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

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.