A LETTER TO MY OLD FRIEND, SLEEP

Dear Sleep,

I’ve been thinking of you lately. About all that time we spent together – so comfortable with each other and just cocooned in a bubble of happiness. Meeting you was the happiest time of my life. You changed my world, and every day my eyes were bright and my spirit bursting with love. I smiled on the inside. You brought me so much peace and comfort with your gentle embrace and your loving touch. You were here for the best times of my entire life. The days were sparkly and our nights a blessing.

We were so good together

I really miss that. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We were so comfortable with each other and I felt we had such an amazing connection. We understood each other. I thought we were together forever, but then you left. I know I did some things that really messed around with you. I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back. You have no idea how badly I wish that. I have learned from my mistakes.

We stayed in touch for a while and I was grateful just to have you for moments here and there. But eventually, you left completely and it just devastated me.

To continue reading please visit:

https://insomnia.sleep-disorders.net/living/dear-sleep

Image and links courtesy of Health Union and https://insomnia.sleep-disorders.net

I F*CKED UP

I’ve been quiet on here for a little while. I’ve been quiet everywhere for a little while.

I HAVE BEEN IN A PERIOD OF SIGNIFICANT RESTRICTION

I won’t go into detail as I don’t know who reads this blog, but I do know specifics on everything that has gone wrong can be triggering to those vulnerable to disordered eating. It’s like writing a how-to manual for eating disordered folk. I don’t want to do that.

Suffice to say, it all went tits up.

On the happy news side of things, I am long past compensatory behaviours like purging. And I am long past numbing behaviours like self-harm. And I am long past the really scary thoughts of suicidal ideation. Of course, nobody knows what tomorrow might hold, but for today I feel solid on those fronts.

BODY IMAGE HOWEVER…

I can’t nail this particular aspect of recovery and chronic body hatred always leads me to restrictive eating. I have, despite appearances to the contrary, worked really hard on getting better with body image. But it’s hard. It’s really fucking hard. My body was commented on with much condescension and disgust all my formative years. How do you rewrite that dialogue? My body has been commented on for a lot of my adult life and when you’re hypersensitive to body commentary it’s hard to let go.

I have a psychologist and I have a psychiatrist and I have lovely supportive friends, so I will continue to work on this. I was doing so well in recovery that I’d started scheduling my appointments two months apart. But it appears a lot can happen in two months. And not all of it good.

It was curious how quickly I was triggered and fell off my precarious perch. It all just came crashing down around my ears and I stopped eating. The only reason I am writing this post is because I have started eating again. In a haphazard manner but I’m getting there.

Not eating is a psychologically messy process. When I stop eating I stop writing and when I stop writing my head goes screwy. I know writing is not a must-do recovery tool for most people, but it is for me. I do have a private journal I write in all the time but it tends to be a sad and sorry pity party. Here, I tend to be a bit more reflective. I have no idea if it sounds reflective, but it’s an awful lot better than my sally-sad-pants journalling.

DOES “RECOVERED” EXIST?

I often wonder this question. I know in 12 Step programmes they say once an addict always an addict. No matter how many years clean and sober you’re always a recovering addict, never a recovered one.

In eating disorder circles this is sometimes disputed. They say you can have full recovery. I can’t remember who they are, but they had lots of fancy letters after their names. Other people say you never fully recover. I feel like I’ll be in the latter category – I can get a lot better but it will never be perfect.

Not that perfectionism is something to pursue… But I think if I expect (at this stage) to stay recovered all the time then when relapse happens (as happened six weeks ago) I have a sense of wanting to give up. It’s all too hard. I’ll never be okay. Poor me, poor me. I spend a lot of time thinking poor me. It’s a useless waste of time. Things are what they are right at this moment and all I can do is look to making better decisions right now. The only point in looking back is to gently consider why I fucked up in the first place.

So, today I’m making a choice to stay on the recovery road, even if I’m taking the long route. It’s better than sitting down in my hole and digging myself in. I need to ditch the shovel, pick myself up and keep trudging along.

IN THE SPIRIT OF POSITIVITY, I ATE LUNCH

How sad is it that eating lunch is a major achievement? You’d think after 55 years I would have managed to get on top of a basic body function like eating. But alas, I have not. I’m trying though.

The downside to sharing every intimate aspect of my life in a public arena is that I feel people are watching me. I’ve developed an aversion to being seen eating. Somehow it feels like a judgment even though I’m sure it’s not. I feel like every time I eat food there’s a big neon flashing sign over my head saying, “Look! She’s eating food!” Logically I know that’s ridiculous and most people have far more important things to think about than whatever is on my fork, but fear is rarely rational.

My life is not going in the direction I would like at the moment and my disordered relationship with food is reflecting that. My first step in another direction is to dust off my keyboard and write. So here I am, sharing my failures with you in the hope that it will lead to fewer failures for me.

In the coming weeks, I hope to share more inspirational posts with you. I’m thinking about writing about farts next time.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

Some of the sweetest, most precious and happiest times of my life have passed me by. I really miss them.

Some of the darkest, most miserable and frightening times of my life have passed me by. I don’t miss them at all.

EVERYTHING IN LIFE IS TRANSITORY

I’m having a bit of a sad and sorry for myself kind of day. We all have them, right? Historically I had a comprehensive array of methods for numbing emotions away. They proved unfruitful in the long run. These days I just practice feeling miserable and waiting for myself to cheer up. It isn’t much fun, but it’s a whole lot healthier.

I’ve been so blessed to have so many good things happen to me, things I will remember forever.

• Holding my newborn babies in my arms
• Performing on stage
• Climbing mountains
• Sailing in Cinque Terre
• Loving and being loved by beautiful, beautiful people

It is so important during joyous times to cherish the moment – it’s not going to last and we have to appreciate things while we have them. Because one day they’ll be gone. This is where mindfulness is a most excellent tool – staying present to the present moment. It’s a wonderful skill to develop.

Like all of you, I’ve also had some very dark moments.

• Losing precious people in my life
• Self-harming, overeating and purging
• Enduring migraines
• Experiencing major depression and anxiety
• Attempting suicide

THEY WERE PRETTY SHIT DAYS IF I’M BEING BRUTALLY HONEST

But all those really shitty things also came to an end. All those tears being shed and the overwhelming feeling that emotional pain can’t be borne has all been and gone.

Living in the moment when everything is shiny and rosy is easy. It’s a blessing. Soaking up the sunrise, being mesmerised by beautiful music, holding the hand of someone you love dearly.

Living in the moment when everything is dark and tumultuous is awful. It’s really awful. Whatever the reason, however valid or invalid you consider your feelings to be, it still sucks. But as was once wisely stated,

If you are going through hell, keep going

Winston Churchill

How true. Let the tears flow, let the pain wash over you. Feel it. Breathe it out. Accept it. Then watch it fade. Until next time. And having survived it once, you learn that you can survive it again.

Emotional turmoil that once seemed like it would last forever, that morphs into intense physical pain, passes. And we move through it to greener pastures.

Psychologists tell us this stuff all the time. It turns out they know what they’re talking about. I guess all that university study pays off when you pay attention.

I HAVE SELF-SOOTHING TECHNIQUES THAT HELP

Things that I was taught in therapies but things I’ve always known. They seem too easy to be true and it has taken me a long time to embrace the obvious.

• Cups of tea
• Sleep
• Floods of tears
• Cuddling my cat
• And my old favourite, writing

Not exactly magical or miraculous but they’re classic and they help. Really truly. It’s called self-care and the alternatives aren’t worth considering anymore. I’ve moved on.

So here I am sulking my way through a poor-me day. Writing and focusing on the feelings I’m feeling, knowing that a few hours or a few days from now I’ll be feeling much better. This too shall pass.

IF THE SHOE FITS… IMPULSE CONTROL & PRAMIPEXOLE

Once upon a time, I bought a pair of shoes.

I bought a pair of shoes at 3 AM and when they arrived, I didn’t remember buying them.

At the time of this unfortunate shoe-purchasing incident, I’d been taking pramipexole for around 5 years. I’d had no side effects and had yet to experience any augmentation (that would come later).

Pramipexole seemed like a miracle cure for my out-of-control restless legs syndrome. I went from being on the verge of psychosis, due to being awake and twitchy almost 24/7, to feeling peaceful and rested. Words alone cannot articulate the bliss a restless legger feels when stillness descends.

So, imagine my distress when it gradually dawned on me I’d become one of the 17 to 25 per cent of people who developed impulsive-compulsive spectrum disorders as a result of taking the medication.

To continue reading please visit:

https://restlesslegssyndrome.sleep-disorders.net/living/impulse-control

Image and links courtesy of Health Union and Restless Legs Syndrome Health Info & Community (sleep-disorders.net)

WHEN THE BODY IMAGE BEAST COMES TO PLAY

I’m on holiday. You would think this is a joyful time but alas, I made a small error and that error grew into wild proportions. I had to take a Valium and go to bed.

My husband and I have come away for a three night stay on the west coast of Tasmania. We try to go away together at least once a year and sometimes we manage it twice. It’s kind of a big deal in our marriage. It’s mid-winter here and the west coast is renowned for rain. So far it’s delivered on its promise.

NOW, I HAVE TALKED ENDLESSLY ABOUT BODY IMAGE AT DIFFERENT TIMES

It is something I have struggled with my entire life. As my journey of recovery took on an upward trajectory in the past 15 months, I worked on the acceptance thing. Trying to accept myself as is, right now. I hear other people do this and it’s good for you.

But I struggle.

For a short while I did almost sense that feeling of acceptance. That it was okay to be as I am. I was feeling particularly well and healthy at the time. I’ve gained a lot of weight but otherwise my health is good and I still attend gym regularly. I should be grateful for this.

I talked to my psychiatrist about this last week – as my eating disorder behaviours have regressed. It shames me to say this, but I am restricting again. She concluded that I compare my body to other people and I have to agree. Although I was unaware this isn’t normal. It’s not something I’m proud of but I compare my body to everyone else and just see myself as a giant failure at all times. The old, you’re not good enough, message that was instilled in me.

I REALLY DON’T KNOW HOW TO CHANGE IT

So imagine my distress when I realised I’d packed all my clothes for the little weekend away, but I’d left all my underwear and pyjamas at home. At first it seemed very amusing – of all the things to forget. Then I was berating myself, trying to figure out how on earth I could forget anything. I’m usually so organised and I’d written lists and checked them off. I’m trying to absolve myself of blame by saying it’s my husband’s fault. Halfway through packing my clothes he came into our wardrobe to get dressed. That distraction meant I zipped up my bag, sans the key items.

By the time we arrived at our accommodation I was really starting to sense the panic. We stopped in Queenstown on the way to see if a shop could provide me with emergency supplies. In the whole of Queenstown you cannot buy underwear – I asked. Where on earth do people buy their knickers from?

When we arrived in Strahan we stopped by the pharmacy and it turns out they had two pairs left. Cheap, flimsy, made-for-nanna undies.

I GRABBED BOTH PAIRS

When we arrived at our room I couldn’t relax. I’m so used to coming home and slipping into comfy pyjamas. I don’t like the feel of wearing clothing so putting on loose pyjamas is part of my way of destressing the day away. I was stuck in my day clothes with all their constriction. My mood plummeted and my anxiety sky rocketed. I asked my husband what he had packed.

I had a long hot shower then put the flimsy nanna-undies on with one of my husband’s thermals and I felt vaguely better. But despite being married for almost 29 years, I cannot walk around in just my knickers. It makes me feel distinctly unsafe. It makes me feel judged and disgusting and unworthy. There may be no validity to these feelings but they’re there anyway. So I put my pants back on, with all the bits of mud from the day walks we did on the way here.

After a few hours of mindless television, with the effects of a Valium on board, I managed to wipe the sour look off my face and start to put things into perspective.

I saw this written in a meme the other day.

YOU CAN’T WEIGHT-LOSS YOUR WAY OUT OF BODY IMAGE ISSUES

How true is that? I started restricting because I was confronted with a pile of confronting situations that brought full attention to my body. And while my recovery is strong in many areas, it wasn’t strong enough for this.

As a close friend reminded me, I’ve climbed back on many wagons before. I confess I’m sick to death of getting on and off wagons but what’s the alternative? If I’ve fallen off I either get back up or stay on the ground and complain.

So for today, I’m tucked up in bed in flimsy undies and my husband’s thermal. I’m going on the hunt for an oversize t-shirt later today. One that will probably have a giant picture of a tour boat on it. And my recovery goal is now firmly focused upon banishing the body image beast.

WHY I GO TO CHURCH

It is a curious thing that I feel the need to justify my decision to go to church. I have never a written a post called, Why I go to the supermarket. And yet spiritual things are often vilified – be it Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Paganism, Hinduism or even Atheism. Everyone seems to be on a side, pointing fingers at the other team.

I DON’T THINK THAT’S HOW SPIRITUALITY IS SUPPOSED TO WORK

It is well documented within my blog that in recent years I developed mental health issues culminating in multiple breakdowns. Not the most stellar moments of my life if I’m being brutally honest. But still – it is what it is.

Since the beginning of 2015, I have been on a journey of recovery – from depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation and eating disorders. It has been a journey of many failures but in the past 15 months, I have been on a generally upward trajectory. Part of that healing has been spiritual.

When you’re mentally unwell there are many things to heal – physically, psychologically and spiritually. Doctors treat the physical and therapists treat the psychological. But who treats the spiritual? I have had to figure that out by myself. Relying on my own strength was not enough. Through a period of curiosity, I slowly developed a willingness to believe in the unknowable.

PEOPLE DON’T BECOME MENTALLY UNWELL BECAUSE THEY’RE WEAK

Some of the strongest people I have ever met experience profound depths of psychological despair. It requires the most enormous amount of strength to simply keep going. For me, there came a time where I could no longer rely on my own strength to pursue recovery and it was then that I became willing to explore the possibility of God.

During my darkest days and long before I had any kind of faith, I had called out to God in desperation. I think when all feels lost, many people reach out with the last thread of hope they have. Mindfulness is a keyword in the therapies I pursue and as it turns out, prayer is a wonderful form of mindfulness.

When I travelled through Europe for three months I was free from the daily cares and stresses that so often hold us back. I had time to think. I was also coincidentally tracking the history of Christianity through our travels and as I bathed in the Jordan River, I had a gentle spiritual awakening. There was a sense of mental peace and a feeling that it was okay to believe differently to everyone else in my world. It was actually none of their fucking business.

SOME PEOPLE DEVELOP A SPIRITUAL AWARENESS WITHOUT EVER BELIEVING IN GOD

Some people nurture their spiritual being through a belief in God, but not a form of organised religion. And some people come to believe in God and nestle that faith within the construct of a traditional religious practice. That’s me.

I have had three powerful, out of body experiences with God and when doubts creep in, I remember how real those experiences felt and how they changed me. I feel no pressing need to defend my belief in God, miracles and Jesus. It is hard to defend faith with fact but for me personally, it seems unnecessary. I have no desire to convert anybody to anything, this is my journey.

When it comes to the politics of religion, I am willfully turning a blind eye. We all know the dreadful things done by religions of every shape and size. Atrocities committed over centuries. Corruption. Money grabbing. Sexual misconduct. Racism, misogyny, homophobia. The same can be said for governments and big corporations. Probably plenty of small corporations too. But I don’t attend church at a corporate level. I am a small blade of grass, interacting with Christianity at a grassroots level.

AND I LIKE IT HERE

I don’t need church to anchor my faith – I have it regardless of where I am and who I’m with. But in my grassroots level experience of church I have found a wonderful sense of community. I have met a lively pastor with a bouncy disposition and a big heart. Each week there is a message about everyday living and human experiences – a message clothed in scripture. And when I am in church I feel the presence of God.

While my church adheres to the policy that no one stands alone, I choose to sit alone, right up the back, so I can be surrounded by spirit, not people. I listen and pray and I almost always cry. If I want prayer there is an abundance of kind shoulders to cry upon.

As much as I would never have believed this ten years ago, I enjoy going to church. It is something to look forward to on Sunday mornings. If I come face to face with bigotry and corruption I may change my mind and look for spiritual solace elsewhere. But in the meantime I have found most of the people at the grassroots level are just like me – they’re searching for a little meaning and they want the world to be a kinder place. We all just want to be better people and going to church brings me comfort.