Define yourself not your worth.

The problem with low self esteem is that without the ability of confidence to pick ourselves up, we rely on other people to tell us what we look like, how good or bad we are at something or just how worthy we are of existing, if we even are at all.

Time and time again I hear people say ‘confidence is attractive’ and confidence should be and is accessible to everyone, confidence can be built so attractiveness is therefore possible for everyone… So why isn’t it in reality? What is it that kicks us down, dampens our esteem and strips our confidence?

Our own mind can be the parasite that absorbs all of our energy and confidence, constantly rethinking through what we said, how we behaved, what we did wrong, what we should do differently, the type of person we wish we could be, how we wish we could look, question after question after question because we are so unsure of ourselves, so unsure we are good enough, so unsure about why people even want our company.

If our whole existence then becomes dependent on the people that surround us, whether they pick you up or put you down then should our solution be to surround ourselves with positive people?

Even if we have a life surrounded by positive, loving people who are ready to give us love and compliments, would we listen? It’s so much easier to take in the negative words from others that are in unison with our already battered self-view and even easier for the kind words to go in one ear and out the other, or simply fly above our head as if they were never even said in the first place.

We cling to people who feed us positive comments whilst simultaneously pushing them away because if doesn’t fit in with our own view. When someone shows the slightest bit of interest in you romantically, it can suddenly lead to a spike in confidence, but yet another short-lived spike. As soon as the little parasitic creature of doubt creeps into our mind it can all fall apart. Who would be interested in me? And the default pattern of self-sabotage occurs, it’s easier to push away the good things then to challenge our embedded self-view. And with an awareness of this, an awareness that we accept the love we feel we deserve comes a fear, a fear and realisation that we are doomed to have failed relationships or no relationship at all and so; loneliness is safer.

Our social world is progressively becoming predominantly online and isolated from ‘real-life’ people. How we portray ourselves and our lives is seen through social media, our latest status updates, photo uploads and the number of likes on our new profile picture compared to everyone else. But social media isn’t a true depiction, nobody is going to post about their arguments, their tears, the hundreds of photos they took from different angles before they got that one acceptable. Our confidence is either boosted by positive comments or shattered by a lack of likes and yet we continue to portray ourselves as life-loving, beautiful people through our Facebook, Snapchat or Instagram profiles and spend more time trying to make our life look confident and rosy than we do actually living it.

So is a pretence of confidence just as effective as ‘real’ confidence? I can go out and smile and joke and say yes I’m attractive for the show, but inside my head my mind screams and laughs at me for playing such a ridiculous act. It feels like one big theatrical performance that you can almost get caught up in and believe for a second, until something brings you back to reality. Acting is tiring and it does not feel like you are being true to yourself behind this confident act.

If there is no quick fix to how we define our worth then maybe we should look at it differently, take ‘worth’ and what we deserve out of the equation and just work on being the person we want to be. Being kind, working hard, having fun, treating others with respect, receiving and giving love. Love is an unexplainable and unconditional emotion, if someone is offering love then accept it as best as you can because although loneliness is safer and perhaps more comfortable, everyone needs someone. Love and kindness is what can fend off a parasitic mind, not just from others but with self-love, it is easy to become reliant on how others respond to us as a way of measuring ourselves but life exists beyond the computer screen. Photos should bring personal joy and memories, not as a means to project our theatrical act of confidence. Why do we need someone else to define us? We are all individual and they don’t have the right to decide our value. We need to stop relying on others for kindness and start being kind to ourselves, stop wishing we could be different and act to be the person we want to be and define our own version of confidence in the person we already are.

Invisible.

‘Your condition was very acute’. The words my dad and step-mum said to me last weekend, such an innocent comment so why has it upset me so much?

Yes I want to be better. No I don’t want people to see me as disordered. Yes I’m glad people see me as a smiley person… but sometimes I want my struggle to be acknowledged. Is over 6 years of my life being overshadowed by an eating disorder simply acute? I can understand that only the beginning of my disorder is remembered by those around me who only saw the external weight loss… but does my dad not know that things have never really got better? The discomfort and hatred I feel towards my body has never faded, nor the whirring calorie calculator in my head, I have never felt fully recovered so why is it assumed that I am? The voice of an eating disorder inside my head has silenced my real voice.

The day my dad said this to me, I reacted by purging my lunch. It was almost like a vain attempt to prove that things hadn’t got better and that I am ill, chronically ill. Of course i didn’t tell him I did this… just as I won’t tell him that this evening  I have binged and purged 3 times within a few hours,  I entered a subconscious zone opening cupboards and the fridge to satisfy my unsatisfiable stomach. Then regret, guilt. Then self-induced vomit.

The problem is that this dominating part of my eating disorder is secret, I can’t admit to this disgusting habit so how  can I expect my dad to know the torment I go through. He can’t see that food is not enjoyable, it is a substance that may taste nice but it is also a substance that provides guilt.

I don’t want to be an ‘inspiration’, I don’t want to be ‘strong’ because I’m not either of these things. I have not beaten my eating disorder and if the way I live my life is what others aspire to have then that would make for a melancholy world. I am lucky to live with my mum who has been there by my side for the past 6 years, who has seen that the eating disorder’s grip still hugs me tight, and she doesn’t assume. If you know someone who struggles or has struggled with their relationship with food, don’t assume, allow them define where they are on their journey, allow them to struggle if they need to and make sure you support them if you can.

 

A house without a home.

When does a house become a home? There has been a change in dynamics in my house; my mum’s partner moving in, my brother moving out, it’s different. I’m living halfway between a University house and a family house, but neither are home.

There are no home comforts at University, the walls shake as neighbours play their music and fire doors slam. As I lie down in my room and hear the sounds of happy, laughing students outside, without close friends I feel so very alone and unsure of belonging. Yet at home, I can no longer spend my evenings curled up on the sofa with my mum because she has new company and I am no longer needed. So I take my place lying down in my room there, hearing the sounds of happy, laughing parents downstairs. Where is my home?

There are so many people across the world who don’t have one secure place to call home for an abundance of reasons. Some don’t even have a roof over their head. Very few people like change and it is even harder when it is a change that upsets the majority of your existence. When the rest of your world throws difficulties at you; work, assignments, friendships, finance, illness etc… it is nice to have somewhere or something secure and reliable to fall back on. So what if that disappears?

As my recovery has progressed, I have found it less and less necessary to fall back on my eating disorder or to spiral into depression. Yet the change and challenges in life are making it more and more difficult to resist, it’s important to have a support network but I’ve never found it easy to make friends because I retreat too easily, I protect myself from inevitable rejection, I know I’m not the nicest person or the funniest person and I’m definitely not the prettiest person.

Finding a sense of belonging is in line with finding your identity, knowing who you are can lead to finding where you want to be. When you are yet to find out who you are or who you want to be, the belonging part becomes all the more difficult.

Perhaps a sense of belonging lies within oneself, in order to take on new things you have to be comfortable in yourself because your body is your mind’s home. They don’t always match up,  certainly my mind doesn’t want to live in my body because my mind has not yet accepted it; it still wants a smaller, skinnier body, one that doesn’t disgust my mind. Body’s change too, but they are always there, they need to be accepted and cherished, we are lucky to have a body to live in and the majority of us are lucky to have a house to live in too. To accept yourself means you can accept opportunities, welcome the outside world and be stable in yourself in order to take on the ever-changing world.

Diffusing pain

It is easy to lose sight of those around us, the thoughts and feelings of a disorder or illness can drive an entire existence. The brain hosts a daily war zone between negativity and attempted rationality. This battle overshadows a perspective outside a tunnel of vision, pushes aside family and friends, believing that they don’t care, that they will never understand, and cannot be allowed to cross a line of danger, into the war that exists internally.

This is something that the individual struggling must become aware of themselves, for there is truly always someone that cares. Even through a swarm of bullies, disrupted families or poor relationships, there is someone. It may be a stranger, it may be a forgotten friend, but do not forget, that although the pain felt may not be identically reflected within another, the pain does diffuse through a society. Onlookers to the destruction that loved ones inflict upon themselves, feel helpless and live their own turmoil, in a world of anxiety, stress and fear that the one they care for is endangered by mental illness.

Recovery is a long process, sometimes unbearable, sometimes it means taking a few steps backwards before leaping ahead, sometimes it involves feeling like recovery is possible, and then falling suddenly, right back into the grips of a mental illness. But recovery isn’t just about regaining a life for oneself, it is regaining a life for everyone around you. My words have no intent to place guilt on someone struggling, because not a single sufferer (or as I prefer to say; recoverer) is to blame. I simply wish to state, that even if one’s suffering only affects one person, their stress will diffuse to the network surrounding that person, which in turn affects their network and so on. A majority of humans by nature, wish to empathise and will consequentially wish to tend to the pioneering pain that the recoverer feels. Mental illness fundamentally affects an individual, but also family, friends and a society through a process of diffusion.

Recovering but not recovered.

So how does it feel to be in that limbo of ‘okay’, but not good? In recovery but not ‘recovered’ from Anorexia Nervosa? When nobody can see the struggle because you look well, yet even when you try to explain it or reach out, people turn away. When a world of restriction turns upside down, it becomes a realization that food tastes good, that recovery is worth it, but one does not know how to accept this. Food has been the perceived enemy for so long, the thing that causes the dreaded weight gain. This limbo of recovery provides sudden clarity, that an eating disorder is not about food, weight and shape, but at the same time it is all about food, weight and shape.

Recovery can occur in a variety of ways, it can include one minute of being adamant that one will lose 5kg, but the next decide to eat well, be ‘strong not skinny’. It can include a sudden gorge on all the foods that one has deprived oneself of for so long. It can include this gorge to bring up so much guilt, that one transitions to a diagnosis of bulimia.

I apologize for a more personally written post, but if one person reads it – I hope to feel some relief to finally share my constant whir of thoughts… I am recovering, not recovered.

Every day, I remember lying in that hospital bed, completely confused as to how I got there, but totally aware of my body sinking into the bed. The smell of paper towels, the smell of fortisip supplements staining my mattress and skin as I tried to hide it, the humiliation of shitting myself because I took too many laxatives. An NG thrust through my nose as I screamed and cried. Friends and family visited and left crying, but all I felt was numb. I could not cry, because I didn’t understand. I hadn’t reached my goal weight, so how could I be ill or underweight? The only comfort I felt, was that my heart rate was at 29bpm, I felt like I’d achieved something, in some sick way that I still don’t understand.

The worst memory is seeing my mums face, when she told me I had a month to live if I didn’t accept treatment. That image will never leave my memory, how much I’d hurt her, knowing now the turmoil I put her through. So I was flown to London to an ED inpatient unit. I now cannot stop thinking, how every other weekend she lost her free time off work, to fly to London and take a train to see me just for a few hours. How she lost weight herself because of stress, and how she had no time for herself, yet all I felt at the time was jealously, that I was in a unit to gain weight and she was free to lose weight. How I still returned home and put her through hell, hid food, deceived her, shouted at her, made myself sick in front of her, sat staring blankly as family members cried when I wouldn’t eat, avoided good hygiene, touching toilets in the hope of catching a vomiting bug, all for what? To lose weight. To somehow achieve the unachievable.

The guilt never fades.

Every day I’m so conscious of my body, noticing every jiggle, all the loss of muscle because my weight goes up and down like a yoyo, muscle is the first to go so I never sustain it… constantly comparing myself, never being thin, but not even looking slim because I’ve lost the muscle. Depression sinks in. I just sit or lie in my bed for hours. Even though my bmi remains on the cusp of healthy – I only see the fat I’ve obtained from lack of activity, so I just look a normal size, leaving everyone oblivious and confused by my distress.

Nearly very night for the past 3 months, I have binged and purged. Purged so violently that my throat has not stopped burning, I have grazes on my knuckles from my desperation, burst blood vessels around my eyes, under my tongue and down my cheeks and neck from the straining to get out every last morsel… my teeth are starting to recede as the acidic vomit has worn down my gums. My fingers are stained with smell as I’ve pawed through my vomit just to make sure I’ve purged everything. Further memories are triggered of going into every food shop in a train station, spending over £50 on food because my friend hadn’t turned up, knowing full well I was going to purge it all in the station toilets.

I hate myself every day. Not just for looking the way I do, but for not being strong enough to recover, for having 5 years of my life taken from me and ruled by thoughts and calculations of calories, weight, shape and body.

For what I’ve put my mum through.

I have remained a healthy weight for a large percentage of this time, yet these times have been the worst – because everyone thinks you’re over it, that you’ve come out the other side, but it’s just a hidden demon. A dirty secret that nobody wants to hear, because loving food is normal, but having a life ruled by it’s dictatorship is not. A life where the number on the scale or the reflection in the mirror each morning, is what defines whether a day is good or bad.

Each day, my thoughts are about food, weight, calories and how I look. I wander around food shops the majority of the days, just to look at food I wish I could eat, trying to tell myself I can do it but if I do, I know full well I will throw it up. In the eyes of the unknowing, I am healthy, I look like a normal 20 year old. Yet I cannot concentrate, unless it’s about what I have eaten or what I will eat that day. I cannot shift the memories, I cannot let go. Oh I so want to let go, if only my eating disorder would let me go.

So you think you’re special?

It’s within human nature to want to stand out. Even through the need to fit in, there emerges a desire to have some personal quality or achievement that is special, above all those around you. After reflecting on a difficult couple of weeks, I come to the same conclusion I have before, time and time again. One overriding barrier to my own recovery is this need to excel or stand out somewhere or somehow. Society puts pressure on every young person and adult to talk about qualities of themselves, to talk in a way that puts them above the rest. But what if you have never found that thing that puts you ahead?

Being average in intelligence, average in personality, average in socialising, average in looks, average in sports, average in arts, average in drama, average but never outstanding. The list of mediocre qualities never ends. So perhaps this sense of never being good enough is the weight that forever causes doubt in the ability to recover, to find oneself, to feel confident to face demons. Yet mental illness is debilitating, scary, and just as fatal as any physical illness, so why would I, or anyone want to hold onto it?

I think too often, that an eating disorder is the only thing that makes me different to anyone else, even as weight restored – somehow I want it to be ‘my thing’, to the extent I almost self-sabotage my recovery, so I don’t lose the safety net of my identity. It can be the same for depression, having changed my nature and outlook so much, that I fall back on it as ‘who I am’, in comfort of a fear that I am not enough to be ‘me’. Perhaps mental health and talking about it is all I have to offer? But one should not forget; mental illness is not unique, it is not special, in fact it’s one of the most prominent and common factors in society. The reality is, there will always be someone better than us at something, one cannot strive for perfection, but instead can strive for progress. Our lives aren’t meant to look like anyone else’s, our journey is our own and that journey in itself, with all it’s paths, obstacles and goals is what truly makes us unique.

For so long, I have hidden behind my diagnoses, identifying myself by their name and not my own. I think it’s time to change.