
want to get better I just have to do it.

I have been much heavier than this in the past, over 8 stone, that's the next photo. It strikes me how happy I look here.
I was bloody terrified about going out so skimpily clad, everything was on show, every lump and bump emphasised by the tight gold lame. There was no getting away from my despised bulbous hips, the chubby bits at the top of my legs, even my bingo wings. I saw all of this when I scrutinised my appearance in the mirror. Although many would argue that none of that is present, that's not the point really...the point is I felt it, chubby
and mis-
erable about many different things. I suppose I was just a hell of a lot better at putting on a brave face than I am now, and because I looked ok, and like everything was fine, people thought it was. Yes, things were far far better then than they are now, I ate, but the extent of my self loathing at times was still terrifying. Anorexia simply portrays that...when the words wouldn't come, I starved myself, and that said it all for me. Recovery is not only about the weight gain (I wish it were that simple), in order to recover I must gain the weight AND learn not to resort to starvation at every bump, twist and pot hole in the road. I must learn to ask for help to get over these obstacles when I meet them. I must believe I am worth looking after, and nourishment. That is part of the reason I find it so difficult to gain weight, to be told 'you're looking well', because most of the time, i'm not feeling all that well. Yes, things are getting better. I laugh again for one thing, properly, and Jacob has been ecstatic over my smile coming back, 'my real smile.' My tummy still feels bloated though and every meal is a battle. I've got to just realise though, as far as we know, we only get one chance at life, so why spend it miserable, in and out of hospital and eventually inevitably dying young? There are so many things I want to achieve in my life, I want to run the marathon, I want to have children, I would love to have my own bakery, I want to raise a fuck load of money for various charities, I could go on, but you get the picture...I can't do any of this as I am now and I am sick of it. So it begins...again. I've been searching for ideas of how to help me on the internet, and found one which struck me 'a pound for a pound', a sponsored weight gain. Seemed like a pretty good idea to me, but i'm not sure anyone would actually sponsor me to eat! Might just think, pull yourself together you idiot, it's not like you're jumping out of a plane, or climbing kilimanjaro. To me, every bite is jumping out of a plane free fall, I don't know what will happen, or where I will end up, i've just got to trust everyone around me and face my fears and hope to God my parachute's working.
I will post my weeks food plan on here later, for now, I will prepare for battle x

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