Total Pageviews

Sunday 12 February 2012

Wrong End Of The Stick Thin

Wasn't sure whether or not to write this blog or not, but I've had reason to muse upon the subject lately and I thought it would be better written down just in case it could maybe help someone, especially if that someone was me.

Everything I write about this is from my own perspective. I don't claim to speak for anyone else.

This blog is dedicated to anyone who ever felt out of control.

My name is Goddessdeeva and I am an anorexic.

I get that I don't look like one, I get that I am not what you would call stick thin. But I was. By the Seven I was. I look back at the photos of that time and I don't recognise the skeleton with the sunken eyes that looks back at me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anorexia, in my experience is rarely about the weight. I say rarely because though I can't speak for everyone who has suffered, from everyone who I have spoken to, it was never about the weight. It was about the control.

For an anorexic, when you can control nothing else in your life, you can always control what goes into your mouth. Every pain, every cramp, every headache just reaffirms how in control you now are. And that is the destructive bit. So what did I learn from my illness?

I learned that I will always be an anorexic, just one that eats. Much like an alcoholic will always have the potential to drink again and an ex smoker will always have the potential to go back to the ciggys, I know that  one episode of feeling out of control to have me reaching for vast quantities of pineapple juice and nothing else.

I learned that being 5'11'' and eight stone eleven is not a good look. Not unless you like to see bones sticking out. Or complete muscle wastage is your thing. I suppose if you like greasy, spotty skin to go with greasy lank hair, I looked like a fucking supermodel.

If you also liked a woman to have bad breath where her body was eating itself, constantly had the shits because of excessive pineapple juice intake or had a kink for women with dark sunken eyes, no boobs and no bum then I was your dream girl.

I would put a picture on here but for two reasons. One, it would identify me and this blog is anonymous for a reason and two, it would probably make you sick. I could store things in the gap between my neck and my collar bones.

Yeah, I was hot.

Well I thought I was as that was what everyone was telling me. 'Oh, you're so thin, you look great! I'd love to be as thin as you, look as good as you!' Yeah, right. I looked like shit.

I learned that it is not possible to live on a mars bar, (I knew I needed sugar) a glass of water (I knew my body needed water) and half a pack of crisps (I needed some fats right) daily and not end up in hospital.

I learned how to lie. To my friends, to my family, to myself. Of course I had already eaten earlier. I just wasn't  hungry, really you should have SEEN the amount I got through earlier! Nobody cared anyway. I was alone and nobody would ever understand what I was going through. Nobody would miss me if I died anyway. I was in control. I knew what I was doing.

All of it bullshit. All of it slowly killing me.

I learned that I could never get warm.

I learned that everything always hurt.

I learned to put towels in the bottom of the bath so I wouldn't bruise.

And I got off on all of it.

I was devious, power hungry. Every morsel of food I didn't eat was a victory. I thought I was clever, wearing my baggy clothes. Concealer was my friend. I was living the high life!

Until McDonalds. I wasn't eating, obviously, but I was hanging round with my friends treating myself to a second glass of water. I vaguely remember lying down. I have a somewhat fuzzy memory of being in an ambulance and waking up with a drip in my arm. Apparently I had no reflexes, they stuck pins in me and I didn't react. From what they told me, I was pretty close to organ failure.

All because I felt I had no control.

What brought me back? A very straight talking doctor. He asked me how old my baby was and if I was happy for him to grow up without a mother. Being as it was being beaten, raped and mentally abused by his father that had led to me feeling out of control, there was no way I was going to let that happen. The straight talking doctor told me that at that point it was eat a sandwich or die.

So I ate. Small portions at first as my stomach was so shrunken, but I ate. And I took my life back. I finally found the courage to leave the abusive partner. (Though he did stalk me for 2 years after that.) I got a job, I grew my hair and my nails and I took the power back.

And I got counselling. Long term extensive counselling. Regardless of taking more control in my life, without the counselling I would be dead. Because without dealing with the root causes, without actually working to heal myself at some point I would have reached for the pineapple juice again.

I would have died.

I get that now. I already looked dead, I already felt dead, but I would have given death the commitment I knew it was looking for.

Things are different these days. I have far more control of my life. I am a curvy goddess now, with great boobs and a ghetto booty. I have hair I love, great skin and I am happy within my skin. How I look doesn't define me, and I know I am more admired for my brain than my body.

And this is good. But I know myself and I know I have to always watch myself to make sure I'm not missing meals or feeling cast adrift. I will never be cured of anorexia. I will always have to guard against its creeping back.

I am strong. You can be too. Your life depends on it.

7 comments:

  1. Very moving, very honest, and very thought provoking.
    You are loved xx

    ReplyDelete
  2. Wow, thats a moving and inspirational blog post. xxx

    ReplyDelete
  3. As ever, your posts are a total inspiration. Probably more than you know.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thanks for your lovely comments everyone. Writing it was a catharsis xxx

    ReplyDelete
  5. You are awesome. I wrote a blog about my illness last year, it was incredibly therapeutic.

    And you are right about it being like an addiction with the potential to rear its ugly head at any time. At the start of 2012 I thought I was 100% recovered, I was discharged, I was happy and "in control". Then a whole bunch of shit happened, and I relapsed (I also started smoking again). Thankfully I'm now out the other side of my second stint of therapy, and am pretty much back on track to full health again. I'm certainly incredibly fucking happy.

    I'm glad you learnt to love yourself - it's the only way to get your life back. Stay strong xx

    ReplyDelete
  6. Here's the blog, if you're interested http://nursevez.wordpress.com/2012/02/24/breaking-the-silence-on-eating-disorders/

    ReplyDelete
  7. I'm on my way to read it now. Stupid Blogspot not telling me I've got comments :/

    ReplyDelete