Tag Archive: Day Treatment


I can stand for ages in the ‘greeting cards’ section of supermarkets or gimmicky gift shops reading the captions under funny cartoon pictures of penguins, small pen sketched characters, or black and white photos of men and women from a bygone era. More often than not, there will be something that makes me laugh loudly enough that I have to throw a couple of sidelong glances to check that nobody within the immediate vicinity is looking at me as though I am obviously mad.

A lot of the cards will adapt a formulaic linguistic structure; “X knew that she / he was _________ when he / she ___________” .  For example, ” You know you’re getting older when…” followed by the punchline, …” ‘happy hour’ is a nap”.

Amused?

Have a few more…

You know you’re getting old when…

  •  the candles cost more than the cake

  • you and your teeth don’t sleep together

  • you have to scroll to your date of birth

  • your friends start having kids on purpose

  • an ‘all nighter’ means not having to get up to pee

You get the picture?

Right.

I was trying to tell a friend a little bit about the treatment I receive at the unit I attend daily in order to restore my weight and, hopefully, recover a little bit of my mind… (I hardly dare type those last seven words). My friend couldn’t really grasp the fact that I wasn’t feeling proud of myself for managing to stick it out for the last nine weeks. She felt that I should be happy to be gaining weight and ‘getting my life back’.

Careful not to sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that there are many people who will never comprehend the fact that recovery from an eating disorder is a long and rough-road-ahead-signtorturous process. It is one of the few illnesses where, the ‘better’ you are doing, the worse it feels. I can only liken the dichotomy between wanting to be well again and wanting to starve as having my left and right limbs tied to two opposing poles which are subsequently pulled in opposite directions. It is torture.

Just like the greetings cards, I had a flash of this image with the caption, ‘You know you are in recovery when…”

And there are so many ways I could finish this sentence that I could be here all night… But I guess the truth of it is, you know your’re in recovery when:

  • your actions are a direct contradiction to the voices in your head.
  • you want to use a wood plane to shave the flesh from your bones
  • the treasured silence of your starvation turns to desperate, strangled sobs
  • just being in your body feels so horrific, you writhe and twist and rail
  • you meet ‘weigh days’ with a dread that simply cannot be put into words, and then a weary resignation.

You’re gonna have to forgive the starkness of the description. I don’t think there’s a way I can ‘soften’ the truth about what recovery from an eating disorder must entail in order for it to be real. Recovery can be
half-hearted. You know you’re not doing it right when, for example,  you are compensating at home for the food you eat when you’re there. Or, you’re getting out and sticking your fingers down your throat. Or you’re going running or over exercising.

You know when you’re doing recovery right when you’re living in hell.

…And we’ll all sing along like before…”

Goes the song.

Irritating when your internal MP3 is stuck on the same track and no matter how hard you shake it, it won’t stop. Trying to get away from it is just about as effective as trying to go on holiday without your head. And don’t we all wish we could do that at certain times in our life. Take enough hallucinogens and it’s possible, but they’re not exactly pleasant or cost effective and the holiday insurance you’d have to take out would be ridiculous.

No.

No way around it but to play enough music to flush this one out of the system.
The particular musical ghosting I’m referring to is a song by… (I pause, not for literary impact, but because my memory function is compromised by malnutrition; although, it could just be that my powers of recollection are as shite as they ever were)…
Where was I? Okay. (Breathe) The music…
It’s a song by Del Amitri (who for some unknown reason, I always confuse with Dire Straits). An especially depressing number, aptly named, ‘Nothing Ever Happens’. For those who like to listen, go ahead.
Indulge.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yeVOzaDBEmc

I guess it’s the theme of repetition that lends the song to my worn out inner ears; and for good reason.
On Monday, I retrace my tracks to the unit where my first attempt at recovery began.

March 2011.
Yep.
That’s right.
Monday will see me standing outside the gates of hell itself.

And to be clear, it’s not that nothing will have changed, because I have. My illness has. My way of thinking has. Three years of various treatments, including seven months as an inpatient, and rather a lot of medication, have put me on a markedly different rung of the ladder.
What is hard, is that it’s the same hole. The same darkness. And, pretty much the same distance to the light.
Hence, ‘we all sing along like before’.

I want this to work… which means that I will have to work. Very hard.

It will be bearable, though it won’t feel it.
It won’t kill me, though the process of recovery will involve the slow death of the illness, so it will feel like it.

In all the darkness, I must somehow manage to fix my eyes on a light I will not always see.

In order for recovery to take place, you have to believe that, just as there is always a sun and a moon, there is a new life beyond, and there is a different person behind, the illness / addiction.
The courage it takes to make this leap of faith is immense and for me personally, I don’t know if I can sustain it.