IN VERSE

I introduced myself to my fellow writers in the awakening authors course I’m starting soon. I introduced myself in verse 🙂

I am Simone.
Which rhymes with c’mon, not Ramone.

I’m a flautist, a teacher, a singer.
A mother, musician and mental health advocate.

I devour chai tea, decaf lattes, gin & tonics.
Pumpkin soup, sushi and dusted jelly babies.

I adore cats,
But flee in fear from dogs.

I raised three glorious young men,
And nurtured a magnificent, motherless nephew.

I lost my identity – I’ll build a new one.
I broke – I’ll mend.

I feel joy with wind frizzing my hair, sand beneath painted toes, sun warming my spirit.

I crumble with heartless words, broken dreams, and seeing others in pain.

I feel emotions with an intensity powerful enough to crush rocks,
But ofttimes escape with maladapted coping tools.

I have compassion and determination in abundance.
I yearn to learn the arts of resilience and self belief.

I have always written.
I have never been a writer.

I am happy and sad all at once.
Courageous and fearful.
Young and old.

I have failed.
I have succeeded.

I am a survivor.

I am Simone.

And then when I arrived home, the little prize I won during the seven day challenge arrived – and now I have a lovely pack of writing prompt cards.

My life is taking a turn. Where it’s going and where it stops – is yet to be determined.

ONWARDS & UPWARDS

At the start of this 30 day challenge I was determined to write consistently about recovery and freedom – unfortunately I quickly became bored and disillusioned and haven’t been entirely consistent with that particular task. I have written every single day! But it’s not always uber cheery. And part of me certainly resents the necessity to be cheery for no apparent reason. This is my blog – says the rebellious little girl still residing in my head – and I refuse to pretend to be what I am not. I wear a goddamn mask all day long, I’ll be buggered if I’m going to plaster it across my blog as well. I just want to be honest here. That’s the whole point!

So my intentions were good, but they ended up more authentic than cheery. Because that’s what I wanted to do.

Today I still feel the malaise hanging around – clinging to me like the stench of rotting fish in a busy harbour. I’m exhausted. Physically drained and worn out. I yearn to sleep – right through the night! I yearn to be pain free. I yearn to be alone – to spend time in my house with my own thoughts, free to wander without disruption or distraction. I yearn to lie in the sun with my cat curled under my arm and feel the healing rays of the winter sun soaking into my pasty aging skin and warming my spirit within. All these things can and will happen – but they just can’t and won’t happen today.

I have made the decision to accept the half scholarship to the writing course. I’ve had mixed reactions from people about it. A couple of friends are really excited for me – they think investing in myself and my future is well worth every penny we’re having to draw down on our mortgage. Others are questioning whether I will learn anything I can’t learn elsewhere. Is it a bit of a con? By offering half scholarships I’m still paying a large sum of money and the coordinator is still making good money. So is it a scam?

No. I don’t believe so. My gut feeling is it will be the continuation of the therapy I’ve been doing with my bulimia recovery – and even though this is a writing course, there is so much inherent work that needs to be done on consciousness, acceptance and emotional awareness, that the pay-off will be really huge mentally.

The things I will learn cannot be learned by google searches or sitting in the library reading manuals and encyclopedias. It doesn’t work like that. Sure – there are writers who learn their craft sitting by themselves in a room, typing away and doing the best they can, but there aren’t many. Most people do courses and workshops and attend retreats, groups and writers’ centers.

You can’t be a writer without feedback.

There is a ton of craft to be learned, and this course will fast track so much information, and introduce me to a community of women who will offer constructive criticism. I’m too old to spend 20 years reinventing the wheel and learning to be an author without guidance. I don’t have the time.

So I signed up. And if the above paragraphs sound defensive, it is because I am. My gut instinct says this is a great thing for me to do and I will learn a lot and benefit hugely. I’ve had a lifetime of people shooting me down in flames every time I try something new, but I never get used to it. It is always deflating. I’m going to do this course anyway. It is the right thing – I feel it in my waters.

The thought of doing the course and venturing into the world of writing and authoring is helping me find an identity – something I  lost recently. I can picture myself writing and singing in the future. Not singing professionally lol! That would be hilarious. But I’d like to see if my damaged voice can be managed and whether or not I can sing in choirs again. Singing keeps me in touch with the world of music and performing arts, and writing is my creative and emotional outlet. The best of all worlds!

Then of course those two things feed beautifully into my picture of why I want to find freedom from disordered eating. I don’t want to be in and out of mental health units if I’m trying to write a story. I don’t want to be constantly bingeing and purging if I’m singing in a choir. I need to be fit and healthy and well for both.

I need to be emotionally whole to write.

So they offer me a glimpse into a future I want to be a part of. The other thing I’ve heard recently, is three or four different people – from completely different parts of my world – commenting how incredibly happy they are for me with the progress I’ve made. Which is comforting to hear. I really do believe I’ve found the right place. I haven’t blossomed into the world of “recovered” yet, but I do finally believe I am “recovering”. Recovery is not a finite place, or a random line in the sand, or a finish line.

I’ve been travelling a really long, dark, tunnel for 50 years. I haven’t known anything else. Every now and then I’ve been given little distant flashes of light, but they disappeared again. Over the past year or two, the lights have started to shine more consistently and now it’s a beacon, calling me. I imagine that as I keep travelling down this tunnel, and the light becomes clearer, slowly it will widen out, becoming lighter and lighter. Then one day I’ll realise I’ve travelled to the point where I can’t even see the walls any more – they’re so far apart they’re impossible to see. I’ll have travelled into the world where all the other people are – wandering around and being normal and eating food when they’re hungry or feel like it.

Dealing with life in their own little way. And every now and then I’ll see somebody in the distance heading out from their own tunnel, and I can grab a little lantern and shine it towards them so they know they can keep going. And that is how I see recovery now. I will one day realise I’m in an open field and the sun is shining. When I see that sunshine, I can say I’m recovered.

For now, it’s onwards and upwards, because no matter how dreary I feel, I will never ever give up. I will never, ever stay down.

COUNTING CLOUDS

Depression is so dreary. I’m sure everyone is bored with it.

When I share how shitty I  feel, people try to cheer me up (thank you! I appreciate you want me to be happy!), or help me reframe so I can concentrate on positives (yes – excellent advice!), or tell me this too shall pass. It isn’t acceptable to be depressed. I feel as though I’m not supposed to talk about it – it makes other people uncomfortable, or unhappy, or something.

Is that fair? I don’t think so. I’m sure I do the same thing – try to cheer friends up and help them see another viewpoint. I think it’s like having a cold. You can rest and look after yourself and it takes seven days to get better. Or you can go overboard and take every bottle of vitamin C, echinacea and all the cold and flu tablets in the world, and it lasts about a week…

When I have a cold nobody tries to cheer me up

They sympathise, hope it passes quickly and that I’ll be back on my feet in no time. Then they give me a wide berth so they don’t catch it too! This is what I want when the malaise of depression weighs me down. I don’t need to be argued with and told my mood is wrong – I’m already telling myself that. I know it will pass, I know I’ll survive. I also know pretending to be cheerful won’t help – it makes things worse because it’s exhausting. I know reframing may or may not be helpful – depending on what it is I try to reframe. But all in all, when the dark clouds descend, I need to accept them – not expend every ounce of energy I have pointlessly puffing them away. It doesn’t work.

Today has been interesting. I definitely notice myself weighed down heavily with what feels like a very depressed elephant parked firmly on my chest. I am mind numbingly exhausted. I have been really teary – every little thing sets me off. I’m overly sensitive to the slightest remark or look in my direction. I’m seeing all the negatives and dismissing the positives. I feel no sense of hope, joy or optimism. My future feels like an endless grind of same-same-same, and that I’m put on this earth to do things for other people.

I also know this feeling will pass.

If it doesn’t pass in a reasonable time frame, I can (and would) seek professional help to consider adjusting my medications. My over sensitivities at the moment make me want to throw the towel in and give up on everything, so I am doggedly sticking to my cardinal rule – never make a big decision in a time of high emotion.
I’m also conscious negative moods are like that nasty cold virus – contagious. I had been sharing a lot of feelings with my recovery group but it dragged the overall tone and mood of the group down which is not helpful for anyone. So I’ll just keep to here – and private journalling.

I can analyse the why’s of this current mood, but at the end of the day, does it really make any difference? No – of course not. It is what it is. I can monitor and make sure it isn’t getting worse or going on for too long. I can try and nurture and protect myself. And with a little bit of luck, it will turn around quickly and I’ll be back to my normal self again.

Although I’m starting to wonder if this is my normal self, and the cheerful energetic Simone is the aberration!
With depression snugly wrapped around my shoulders like a faux-fur stole, it is difficult to tell the difference between negatives and positives.

I won a partial scholarship (50 per cent) to an eight week online writing course today. A week ago I would have been beyond thrilled. The course looks amazing and would firmly steer me into a new direction in my life with the guidance and support I need to quickly get up and running. It also doubles as therapy, as there is so much personal development involved. I have been desperately hoping I’d win a scholarship – I desperately want to do the course! But as it’s only half a scholarship (only?! I feel very unappreciative… I am incredibly honoured and grateful for a half scholarship!) but it does mean I still have to fork out quite a sum of money and we will have to draw down on our mortgage to do it – so I am torn.

Do I put us into greater debt to pursue something I would like to do as my new career path? Do I accept my life as is and stick to writing as a hobby? Am I being greedy and self-absorbed wanting to do this? Or is it an investment into a new career and my mental health improvements? I just don’t know… I need someone to tell me what to do! But that’s not helpful either… I need to ponder it and see what happens.

I have until 3pm tomorrow to decide…

And I will decide – one way or the other. I am incredibly privileged to be in a position where I can think about it at all. I have given all the information to my husband and I may perhaps just leave the decision in his hands – then I won’t feel regret if I turn it down, or guilt if I accept it. Hopefully!

Anyway – the past few days I’ve been counting clouds. The dark clouds of deep depression. They seem to be swarming around and I can barely focus for the whooshing sound they make as they get closer and closer.

Depression – it’s a bugger of a thing. Once it’s bitten you that first time, you’re forever susceptible to little relapses here and there. This too shall pass. I know it shall. In the meantime… Whoosh – there’s another cloud…

ENDINGS & EXCUSES

I’ve been in a consistently downward spiral of late. Many people I know in “real” life are now reading this blog, so I need to word things carefully …

A few things are coming to an end and there are some changes I’ve been working towards making, all of which lead to increasing anxieties.

The recovery course will end this week and I’m not doing great. To be honest, I had put a lot of hope into it and had unrealistic expectations. The truth is, I was never going to be “all better” in a mere eight weeks – most people take six-twelve months. This course is the single most important thing I’ve ever done for my recovery. I’ve felt more hope, learned more things and made more progress than I have anywhere else – and the two major things I’ve taken away are the importance of focusing on outcomes not the struggle, and searching for reasons why I want to recover and generating a picture of the future. These are really important things. I’ve learned tons of tools from tons of places and they are all great. I felt this would be the last key piece of my big recovery puzzle. It isn’t…

The truth is, I’m not feeling much better now than I did at the start.

Not really. I want to slip back into my old habits and I’m fighting hard not do it. I never know which voice is talking to me. I still struggle to picture a future free from binge eating, purging and restricting. I can’t picture it at all. I have done lots of visualisations about this, and tried really hard these past few weeks to put positive things up on here about my recovery picture, hoping that by writing it often enough I would start to believe it myself. I don’t. Not at this point in time. I am however much better at focusing on outcomes not struggles and when things go pear-shaped, I turn it around much quicker than previously.

So the group will end and I feel really sad – it was one of my last hopes and I didn’t do enough of whatever I was supposed to do. I’m jealous of everyone else’s recovery. I feel like I’m the only person going backwards now. I feel a sense of failure at my lack of progress – lack of success. And if it’s my last hope for recovery, what does it mean if I don’t recover?

Another thing I’ve become aware of is the affect my changing behaviours and choices have on my mood. When I decided in February not to go ahead with my end-of-life plan, I quickly spiraled into depression and escalating eating disorder. There is a lot of safety in have an exit plan. If the going got too tough, I had an option to get off the merry go round. When that option is gone, I am left with the reality of having to deal with all the issues life throws at us, and to think about the fact I have to fill in the next 30-50 years of my life. And that was totally overwhelming. It still is to be honest.

I don’t even have a lethal dose of pills at my disposal any more…

I am contemplating removal of my razor blades, which is having a very similar affect is the anti-suicide plan. No more safety net. When life gets too stressful, deal with it. Use the tools that get talked about but don’t feel familiar or safe or useful at this point.

And of course the eating disorder is the same. If I let it go completely – learn to manage emotional distress without any maladaptive behaviours – then it’s going to be really uncomfortable. Like – really uncomfortable. Do I want that? Yes and no. For the benefit of others, I’d like to be healthy – mentally and physically.

• Hidden my scales – makes me incredibly anxious.
• Stopped restricting – makes me feel sad.
• Reduced bingeing and purging – makes me feel incredibly anxious.
• Contemplating hiding the razor blades – makes me feel sad.
• Learning to sit with and feel emotions, really feel them – makes me anxious.
• I have to live until I die from natural causes – makes me really sad.

So all these endings are of course, just excuses for “failing” at my recovery. I do recognise that I have a choice – in everything I do, I always have a choice. And the easy, safe choice is being bulimic. Harming myself and lessening my life expectancy. That’s the comfortable, easy option. Recovery is hard work. It’s supposed to be – major changes are being made to our core being, and that is uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and not very entertaining.

I don’t know how far I’ll get with this recovery gig. Perhaps I’ll trudge along and figure it all out and look back one day and say, “I did it! I’m recovered.” Perhaps the changes I’ve learned here will stick and I’ll keep finding more tools and more support and it will all add up. Perhaps I’ll stagnate and get neither better nor worse. Perhaps I’ll fall off my perch and go back to square one. Perhaps perhaps perhaps….
 
 

REALITY CHECK

No words today.

On any given day – in any random order – for no apparent reason – I feel…

DARE TO DREAM

I’m away for a night visiting friends. Friends I’ve known so long we’ve become sisters 🙂

This is a quick trip so we can start forward planning for a trip to Europe in 2018. Yes. A trip to Europe in 2018. Cool huh?!

We’re thinking at this stage maybe a week in Paris, a week in Lucca and a week in Porto. Super cool huh?!

A decade ago I never dreamed I would be planning a trip to Europe. Trying to decide whether we should go to Santorini or Portugal. Trying to decide whether we want a villa in the countryside or an apartment in the city. These are absolutely delightful conundrums to have.

And it’s worth reminding myself, if this dream can come true, other dreams can come true. Grandbabies, purposeful work, financial security. A happy marriage, good health, a writing career.

And freedom. Freedom from anxiety. Freedom from depression. Freedom from disordered eating.

If I can plan a trip to Europe, dreams have come true.

If one dream can come true… the world is my oyster.