INNER SPIRIT

I recently had a beautiful reminder that no matter how unpredictable the path ahead may seem, I have come so very far from the place I began.

It is natural and easy to look back to all that could have been different, and look ahead to all that is yet to be done. This sharing I received was a powerful moment where I realised I changed – I am not the person I was. Nor should I be.

Sometimes we forget how far we have traveled while we are looking ahead to the next steps. Good to lay down and remember what it took to get this far, all those karmic hoops we had to jump through, all those overcomings. Good to stroke our face with love and to remind ourselves how much courage it took and who we would have become if we hadn’t braved the journey. Good to say ‘thank you’ to the inner spirit that walks within and beside us, whispering sweet somethings in our inner ear, reminding us that we are simply and utterly worth fighting for. We ARE simply and utterly worth fighting for.

Jeff Brown

The inner spirit. I love that.

Whatever our individual faith and beliefs may be, we all have an inner spirit. That little voice of wisdom and love that talks to us. No matter how many ugly voices are talking in our heads, there is always a little voice countering the ugliness. Sometimes the destructive voices are so overpowering it’s impossible to hear – but it’s always there.

In all the therapy I’ve done over the years, that voice whispering sweet somethings and reminding me I am worth fighting for has become stronger.

It is only by looking back now, I can see how much stronger it has become. Three years ago it was inaudible and over time there have been echoes of whispers. Now that voice is stronger than ever and holding me responsible for my choices. Allowing more wisdom, more courage to walk the road in the face of fear, and hinting at a sense of peace to come. A sense I might one day accept the whole of me – as is. Here and now.

So I would like to bow my head in gratitude, and say Thank You to the gentle spirit that has waited patiently for me to become strong enough to listen and courageous enough to act.

RELENTLESS POSITIVITY

Perhaps to some, it seems a well-articulated and vaguely interesting talk about something obvious. But for me, it rings so many bells there’s a clang echoing in my ear long after the video ends.

I remember 24 years ago holding my first precious newborn. And he was precious. And delightful and beautiful and easy. So easy, people frequently commented what a “good” baby he was. He slept through the night the day he was born. Now while that certainly made my first foray into parenting far more rested than many in my mother’s group, it didn’t mean he was inherently “good”. By calling a baby good, there is an inference others are “bad”. Which of course they are not. Maybe sleepless, colicky or exhausting – but not bad. Babies aren’t good or bad. They’re adorable.

And according to Susan David, we need to consider emotions in the same light. Not adorable – but as neither good nor bad. They are just emotions – all valid and no qualitative labels required. Apparently most of us are expert at either brooding or bottling our emotions, and we live in a world full of forced positivity where, “being positive has become a new form of moral correctness”.

For most of my life I was a bottler.

I confess I was morally correct and falsely positive at all times as I believed that’s what everyone preferred. I didn’t really have emotions – I unwittingly numbed them in one way or another. One day it all became too much. All those emotions I’d pushed aside and ignored, coincided with overwhelming external pressures and grief, and before I knew it I was drowning in emotions. Brooding like a barn full of clucky hens. My pendulum had swung in a very large arc – from feeling nothing to feeling it all. That was a few years ago – I cracked wide open, found myself diagnosed with a variety of mental health issues, and have been working on pulling myself back together ever since.

After listening to Susan’s talk however, by the time I got to the third airing I realised I’ve become a brooder. I wallow in emotions, over analysing, over thinking, catastrophising and amplifying. I’ve gone from false positivity to a fear of positivity. A fear being positive will come crashing down around my ears any minute.

Courage is not an absence of fear; courage is fear walking.

What an amazing quote. I’m so often consumed with fear. Not average fears – I don’t fear heights or accidents or dying. I fear loss. Loss of everything near and dear to me, and I brood on the possibility of these losses every single day. For hours on end. I dream about it, and not in a good way. I fear happiness, positivity, and looking to the future. All those things can be taken away in an instant and somehow it’s easier to brood on the possibility of disaster rather than dreams.

Logically, I recognise my pendulum swing is neither helpful nor enjoyable – for anyone. And in fairness to myself, I have worked with a most excellent therapist for several years and am moving towards a balanced acceptance of emotional states.

Listening to Susan’s talk gave me courage and hope. I am tired of the pursuit of happiness. The expectation of relentless positivity. Why should I pretend? It isn’t helpful it isn’t honest, and I despise fake cheerfulness in others. I am also tired of fearing happiness. To know peace and contentment I need to accept the here and now. Sometimes life is beautiful and amazing – even on dark days. Sometimes it’s beautiful and amazing and I feel peaceful and contented. I have a life much the same as most people’s – filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, good and bad. I am also a highly sensitive person (yes – it’s a thing, and my score is extremely high), so it is inevitable I feel emotions intensely. All of them. But until recently, I was of the opinion that – unlike adorable babies – emotions were good or bad. Now I realise they are all valuable and essential. They all have a purpose.

And avoiding the uncomfortable just amplifies it.

Knowing is just half the battle – a lifetime of habits is not easily remedied. But half the battle is a jolly good start. I refuse to ever again subject myself to the torment of relentless positivity. I will put on my big girl socks and make a concerted effort to be courageous enough to walk with my fears.

TRANSFORMATION

I created a 2018 vision board, and central to the board are two things – angel wings with Freedom written above them, and a quote I just adore.

As I listened in on a webinar for my author’s course this morning, I was once again struck by the parallels between learning about the writing process, and my mental health recovery. It is all about change and transformation.

Every day – every moment – of my life, I change and transform one way or another. My body constantly regenerates – most of it anyway. Some cells every few days, some every few years. And a few important cells in the brain we apparently need to treat carefully as they’re just one-timers. But overall, my body has been changing and transforming since that winning sperm first introduced itself to a welcoming ovum more than 52 years ago.

Emotionally, intellectually and spiritually I constantly take in information – even as an infant I absorbed everything around me. That information shaped me into the person I became, while experiences over the years shaped me into the person I am now. Tomorrow’s influences will transform me into the person I am yet to become.

Yet as Victoria phrased so eloquently, Transformation isn’t sweet and bright – when the transformation is one we actively pursue. Transformation we know we need – be it physical transformation from couch potato to health goddess, spiritual transformation from Satanist to Buddhist, or mental transformation from maladaptive coping mechanisms to healthy ways of dealing with the world.

Part of this dark and murky transformation, is understanding who I desire to be.

It is not enough to know what I don’t want. I need to know what I do want – the qualities I admire and desire for myself. At the same time, learning to accept I don’t need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. I need a transformation to a better version of me – not a clone of someone else.

I am learning to accept I actually have some redeeming qualities – and I need to hug them to my ample bosom and never let them go. Acknowledge strengths I already have, to boost my transformation. To find the humility to recognise what does not become me, or serve me well, and to let it go – with grace and dignity.

As I listened in on today’s webinar for aspiring authors, and we discussed the importance of change in everyone’s life – how we change with so many defining moments: different ages and stages, finding or losing love, money or friendship, consolidating a career, our first kiss, sexual liaison, fight, child, death, loss – we are all in a constant state of flux. Everything changes us. Sometimes transformations are forced upon us, but sometimes it is necessary to force the transformation upon ourselves. And that is my recovery – transforming all the firsts. The first week of eating five regular meals a day without supervision.

The first time I accept my body. The first time I face down severe anxiety with a healthy choice. That is transformation.

Then the second and subsequent times I reinforce the new ways of being until they shape the new me. And I become the person I desire to be. My vision for 2018 – the Freedom to let go of what I no longer need and to embrace the changes that are swirling around me.

STEP BY STEP

Step by step I’m maintaining recovery. Little ups and downs, but I feel like I’ve turned a corner. One of those big kind of corners.

In the ten days since last I posted, I’ve eaten all the meals on my menu plan. Flexibility has sometimes been an absolute necessity due to external situations. And I confess there are meals I’ve stared at and not wanted to eat. But I haven’t skipped any.

I’ve had no desire to purge – at all. This feels like the biggest miracle of all. I recently ate and lost one dinner due to the lap band restriction. But the desire to purge seems to be gone. In fact, the day I arrived at the clinic in mid-January, it disappeared. And the follow on effect is very little desire to binge. I’m not down to zero binge-desire but I can feel that is just around the corner. I am feeling hope in this recovery journey. Something I had very little of not so long ago.

I am still struggling with high levels of anxiety and resorting to moments of scratching at my hands – but it isn’t escalating. I have an appointment with my new psychiatrist tomorrow and managing the anxiety is going to be top of our chat list. I’m still on clonazepam and I’d like to be off it and find a longer term solution. I feel the improvements in my eating regime have contributed to my sense of fragility and vulnerability – escalating my anxiety.

But if I can get on top of 50+ years of disordered eating, then I can get on top of high anxiety. I have to believe in that.

I’ve recently returned from a most beautiful five days on Maria Island – probably one of the most stunning islands I’ve ever visited. Physically the trip was very demanding. Normally I can walk forever without too much problem and love nothing better than climbing mountains to find a spectacular view to soak in. But after seven weeks in a psychiatric facility where I was allowed no more exertion than walking to the dining table, my fitness has dropped. On our second day we kayaked down the coast, discovering stunning beaches and coves and enjoyed a lovely swim before exploring on foot. We made the mistake of enjoying the pristine white beaches a little too long and had to kayak back in windy, white caps which was very hard going and sometimes I was working very hard to not go backwards in the water. My friend is much stronger and more experienced than me and I know she was worried about my ability to get back to our starting point. But we did it! It left me exhausted and teary but I made it. We were freezing by the time we got back so enjoyed a beautiful night in front of a lovely fire.

One of those days where you realise the importance of digging hard and keeping going, no matter what.

The next day we cycled down to the bottom of the north part of the island. For my companions, cycling is fine. For me, it was unnaturally terrifying. I haven’t ridden a bike since I was 14 years old. We had good bikes and while some of the tracks were quite rocky, for the most part they were good gravel or sandy paths and lots of flat or downhill sections. I was still unnaturally terrified. Can’t quite explain why I was so scared but after a whole day out on the bikes, I finally started to settle a little and feel less nervous. I know there’s the old saying, you never forget how to ride a bike. And I guess that’s true because I didn’t fall off. But as someone said at my gym class last night, you lose your nerve. I absolutely had lost my nerve! Unlike the kayaking and hiking, biking really makes me feel my muscles – they’re aching! Most likely my poor technique. So I ended up with two consecutive days that were physically extremely taxing on my heavily drugged and sedentary body. The following day we slept in, then climbed a mountain. What a view! Walking is definitely my comfort zone. The whole day was stunning. So much beautiful flora and fauna and rugged cliffs and lovely paths that traversed from big open grassy moors, to gentle pine forest walks, to scrambling over rocky sections before reaching the summit.

I regret my lack of strength and fitness at present, but hope it builds soon. And with my new consistent eating regime, and regular gym attendance, I’m hoping strength and fitness is not too far away.

Despite exhaustion and some teary days, I feel like the progress I made in the clinic is continuing. My husband is really supportive and checking in on my meals. And I’m doing it. I’m staying in contact with my professional team and if I do stuff up, I reach out and let someone know rather than wallow in shame. I know I’ve been doing this recovery gig a very long time and I’m sure some people wonder why the hell it’s taking me this long to get my shit together. I wonder the same thing. But I’ve learned patience is key and everything will happen in it’s own time. I’m starting to believe this is my recovery time and I’m on the road. Step by step I’m going to get there. Finally.

TRANSITION WEEK

Day 52

I am home 🙂

It’s been a wild ride. My last two days at the clinic were focused on discussing healthy ways of managing my out of control anxiety issues. I had one day of leave cancelled altogether (Sunday) as I couldn’t be trusted not to harm myself. I didn’t even trust myself. The next day was escorted leave and Tuesday – my final day as it turned out – back to full unescorted pre-discharge phase.

I decided (with doctor approval) to discharge late Tuesday afternoon rather than early Wednesday. It meant I could attend all Tuesday groups then get all the discharge paperwork and packing done in the afternoon. I spent my last night in a beautiful hotel with my husband – a lovely king size bed and a double spa. Wednesday morning we were able to sleep in, pack, late check out, then Uber straight to the airport. It was very relaxing and non-stressful and nice for my husband and me to spend some quality time together before heading back to real life.

He has two weeks’ carer’s leave to try and help me maintain my recovery menu planning. We were provided with lots of menu planning info for discharge, with the plan specifically adapted to me. I need to be strict with it though, and for that, I need support from my husband and my friends. I’ve typed up a one-page summary to make it nice and easy. Tomorrow I’ll finish the shopping and get the pantry well-stocked so I can be as successful as possible.

I’m still concerned about my management of anxiety.

I am very drawn to self-harm at the moment but haven’t succumbed since Saturday. The clonazepam helps and I’ve been sent home with a week’s supply – of either 0.5mg morning and night, or 1mg each morning. I was on 1mg morning and night at the clinic so have decided to stick with 1mg in the morning and go without at night. I’ll see how that goes until I can get to my GP next Tuesday. I am also waiting for the referral to get an appointment with the psychiatrist who can manage medication on a longer-term basis, but I have to be prepared to wait a month or two for an appointment.

I feel good to be home – proper ceramic cups, real glasses, unlimited internet and computer and phone usage. My own individual meal plan rather than the generic EDP plan. I’m also really looking forward to returning to the gym tomorrow night and to be able to establish a regular daily writing routine. I have so much reading and writing to catch up on.

And the last thing is to invest lots of time and energy into seeing if my online business idea is going to work. I’m almost ready to do my practice clients – hoping to complete each biography in one week. Once I’ve fine-tuned and practised the process, I can launch it and fingers crossed, earn some money. While recovery is my number one priority, I fully believe I need other things to focus on, or I’ll become stuck in a world of mental health issues forever. I know they’ll always be a part of me, but I don’t want mental health to define me.

Day 55

This is the last week I will continue the detailed recovery journaling. I had planned to keep daily journals for the rest of the week, but alas, my plans went awry. Mostly they went to sleep – I am so fricking tired.

Anyway, it’s just after 5 pm on my third full day at home and I’m having an overwhelming desire to binge. And as we all know, binge leads to purge leads to restricting leads to another stint in a psychiatric hospital. So let’s just try and nip this in the bud.

When urges to do anything maladaptive crop up (eating disorder, self-harm, candy crush, online shopping – name your problem) I’m often told to journal. My writing mentor – whom I adore – would say, Write into it. So here I am, writing into it.

I have no recognition of why I have this sudden desire to binge. Mostly I’ve desired to starve since I returned home. I haven’t. I’ve been extremely compliant and followed my meal plan. I keep eating when I’m full – because apparently it will take a lot longer for my body to recognise natural hunger signals. I can’t trust my body. I can’t trust my head.

I have to trust the professionals who worked with me to develop an eating plan specific to my needs upon returning home.

This afternoon I spent four hours with my hairdresser – a most delightful way to spend a Saturday afternoon. It has been many moons since my hair has had the full loving care of my expert hairdresser. I had a cup of tea and a biscuit while I was there. Then came home and had two more biscuits. I don’t know if I’ve had two afternoon teas or two halves of afternoon tea. But the confusion is messing with my head. Or perhaps it’s the taste of Tim Tams – they’re very delicious. One is too many and a hundred is never enough. Yet I’ve been cautioned not to avoid trigger foods as I will remain in a permanent eating disorder mindset. So I have a large snack box filled to the brim with every type of snack from my menu plan, all carefully portioned out into a snack-size serving. And twice a day I choose a snack and have a piece of fruit with it.

I’m hoping these very early days will just feel uncomfortable and I can retrain my brain to accept all food – not good food versus bad food. But just food. And with a daily diet of regularly feeding my body and a balance of nutrients. And no such thing as bad or off-limits. Or foods that require punishment after eating. Apparently this is how people with a healthy relationship with food behave. It is clear I have never, ever had a healthy relationship with food. But after almost eight weeks of intensive recovery, I have been told on so many occasions it is possible for this to happen. It takes time, courage and persistence. But most of all, hope and belief.

I have an enormous amount of belief and trust in the team of support people around – friends, family, and the professional clinicians at home and in the clinic. I also have a little bunny called Hope, wearing a key necklace with “hope” inscribed on it. And when I go to bed each night, I find the bunny and I say, I have Hope. And the words are becoming believable. My eight weeks of inpatient and the transition to home have been intense – just the tip of the recovery iceberg. But I am now determined to meet and exceed everyone’s hopes and expectations for me, and I am convinced that this is the year I reshape myself into a better version of who I’m meant to be. Binge urge or not, I will not be defeated.

I have a cup of tea. I have a journal. I have my bunny. That is hope. That is enough.

Day 56

This is going to be my final journal entry regarding my clinic and immediately post-clinic inpatient stay.

I ended up staying 52 days in an intensive, militaristic, hard-line, no-messing-about, Eating Disorder Program, in a large psychiatric hospital. There were between 10-18 of us in the EDP at any one time. Most of the girls were 20-ish but there was another lady my age and one or two in their 30s and 40s coming and going. At no point were we ever allowed to discuss our own particular eating disorder diagnosis, but to my non-expert eye, it would appear at least three-quarters of the girls were anorexic. I believe some were bulimic and some had moved backwards and forwards from one to the other. The program didn’t cater for Binge Eating Disorder (there’s a separate program for that), so I’m confident everyone was anorexic and/or bulimic.

When I read back over my journals from the first week (I rarely read back anything I’ve written) I realise how tough it was. It did gradually get easier – familiarity will do that. I learned a lot and I’m so glad I had the opportunity to go. It wasn’t fun… I didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t the holiday that a lot of people who don’t know me well assumed I was on.

I was apparently quite malnourished on arrival.

They did regular blood tests and I believe I am much better nourished now. Eating six meals per day will do that – especially if they’ve been planned by a team of dietitians to my specific needs. While many of the rules were harsh and unrelenting, the staff were (mostly) amazing. I have now had two (voluntary) stays in psychiatric hospitals and I’ve found for the most part that mental health nurses are awesome. They are great at listening and drawing things out and getting to the heart of the matter, then finding perspective and self-forgiveness. Even my psychiatrist and his registrar were great. And the dietitian of course.

Daily routine involved very structured, specific, timed meals, followed by post-meal supervision. Eating and supervision took 6.25 hours per day… Then we had a one-hour therapy session each morning and afternoon Monday-Friday – psychology and art/music/movement therapy. One day a week we would go on Out and About where we’d go to a cafe and have a hot milk drink and a piece of cake. About once a month there’s a lunch out at somewhere like a burger place – where you have to have a burger and soft drink or juice. The eating out is about overcoming fear of ‘bad’ foods. There was much discussion of the fact that food is food – neither good nor bad. And we were constantly being challenged with snacks that many eating disordered people fear as off-limits. Or as binge foods. In a well-balanced diet, no food is bad. All food is okay. Apparently. So overall in my 52 days (416 meals and snacks in total) I feel I normalised eating patterns, became much better nourished, have started on the road to accepting food is neither good nor bad (have more work to do in this area), was reassured to learn that eating regularly caused me no weight gain (my greatest fear), and discovered the root cause of a lot of my issues is very high anxiety that I have just managed to hide extremely well for 50 years.

Probably one of the biggest gains of my stay was losing the desire to purge.

I now have zero interest in purging, but unfortunately due to the lap band, it still is sometimes an issue. Last night was the first time I purged since I left the clinic – I’d eaten dinner too fast. I hope to learn to manage it to the point it never happens at all. I vacillate between wanting to binge or restrict but have succumbed to neither at this point. When wanting to restrict I remember to follow my meal plan (alarms go off on my phone) and eat anyway. I’ve had very little desire to binge, but when it’s come along I’ve actually chosen to use some of the strategies I’ve learned in the past – and they were successful. Self-harm is still a constant desire but again, so far I’m resisting.

I’m also conscious of the fact that right now I have a lot of support and a lot of eyes on me. And I’ve also come home to a fairly stressless environment. So it is always much easier to do the right thing when things are going right. The strength of my recovery and progress will be best measured when the next life curveball is hurled my way. We all get them and I’d be awfully naive to think my life is going to be a bed of roses from now on. I’m hoping, however, that the more habitual my good habits become, the easier it will be to safely navigate stormy waters when they head my way.

I am still unbelievably exhausted all the time.

You’d think all this nutrition would boost my energy – but not as yet. I’m down to one clonazepam each morning and will drop to 0.5 tomorrow. That definitely contributes a lot to the exhaustion but is also working miracles for my anxiety. It isn’t a long term solution though. I have to wait a couple of weeks to get to a psychiatrist for longer-term management of anxiety. I also have extremely low mood today – not sure why, there’s been no trigger – so I think I need a complete review of my mental health medications.

Aside from that, I think I’m doing okay. I feel compliant with the plan and optimistic for the future. I know my energy levels will come back – I just have to give it time. I’m now starting to pour what energy I have into my writing and preparing my business idea. And I have an awful lot of planning to do for our three months in Europe – which is now only three months away.

Life is full and busy and I’m tentatively hopeful that my intensive stay at the clinic will be a major turning point in my life. I will make it so 🙂

WEEK SEVEN

Day 43

Forty three days down. Nine to go. I am ready – but glad to have these last nine days to consolidate what I’ve learned, set up support at home, invent a new life for myself, and gain the confidence to know it’s not only possible for me to recover – or even probable – but I have to believe I will recover.

I am returning – bit by bit – to my slightly abandoned writing course (there was only so much I could do in here with limited access to computer, internet, and my charger). Today there was a quote – one I’ve seen and heard before:

What you believe, you become

So I’m here to say (for my benefit and conviction), I believe I will be fully recovered. I believe I am recovering. I believe I am a writer. I believe I am enough.

That last one is hard to write. It is hard to believe. It goes against the very essence of everything I have ever been taught. When those who believed I wasn’t good enough were gone from my life, I attracted other people who taught me the same message. When they were gone – or changed – I told myself the same message. I became what I believed – not good enough. To become good enough (and goodness only knows what that even means) I have to believe I am. That’s not to say perfect – I hate perfection and the expectation of it. I strive for it in myself, but have always taught my students we learn nothing from those things we already know and can do. We only learn and grow from those things we perceive as mistakes, failures, unfinished, unlearned – imperfect.

So if I can welcome imperfection into my life (and I have that in abundance) then I can accept, and believe, that I am good enough. I need to keep repeating it until it is imprinted on my spirit. A year ago I could not have written those words, so I declare that progress.

Today there are three new girls in the eating disorder program. I see the same look of shock and fear, the sense of solitariness and feeling overwhelmed, the hopelessness, despair, self loathing and shame, that I had when I first walked through those doors 43 days ago. I want to give every girl a hug and say, It’s okay. We understand. We’ve all been where you are and shed a thousand tears. But offering hugs and consolation is banned, and forming friendships discouraged. So I say nothing and feel guilty. If nobody is looking, I quietly introduce myself or ask, Are you okay? I know caring for these broken souls is not my job but it feels cold. Despite me trying to break no rules by befriending or hugging anyone, another of the new girls who arrived last week made me a beautiful birthday card. I was so incredibly touched – I barely know her. I tried to be helpful and appropriate and I’m always very open in group situations. But otherwise we don’t “socialise”. She wrote:

Dear Simone, Happy Birthday! I really hope you’ve enjoyed your day out and given yourself the things you deserve. I think you’re a very talented and strong woman and have been blessed to see that in you and benefit from it over the past week. Wishing you peace and happiness for the year ahead.

How beautiful is that?! I was moved to tears but obviously couldn’t give her a hug to say thank you. There are days when I feel this program is so militaristic it becomes cold, uncaring, unempathetic. But then I receive a card like that and realise despite the harsh rules, we still collectively bond – because we are all in this struggle together, and sharing our pain and experience, our hopes and our strengths, in supervised group settings, is healing not only for individuals, but for the group as a whole.

While I feel I’ve almost learned as much as I can from this inpatient stay, and I’m definitely ready to go home, I am going to miss the camaraderie of shared experiences and instant understanding. I also know staying here too long will keep me in an eating disordered mindset. I need to be surrounded by normal to become normal. Whatever “normal” is…

Day 44

Today I have crashed emotionally. I’m not sure if it’s fear starting to raise its ugly head as I get closer to the discharge date, or there are other things going on, but let’s just say it’s a good thing I didn’t take leave from the clinic today, as leaping in front of a train would have seemed an attractive option. I don’t believe I would do that – but it was a nice daydream.

I’m feeling overly tired today and did sleep a lot in between meals and groups – to the point where the nice trainee nurse had to come and let me know I was late for every meal. So definitely very flat and I’ve taken all my meds early tonight so I can hopefully fall asleep early and get past my little pity party.

I’m finding it difficult with all the new girls on the unit and their level of distress.

I’m not generally feeling compelled to do anything – the nurses sit with them and talk through stuff (plus it’s none of my business) – but I feel emotions so strongly. Even other people’s. It’s like a change in the air I’m breathing and I’m taking in all their emotions and distress. I can’t not do it, because I have to breathe the air. When I say I feel other people’s emotions it’s not a figure of speech – it’s tangible. I feel it.

So today was hard. As is my way, I downloaded a playlist of miserable songs to feed the misery. Sometimes I feel I need to soak it all in, accept it, feel it, then write about it, go to sleep and awake to a new day. I’m hoping that is what will happen. I haven’t felt this low in here for a number of weeks.

I think I’m still doing well and gaining confidence with the eating side of things. Going home will be scary, but that’s par for the course. The only way through, is through. So Wednesday next week I’ll pack up all my hospital life and head back to real life – hoping for the best.

I feel as though I let people down when I don’t continuously move forward. Feeling sad and dreary and defaulting to the I want outa here mentality is not what others want to hear from me. But then nor do they want me to lie and pretend. Sometimes I really struggle to know exactly what people want from me, and I know I can’t please all the people all the time – even though I want to. If there is one thing I can promise everyone though, it is that I will be brutally honest in my journaling. I’m tired of pretending. If you feel me smiling, trust me – it’s because I’m happy 🙂

Day 45

Short and sweet. Had two days headache free. Migraine back with a vengeance.

Now starting to wonder if migraines are actually related to stress and anxiety? It has never occurred to me before but one of the doctors (or nurses?) suggested that was the case. Yesterday I was highly anxious and stressed and very low. Today I have a migraine. Previous migraine commenced the day after the highly emotional session with the family therapist and the tearful goodbye to my husband. So I’m going to see if future migraines are preceded by extreme emotions.

That’s all I can manage today. The lights are hurting my eyes and the meds haven’t worked yet…

Day 46

Woke with no migraine. What a blessing. Still no sign of it tonight so that’s a relief.

I received an unexpected Facebook memory when I logged in this morning. I’m sure I will treasure this memory in future years. But today it shocked me and threw me for a six. It was a video of Linda singing Happy Birthday to me in 2016. And finishes with Luv Ya! Linda died on Tuesday – very unexpectedly. And for this video to show up today was a shock. I found it really upsetting and really beautiful at the same time.

It brings back all the other losses – mum, my sister, grandma, grandpa Maurice, both my inlaws, my father’s twin brother, and the numerous other aunts, uncles and cousins my husband and I have lost since 2009. It is too many people and every loss piles on top of the others, leaving me so fearful of who’s next?

My overly anxious brain starts rifling through all the possibilities of how my dad, husband, kids, brother, niece & nephews, friends and family are going to die. I imagine graphic details and graphic grief and the snowball effect of one after the other dying. And then I feel overwhelmed and want to check out before the next round of grief hits me.

There is a rational part of me that knows I’m catastrophising and I need to treasure those I have now and be grateful for the time spent with those I’ve lost. But rational mind is hard to dig out when anxious mind is in full swing.

I ended up listening to my pity party of misery music and flicking through photos of my mum and sister – bringing back all the grief. I had a good long cry and I’m sure it will be very cathartic. When I wake tomorrow perspective will return and I’ll be so glad for the beautiful memory of Linda – full of life and energy and sending birthday love from afar. And from beyond the grave.

Day 47

Movement therapy again. I kind of like it – didn’t think I would. But the way it’s facilitated makes for a very safe and expressive place for repressed feelings. As we were all holding the large fabric donut circle, the song over the rainbow began – just an instrumental version. I must be holding onto so much grief at the moment as it was instant tears for me. When my beautiful young men were beautiful young boys – babes in arms and toddlers – I would routinely sing over the rainbow to them at bedtime as I tucked them in and kissed them goodnight. I would do it three times over – once for each child. And often sang when somebody loved me as well. They were such happy times. I adored being mum to babes and I will miss it forever. It grieves me no end that those close nurturing days are forever gone. Did I appreciate them enough? Why on earth did I wish them away? I would go back in a heartbeat. I’m just consumed with grief on many levels at the moment. Music – such a powerful evoker of memories – people, places, feelings.

Ugh… And for the second half of today I’ve really fucked up. It’s leaving me very nervous about going home because I spent half a day behaving exactly the way I did before I came in.

Our afternoon group was support therapy where we can bring up anything we’re sitting with that’s uncomfortable or we’d like to talk about. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I was going to… Two other girls had talked through their worries and emotions and then there was twenty minutes left and the psychologist asked if anyone else had anything they’d like to talk through. Nobody came forward so I shared how I’d been struggling with grief this week and how every loss brings back all the others and raises my anxieties because I fear a roller coaster of catastrophes and I know it’s irrational so I write about it and talk about it in group and that helps to soften the blow and brings perspective.

But then I also talked about how each slump into grief brings back all those suicidal thoughts almost instantaneously and while I’m not really afraid I’m so low I would act on them at the moment, it frustrates me that my reaction is so dramatic and automatic. When I lose someone, or a part of my identity (which feels just as grief laden) I just feel tired and want to check out. We talked it through and everything was okay.

We acknowledged how I should deal with the thoughts and how to stay safe.

Then I noticed one of the girls in the group had her head in her hands and was clearly upset. I asked if she was okay and she said she felt really triggered but refused to talk about it – either with the group or to stay behind with the psychologist. I caught up to her after group and said I was so sorry I’d upset her. But now I feel so stupid and irrational for having said things that obviously crossed a line and triggered her really badly. I know the psychologist will let the nurses know so they’ll follow up and keep an eye on her. But it feels like a strong reminder that I often don’t know where the boundaries are and when to shut up. I feel so guilty and so stupid.

I went out for the afternoon because I couldn’t stand being here. All the eating disorder and self harm thoughts just swirling through my head at a million miles an hour. I caught a tram to the cinema and watched the next available movie so I could stay distracted and stay safe. (In case you’re wondering, the film Ladybird is pretty boring). After the film it was dinner time and I was in a food court. I wandered round and round trying to decide what path to take. I couldn’t tell who was talking to me – the voice of reason or insanity. I bought a rice paper roll, a vegan chocolate/nut slice, and a sugar/dairy free salted caramel smoothie. I’m sure I knew the rice paper roll and slice would get stuck. Very stuck. Despite having an empty lap band, there is still restriction. I ate the food and half the smoothie before racing to the public toilet to purge the lot. There is nothing more shameful and disordered than sitting in a public toilet, finishing the remains of a smoothie, after having purged a whole meal.

Feels gross and like failure made mortal.

I hightailed it back to the clinic before I made any more stupid decisions and I realise everyone will tell me, It’s just one slip. Don’t be hard on yourself. And that is excellent advice. I’ve chatted to my nurse here – I try to be brutally honest all the time. But I think the reason it feels like such a big failure is that it’s the first time in seven weeks I have deliberately eaten in a way that would make me purge. I just had an overwhelming urge to punish myself. I still do. All the other times here, I desperately tried not to purge. It feels like a big step backwards. And I have five days left to put on my big girl pants and learn to deal with it. To come up with alternative solutions to feeling shitty and guilty and anxious – because let’s face it, those feelings will be there again. Probably sooner rather than later. I’m still toying with what my alternatives were. The safest option would have been to return to the clinic having had no dinner – explained why – and they’d have given me a supplement. But I didn’t do that.

I know what is done cannot be undone. Tomorrow is a new day. Recovery is not linear. Are there more slogans? This too shall pass? None the less, I am disappointed in myself and afraid for my time alone on the weekend. The only thing I can think at this stage is to plan the meals out long in advance of the mealtime, so the eating disorder voice is not left shouting at the eleventh hour. And given how journaling is always such a powerful tool for me, perhaps I’ll lug my journal and pen with me all day as well. We’ll see…

Day 48

I don’t even know what to think, say or write. I planned my day (Saturday) as carefully as possible to keep myself safe – safe from eating disorder behaviors, suicidal thoughts and self harm opportunities. And for the most part I did really well.

I had my legs waxed and a manicure and pedicure at 10am (these are luxury experiences I never do at home – so I’m calling it self care and a way to fill in two hours with no harmful thoughts whatsoever). I had morning tea on the way to the appointment and then went straight to a cafe I know really well for lunch. All good. Felt safe. Ate well. Went straight back to the clinic until dinner time.

Did nothing but play a mindless word game on my phone all afternoon (to distract thoughts) and napped. Went out for dinner, reassuring my nurse I would walk straight to the restaurant I know really well (easy to eat “safe” food) and then walk straight back. She double checked and said, are you sure you’re safe? I answered I thought I’d be fine – walk there, eat, walk back. I chatted to a friend on the phone all the way there. Too easy. Ate a delicious, nutritious, well-portioned meal with no problems. But…

I spied a knife on the table that came with my meal and couldn’t resist.

It wasn’t a sharp knife so not a huge amount of damage done. It’s just the compulsive thoughts I can’t stop. I left as soon as possible and walked straight back to the clinic. Found a piece of broken glass on the ground that I scratched away with for the 15 minute walk. Again, not much damage (not sharp glass – very thick) but if I’d had the option to carve my arms up properly, I know I would have. I was desperate to.

I’ve chatted to the nurse and she’s put a bandage over my arm – it’s a bit weepy. Now I have to sit out in the common area, supervised because I can’t in all honesty guarantee I won’t look for something else (there’s always an option). I don’t know why these overwhelming urges are back again. I hadn’t self-harmed since October. And that was a single incident after a couple of months. When I first came in I scratched my hands a heap, so they upped my medications. The anxiety is the biggest issue. As a lot of the meds are benzodiazepines they’re now starting to wean me off as I go home in four sleeps. I’m not sure what’s worse – self harm or eating disorder – if I have to choose between the two… Which is how it always feels. I know that’s not the answer, but it seems as I become more accepting of letting the eating disorder go, and making plans for continuing recovery at home, the urge to self harm is escalating.

I’m just transferring…

I don’t know the answer. And I know I won’t see a doctor or registrar until Monday. I have my leave cancelled completely until I’ve seen a doctor which is not enormously convenient but completely understandable. It’s just tomorrow. My cousin is visiting in the morning – to collect her lovely quilt cover and blanket – and my husband arrives after lunch. They’ll have to meet me at the clinic instead of going out.

I’m enormously disappointed and frustrated at what feels like a really backward step just as I’m ready to discharge. I’m struggling to turn it around. The only solution feels like ensuring I am never left alone. Which is not a realistic long term strategy. Hopefully this too shall pass. And that I can find some pharmaceutical solutions that are viable and effective long term.

It’s now post-supper and I’ve returned to my room, but I’ve decided to leave my door wide open with the lights on so I can stay safe. And if the urges become overwhelming I’ll go back to the common room. Which is noisy and I don’t like it… But it’s better than being unsafe. I really am trying hard. Though it may not seem like it…

Day 49

Three sleeps to go.

For those following the sorry saga of the past few days, I’m pleased to share that today was a good day. No angst. No white knuckling. No issues. I did feel a bit like a cat in a crate so took it upon myself to do a few corridor and stairwell laps. I mapped out a nice little course that takes 235 steps. So four laps, plus to and from my bedroom, equals a thousand steps. If I did 40 laps I’d get my ten thousand steps per day in. But given that all exercise is banned here – including using the stairwell – I figured  I shouldn’t push it too far or I’d get caught. I reckon I did 3000 steps with my little circuit though.

I’m going a bit stir crazy being trapped in a tiny little room…

Had a lovely visit from my cousin today, and she had her brother and his wife with her visiting from the US. So I spent a lovely hour catching up on family news and they even brought me a proper coffee so that was lovely.

Then this afternoon my husband arrived – bearing roses – and while I wasn’t allowed to leave the building, we did spend a lovely couple of hours curled up on my bed chatting and snoozing. He has a couple of odd heart conditions, so it’s always quite fascinating to lie on his chest and listen to the weird erratic patterns. Apparently normal for him – hasn’t killed him in the past 56 years so fingers crossed it doesn’t any time soon.

I’ll be seeing my psychiatrist in the morning and will beg to be allowed to go back on leave. Escorted leave is fine. I just don’t want to spend my last days here couped up in a tiny room. Plus we need to buy another suitcase and I don’t trust my husband to buy the right one if I’m not there.

Over the next two days we will both have appointments with the dietitian and the family therapist to work out plans and supports that need to be in place when I get home. A list of do’s and don’ts. Some really clear structures and boundaries. He will do anything he can to help me, but he is not instinctive – he needs instructions. And I’m not the right person to set the guidelines.

I’m feeling fairly positive and hopeful today about managing the eating disorder recovery when I get home. But I’m worried about the transference to self harm desires. I have not got on top of the anxiety and this needs to become a priority. I feel I will need pharmacological support until I master other strategies and then wean off the drugs. The urges were very mild today – but I was nicely medicated, was stuck in the clinic all day, and had company most of the day. I’m also temporarily playing a mindless word game on my phone as it’s a numbing distraction that seems less harmful than eating disorder behaviour or self harm. But it obviously isn’t dealing with the key issue. I guess it will be something to work on with my psychologist at home – I like to keep her on her toes 🙂