Tag Archive: Living with Anorexia


animals-st-francis-2As a young girl, my conviction that I was able to communicate with animals, coupled with my parents’ point blank refusal to have anything other than a goldfish in the house, gave rise to my fantastical delusion that I was the living embodiment of a cross between Dr Doolittle and St Francis of Assisi.

Nowadays, despite still loving the idea of pets, the practicalities and the expense prevent it from becoming a reality.

So, I preface this post explaining that I’m not a real ‘animal person’. Not to be confused with someone who doesn’t care about animal cruelty. I do. Controversially though, I believe that human beings are of greater worth than animals (and find it endlessly sad that the NSPCC receives less donation money per year than the RSPCA) .

(I know. I know. There will be somebody somewhere wanting to spray paint the word ‘bullshit’ across my blog as I type this).

The reason I’m explaining my general attitude regarding animals is to provide some semblance of a context for what follows.

Yesterday  I was sitting on the sofa vaguely watching the early evening news while I threaded two tiny beads on a pair of metal findings. I rarely devote my complete concentration to the TV, and use that kind of ‘down time’  to make stuff; be it crochet, origami, knitting hats, scarves earrings, bracelets… whatever the current creative obsession affords.

Suddenly, a horrible bone splitting crash.

It had come from the large patio window at the end of the room.

Dusk falls darkly now that the October sun drops faster, and from a well lit room the opaque midnight blue outside seems blacker than it really is.  I went to the window, cupping my hands against it to erase reflection.

On her back, a female blackbird lay flapping, speckled breast skywards,  trying to right herself.  It was a heartbreaking sight, such a beautiful bird, so helpless and so shocked. It had happened so fast.

Instinctively, I scooped the bird into my hands and held her for a moment, felt her rapid heart, her tiny trembling. “Best left alone,” advised my companion. “They’ll very often pick themselves up and fly away when they’ve got past the shock”.

I set her down, right side up; draw away, the tip of my heels rolling forward to my toes.

female-red-winged-blackbirdThis evening, I am struck by my shocked response to her plight. My sudden immense pity for this little bird who, even if she could find flight, will never eat again. Her beak had clearly taken the impact of the smash, the glass sheet cruelly driving the top and bottom to twist in opposite directions. Never again will her meal be plucked from the ground with pincer precision. Never will the sharp beak meet to hold food for her young.

These twinges of sadness for my broken bird are suddenly shot through with irony. I realise that, for a decade, I have systematically denied my body the nourishment it requires in order to function in the way it is meant to.

Do I  pity for it?

Do I lament the months of deprivation? The semi starved state that results in hypoglycemia? amenorrhea? the inability to stay warm? a lower immunity? osteoporosis? reduced life expectancy? liver damage?  potential organ failure?

Why is it, that I am more upset about the broken bird than I am my breaking body?

I sound like my mother when she crosses into panic mode. And there aren’t any easy answers.

What I would say, is this.

An eating disorder pushes the sufferer to extremes that no sane minded person can conceive. It seems to contradict that which is instinctual: the drive to survive that ensures the continuation of the human species. Of course, the width of the gap between the urge to survive and the urge to starve depends on how deeply entrenched the eating disorder has become. I’d like to believe, that in its infancy, the illness may have been tempered, dare I say, hampered and arrested, by a glimpse into the future damage I would sustain. I’d like to believe that, because if that IS the case, then perhaps early warnings would make a difference to someone.

What I know is that part of the pathology of Eating Disorders, is that they can  somehow usurp the sufferer’s natural born instinct for self preservation. Anorexia hijacked mine to the point where my natural response to the idea of my body being ‘well’ is, at best, indifference and at worst, revulsion. In the topsy turvey world of Eating Disorders, many sufferers equate starvation with success.

Back in the natural world, nobody wants to fail. Failure is B A D.

This idea carries over into the world of ED. What doesn’t follow, is the notion that somehow failure is death. Anorexia screams that ‘wellness’ is weakness, health is self indulgent. Being healthy means being a ‘failed Anorexic’.

I know it sounds crazy, and it doesn’t apply to every person who has an Eating Disorder. If you have a loved one suffering, it’s worth a try to gently ask them about the contradictions between the ‘well’ part of them and the ‘ill’ part. Go easy though. They may not be aware of it or they may not experience it this way.

Personally, I’m trying hard to re-program my mashed up mind, so that I can go back to thinking about health and wellness in natural world terms, rather than the conditions set by Anorexia.

The little bird wasn’t there when I checked again. She has somehow flown away. I hope she will not starve.

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For once, I am going to exercise some discipline and force my raging, anorexic mind and (consequently) my restless, driven body to be still, while I sit here and type a post on my blog.

It’s something that I have been avoiding for a while, the reason born of a desire for this blog to be one that inspires others with eating disorders, and informs those who seek to understand more about the illness.

I can’t accurately describe my resentment towards the disparity between my healthy, passionate heart and my sad, bony frame. I hate the fact that I am desperate to encourage your suffering friend / sister / self, to offer hope and triumph,  whilst my own body becomes less and less and my own story one of failure. I long to prise the illness away from others yet I am riddled through to my marrow.

It’s disheartening. I always said I could write a comprehensive guide to Anorexia but still die of it.

It sounds as if I am giving in..

Don’t be fooled. I will never truly abandon the fight. I am certain that somewhere, albeit amazing at Hide and Seek, somewhere,  I still hold a small seed of hope.

I’m posting this because despite the horrible discrepancies I write of, my determination to avoid hypocrisy demands that I am honest about my own journey. That means admitting that I can’t find a way out; admitting that whilst I have the passion to educate the uninitiated and to offer hope to the hopeless; I can’t really do that until I have battled and won. It’s no good my standing, almost dead on my feet, whilst I preach recovery and restoration.

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Do as I say, not as I do… The familiar face of Anorexic hypocrisy!

I am in a dangerous place, with a life threatening BMI and the illness is wrecking havoc. The shortage of beds on a national scale mean that I haven’t yet been put into hospital, but this is what my clinician is waiting for. She thinks it’s the only way ahead right now.

Determined to continue the trek, I have temporarily set up camp in the desert (not to be confused with the similarly spelled ‘dessert’ – Delight at irony still as prominent as ever). My arid landscape affords a pathetic diet, my feet are too tired to walk much further and, some of the time, I have my head in the sand. There are occasions though, where I can look around me and take stock of these hostile surroundings, and perhaps accept that I may need to be removed from here until I’m stronger again. There are also occasions where, if I squint at the burning horizon, I imagine a glimpse of water, of greenery.

I’ll let you know whether or not it’s anything more than a mirage.

For now, let’s try to hope

I’m not going to write about all the reasons why I was the least likely host site for Anorexia to burrow into. You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that nobody could believe it, me included.

However, just ONE of the reasons why I am an unlikely candidate, is the fact that I have always been regarded as being “a block of sense”.

It’s true, I have suffered with lifelong anxiety, something which has only really been acknowledged in more recent years, but as a general rule, certain phobias aside, I really am an incredibly pragmatic, diplomatic, rational thinker.

I don’t mean that I can do all the lateral thinking puzzles that MENSA books torment people with. I don’t have an endless chain of resolved Rubik’s Cubes.  And I don’t sit down everyday to complete the Times Cryptic Crossword, just for kicks.2000px-Rubik's_cube.svg

No.

However, I DO have a high proportion of common sense and very level head.

I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet, and again, you’ll have to trust me when I say that arrogance isn’t something that has been a strong feature of mine, but at the end of a long chat last week, a struggling friend looked at me quizzically and asked, “how did you get to be so wise?”.

At the time I shrugged it off, but later I heard it echo and I wondered… How come I have all this wisdom, and yet, can’t apply it to myself. How is it that I can see lights in other people’s tunnels, yet my own is the darkest shade of black? How can I have such insight into the pain carried by others, while I stumble in blind circles? Why can I feel what they feel, but not what I feel? How is it that people are consistently impressed with my intellect, my ‘wisdom’, when all the while,  my Anorexia is behind the scenes calling the shots.

It was my friend’s question that spurred me to write this post, because I want to illustrate something of the devious nature of an Eating Disorder. I’ve heard it suggested that sufferers of this illness choose to be thin in a ‘supermodel wannabe’ sense; that it’s vanity. I’m here to set the record straight. On the contrary, my illness makes me uglier, far less attractive.

I’m writing to explain that I CAN’T EXPLAIN how it is that my rational mind understands that I can’t be fat. It sees the figures on the scales at weekly weigh-ins at the unit. It hears the calculation of my (stupidly low) Body Mass Index, and yet, the Anorexia wraps itself round it all, and perverts it, twists it and denies it.

Lots of people ask the question, ‘do Anorexic’s see themselves as ‘fat’? It’s a massive (no pun intended) concern for those seeking understanding.

I know I’m not fat. Many seasoned Anorexics KNOW this on some level. I do however, feel that I look ‘normal’. I don’t see ‘underweight’. I don’t EXPERIENCE ‘thinness’.

So, I’m shocked beyond belief at a picture my dad takes of me.Picture altered to make background less recognisable.

I can’t recognise the scrawny person in it. She can’t be me. surely?

This is what I want to purvey. This is what I want to educate people about, because I think it’s the hardest aspect for those who watch, to understand. A person may have an IQ higher than the year they were born, but their perception of themselves can be as skewed as the government data on employment. Even with this photo, and the fact that I’ve lost weight since. I still cannot compute that I really look like that.

Such is the complete distortion of an otherwise rational mind. It’s one thing to know something in your rational mind, it’s another to experience it as ‘being real’. In this sense, I make the (somewhat controversial) assertion that Anorexia has an element which is akin to psychosis. This is where the illness becomes a mental health problem, rather than a ‘state of mind’.

 

 

For whatever reason, I feel the need to preface this post with a declaration that I do not buy the Daily Mail. Finding it, all too often, a thinly veiled excuse to propound nationalistic views, I frequently have to remind readers that the world is not really that bad a place unless they believe all they read in this trussed up tabloid.

I was, however, drawn to the full page article about a long suffering mother, who, five years after her daughter’s tragic death, has made the decision to release the girl’s diaries. Diaries that record the tortured journey of Loredana Verta, a bright, talented sixteen year old, who was dead within three years. Heart attack.

Rightly or wrongly, some of  this young sufferer’s innermost thoughts and feelings are laid bare in newsprint for all to see.

The workiarticle-2713000-202CA0CA00000578-585_634x910ngs of this girl’s mind are utterly consumed by the illness. Her writing is littered with scribbled self loathing, capitalised screams of  “I HATE ME… I HATE MY BODY”.   Most teenagers feels like this at some point. Hormones, skin, peer pressure, perfection culture, fashion… It’s all there to taunt the aspiring, spot laden, hormone raging teen.

Except Loredana’s thoughts are all centred on weight loss and weight gain and wrongly perceived fat.

To my mind, what is more haunting than the poisonous self hatred, the desperation, the pleas to God and the cries for help, are the words of a grieving mother, who says,

“Lorry thought she could live with the condition – that as long as she was thin, she would be OK. She didn’t realise that anorexia is a deadly disease. It is a killer”.*

For long term sufferers, ‘old hands’, Anorexia can be so ingrained, so deeply habitual, that we forget that it is something UNnatural… an invasion. It becomes like Stockholm Syndrome… It’s is our natural fall back position.

It KILLS.

Let’s get real.

It is deadly.

We think it won’t ever happen to us, and yet, why wouldn’t it? It killed Loredana in just THREE years.

Of all psychiatric disorders, Anorexia is the biggest killer. TWENTY PERCENT of sufferers die prematurely.^

I hear my wake up call.

Can you hear yours?

 

* Emphasis is mine

^ Statistics according to B-EAT