I spend too much time talking about myself. There are some brilliant orators out there who articulate important things so much better than me. Here are three of my favourites talks about mental health. They are engaging and educational viewing, regardless of how well, or unwell, your particular mental state might be.
DEPRESSION: THE SECRET WE SHARE | ANDREW SOLOMON
This is an amazing talk with an engaging speaker. It is well worth listening to the end to learn about the realities of deep depression and the way in which he has come through the quagmire.
“Shutting out the depression strengthens it.”
THERE’S NO SHAME IN TAKING CARE OF YOUR MENTAL HEALTH | SANGU DELLE
This beautiful man shares his story of working through the stigma of becoming mentally unwell in West Africa. His story resonates even with me – in a privileged white country.
“We suffer in solitude, silenced by stigma.”
LESSONS FROM THE MENTAL HOSPITAL| GLENNON DOYLE MELTON
This amazing lady has turned her life around – from addict to advocate. She extols the virtues of being human – with all its frailties and fabulousness.
“Life is beautiful. And life is brutal. Life is brutaful all the time and every day.”
There are many conditions where friends and family encourage you wholeheartedly to take whatever treatment options are prescribed by health professionals. Illnesses like diabetes, multiple sclerosis, asthma, cancer.
There are some conditions, however, where people you know and love, and sometimes people you’ve barely even met, have a robust opinion on how you should look after your own health and wellbeing.
I’ve met some of these people.
The two classes of much-commented-upon conditions seem to be sleep disorders and mental health. You would think, if you asked the general populace, that all the specialists in these fields know less than your average Joe Bloggs walking down the street. All those decades of education and experience quite pointless. I respectfully disagree. All those specialists know an awful lot of really important stuff.
Managing my sleep disorders and mental health
I drew the lucky (unlucky?) straw and have issues with both sleep disorders and mental health. In my mind, it is possible they’re related. Or maybe they’re not – I don’t know – but either way, treating these conditions is important not just for the quality of my life, but for my very existence.
There is a very good book called 8 Keys to Recovery From an Eating Disorder by Carolyn Costin and Gwen Schubert Grabb. I have started the keys on numerous occasions in the past, but now I feel completely ready to tackle them all. There are multiple writing exercises within each key, so without giving away the entire contents of the book, over the course of eight weeks I want to share my recovery journey with you. The following is a composite of all my answers for this key.
Your Healthy Self Will Heal Your Eating Disorder Self
“No one can make you get better.” Carolyn Costin
Key two is full of letters-to-self and role-playing. Two things I find extremely distasteful. I’m not looking forward to key two, but here we go. In for a penny, in for a pound. I’m girding my loins and mixing my metaphors. Meet Anamia – my eating disorder voice.
Dear Anamia,
Thank you for always being there and protecting me from unbearable emotions. I find myself easily overwhelmed and catastrophising and with no other coping skills, I have felt numbed and protected and more able to cope when you’re around. You’ve wrapped me up in your gentle embrace and held me tight. I cannot even picture what I would have done without you throughout my complex childhood, or through the stress and grief I’ve succumbed to in the past decade.
Thank you for being my identity. I know who I am when I’m with you. There is a community of people I understand and relate to and picturing my life without you has been impossible.
Having you around has always felt like a safe space to fall into. When all else fails, there’s me and Anamia. We’ve had a blast. Eaten some awesome cake and kicked some ass to the kerb. It was a wild ride and it was fun while it lasted. We all knew it was never going to last.
I’m ready to change now and the instructions in the book tell me to role-play healthy conversations in my head – challenging eating disorder thoughts. As nauseating as that sounds, let’s give it a whirl.
“Any self-esteem I think I am gaining from my body is being cancelled out by what I am doing to myself to get it.”
Anamia: I ate so much food yesterday and my weight has gone up. Don’t eat today to balance yesterday’s disaster – it’s your punishment for being weak.
Simone: Restricting leads to binging – every time. What’s done is done and cannot be undone. Forgive yourself and move on. You know full well that fluctuating a couple of kilos is dependent on hormones, fluid intake or constipation and has nothing to do with what you ate. If you’re really concerned, drink more water and take some Metamucil.
Anamia: I want cheesecake. I don’t like the incredibly uncomfortable way I am feeling right now. Mix up some cream cheese with honey and cinnamon and eat it – it’s so freaking delicious. You’ll feel better and can deal with the consequences later. Do it before you change your mind.
Simone: Will cream cheese help? Really? Or will you still be highly emotional and tired and just have guilt and disgust to add to the list of emotions? You’re not actually hungry. In fact, if you pay attention to your body, you’ll see you’ve eaten enough and are close to full anyway. Those emotions you’re trying to bury? It’s exhaustion – go to bed and sleep. You’re emotional and irrational and struggling to stay awake.
Anamia: These sandwiches are delicious. It’s so long since I’ve eaten fluffy bread. Can’t resist them. I know I’m going to eat too much, so eat as fast as possible then throw it all up afterwards – best of both worlds. Delicious food, negligible calories.
Simone: Make a decision – do you want to eat or not? It’s lunchtime – you have to eat something. Make one sandwich and eat slowly. You’ll enjoy the taste without guilt and shame afterwards. You know full well that if you throw everything up, you’ll reward yourself later with some kind of sweet or dessert then feel triple guilt. It’s a vicious cycle – you can break it.
In key two there is much emphasis on teaching the destructive voice – Anamia – to listen to the voice of reason and calm – Simone. There are seven Stages of Integration – from two completely separate identities fighting it out inside your head, to a balanced and reasonable dialogue. I’ve had a good read of the options and I’m confident I’m a five.
Your healthy self is increasingly in control, but your eating disorder self is still around, speaking up and taking over at times.
That sums me up nicely. I can’t explain what a difference this is. I’m hoping by the time I get to key eight I’ve maintained this level of optimism. Until then, I need cheerleading statements. Again – not my forte. Perhaps keys three-eight will sit better with me.
You’re worth it and you can do it
Eating disorder behaviours lead to guilt and shame – choose healthy behaviours and healthy emotions
An eating disorder is exhausting – mentally and physically
The road to healthy weight and body is healthy meals and behaviours
Emotions can’t kill you. Feel them. Write them. Own them.
Model good behaviour for others
You do have a future. You can be happy and content. You can let go of the eating disorder identity.
Funnel your strengths and energies into activities that lift you up – not drag you down
It’s time
And finally, a farewell letter to Anamia.
Dear Anamia,
Thank you for all you have done and protected me from, but it’s time. I understand where you came from and why you’re here but I know better now and can move on. I have spent decades in self-reflection and therapy and research. I know how to be healthy and whole and I am too tired to stay broken. I have paid a heavy price, having an eating disorder – physically and mentally. I have experienced significant grief and stress and my coping mechanisms were not enough. Numbing emotions and obsessing over bodyweight and image has not made me stronger and better. Indulging in eating disorder behaviours and self-harm seemed helpful, but it wasn’t. It’s time for me to put all that energy into moving forward and becoming whole.
There is a very good book called 8 Keys to Recovery From an Eating Disorder by Carolyn Costin and Gwen Schubert Grabb. I have started the keys on numerous occasions in the past, but now I feel completely ready to tackle them all. There are multiple writing exercises within each key, so without giving away the entire contents of the book, over the course of eight weeks I want to share my recovery journey with you. The following is a composite of all my answers for this key.
MOTIVATION, PATIENCE & HOPE
“If you think you can do a thing or think you can’t do a thing, you’re right.” Henry Ford
It was the anniversary of my sister’s death a few years back. I hadn’t given her anniversary a great deal of thought and it was a Saturday morning at a 12-Step meeting. Because we had the opportunity to share anything and everything, I talked about her anniversary then ended up really teary as I thought more about it. I have so much guilt associated with her death and at that time, so little grieving. After the meeting, I was heading to a friend’s house but on the way, I was obsessing and obsessing about binging. I wanted to stop somewhere and eat shit until I threw up. And then eat more and more and more. I just kept thinking about food and where I could get some. I stopped at a shopping centre on the way and bought custard cream doughnuts then went into the public toilets, sat on the toilet and shoved them in as fast as I could – trying not to let anyone hear the wrappers or me shovelling food in. Then it was all stuck on top of my lap band (that was the plan) so I spent a while throwing up then drinking more water so I could throw up some more. I jumped back in the car and headed off, stopping at another shopping centre on the way to purge again. Then I bought chocolates to make myself feel better. At my friend’s house, I went straight to the loo and threw the chocolates up – being as quiet as possible so she wouldn’t know. I was obsessed, guilty, ashamed, remorseful, disgusted and filled with self-hatred. I was terrified of getting fat, afraid of damaging the lap band and panicking at the thought someone might hear me throwing up or see me eating junk food. It was a stellar day…
That was then and this is now
Now I find myself at about phase seven in the ten phases of eating disorder recovery. I can stop behaviours, but not my thoughts. And phase four of the five levels of motivation. Action. I feel like this is good progress from my days of wolfing down doughnuts.
“I didn’t want to change for a long time, but eventually I just got fed up with how things were.”
8 Keys to Recovery from an Eating Disorder
The phases are helpful because they offer hope. Even phase one shows hope. But being 7/10 and 4/5 seems like a pretty good score. Close to a distinction, I would surmise. Seven on the recovery phase feels like a miracle to me. I really am stopping the behaviours – and have done for about a month (okay – I know that’s not a lifetime, but it’s a huge change for me). Stopping thoughts – well that’s a whole other kettle of fish. I’ll let you know when I find that kettle. And as far as motivation goes, it has never been stronger. I’m not nailing things nearly as often as I would like to, but like I said before, I feel a distinct mental change. One for the good. So I’m very happy with being in the action stage and look forward to arriving at maintenance. Only one phase to go! I’m cognizant of the fact however, that recovery is never linear and much like grief, there is no timeline. It happens when it happens.
And from the worst Day to the best
My final task for key one is to talk about a day in my life when I am recovered. You know – that elusive utopia we eating-disordered folk dream of – intuitive eating. Rather than rehash a very poor facsimile of things I’ve written before, I think it best to revisit my post called Freedom. It really does sum things up beautifully. And I don’t think I could write it just the same again.
I’ve read Key One several times now and marked it up with my trusty fluorescent markers so the best bits can slap me in the face each time I go back. It’s kind of slow progress to be going over and over the first key and being meticulous about “getting it right”. But I want to get it right and more than anything else, I want this to be the last time I need to do it. Tenth time’s a charm.
How tiresome it is, when the thing you want most, is the thing you get least.
Today I am writing with my eyes propped open by metaphorical toothpicks. Yet experience tells me if I try and lie down for a quick catnap, my breath rate will increase, my heart will pound like it’s a taiko drum performance, and my legs will shimmy along to the beat. Restless legs syndrome (RLS) is a catalyst for much of my insomnia.
Exhaustion in a body that can’t keep still
I did sleep last night – and for that I am grateful – but it was a broken sleep and I woke feeling unrested. My body is tired from whatever manic dancing it was doing all night long. Daytime naps are impossible for me. Traditionally RLS might be a nighttime occurrence, but much like the misnamed “morning” sickness in pregnancy, it can happen at any time of the day.
It’s six months today since I scoffed handfuls of pills.
Six whole months.
A lot has happened in that time and the words spoken to me by a psychiatric nurse in the clinic, “Nothing will ever be the same again,” have turned out to be true.
And also, not true.
In case you’re not the kind of person to read long self-indulgent posts, the short summary is – I think I’m doing really well. Really, really well. I don’t always get it right, but when shit hits the fan, I’m making better choices more often than not.
To genuinely desire to be dead is a sign you’re sick. I think people who’ve never been that mentally unwell don’t realise what it means. It’s not sadness or a sense of what’s-the-fucking-point. It’s a physical and mental malaise not easily lifted by lifestyle change or sporadic visits to a psychologist.
Perhaps there were things I could have done differently. In fact, I’m sure there are. But I’d never been in that place before and I was lost. So consequences became consequences and here we are now – six months later.
I can’t explain how physically unwell I was at the time of my admission. I wasn’t bleeding or vomiting or having any of my other bodily functions misbehaving, but I was unwell. So unwell that I lost weeks of my life – before and after – when I was just burrowing down and trying to breathe. Everything else was too hard – walking, talking, brushing my teeth or trying to sleep.
In the clinic, I started to get better. Drugs will do that when you’re critically unstable. And sleep improves things when you’re critically sleep deprived. But at the time of my release I wasn’t magically cured, I was just well enough to be trusted to take medication home without eating it all.
I cried as I drove home – familiar bridges, mountains, streets and rivers I thought I’d never see again. Because Covid-19 hit and sent everyone into the early stages of a nervous breakdown, I had two weeks of self-isolation at home. I’m so grateful for that quarantine. I was barely functioning and completely exhausted. In hindsight, I needed more than two weeks locked in with my husband. I needed two months. My energy levels were still dismal.
My ability to cry spontaneously was magnificent.
And my relationships with friends and family were new and strange. Unsure and faltering. It seemed I had a flashing neon sign on my head and I was fucking everything up whenever I opened my mouth. I couldn’t explain what I’d been through or how I felt. Despite verbosity on paper, I was lost for words in person.
I was diagnosed with Bipolar II which felt “right”. Then that diagnosis was rescinded and I was given a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. It doesn’t feel at all right. Now I wonder if I was so critically sleep deprived that it completely dissolved my ability to function. I think sleep deprivation can do that. Factor in my complex childhood, hypersensitivity and a sprinkle of PTSD and perhaps that’s my melting-pot diagnosis. At the end of the day, the labels don’t really matter. What matters is picking yourself up and moving on.
Most people didn’t talk about what I did or where I’d been – they just welcomed me back and started a new conversation, leaving the elephant all by itself in the corner of the room. Now everything is getting easier – the past is relegated to the past and it’s time to look towards the future. That’s certainly the impression I’m gaining from friends. I’m grateful for that. But I also feel labelled as someone that sunk too low and there’s a sense of just waiting for it to happen again.
It won’t happen again.
Well – I don’t believe it will happen again. I’ve had a lot of issues to work through – some new, some old. And despite appearances to the contrary, I’m working hard. I’ve collected a lot of problems in the last five years and they don’t resolve in a flash. It’s like a kitten playing with a basketful of wool – it’s a god-awful tangled mess. But I’m nothing if not patient and determined. Strand by strand I’m detangling things.
A few weeks ago I had my first – and hopefully last – relapse. Anxiety – a little ball of knots permanently ensconced in my belly – overwhelmed me and I slipped back into self-harm and eating disorder habits. It lasted two days. Just a couple of days before I said, No. I don’t ever want to do this again. And I threw away all my hastily purchased tools of the trade. Then I felt a little brain snap. One similar to the snap from five years ago that sent me tunnelling down this rabbit hole. But this time I feel like I snapped back. That I’m getting out of the rabbit hole. I suddenly want the “Life worth living,” we talk about in DBT all the time.
I recently came away from a self-imposed writing retreat for one. I was afraid old patterns would be irrepressible but I surprised myself. I ate on schedule, sent myself to bed, showered myself, worked really hard and cried without repercussions. I almost feel normal today.
Suddenly wanting something and achieving it isn’t always the same thing. I can suddenly want to be 30kg lighter but it won’t happen overnight. It takes months and years of commitment and change before the goal is achieved. But I feel like that’s where I am. It took me five years to sink to the bottom of my rabbit hole. I’m sincerely hoping the exit is a lot speedier.
I know I’ve written equally optimistic posts in the past, then tripped over and faceplanted on the concrete but honestly, this time feels very different. I have felt a distinct change and I’m getting off this hamster wheel. When the speed bumps get in my way, I’m gonna keep on keeping on.
