WATCH THIS SPACE

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m not sure who “they” are, but sometimes I feel that absence means the heart grew sicker. Writing is my cathartic outlet so when I stop writing I know something is going on.

Trouble is, I don’t always know what the problem is.

It is over a year since I was admitted into the psychiatric clinic and for the most part I’ve just gone from strength to strength. The first couple of months out were wobbly but gradually the mood stabilising medications stabilised and I developed a new normal – one that didn’t involve eating disorder behaviours or self harm.

I WAS MAKING PROGRESS

Then dad became very ill and eventually died. I think a lot of people were watching to see if I would fall apart at that point – after all, I’d been saying for several years that he was my strongest tether to this earth. I didn’t fall apart. I was both relieved and devastated.

My father is the single most lovely human being I have ever known and not having him in my life is so, so sad. But he was also an elderly man and death comes to us all. I grieved more in the weeks prior to his death than I did after. Friends ask me how I’m doing since he died and I respond with absolute honesty – I’m doing really well.

So why am I struggling so much these past few  weeks?

I’m experiencing what I can only describe as mental fatigue. And it’s flowing over into physical fatigue. Everything is an effort. Talking to people wears me out. I’m spending all my days tucked up in bed, working from my phone and developing bedsores on my arse.

THIS IS NOT MY FINEST HOUR

I have a private journal where I write letter after letter to offload my niggly little worries. Where I turn every mountain back into a mole hill. It helps. It definitely helps. But writing here is my healthiest outlet. I’m not sure why you’ve become my safe place to explore but you have. So thank you.

I’m holding onto eating disorder recovery. Just. Every day I follow the number one golden rule – eat three meals. Without fail. No excuses. No backing out. No compensatory behaviours. It doesn’t matter if I’m still full from yesterday, I eat three meals.

IT DOESN’T MATTER IF I ATE CAKE FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH & DINNER

My golden rule keeps me on track when everything else falls by the wayside.

Most of the time I eat pretty well but the past week while I’ve been tucked up in bed trying to recover from a weekend of peopling, I’ve eaten a lot of cake and cereal in lieu of proper food. I have no sense of pride in sharing that information but it is what it is. At least I haven’t restricted, which is the first big step down the slippery slope.

Not only am I all peopled out but I continue to struggle with purpose. It has been a pretty big issue in my life for five years now. Why am I here? Which is not code for suicidal ideation – I think a lot of people struggle with this question at different times. I just seem to have struggled with it fairly consistently for five years now.

When I lost my career I lost my purpose.

I have my book and that is coming along. I am in the final stages of setting up a publishing deal and when that’s done I’ll be creating a very excited post about where to next.

But I think I’m pondering a much deeper philosophical question.

WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF LIFE?

Of my life? Different people come up with different ideas for me, but that’s their idea. I need my own.

For now my goal is to allow myself to rest without feeling guilt (I’m struggling with the guilt part). And to remind myself that everything passes. Feeling mentally fatigued and worn out is not a permanent state of affairs.

A few weeks from now I’ll be filled with a boundless energy I can’t contain. Maybe – that’s what’s happened in the past. But if I hang onto the old 12 step principle of “one day at a time” and marry it to my favourite quote, “this too shall pass,” then I can allow myself to nest in my bed, eating three meals a day and ponder where to next in my life.

I’ve been absent from my blog but it’s time I resurfaced. Watch this space.

MY RLS ISN’T HELPED BY COMMUNITY OPINION

Having restless legs syndrome (RLS) is not fun. It is, in fact, a right royal pain in the proverbial. I have it, so I know. The creepy crawly, wriggly jiggly, itchy painful sensations can be there all day and all night long, causing significant disruption to quality of life.

RLS is a medically recognised condition and has been for a long time. And yet, any time I happen to mention my sleeping difficulties and the distress of having RLS, inevitably someone will pipe up with, “I have that too! It doesn’t bother me much.” Or, “Just do this magic trick and all will be fixed.”

It’s not true.

If you have it, you know it

To continue reading please visit:

https://restlesslegssyndrome.sleep-disorders.net/living/unhelpful-community-opinion/

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

JUGGLING THE CHAOS OF RECOVERY

A number of weeks ago I was given the great privilege of chatting to a lovely lady called Moira on her podcast, Juggling the Chaos of Recovery.

Moira is not only living in recovery from eating disorder, but is caring for an adult daughter currently living with an eating disorder. She has experienced this disease from both sides of the table.

We had a lovely chat about eating disorders, psychiatric facilities and spiritual health. The podcast is available on apple and spotify, or here on the internet.

Make a cup of tea, put your feet up and join us for our chat. Let me know what you think!

Simone Yemm: Eating Disorders are just a bad way of coping with life. An eating disorder beginning at age 4 weeks

GRIEF & INSOMNIA

Grief is its own special kind of hellhole misery. Some of us experience it very early on, some are fortunate to be free of loss until later in life. But there’s no escaping the harsh reality of grief eventually.

I am currently watching my father die. It is not a pleasant death. He is old, so many people think of his dying as inevitable and therefore not so sad. Which is both true and not true. Death is inevitable for all of us, but the grief is no less painful because of his age.

This death is extra hard for me because not only am I very close to one of the most wonderful men who ever graced this earth, but I have experienced so many losses in too few years. There is a triggering fear that losing my dad will be the beginning of a new rollercoaster of unexpected deaths.

To continue reading please visit:

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

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

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

Today is my 55th birthday.

You would think by now I would feel like a grown-up. I don’t. I feel like an awkward teenager who still doesn’t quite know what to do with her life but is now stuck in a creaky, crinkly body.

In fact, now that I think about it, I was a lot more certain about my life back when I was a teenager. I had plans. I knew I was going to do this, that and the other. Now I’ve done this, been thwarted by that and don’t want to do the other.

I FEEL LIKE I’M AT THAT DIFFICULT AGE

You know? Too young to be old – too old to be young. I guess you could call it middle age.

When I was in high school, mapping out exactly how my entire life was going to pan out, never did I factor in having mental health issues. Not for a moment did I expect to have depression (that was my mum), or anxiety (that was my sister), or an eating disorder (that was skinny people). I was going to live happily ever after with a career, a partner and a plethora of babies.

I am very fortunate because those things came to pass – I worked as a musician and music teacher for 36 years. I’ve been married for 28 years. And I have 3.5 children. I am incredibly grateful to have had all these opportunities.

I didn’t factor in the unrecognised depression and anxiety and a lifetime of disordered eating. They didn’t feel like “me” – they still don’t and I often struggle with my identity as a result. Who am I? It has taken a complete nervous breakdown and five years of therapy to get a grip on those things and I’ve learned a lot. I hope in some ways I’ve become a better person because of the experiences I’ve had.

APPARENTLY OLD PISCEANS CAN LEARN NEW TRICKS

For a number of years, I felt too old to change – I was beyond redemption and thought all my problems were destined to deteriorate. I believed my mental health would never get any better. My 54th birthday was an utterly, utterly miserable affair and things got worse in the weeks that followed. Now it feels like a miracle has happened and a birthday I thought might never appear, has arrived. I’ve never felt stronger.

I am acutely aware that none of us know what tomorrow will hold but I can be grateful for today. Today is all we have. I try not to fret endlessly about all the mistakes of the past and just accept that what has been, has been. A lot of the time I’m getting quite good at this. I try not to constantly worry about what tomorrow might bring and instead, keep myself grounded in the here and now. To be perfectly honest, I’m less good at this particular skill. I’m a seasoned worrier and it’s taking a lot of practice to stay in the moment. But I shall soldier on. We are always a work in progress.

I AM GRATEFUL TO BE A YEAR OLDER

One day I won’t get the chance at another birthday so I must be thankful for this one. I’ve reached an age where the greatest gifts are words of love and support – where the mere fact I was born is important to someone else. That is worth far more to me than champagne or shoes ever will. Although to be honest, I like champagne and shoes as well. In that spirit, I made the decision to have an entirely non-productive day and instead spent time with friends and chatted to my children. I like to think of it as self-care and it was a most lovely way to turn 55.

It doesn’t always feel like it, but each day is a gift. Today, I am grateful for the gift.

WHERE TO NOW?

Well it’s been a busy month or two – I think I can safely say that.

Dad’s deteriorating health then his death. And organising the celebration of his life. All very time consuming and emotionally draining affairs.

The decision to do a presales campaign for my book. Launching it, promoting it and tying up the loose ends. All very time consuming, exciting and nerve wracking.

My “normal” life was put on hold – such as it is. And as normality starts to slowly descend upon my life once more I find myself trying to figure out what to do with my days. Where do I go now? Which of the million unfinished tasks do I leap into?

OR AM I ALLOWED TO REST FOR A WHILE?

I feel that all I ever do is rest and having been forced into an extremely sedentary lifestyle for the past six months (that stupid Achilles heel of mine), sitting on my arse day in and day out is unlikely to be conducive to good physical and mental health.

Random piece of good news – after a (very painful) shot of cortisone in and around my Achilles heel, I’m making fantastic progress. I have zero pain which is such a blessing. For six months I’ve had nothing but chronic pain from the moment my foot hit the ground each day. Now I have none whatsoever.

SO THERE’S A PIECE OF HAPPY NEWS

Now that dad is gone my anxiety has lessened – there was always that sense of wondering how he was doing and did I need to be rushing off somewhere. Always wondering how and when he was going to die. End of life stuff is pretty heartbreaking for everyone involved. And being with someone in the last days and moments of their life is an absolute privilege. Now all I have left is dad’s stuff – and there’s a lot of stuff for me to slowly sift through in the coming weeks and months. I have 40 paintings that I have to figure out where to hang.

And my book? Well that is now my big, big focus. The presales campaign is over. 142 amazing people saw a snippet and elected to support me by paying for a book that isn’t even published yet. I cannot express my gratitude enough. I now have the enormous and completely overwhelming task of figuring out which publisher to choose and what steps to take next.

I HAVE BEEN DILIGENTLY WRITING LISTS

Over the next week, I will finalise which publisher to go with then sign up for the nitty-gritty of the next stage of the process. There are graphic design and copyediting to be done. Decisions on typesetting and layout. Finalising of chapter headings (I was never totally happy with them). Do I keep the same title? Go for something shorter? Change the cover design completely or go with the image that people have supported already?

I have never published a book before. It’s all very, very foreign and I was much happier tucked away on Bruny Island, penning the memoir. That was a safe space to inhabit. A long and tiring space but still – one I understood. Now I’m inhabiting a foreign world.

And what about all the other projects on hold? This blog that I used to write in on a daily basis. My writing for the restless legs syndrome and insomnia pages. Looking for other work. Finishing the legacy writing that I started.

INSTEAD I’M ADDICTED TO A STUPID IPHONE GAME

There’s nothing like sitting down and farming chickens and wheat to distract yourself from life’s problems. My eating disorder behaviours are being kept at bay by trading corn with my cyberspace neighbours. I feel like I’ve slipped a little in mental health recovery. But there’s no time like the present – and a public declaration – to start making some more positive changes.

Sure, I still feel waves of grief come over me when I think of my lost family – mother, father, brother, sister. The pressure of how to take the next steps for publication weigh me down on a daily basis. But this is life. Nothing special or unique about mine. Loading pixellated cargo ships with crates of woolly chaps does me no favours. It was a nice mental break but now I need routine.

IT’S TIME TO REINSTATE MY FOOD PLAN

When eating slips, it’s my go-to fall back position. And the primary rule of my food plan is no compensatory behaviours. I am proud to say I have not indulged in compensatory eating behaviours (restriction, purging, exercising) for… I have no idea how long. More than six months. I have not indulged in self-harm for the same period of time. I’ve made a lot of changes and I feel so mentally strong. But strong is not perfect. I think part of my recovery process is identifying the slippery slopes and getting off them.

I’m at the top of a slippery slope and it’s time to dig my heels in. So this random post is about me muddling through the never-ending chaos inside my head and figuring out what’s next. Where do I go now? Watch this space.