I will try and avoid a rant...

“Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.” 
― Eleanor Roosevelt

I have given myself a day before writing this post, largely due to the fact that yesterday, I suspect my hurt and outrage would've overcome and ability I had to form a coherent and explanatory post about this subject, also, it gave me more chance to think about it all. I shall begin with an incident. I am in my local area, I have set myself the task of going to get something to eat, sitting with my iPad and, well, eating it. Sounds simple? I was shaking. I chose a large, inoffensive coffee shop that I know should be ok. I got a soup and a salad, figuring I could have half of each. Or, if one were too overwhelming, swap one for the other. I went upstairs, as I knew this particular establishment had a large seating area upstairs, where I hoped I would be least ambiguous. I chose a nice, large table in a corner, where I figured I could sort of huddle away and get on with my task. I sat down and set myself up. It was at that point I noticed the group of youths (oh God, I'm only 21, did I really just say that?) At least one of them went to my old senior school, I only knew this because of her uncanny resemblance to an older sibling. Said girl lent in to her friends and said something, tilting her head back at me. They all tried to subtly look, at which point she scolded them for all looking at once. I sat,in what had a few minutes ago felt like a safe,enclosed, table area, suddenly feeling like a caged freak at a circus. I was embarrassed and upset and angry. Yes, I set myself up for this kind of thing with this blog most probably, however, one would think that if people recognised the crazy girl with the eating disorder, they would perhaps have enough sense to not make a spectacle of her when she is about to attempt to eat. As it was, my meal was completely hijacked by fear and upset. The soup did not get opened. The salad got separated, carefully and meticulously in typical anorexic fashion. I tried to be subtle, but I was shaking, close to tears, with the horrible horrible anorexic monster sitting across from me grinning and saying "see, you're a freak,whatever you do, you are a freak". Now, I'm sure the group had no idea of the consequences of their actions, but it got me thinking about the way all that we do can be a hell of a lot more damaging than we could predict.

I've been in close discussion with the GDST (girls day school trust) about their approach to Eating Disorders within schools. It's been really interesting, working with 2 women who work within the trust, myself, and the writer Emma Woolf (I got a bit overexcited). One of the projects we've been looking into bringing into schools is the idea of 'fat talk free week'. The concept is American, conjured up by the sorority Tri Delta, and bloody hell, it's a good one. It's become ok, in fact, a sort of ritual, for us to bash ourselves, our bodies, and one and other in the process. It is used to bond us. "Do I look fat in this?" "Oh my God, I feel obese", "God, she's gained a LOT of weight", "Wow, she's slimmed down, she looks so much better". Now, with each of these statements, these simple throw away statements, I want you to consider the message you are reinforcing. That looking a certain way is bad. By bashing your own weight, you are sending the message that you do not look 'right'. Think of the knock on effect this has? Your friend, of a similar size, may begin to doubt that she looks ok. Your child may start to cut carbs. We spend so much time bashing the media for their part in the 'epidemic of eating disorders', but really, sometimes, we must step back and realise that we ourselves are promoting unrealistic beauty ideals every single time we bash ourselves, our peers, or even, hale those who loose weight. Fair enough encouraging those who need to eat better for their HEALTH, but that goes both ways. Maybe ask if someone is FEELING better, fitter, next time you notice a change. I am not saying screw dresses, makeup, heels, because I love all of these things, I am saying, think about the repercussions of your words. Consider the connotations everything to escape your mouth can have. Love each other and judge each other for more than just how we look. Eating disorders are NOT all to do with how we look. A few people around me didn't say they were feeling fat and I decided not to eat. I have been in a sad state for a long time and decided that starvation was my form of self harm. I chose to try to disappear in a World that was all too much. Slowly and delicately I wanted to fade away. There was, however, a reason it was so easy at first. In our society, a person losing weight (who, may I add was healthy in body), was praised, my determination and 'self control' were heralded and envied at first, until suddenly, I was too thin and it was dangerous. Avoiding carbs at the age of 13, 14, however old, is not seen as totally out of the ordinary. Ordering a 'skinny latte' is 'normal'. All these things, these habits, rituals, all of it, have their connotations. Think about it. Consider it all. I will too.

Here's a video from Tri Delta. We're hoping to bring the week into GDST schools, or something similar. Do you guys have any other suggestions of what may be helpful within schools?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjqqVbcwpbM

Thank you and enjoy the sun xxx

*NB- To the girls who were out yesterday, I want to clarify, I really am not angry with you. Every day I come up against adversity, a blip, the tiniest thing can send me into a spiral (that's the nature of the beast). You've in NO way done something that is out of the ordinary for anyone, nor did I think it was spiteful or malicious. That was sort of what I was trying to get at in my explanation of fat talk and the work i've been doing with the GDST. I am 100% guilty of things too. It is my OWN insecurities that lead a minor incident to worry me so much and plunge me into a spiral. My goodness, anorexia is a monster that will use any excuse to tell you not to eat. A day at an ED clinic can have you watching a perfectly rational conversation taking place about how someone cannot eat this meal as they have been given the wrong fork. I simply used yesterday to exemplify what we all do all the time, something which i've been discussing with the GDST, and how to help one and other over come it. I do it too. I promise. You have in NO WAY made my eating disorder worse, nor have you set my recovery back 500 miles. These things are sent to try us and they do really. I was very tactless in using such an obvious situation as an example and do not wish to cause any upset.

Dreams shattered by shame

It's been impossible to know what to write recently, not because nothing has been happening, but I suppose, due largely to a feeling of shame. I am ashamed to still be in this position, to still not be well. I feel as if anyone reading this must be sick of me, think I'm attention seeking, an idiot, pathetic for still being ill. It's evident that I have so much to live for, i've got great things in my life, but I just cannot cope with the crap when it comes. The lovely Chloe Cook who i've been seeing every 2 weeks for hypnotherapy asked me why i've not been writing recently and when I told her i'm too ashamed to write, she suggested I write about that shame, so here I am. I guess guilt is quite a common factor of all illness, but especially when it comes to mental health I imagine. There is so little understanding of mental health, I mean, I don't get why I can't just eat, or why I care about the number on the scale, so it would be asking a lot for other people to understand it. When I put it into words, spell it out, explain it, it makes absolutely no sense. It makes me miserable, people who I thought would be in my life forever have run, have gone from loving me to seemingly wanting me and my problem out of their lives. It has hurt me indescribable amounts. Reeked havoc on my life, yet when something goes wrong, when I have a moment of doubt, a tough day, I catch myself in a shop window, anorexia digs its vicious claws into my head, my heart and drags its pincers down, leaving its painful pathway through my body. Being empty gives me a high, some people drink, some people smoke, take a number of drugs, all of these are coping mechanisms and being empty is mine. I have a constant internal pull, me vs anorexia. The problem is, every time my day has a hiccup, however big or small, anorexia trumps Maya and the only way to silence the feeling of failure is to starve it. Starve and I am not failing the anorexia teaches. Yet, starve and Maya fails. Whatever I do I feel I am failing and it is shit. This illness is ugly and robs everything good. I miss my life before, I hold onto some moments, feelings of genuine happiness that starvation has robbed me of for the past 2 years. Why the hell can I not get back? Why am I so stupid? I miss life and smiling, but that feeling of hunger still looks so beautiful. Will I get better? Is there such a thing? Or will I battle this disease for the rest of my life?

Please join...

Hello,
I was absolutely astounded and disgusted at the daily mails publication of an article by Samantha Brick. It clearly glorifies an unhealthy attitude towards food and body image. Please join the petition to get the article removed and an apology issued.

https://www.facebook.com/sambrickdelete

A link to the article is also below.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2310797/Samantha-Brick-Joan-Collins-right-Any-woman-wants-stay-beautiful-needs-diet-day.html 

Many thanks 
Maya xxx

Humiliation is never sweet...

I honestly wish I could come to this with a message of success, with the hopeful and happy news that i'm doing much better, that I feel hopeful, that I have been steadily gaining weight. I am humiliated by the truth and i'm sure people must be sick of my moaning. I am sick of my moaning. I want recovery desperately. I want to be happy. I want to be able to eat and not feel guilt. I want to have freedom. I want my brain to be working to its full capacity. I want to have energy. So why the hell can't I just gain weight? Why is the thought of getting on the scales and seeing the numbers go up so abhorrent that I am doing anything I can to prevent it? It doesn't make sense. It's a total head fuck and it is driving me mad. I've been thinking about it heavily over the past few days and i've come to realise something. I am scared, terrified at the prospect of letting go of my 'crutch.' It has become part of my identity, and having lost another part of my identity recently, it all seems too much to lose this as well now. I know I have to, because this is not a good part of my identity, in fact, it is a debilitating and destructive facet, yet, it reflects how I feel. My emaciated body communicates how I am feeling inside. I feel fragile, constantly on the brink of tears. I am terrified, I have no idea where i'm going, if i'm going to achieve anything, if I will get a good degree, if I will get a job, I don't know any of it. I feel vulnerable. I feel disgusting. I feel stupid. I feel I am of little worth. I feel I deserve punishment. My figure reflects all of this. My body screams "I am not coping", and for that reason, I am scared to get bigger. I am scared everyone around me will think "Oh, Maya is fine now, look, she's big again", when actually, I think I will probably feel worse than ever, because I will have lost my security blanket, the knowledge that I am good at one thing...losing weight. Without starvation I will have to be an adult, make decisions. I will probably go back to looking in a mirror and criticising my body for being too big. Look at the fat grasping my hips, the way my thighs curve, no comforting large gap. It will all disgust me. And I am scared I will hate myself even more. Want to lose weight desperately, just like I used to. Anorexia did not just spring up on me. I craved weight loss for years. I wanted to be thin. Every time things were tough and I was struggling, I would set myself a new goal, a lower weight, a new diet, an exercise regime. I just wasn't very good at it. Then some how, something clicked and I became a pro and at first people were telling me how good I looked. And I felt good. I knew I could lose more though and I would be the best and I would feel better. There was always more to lose though. Always the niggling voice telling me that if I skipped lunch, I would feel better, if I pushed myself that extra mile I would feel better, that being thin would give me everything. That people would love me, want to be my friend, I would achieve at school, I would be superwoman...if I was thin. It is devastating to look back over my diaries from childhood, as young as 10/11 I was writing about my weight, drawing pictures of my 'gross' body. I would write about something tough that had happened in the day, something that had made me sad and my solution to this was "LOSE WEIGHT MAYA". Always. This makes me wonder...was I always 'anorexic', just not thin? Impossible, you can't be fat and anorexic? But if you hold the belief that the answer to your problems is weight loss, you strive to be thinner, you obsess over it, what is the difference cognitively? I don't know. I am so scared of going back to that, having all the thoughts, feelings, but being fat. I am scared I will never stop feeling like 'the big one', inferior, less attractive, intelligent, controlled, kind or loveable. Even now, in hospital, I feel like 'the big one'. I feel huge compared to everyone else here. I worry they look at me and wonder why I am here. Discuss me and sneer. I shouldn't care, but I do. My brain is a big scribble. So messed up. I just want to be ok. I don't want to go through the pain of it all though. The struggle of gaining weight. The feelings that will come with it, but with no promise at the end that I will be ok. That I won't always hate myself. I will have lost the comfort of sharp edges and jutting hip bones and had them replaced with soft flesh. At least with anorexia I can blame any rejection on my illness. I is not me they left, it is the illness. What about when it's gone and they are rejecting the fat girl? What if I don't achieve perfect marks? What if I do look chubby in that dress? What if I don't get invited to that party? What if I upset someone? What if people don't want to befriend me....what if I cannot blame any of it on my illness? I look at myself and sometimes I see a thin person, some days I can see how drawn and weak I look. Sometimes, all I see are the bits that I would like to be smaller.

I wish they could cut out a little part of my brain labelled 'anorexia' and insert 'normal cognitive behaviour'. I wish someone could tell me I will be ok and happy, and for it to be the truth. This illness doesn't make me happy, but what if I feel just as awful, but I am big as well? Then no one will help me.  I am scared.

They all fall down...

A grenade, an atom bomb, anything too close it will destroy. That is the nature of this disease. Spreading devastation in its wake. Slowly but surely all those with sense will run, move away from the danger. It is instinct to anyone with sense. I wish I could run from myself. Instead I am sat alone, surveying the mess I have caused. Why was I brought into this World? What is my purpose? This cannot be it. Please God say destruction is not my mission. I did not ask for this, I did not ask to appear; yet I cannot disappear without hurting those around me. There is no solution and I feel lost. Confused. Trapped in this body that does no good. This head that does not work. I have only myself to blame for all I have lost. I am a monster, I should have never been created. I do not deserve love, so what happened was right. I am unlovable.  Hate me. It would be best for everyone.

            I am burning, engulfed by the fire I created, my skin slowly blistering, my body disappearing, but the flames will not stop licking and there is no promise of water anymore. No hope of relief.

            I should’ve known no one loves a monster. Put down the heavy load and run for your life.

       This past six weeks has been tough and testing. I could not hack being an inpatient, being in the land of doom and gloom 24/7, I wasn’t sleeping and spent most of my time crying. Things were basically not good. So I cried for help and in they sent a very nice doctor to speak to me. I explained that I’d really like to go home and that I couldn’t handle any more. He stood, thinking for a bit and then told me that if that was how I felt…he may have to consider holding me under the mental health act, i.e. a section. He went on to tell me that my weight was exceptionally low and he couldn’t be sure of my safety. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I was livid with this man I did not know even suggesting the mental health act and through my cries told him that it would not stand up if I were to argue against it as I was clearly of sound mind, I just have an eating disorder. I doubt my hysterical tears did much to prove this. I asked him to please go and get a second opinion. He did. He spoke to the consultant who knows me and knows eating disorders and I was granted bail. Thank God. I went home to my comfortable bed and slept and was happy…ish. Obviously that could not be it though, I was still not ‘fixed’, so a meeting took place a few days later. In that it was agreed, after much pleading from me, as well as my explanation that I honestly could not cope being there all day everyday, that I would be allowed to be a day patient. This means that I am in the unit 6 days a week, 10am-7:30pm. It is not ideal, I am still having to eat the horrible food. Ironic really, isn’t it? That on an eating disorder unit, we are being fed 3 meals and 3 snacks of hospital food. It is not nutritionally balanced, something that really bothers me, one girl told me that although prior to entering hospital her red blood cell count was fine, since starting the program she now is anemic. Really gives you a lot of faith in the system? I will also soon not be receiving individual therapy in three weeks time, due to the NHS budget cuts. Again, doesn’t seem like the smartest move. Pump me full of 3000 calories a day until I feel like a balloon and don’t help me deal with it? I know I should not complain, the nurses are kind and caring and I’m getting on well with a few of the other girls, but I cannot help it. It is very difficult to put your faith in something that seems to have such gaping issues. But I go, and it is reassuring my parents at least. My weight this month has not actually changed, its gone up, and then down, up and then down, but this is being attributed to stress, it’s been quite a tricky month for many reasons. All I can do is keep on trying. Push on.

For now that is all.

Why?

What does it feel like? What do you think when a big cup of full fat milk is put down in front of you and you are expected to drink it. A plate of macaroni cheese you are expected to eat. Pudding afterwards, ice cream, yogurt, all to be consumed. How does it make you feel? It hurts, God it stings. I am burning when I think about all I have consumed this week. I am panicked, I must be spinning out of control. Bite by bite moment by moment I am being assaulted. "YOU PIG" "WHY ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?" "WHY ARE YOU STANDING STILL?" Then, as if for conformation, I am weighed every morning, 6am, woken and weighed, recorded, the numbers going up. It is terrifying, but it must be done. I am very lucky to have a caring mother at home, someone to look after me, because being in hospital all the time proves to be too much. I beg and plead with the doctor, hyperventilating when he says "You are too ill to go home", I need to be comfortable, I need to sleep, I need my mum. I cannot have those things here. Finally, he goes to get a second opinion from another doctor, I am granted leave for the night, I can go home to my mum and cuddle up and let her hold me whilst I eat. I will be good. It will be hard. 
It's tricky to explain what it's like, half of me is happy that I am doing this, I know I have to, I look and feel like shit. I am exhausted and boney. Poor Jacob was scared to cuddle me too hard, frightened of breaking his girlfriend of fragile bones. I look like hell, yet my fragility reflects my insides. Inside I feel fragile, I do not feel strong and ready for the World, I am in pain and screaming and the lack of nourishment reflects that. That is what anorexia can do, gives you a platform to reflect how you are feeling. To get better, I must disentangle all my feelings of self loathing, disappointment in myself, feelings of low self worth, from my feelings related with food. I must put all of them to one side, and food on another. I must feed myself for my brain to work though. That is what I will do. Bite by bite, moment by moment, things must get better. Please, I beg of you, do not say to me "you're looking well", or "oh Maya, you're looking much better". Not until I am ready. Those throw away comments can throw me into a depth of despair I cannot explain properly, I know it must seem silly, it is the aim of the game to look well, to get better, to move on, but right now I cannot hear those things. Also, until I truly am 'recovered' (in a weight sense) it is not helpful. Hearing how 'well' I look, when I may still have another 5kgs to go will make me feel as if I needn't bother, and I am sure that is not what you mean. Anorexia has the capability to twist anything and make it into a verbal assault. I am hoping that over these next few weeks I will work to restore some of my weight, and work to feed myself, as I am unwilling to relinquish all control. If I give up all control, then I have not really fought the battle, and I have to to recover. I have to look the monster square in the face and say "FUCK YOU-I am worth getting better". So I will. I will munch and guzzle and it will feel crap, but I will do it for me, so that I can get on a plane and use the rest of this year to do lovely things with my mum and friends. I will get over this. I will be proud to say 'I am recovered'. I will listen to what those who love me have told me, that I was so much more attractive curvy. I always wanted to be thin, I always hated my hips. How many young women have struggled with hating their bodies? How many times a day do you hear people making comments putting themselves down or talking about things related to their appearance? Think about it. It's like a girl code, self degradation, I will put myself down to fit in "You look nice", "oh no, I look a bit chubby in this". On my birthday my gorgeous Grace uttered to me "Boobs look GREAT in that dress Maya". Anorexia reared up, ready to whisper about mounds of fat, but I battered her. I took the compliment, I did not shoo it away. "Thanks GC". It felt good. Good to be a girl. I want to be a woman. I want J to be proud of his girlfriend. To not have to hold the hand of an emaciated 8 year old. My big strong man, over double my weight, well over double my weight, it's not right. I truly believe that in order to combat some of the causes of eating disorders, we need to stop putting ourselves down. We need to take the compliments and just say "thank you", or offer one back, if we are being sincere. Why not? It makes you feel good. I must also learn this skill to beat my monsters. 
Along with others.
For now, I will lift my fork and eat.




I'd love to hear what you all think about the way we bash ourselves and about feeling fat/dieting etc. It is estimated that 1 in 5 people are dieting in the UK at any one time, this number is phenomenal, and I want to know why we cannot just have a healthy relationship with food? Please comment if you've got any thoughts, what body parts get you down, if you think we go self-bash and why etc etc. 
Would be really interesting for me and others and you can even comment anonymously now, whether you have an account or not!
Thank you
Maya 

White Walls

“When you're lost in those woods, it sometimes takes you a while to realize that you are lost. For the longest time, you can convince yourself that you've just wandered off the path, that you'll find your way back to the trailhead any moment now. Then night falls again and again, and you still have no idea where you are, and it's time to admit that you have bewildered yourself so far off the path that you don't even know from which direction the sun rises anymore.” 
― Elizabeth Gilbert

I am back in a plain walled room. The tide was too rough for me to steer. Every part of me aches and I am tired. My body is exhausted. I have been plunged into a world that turns skeletons into goddesses, and it is here I must try not to burn. Things were too difficult, I tried and strived to scramble out of my rabbit hole, but it was just too deep. To say I am disappointed would not cover it. I am angry that I was not strong enough, I am sad that I am once again in hospital, I am terrified of what is to come. A little ball of emotions. I forgot that in here, people are not still. We are all tired, exhausted, little bodies under so much strain they are close to giving up, yet there is constant movement. Jiggling legs, rocking bodies, every opportunity to stand, taken. In here, it is these things that mark you out, that mark out those who want to recover and those who are forced in here. This is also defined by the brash question "did you agree to come in or were you sectioned?" "Agreed", I smile. Met with shock. I was clear, always have been clear, I will not be sectioned. This is a chapter of my life, I will not let it define it. A section and half my job prospects would disappear, so I came when I was told to. Like a good girl I shuffled in, with my entourage of mum, dad and lots of stuff. Sunken, hollow faces are real life in here, not only the thing of nightmares. It baffles me, I look at them and I do not find it attractive, I do not yearn to be like that, I want to run away, my response is still natural, yet part of me still wants to lose weight. A bit of me screams "BMI OF 13 YOU PIG, they are all looking at you and thinking fat fat fat". Maybe some of them are, maybe those with a BMI of 10 do find me abhorrent. I spoke to Claire, in despair that I would be the biggest, she laughed "of course not, God Maya". Her American twang makes me smile, makes it easier. I trust her. I will get my weight up enough to be allowed to get on a plane, to go to Australia and see my family, to lie on a beach and bask in the glorious rays and heat of the sun, next to my beautiful cousin, to run by the water and enjoy it like I used to, not just to skip away the calories. I will finish my weight gain there and get back to health, happiness. The truth is, this is not life. This is a surreal parallel universe where starvation is a preference. My brain is not working and tricks me into believing things which are just not true. I must reprogram, reboot, and get back to the real World. Where I can be warm. I do not feel safe. An hour and a half with a doctor when I arrived. A doctor who was surprised I could sit up and do his "squat test". Thousands of personal questions, with the answers they will draw a picture of who I am. Who is Maya? Why does she want to be thin? Is what they mean. I don't know the answer to either completely. I know Maya is a daughter, a friend and a girlfriend. I am a student. I like to play music. I like to act. I like to write. I like to run and dance and play tennis. I often look at my feet. Right now, most people would say "oh, the anorexic one?" This will not define me, that is not all I am. It is just part of me. A part that is too dominant at the moment and that needs to be quelled. I am not the space between my thighs. I am more.

I think of myself like Gollum. Ugly and widened by my addiction. Anorexia is my ring. I am both Gollum and sweet little Smeagol. Completely wrapped up by the pretty shiny ring, that promises so much, but creates and ugly monster in reality. MY precious. It can't be shared. It makes you invisible. I am blessed to have a team around me, ready to take the ring to Moordoor. My mother joked that she is the dwarf, realistically, she is Sam, reliable and faithful and constantly there. I have Jacob, riding strong on his horse, ready to kill anything that gets in my way. I have Grace and Thea, faithful and loving, ready to show me love and make me laugh. I have all my incredible friends, who I have mentioned many times, ready to help me get that ring and TOSS it into Mount Doom, unlike Gollum, I will not jump in with it, because there is too much in my life to fall in with it. Today, my first on the ward is over, i've left the shire and entered into the big scary World, I can hear Awks all around me, but I will keep on going. I have to.

The first meal was Hell. I am on a "soft diet", because my abused body can't take very much. Everything is white. It is meant to be easily digestible. Each bite was a fight. Each mouthful was of shame. Around me are girls and boys all fighting their daemons. Self loathing and pain drips from the walls of the dining room. 45 minutes it takes us to eat. We cut into tiny pieces, mash and fiddle, anything but eat the food. Then it is gone and we all sit together in an awkward room, being watched. The thought of the next few weeks is abhorrent. I know I will feel many things, disgust and self loathing being the dominant emotions. I will want to curl up in a ball and it all to be over, all over seeing the numbers go up on the scales. Why? It doesn't matter. I love people whether they are fat or thin, yet I cannot love myself. It makes no sense. I need to stop trying to understand it, it will drive me mad. I must sleep as I will be woken through the night to check my vitals.