31/12/2010

So I decided to take a break from blogging for a while, but now the pull has become too much and I have returned :)

Lately I have lacked the words to compose anything worthy of posting, so instead of a usual blog post, today I shall post a letter that I have written to my school deputy head teacher as a thankyou for all she has done for me in the past year. Within this letter you will notice lines from my previous blog postings; I have included these as I have no other way to verbalise how I feel, so it may seem a little like you're reading the same thing again, which I apologise for. The name of the person I have written this letter to has been abbreviated to their intials for privacy reasons, and I have also taken out the name of my school and any numbers related to weight.

Dear C.S,

It’s been almost six months now since I left school, but I still feel compelled to write this letter.

Over the past year so much has happened, and it has always been you who has been there to pull me away from the edge when everything else willed me towards it;

On Christmas day 2010 it was one year exactly since mum suspected I was purging and I denied it, so I decided, as a test to myself, I’d attempt to keep Christmas dinner down, because no matter how bad this mentality would make me feel after, ultimately, it would put me one up on last year. And for the first time in three years, I did it, and amid all the shame, I felt an inkling of pride.

I tried so hard to cling onto the remnants of hope I’d always believed had been diminished, but the harder I fought, the stronger the disorder fought back, and yet again- I was back at square one; not knowing whether I wanted recovery or not.  I felt so guilty for letting go of that pride you taught me to strive for, and that was my turning point; I realised that there is so much more beyond this, and that for so long I had been blinded.

For the first time in a long time, I’ve regained my aspirations; I’m going to apply myself to college 100%. I’m determined to make light from this; I intend to go on to study Psychology, and eventually have my own equine-therapy based eating disorder inpatient facility. It all seems so far away right now, but I’ll get there.From now on I’m going to be brutally honest about what happened, who I am, where I want to be and what I need to get there.

There’s still a very strong part of me that wants to get down to ** lbs, and I don’t know if that part of me will ever completely disappear; the part that wants my unworthiness to be worth noticing.I guess in a way, I don’t feel ‘ill’ enough to constitute the word recovery; that until I’m clinically emaciated, I’ve nothing to recover from. But people define recovery in different ways, and I’m not yet sure what mine is. Maybe I’m not ready for recovery, but I’m not going to wait around on the off chance that someday everything will fall into place and I’ll feel completely prepared, because if I waited until I was, it’s highly probable I’d be waiting forever.

Recently I’ve started physiotherapy as my patella bone doesn’t interlink with the other parts of my knee properly, causing the knee cap to dislocate at random intervals. It frustrates me sometimes because I know I can’t exercise as much as I used to if I want it to heal  properly, but in truth, the only reason I’m waiting for it to heal now is so I won’t be put out of action for even longer and therefore be unable to exercise for a longer duration of time. I know that sounds like everything I said previously meant nothing, but maybe this came at the right time, because your body always knows when to stop even if your mind doesn’t- it’s just a case of knowing which one to listen to.

I guess the concept of being ‘well’ scares me; I hate it when people say I look well. I don’t feel well. To me ‘well’ means healthy in terms of physique and mentality, yet people judge how well (or not) you are on the basis of appearance alone. It reminds me that from society’s point of view our worth is judged on an exterior level.

This letter probably seems very muddled. It is. But right now, so am I; it’s not so much a case of wanting to recover at the moment, it’s more beginning to make the choice to do so.

This year I’m going to get the n.e.d.a recovery symbol tattooed on my hip with the words ‘I can’ next to it. I feel it will encourage me to keep going, and in the future it will remind me of the struggle I endured in a positive sense, as I will be able to look back and realise how strong it made me.

I’ve always felt that this defines me-so strong in my weakness, so in control in my lack of control-, and that without it, I’ll have nothing left. But I’m fed up of merely existing; I’m going to start living.

I’m going to get my spark back and finish what you begun for me.

8/10/2010

The feeling that there’s nothing worth fighting for and nothing left to lose; the fear that there is, and the despair that there isn’t, because it’s already gone. The longing for your life to have so much more meaning , so much more promise- but the inability to see beyond this; where everything is black and white, where everything is moving forwards, yet so backwards. So distorted, but never more clear.

The part of you that wants to have to fight this mentality, and the part that wants to fight it. The day’s where you plead for it to go and long for it to stay. The trying to convince yourself that your conscious thoughts are true, and the overpowering voice that tells you otherwise- the shouting in your silence. The solace in your pain.

The wanting to be shielded from the truth, but the needing it more than anything. The thought that people are exaggerating the severity to force you to recover, and the hope it really is as bad as they say... the hope it gets worse. The part of you that wants to be known for having an eating disorder- for all the wrong reasons that feel so right- and the part of you that doesn’t. Because you want to be ill, and you need someone to notice. But you need them not too, because everything you’ve built up will crumble. The wanting your unworthiness to be worth noticing, but the wanting to fade away. Feeling so strong in your weakness; feeling so in control in your lack of control.

The needing to hang on to what’s causing you to fall apart, but also keeping you together; and the needing to let go of it in order to genuinely hang on.

The feeling that you’re too much and not enough.

The wanting to keep doing this until the day your dead, but the knowing that if you did- you wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. And that hurts, because you want it and you need it here. But you need it gone.

25/9/2010

Some may find it absurd- others intriguing, but I truly believe horses have played a fundamental role in helping me become recovery focused.


A few years ago I began riding a friend’s mare; she’d drag me into fences, never keep out on the track, take the bit and run with me, and was unsympathetic towards new riders. She placed so much doubt in my ability that my confidence lapsed before it was even created. The problem was I didn’t trust her enough, and that I wasn’t experienced enough for the horse to be able to approach her behaviour in an effective manner.

A few years later I began having riding lessons at a riding school where I had previously done work experience. I knew the horses there well, but only in the stable. For my first few lessons I rode a mare called Pepsi; she was affectionate but both lazy and bouncy under saddle. I didn’t have the confidence to get her to move forward. I felt like I had failed to conquer yet another horse.

I then began to ride a horse called Biscuit; a gorgeous seventeen hand, ex-show jumper mare. I knew Biscuit well as I mucked her out every day I was on my work experience; she’d follow me round the stable and would move over when I asked her to. There was no need to ever tell her anything twice; she was so willing to please.

At first I was apprehensive to ride her due to her size; I’d never noticed quite how big she was when she was in the stable despite it being a confined space. It was in that first lesson with Biscuit that I mastered my rising trot rhythm. For any other rider, such an ‘achievement’ may not seem significant; but due to my Dyspraxia, balance, rhythm and co-ordination were something I had always struggled with.

Biscuit gave me something many other horses had failed to; she made me feel proud.

In that same lesson I had my first canter; at first I was hesitant, but as Biscuit went into a perfectly strided canter, I began to relax into it; I felt the burden of tension and fear I had been carrying being lifted. There was something about riding that I found so empowering. It was then that I realised that it is possible to have control over something that seems so much bigger and stronger than you.

When my next lesson came around, I arrived at the stables to find some work-men were re-concreting the yard, as I mounted Biscuit my instructor told me to be cautious as she may spook at the sound of the shovel on the ground. She halted a fair distance away from the men and I kicked her forward past them and she didn’t even so much as blink in their direction. That was when I knew she trusted me.

On one occasion when I was returning to the stables from the riding school, a tractor came past and Biscuit spooked, I didn't panic like I would've done had I of been on my friends mare, instead I spoke to her calmly and reassuringly. It was the fact that despite her strength and age, she wasn't afraid to show her own vulnerability that made me fall even more in love with her. For the first time I didn't have to pretend not to be scared so she wouldn't sense it, I genuinely wasn't nervous. That was when I knew I trusted her.

From the moment we get upon a horse, we give them the power to determine our level of confidence; some days they'll fill you with self belief, others they'll seem to tear it down. But no matter what, there's always a day when it will be restored, if not by the same horse, then by another. Every horse is a test; we have to prove ourselves to them before they prove themselves to us- it is only then that the partnership between horse and rider can reach its full potential.

Someone at the stables told me that Biscuit and I looked like we had been together all our lives, and it truly felt like we had been. I have since stopped riding at that stables as I have lessons at college where I am studying Horse Management,in order to pursue my dream of becoming an Equine Behaviourist.

Biscuit gave me confidence at a time when I doubted myself the most; she taught me to put trust in her when I lost faith in everything else. She showed me that the impossible was possible. I can only hope that someday I can have what Biscuit gave me with another horse ♥

'When riding a horse we leave our fear, troubles, and sadness behind on the ground.'
 - Juli Carlson

                                                                                

6/9/2010

Looking back I’ve always had the control I’ve felt I’ve lacked; in reporting what happened on that day in 2008- it was in that moment I seized control. Because in that moment, I chose between being a victim of silence, or speaking out and making sure he was brought to justice. I guess at the time, a very small part of me, no matter how hidden it was, knew I had some control over the situation, but that control seemed all too mundane and was never enough, so I sought it in all the wrong places.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use the assault as a scape-goat to avoid facing other issues, because it explained the otherwise unexplainable; if I put everything down to the assault, I never had to look any further or dig any deeper. And in that sense, I guess that’s what stopped me moving on; I never allowed myself to look beyond what happened.

Last night I was talking to a close friend regarding this, and she said she believes that

'problems are always there, but certain events magnify them'

; applying that to my situation, I believe that the eating disorder was remaining manifesting prior to the assault, not revealing itself at its fullest extent until after the assault had taken place.

From the moment I reported it, I had a choice, to take action and move on, he on the other hand- didn’t; upon charge whenever he applied for a new job, he’d have to explain what he did and answer other awkward questions in relation to what happened. He has no choice but to face what he did, but I always had the choice to handle the situation in a way that I felt comfortable with. He may have to deal with the repercussions of his actions forever, but I never have to. But is it fair that he should be constantly reminded of his past mistakes?

I was never the under-dog, I just couldn’t see it.

I won’t be a victim forever.

2/9/2010

Although rife in today’s modern society, there is still much misunderstanding surrounding eating disorders; many believing that the issue is solely based around food. The reality is, it’s so much more complex than that.

There are many situations we encounter in everyday life that are beyond our control, and instinctively we look for mediums by which to gain the control we feel we are lacking. It’s never what a situation is that’s important, it’s how it affects those involved.

No one thing in this world can exist without another; everything is interconnected; we partake in actions because of their consequence, rather than merely because we can. We do things for the effect they have upon our feelings. When we restrict or purge, we do it for the outcome. The control element is not in the action, but the aftermath.

We ebb around the result of our actions. No one would make conscious decisions if the potential for a change to occur did not exist.

In controlling what or how we eat, we’re exerting control over what is often the only aspect we feel able to control. We’re frequently the medium by which we channel the means we gain control, because we’re always at our own disposal. So in many respects, we’re attempting to exert control over ourselves when we feel as if every external factor is out of our control.

Eventually we reach the point where we are so indoctrinated by the disorder that we are no longer controlling it, but rather the disorder is controlling us, taking over every facet of our mind.

Despite the severity of the issue, I think there is some irony to be found in the fact that a fundamental part of recovery is coming to terms with the idea that one binge will not kill you, whilst in a disordered state we constantly tell ourselves that one purge won’t either.

As with everything, in time, things stop working; we no longer get the release from our actions that we once did, and it is this that can be the hardest part to deal with. We allow ourselves to become even more of a victim; letting ourselves fall even further backwards in our attempt to go forwards, trying to gain the same release we did the first time. In essence, we’re stuck in a vicious and repetitive cycle of trying to get back to where we started. You become consumed by the thought that you will never find solace and that in doing a certain thing, you will. And no matter what, it’s never enough, so you keep pushing and pushing; trying to obtain what you did last time- convincing yourself it will be different this time.

And it never is.

31/8/2010

In my last post I mentioned ‘not being ready for recovery’, since then I’ve realised that in truth, you’re never ready for recovery...

When we engage in disordered behaviours they become our comfort zone, a coping mechanism; the release we gain from them is reliant upon us staying within the confines of the behaviours. This is why we pander to every whim of the behaviour, believing that if we don’t – we have no purpose.

We cling onto what keeps us going even if it tears us apart, because we feel the release far outweighs the negative outcome; we live in anticipation, always waiting for the next high, going to any extreme in order to get it. Which poses the question are we waiting for the next low in order to be able to get that high, or rather waiting for the next high in order to hit the low?, and so the cycle continues. This is where I bring physics into place; the higher up something goes, the more gravitational potential it gains- meaning the object falls further and faster as it gains in height. If we applied the same concept to our mentality and wellbeing, the better we felt, the higher up we’d be; as we reached our peak, we’d be on edge waiting to fall again. A lot of the time it seems we can never be satisfied with where we’re at- but maybe it’s because we’re scared of contentment, knowing that the higher we go, the more we have to lose, therefore, we never allow ourselves to push boundaries- so we settle for mediocre.

We never feel prepared enough to explore new territory- its human nature to fear the unknown; but it’s not until we gain insight into how restricting our barriers are that we learn we need to push them, and this for me, seems to be what recovery is about; establishing the impact the behaviours have on you before trying to approach and rectify them.

Reverting back to physics, we’re as strong as what we allow to drag us down;

‘Every force has an equal and opposite one’,

and no matter how much it feels like we’re being pushed or pulled in the opposite direction, we’re always going to match the opposing force. There's always a balance; it’s all in the finding it.

In short, we’re never ready for recovery- and if we waited till we were we’d be waiting forever.

30/8/2010

For a long time I've felt so hollow and devoid of emotion; as if the world is revolving and I'm left at a standstill. So as of today, I stop trying to convince myself that everything’s okay and I start telling the truth without fear of consequence.

In 2005, I started secondary school, I also started restricting. I felt so empty and alone, and as if the only way to handle these emotions was to control my intake. I walked round in a daze trying to numb out the reality that surrounded me; I very much lived in my head, I became so detached and oblivious to everything around me that I finally felt in control. I thought I had it all sussed.

It wasn't until 2008 that I began to establish a strong set of friends and started to feel that I was finding my place; for the first time I felt I had some purpose, albeit mundane. It would be another year and a half before I found out we weren't as strong as we conceived ourselves to be.

The following year was a struggle; I was still fighting the intense urge to engage in disordered behaviours. But as my relationships with peers grew from strength to strength, I discovered a new-found confidence and I felt as if I was excelling within myself; like the only way from here was up.

On the 12th of November in the same year, I was sexually assaulted and everything came crashing down faster than I care to remember. As I went down the same well travelled route I took every day with my friend (who I shall refer to as ‘she’ from this point onwards) , a man (who I shall refer to as ‘he’)  approached us and asked us to stop; I had to access in a split second the risk of standing still or the risk of continuing in the direction I was headed. I decided to take the risk of standing still- I felt it outweighed the potential threat of walking away. To this day I still ask myself whether things would be different had I been just five minutes later, if I hadn't been so trusting and naive enough to stand still. That was the first day I purged. I felt so unworthy and demeaned it was the only thing I felt I could do.

In the aftermath of the assault there was one thing I could never get a hold on; why me and not her? Not that I’d wish this upon anyone, but the fact it was me and me alone made me feel even more like a victim; like he had specifically chosen me;The only possibility I could think of was that I was nearest and therefore most vulnerable, but as I began to think even more about what happened, that possibility became harder to condone; she was stood centimetres away from me.

What made it harder to deal with was the fact that she seemed totally unfazed by it all; how she acted so coy and just followed at a distance whilst walking, when the whole way I was running down the road, I didn’t stop worrying about what could be happening to her. As soon as she caught up with me I asked her if he did anything to her too and I remember dissolving into tears at the thought; I would’ve never forgiven myself had something happened and I left her in that situation. Then I’d be just as bad as him.

Before I entered year ten, court proceedings began, and although I was still purging and restricting, the court case gave me something to focus on; I felt I was regaining control over a situation I had no control of. But by now I was so absorbed in the eating disorder I felt there was no way out, I didn’t even want to find one.

I didn’t have to give evidence in court, but I had the choice of having a statement read on my behalf about how the case had affected me for both him and the Jury to hear. I chose not to; I wanted him to know what happened had affected me, but not to the extent it did. I refused to give him the satisfaction. After the hearing was adjourned five times, he was finally sentenced to 45 weeks imprisonment- suspended for twelve months, a payment of £400 in six months and 120 hours unpaid work before September of 2010.

In September of 2008 I entered year ten and started my first of two years of GCSE’S- somehow, despite everything that had happened, and the eating disorder, I came out with two A*’s, a B and a C.For the first time I started to feel proud.

In year eleven I felt I had been sworn to silence long enough and I finally found the courage to speak out about my disorder.  Little did I know this would turn the people who had been close to me for the past two years into vindictive little bitches; telling me I was doing this solely for attention, others posting all about it over Facebook, some even not believing me at all. As people began to doubt me, the pull towards the disorder became even stronger; it felt like the only thing I could rely on.

Eventually the whole year knew and I spiralled even more out of control- I was trying so hard to keep it together. It felt like the identity I had worked so hard to create for myself was being torn away and I no longer knew myself, because for so long I’d only ever known myself inside the disorder. Everything began to take its toll and I fell behind with coursework, I was yo-yoing back and forth in and out off lessons due to the constant urge to pee (as a result of excessive water loading) and panic attacks. Teachers became concerned; they knew something was wrong, they just didn’t know what, or didn’t want to assume they did. I got so sick of the constant questioning that I learnt to become better at lying.

In time I was forced to admit I had a problem and I was made to tell my mum, who despite having suffered from Bulimia when she was younger, thought I was doing this solely to spite her.  I withdrew further and further into myself.

After a while I began counselling at school despite really not wanting to. The counsellor was totally insensitive towards the situation and in one session she asked me ‘how the whole puking thing was going’. After that session I devised ways to get out of every other session.If she did come and get me out of lessons I’d tell her I was doing okay and she’d let me go within seconds.

Despite my negative experiences with everyone who I thought would support me, I found a confidant in both my P.E teacher and Deputy Head, who always seemed to know what to say. For the first time I felt like someone genuinely cared about my wellbeing.

A few months later I left school and I felt even more out of control; I’d only just began getting used to Secondary school and now I was having to make choices of my own.Looking back, I’ve always feared responsibility.

I start college in a week’s time; I know it’s going to be a big trigger, but in the mean time, I’m just trying to keep looking forward. It seems I've already lost anything that would've been worth fighting for, but that doesn't mean to say I won't find something that will be worth fighting to get.

I’m not ready for recovery yet, but I’m a damm sight closer than I was.