Colour me beautiful...

“She ran her hands over her body as if to bid it good-bye. The hipbones rising from a shrunken stomach were razor-sharp. Would they be lost in a sea of fat? She counted her ribs bone by bone. Where would they go?” 
― Steven Levenkron,

‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?’ Something in me constantly questions. ‘Really? But it feels awful.’ Everytime the numbers go up, every time you allow a morsel to pass your lips. Everytime you let her down, it hurts. People assume it gets easier, but the honest truth is, everyday gets harder. Anorexia kicks, bites and claws that little bit more ferociously every single time you try to fight, and my God, that bitch can scream. A cacophony of abuse is relentlessly airing in my head, bombarding me with my every fear and doubt. I feel disgusting. I feel ugly. I feel like I’m letting my most loyal ally go. What will be left if anorexia is quelled? An empty, fat shell? A devastated shadow, bereft and alone? What am I now? I am here, I think. When I lift my arms I see hands that I presume to be mine. Small and still with delicate, bird like bones. It is strange to think these things are mine. To think that I may be blind to the reality in front of me. I presume this must be similar to the knowledge that one is color blind. The simple awareness that you cannot quite see what is in front of you. That, the image before you is not that which others can see. To me my body is black and white. Anorexia creates a World without colour. This may seem unthinkable, but it feels safe. I feel secure in my World of monochrome, where all edges are slightly blurred, where life appears in a slight haze. Here, the monsters seem less threatening, the troubles are less real. I do not have to wholly confront that which may harm me, for I am small and numb. I am fading. It is easier to create my cage of bones and crawl inside than to face the World around. But I must release myself from hibernation, because the truth is, although this World is numb and protected, in here, life is never beautiful. Even when you are as high as a kite on the endorphins of starvation, you cannot truly dance, love or hope. In this parallel World, we are all ghosts, with still beating hearts. We push ourselves so close to the edge that we can almost see the other side. When I collapse from exhaustion and the empty pain inside, sometimes the devil asks me to dance. When you are so alone and scared that living seems too hard, the offer seems appealing, but I am waiting for real love, to sweep me off my feet and spin and kick and wave our arms, for the dance of life can be beautiful. Sometimes it will not. Sometimes you will miss a step, pirouette all wrong, seem ungraceful, but that is life. Things will not be perfect every single day, sometimes they will seem impossible, sometimes your heart will be broken into a million little pieces, sometimes you will fail. But we do not live for these times. I will live for the moments when my heart is whole and full of love, when I am so happy I could scream, when I laugh so much my stomach hurts and when success is within my reach. I am just learning that things will never be perfect and life would not be anything if it were. You need the bad to show you the true beauty of moments and the half life of a ghost gives you none of the colour but much of the pain. I need to begin colouring my life again, hoping that things will be beautiful. 

Life in glorious colour

Time drags on

I am the girl who tried to disappear. The one who broke apart and drifted in the wind. Let go of herself so she didn't have to deal with life. I am the girl in the photos with the cheshire cat smile, stretched garishly across my face, all the while people wondering when she will next fade again. I am the one who fell down the rabbit hole and doesn't know how to get out again. The one people stopped looking for, realised was a lost cause. I wandered off the map and path that was set out, so deep into the gloom that the search seemed frivolous. That is who I am now. I don't know who else. All I know is that I am the girl who failed. I am failing at recovery, yet failing at life. I am failing at succeeding. I never meet expectations. I am always lagging behind. 

I am tired.

I am lost.

Third time lucky?

“Recovery feels like shit. It didn't feel like I was doing something good; it felt like I was giving up. It feels like having to learn how to walk all over again.” 
― Portia de Rossi

Trying to eat again releases bizarre feelings. The creature bites, kicks, screams and claws its way through my brain. It feels like you are betraying your best friend, but at the same time slapping your worst enemy in the face. She has stood by me, solidly and reliably for years now, when I was scared or sad I always had the comfort of my rib cage, there to show me that I was good. I was thin. I could always be thinner though. I've been here 2 weeks now and to be perfectly honest, I feel like absolute shit. My weight has bounced around the place. My first few days, it continued to drop quite rapidly, but at that stage I was only having to consume cups of hot milk and two muller corners a day. My poor little body wasn't up to anymore and suddenly coming out of starvation wouldn't have done it any good. Gradually, my diet has been built up, now it is at the stage when I am having to eat: a big bowl of cornflakes and 250ml milk, 2 slices of toast and peanut butter, 250ml hot milk (coffee in it of course), a large main meal (always with carbs), a muller corner yoghurt, 100ml juice, 250ml hot milk with coffee (again), another large main meal, muller corner yoghurt, 100ml fruit juice, 250ml hot milk and coffee, another slice of toast and peanut butter. It is absolutely terrifying and I feel as it my body has ballooned. I am still being weighed daily, every morning at 6am, and whereas before my weight was hardly moving, it seems to now be making up for lost time. It has quite literally been coming on leaps and bounds and I am absolutely horrified. The speed at which it's climbing simply proves to me that my body is not built for food. If I eat, I will get fat. I don't need as much as other people and therefore, it's easier if I just don't eat than having to worry that every bite I take might cause me to balloon. It's insane how warped your brain becomes, a bmi of 15 seems colossal and unnecessary and the apprehension over soon reaching it is keeping me awake at night. I do know, however, somewhere in my rather peculiar mind, that I am doing the right thing. One cannot live a life with anorexia, as it is simply not a life.Every moment is dominated by fear, self loathing, routine and compulsion and there is very little room for anything else. So, although I'm scared, I know I must keep going.

The unit is a friendly environment at the moment,which makes all the difference. There are some lovely patients about, with ages ranging from 18 to 70. All the girls have been incredibly supportive, and one of the most vital part of my treatment thus far has been the sense of solidarity and security. One of the girls said a few days ago,when I was having a complete meltdown..."Maya, you will get through this, even if I have to drag you half the way, you can get better". Her belief in me has made such a difference. Of course, Vincent Square is still rife with bizarre behaviours relating to food, exercise, everything really. People pacing the corridors, desperate to burn a few extra calories, pocketing toast, arguing over the size of potatoes. I am not exempt, behaving in a hysterical way when it comes to food. So, that's where I am right now really. Simply trying to plod along. I have come to realise that whatever I do,it will feel like shit, so id rather try to get over this and have the prospect of a happy life than settle for a half life in a dungeon.

Here we go again

“Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is… Crazy isn’t being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever.” 
― Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted

So, here I am. Alone. Ashamed. Back at Vincent Square. I am a failure. I suppose everything spiralled out of control. Things just all seemed to be wrong, I was wrong, life felt wrong and it was easier to follow my white rabbit and fall down the rabbit hole. That is, it seemed easier, until I was plummeting, everything I was leaving behind whizzing past me. By that point it was too late. I was bound to hit the bottom. My heart shattered into a million pieces months ago and for some reason I thought I would be able to find it in Wonderland. The truth is, the heart cannot be whole when your World is so confusing. No one can love such a damaged being. I only wish that I could find my way out of here, back to the riverbank and the safety of love and kind words. The irony is, the only way out is through, and to get through you need strength, determination and belief, three things which I currently cannot find. I am tired now. It has been such a long time. It seems to be all I can remember. I can barely recall the happy girl I see in photos, who had the energy to dance, to laugh, to be a good friend. You cannot love one who does not love them self. I need to learn to love myself. To value every part of me. I need to see every kilo as part of my character returning. I want to get back to being that girl who had the capability to be loved and to accept love. I hate that I cannot be fully there for those around me. I hate that I am so weak, that I give in to this monster. It is just hard not to, when the World around you seems like such a big scary face. Thea said to me a few days ago, as we sat on her sofa and I sobbed as we cuddled "My Maya, we need to get you better, because I promise you, you won't be so scared then, right now, you are scared of just everything, and that is just not you". She is right. I hate that I am scared to eat. Even to drink. How absurd. Surely it should be ones basic instinct, yet a little, strong, self destructive part of me jumps on that instinct and goes "no no no, you don't need that Maya, real strength is the ability to run on air". I remember who I was, it seems like a different girl. 'Before', when I had curves, I would go and drink too much and do silly things, silly, but not life threatening. I would dance because I wanted to and because I loved to, not because I wanted to burn more calories. Life was not dominated by a looming presence, intent on destruction. I have gone from living, to simply being. This is not a life. And as I lie here, worrying about the fact that I have been motionless for so long, I think, is it really worth it? For on the path of anorexia, it is not only weight you lose. So so much more is engulfed and lost in this horrible illness. I no longer call myself a good friend, I call myself a burden. I am no longer anyones girl, I am a worry. So anorexia, please let me go. I am scared of losing you, and of gaining weight. I am scared of getting hips again, I always hated my hips. I diagnosed myself with 'violin deformity' (google it)- I am still convinced of this in fact. But I need to remember something, whether I have bloody Violin deformity or love handles as vast as all the love I have, losing weight will not make things better. It will numb it, but this is not life. Numbness means that nothing can get better. I need to get better. I need to leave this behind.
I am scared. 

Any words of wisdom, notes telling me I'm a bloody idiot, pictures, anything really would be gladly received. Post always brightens the day in here. If you have the time or inclination to, I am at:

Vincent Square Eating Disorder Service
1 Nightingale Place
Kensington & Chelsea
London SW10 9NG 

Of course, I do understand most people will not have time for such things, just if you do. No pressure though.

I wish that when I fell apart I made sure to keep hold of all of the pieces. As it is, they are scattered like confetti all over and I have lost a million little bits of me. If you find any, please tell me, for I will be waiting. If only I could've held on, but this fearsome monster scattered me in the wind and watched me disappear. It was like the tumbling of a pot of glitter, a huge mess sparkling from the floor, and however hard you try, however many times you hoover and sweep, there will still be hundreds of specs, glinting up at you, taunting. I love glitter. 

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