Just as I was knee-deep, wallowing around in my little starving pity party, I received the feedback from my manuscript assessor regarding the first draft of my memoir – temporarily titled Stalked by Demons. Guarded by Angels | The Girl with the Eating Disorder.
I’m the girl in limbo who lost who she was and doesn’t know what comes next. In the meantime, the grocery bill has significantly decreased at the expense of my sanity and my husband’s peace of mind.
It takes six little words feeding the eating disorder voice, to override a year of conversations nurturing the timid voice of recovery.
It takes very little time in the world of mental health treatments, before acronyms and mnemonics become everyday language. Psychiatric therapies have come a long way from the induced seizures, exorcisms and lobotomies of the past. Today there are countless methods of treatment – pharmacological, behavioural, community, and medical. Psychiatrists tend to be the big boss of drugs and medical treatments like ECT or TMS, while psychologists tend to deliver the behavioural and community therapies. And they love their acronyms. For anyone out there that hasn’t been blessed with the opportunity of gracing the couches and uncomfortable plastic chairs of therapy groups, I thought I’d share a summary of my experience of the ABCDs of therapy.
When the burden of being a burden becomes so burdensome the burden can no longer be bourne, it’s crunch time. Disappear into Wonderland with the big white rabbit, going permanently mad? Or just go – permanently? Or do what needs to be done and reach out? Clearly the latter is the healthier option.
I identify really strongly as “the girl with the eating disorder”. I need a better identity in order to move past this one… I get asked from time to time what to “do” to help or support me. I’m usually flummoxed by this question. I have no idea how to help myself – how can I provide information I don’t know?!
I have found God. Some people reading this will rejoice. Others will wring their hands and wonder what the fuck happened to […]
In 2012, I became the very happy recipient of a a gastric lap band. In 2019, I’m having it removed. On Monday to be precise. I’m petrified.
There are many people in my world who have wronged me. No more than anyone else – we all deal with irritating twats, ignorant loudmouths, and just plain rude arseholes. Forgiving the sins – big and small – of others, is a powerful tool that benefits the forgiver more than than the forgiven. At the end of the day, most irritating, ignorant, arseholes are probably blissfully unaware of their foot-in-mouth disease.
Meditation and mindfulness are the buzzwords of the decade. The practice of taking time out to check in with mind, body and spirit – to let go of the past and future for a few moments – is no longer limited to Buddhist monks, or yogis in search of spiritual nirvana. It’s mainstream practice, taught to children in schools and discussed in workplaces, gyms, therapy, and the media.
When life falls apart, and everything shatters into a million pieces, and you’re not the person you thought, and have no idea […]
Relapse. For those of us in recovery from one mental health issue or another, it’s a filthy word. Who wants to relapse? There’s a classic meme showing the difference between reality and expectations when it comes to mental health recovery – expectation is a nice straight line on a consistent upward trajectory. Reality looks like a ball of wool under siege from a horde of rabid kittens.
The trouble with pendulums, is you never know where the highs, lows, and status quos are. Part of having mental health issues, is swinging wildly from one extreme to the other – eat too much, too little. Sleep too much, too little. Work too much, too little. But being kind?
Who would think you could have too much kindness.
People with eating disorders often talk about the eating disorder voice that natters away, telling us what to do. Or not. Undermining recovery. Making us doubt ourselves. But I wonder what that means to someone without an eating disorder voice? Or even what it means to other eating disordered people – I doubt we’re all the same.
Always reaching out for freedom.
Always chained.
Trapped.
My hands are tied and as lost as my soul is.
