SIDLING ALONG

When I’m not going forward in recovery, I’m perfectly happy to accept sideways. Because moving sideways is not going backwards.

I have recently spent the most glorious three days in a lovely little holiday house – big hikes through the bush, lots of champagne and chocolate, late nights lying in front of a roaring fire talking about everything from the silly to the serious with a gorgeous friend.

Mentally liberating and spiritually cathartic. Not particularly restful though – I could still do with a little more sleep!

Eating wise, however, I haven’t made much progress. I’m managing to not go backwards by reminding myself continuously I will recover and I must never give up.

At the start of this year, I couldn’t get through a day without weighing myself. I have now given my scales away and don’t weigh myself at all.

Three months ago I still had a lethal dose of medications ready to take as soon as I felt the need. I have now thinned that stash out and no longer have a lethal dose.

A month ago I couldn’t be more than a meter or two from my self-harm equipment. I have now put it all away and never carry it with me.

All of this is progress. Good and significant progress I’ve been reliably informed.

There is one more stumbling block I have not been able to consider – but something I know needs to be done in order to embrace recovery. My lap band needs to be loosened so I can eat without vomiting.

I hear again and again in recovery there is no point waiting to be “ready” because that day never comes. I can’t wait until I “want” to have the lap band loosened – I have to have it loosened because I want to recover. It must seem so obvious – just go get a bit of saline out of the band and the food will stay down. Simple huh?! Of course, it is – physically. But emotionally it’s a huge hurdle.

The lap band has been a huge part of me controlling my weight, and the tighter it is, the easier it is to control. And I am incredibly fearful loosening the band will make me gain weight. I’ll lose all control over food and just binge endlessly with no means of controlling myself whatsoever. The hunger will increase, my ability to take more food in will increase, and the ease with which I can purge will decrease – significantly.

I did, however – under the influence of champagne and a very late night – make a commitment to contact my surgeon before the end of this week to arrange an appointment for loosening the lap band. And once I’ve made a commitment I will stick to it no matter what.

My recent attempts to eat five meals on a regular basis is becoming more normalised, and I’m hoping that means my mental obsession with food will not be too overwhelming if my hunger increases. And the ease of eating food will not translate into me choosing lemon slice and salted caramel macaroon, over lentil soup and steamed vegetables. But I guarantee, purging will be more difficult as once food passes through the band, it is impossible to get back up.

Naturally, the anticipation of loosening my band is increasing anxiety and feels really triggering. I’m aware of the trigger and trying not to let it explode out of control too badly. I’m aware of the anxiety and trying to manage it the best I can. This too shall pass – everything always does.

So progress lately – not really a happening thing. Despite the triggers and the slips, however, I don’t feel like I’m going backwards. I’m not mentally deteriorating or buying into the slips – which is progress. So I do feel like I’m sidling along, for now, doing the best I can. And this time next week? Well, I should at the very least have an appointment time with my surgeon and will know how many days left I will have for the lap band to remain tight enough to keep me continuously purging.

I’m ready for the next step in my recovery – sort of!

SOUL QUESTIONS

I am into the second week of my Author Awakening Adventure – and I finally have the time and headspace to start putting some thought into it, and doing the exercises in the modules. I have just completed module one – all very thought-provoking. And I utterly surprised myself by discovering I prefer to do the exercises by hand – not on the computer.

There is one last thing from the module I’d like to address, and that is the little card that states: 3 Soul Questions – Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here?

Gosh these questions can be answered on so many levels.

Who am I?

I am Simone.
Mother. Daughter. Sister. Wife.
Friend. Cousin. Teacher. Mentor.
Caring. Compassionate. Creative.
Broken & Bruised.
Happy & Sad all at once – why choose?
Lost & Lonely. Found & Friendly.
Ready for recovery.
Ready to live.

Where did you come from?

I burst into the world from the safety and warmth of my mother’s womb.
I came from love and hope. Decisions and expectations.
I came from Scotland & Ireland, England & Wales.
Australia. Tasmania. Hobart City.
I came from a place of judgment and criticism.
A place of learning, music and mentorships.
I came from firm friendships – filled with support, understanding, guidance, loyalty.
I came from all that befell me and all that I chose to see.

Why are you here?

I am here to nurture.
Listen and learn. Watch. Observe.
To see what’s not visible and hear what’s not heard.
I am here to guide, teach and inspire.
I am here to create order from chaos.
To love without condition.
And to give without expectation.
To share what I have – through music and words.
To play. To reflect. To write.
I am here because.

ONE PERFECT DAY

Well, ladies and gentlemen – and those who do not confidently or comfortably fit into traditional categories – my thanks and gratitude for your ongoing patience with my intermittent pity parties. They’re boring and dull to read I have no doubt. But from my end of the equation, they are magically cathartic.

The past few days weren’t fabulous. I had (have) a fair whack of emotion happening for one reason or another at the moment – anniversary of my sister’s death yesterday, coming down from the business of organising the funeral, physical exhaustion, worrying about my dad’s health, and a myriad little normal troubles that all seemed to have glowing neon lights hovering over them for a little while.

The very act of writing about everything helps me so much.

As I am an expert at running and hiding from emotions, I need to actually put my thoughts onto (digital) paper in order to make any sense of how I’m feeling. And so I journal and blog. And it really helps. It helps enough that when I slump into a slip, I know how to pick myself back up and to do so relatively quickly. Now, of course, I’d love to be in a position where I neither slump nor slip – wouldn’t we all?! And I am cautiously optimistic that perhaps one day a slump will not result in a slip. But for now, this is exceptional progress from where I was this time a year ago.

Today, I had a good day. Not just a good day, but a day where I followed my food plan to a tee. One perfect day. It wasn’t perfect in every aspect of my life but that’s okay. I’m not really aiming for perfection – I don’t want to set myself up to fail, and aiming for perfection means failing every time. My food plan though – I really wanted to stick to it. Just for a day. And I did it. The food I had planned was eaten at the time I had intended – no more, no less, and kept down. Just – one – day. That’s all I needed. That’s all I have.

Today I got it right. And I feel good about that. I make no promises about tomorrow. I have hope though.

So one perfect (recovery) day may turn into two perfect (recovery) days. But if it doesn’t, this day will remind me in the future that I can do it. One day at a time.

CHOOSE

To eat or not to eat. That is the question.
Choose.

To write or not to write.
Choose.

Work. Sleep. Play.
Choose.

Delivered unscathed from the maternal womb. Breathe.
Choose.

Tentatively totter on tiny tubby legs.
Choose.

Fall over. Start over. Do over.
Choose.

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner.
Choose.

Failure. Success. Happiness. Sadness.
Living and loving a meaningful life.
Choose.

Rest a weary soul.
Choose.

Guilt. Forgiveness. Denial. Acceptance.
Every thought I have.
Choose.

IT’S A ROLLER COASTER

So I’ve gone backwards. Slipping and sliding and rolling around. Bingeing and purging every day again. Feeling shit and stupid. I know it’s my responsibility – my choice. I can turn this back around any time I want to.

Why don’t I want to?

Everything we do in life, we do because it’s the thing we want to do the most at the time. When I choose to binge or purge, at the moment in time it is preferable to being healthy. I’m getting something out of it – numbing my emotions, punishing myself, weight control. There’s always something that feels like a positive – a backhanded false positive.

I believe this sinking feeling and backward trajectory is a result of exhaustion and weight gain – which are not related to each other.
I’m exhausted because I haven’t had time to stop and think and just be for a while. I have plans in place over the next three weeks to rest – but that won’t start until Friday. I need sleep and quiet time and walks along the beach and curling up in front of a big log fire drinking cups of tea.

I’m gaining weight because I’m overeating and binging. And I know I’m gaining weight because pants that were too baggy to wear before Christmas, are now too tight to wear. I’ve put on a lot of weight and I’m horrified at that thought. My only known solution in the past has been to purge or restrict and I’m valiantly attempting to resist those options right now. When I eat food, I feel like a failure. When I don’t eat, I feel like a failure. When I purge or don’t purge, I feel like a failure. Keeping food down feels like I’ve given in to societal demands and that I’m guaranteed to gain weight. Purging and restricting feels like I’ve given in to the eating disorder and I’m guaranteed to binge and gain weight.

Whatever I try to do, I feel like a failure and can trace a path from the initial behaviour to a weight gain.

I spent half an hour on the way to work this morning chanting, The answer is in recovery. My weight will stabilise when my nutritional intake stabilises. To be healthy and well I must recover. The answer is in recovery. Chanting to myself endlessly.

And then this afternoon I’ve binged and purged a ton again. And a big part of me wants to keep doing it – to keep purging and to start restricting. It is SO tempting! Such a strong, strong lure.
Such a big roller coaster. Such an exhausting ride…

JUST HANGING IN

I feel like I’m barely holding on at the moment. Clinging on with my fingernails to whatever I can.

I am exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. Nothing left to give. And yet ironically, not sleeping. Isn’t that always the way? I swear if I could get some sleep, I’d have a slightly firmer grip on reality.

I’ve barely had time to grieve for grandma. It wasn’t a traumatic or unexpected death – I knew she was going downhill, she was in her 99th year, and she died a beautiful, peaceful death. It was certainly not a tragedy. Nevertheless, I would like to spend a little bit of time grieving the loss of the last woman in my family. Now there’s just me and some cousins. And a very gorgeous niece… But the key women in my life are all gone.

I’ve finished the eating disorder course and feel a profound sense of loss. I didn’t recover. I progressed – but I didn’t recover. And now I’m slipping – a lot. I’m losing sight of my why and what for? Don’t panic – I’m sure I’ll find them again. One of the beauties of writing in my blog so prolifically, is I could go back and read what I wrote about freedom from bulimia. I don’t usually go back and read what I’ve written, it feels like treading over previously trampled ground. But I can do so if needs be. In the meantime – I’m slipping. My physical health isn’t topnotch right now.

I’ve started the author awakening course. I’m feeling underwhelmed. Not by the course or the content – they’re awesome – but by my willingness and ability to commit. I made a mistake today – submitting the wrong content to the group. It wasn’t a big deal, but I feel like an idiot. I can’t stand making mistakes. I don’t want others to realise how stupid I am. How fragile. How weak. Little errors very quickly make me doubt myself. Of course I love writing. Of course I want to write. But is now the right time? Do I want to turn a hobby into a major passion? Am I ready for the inevitable stress that will come from stuffing up and having to redo work? For getting halfway through and feeling lost and out of my depth? Can I handle that? I don’t know. Do I want to? I don’t know. Will I quit? Absolutely not.

I’m feeling afraid financially. We’re bleeding money. We’re doing it by choice, but still – it’s almost a hemorrhage. We need to pull the reins in, which we are perfectly capable of doing, but every little thing I want to improve my life, and the lives of my children, costs money. Taking my son to the movies – money. Doing the recovery and writing courses – money. Going away for my husband’s birthday – money. Physio for my neck – money. Worm tablets for the cat – money. Endless money. I wish I had better job security – I would feel slightly less panicked. As it stands, I’m sure I have a job long term. But what if I don’t? What if they need cutbacks and my position goes? Because mine would be the first to go… Then what? Doesn’t bare thinking about.

Ultimately though, I don’t feel right in myself. I don’t know what’s going on – I hope it’s just the post-funeral exhaustion and the lack of sleep forever and the normal demands of everyday life in the 21st century – but I don’t feel right. I’ve had blood tests to check my iron levels – all good. And I’ve had blood tests recently for an obscure condition I’ve never heard of and highly unlikely to have – pheochromocytoma. Still I don’t feel right in myself. I’m back to just wanting to run away and be left alone to just sit. Just sit.

I just want to sit. And be quiet. And still.

And so I will. Just for 48 hours. I’m going away to a beach house with a friend for a couple of nights. There’s a lovely log fire there and a beach nearby and I just want to do nothing. I don’t want to be at home feeling guilty about not doing housework or socialising with my family. I don’t want to be at work and wonder how I’ll get through the big long list of endless tasks that can never be totally finished. I don’t want to worry I’m not spending enough time with the friends I adore because the energy it takes to send a text message to arrange a time to meet is just energy I can’t find right now. I don’t want to feel fat and old and tired and a failure.

I just want to sit. On a rock. In the sun. Listening to the waves lapping quietly. Staring into a log fire for hours on end, watching wood burn to ash under a hot orange glow. I want to traipse up a mountain in the brisk winter air. I  want to drink wine, and read a book, and laugh with a friend, and nap in the middle of the day, and do whatever I feel like whenever I feel like it and do nothing at all and just let my soul rest.

I want to take time out from doing all the things for all the people all the time. No more organising work, and family and friends. Making times for catching up over a cup of tea, or paying an overdue bill, or servicing the car. I just want time out. I want to take care of my needs and mine alone. Just for a day. Just – one – day.

And so I will.

And so – I will.

I just need to hang in until Friday. And then – sit.