Posts tagged recovery

(This will be post-dated, but I actually wrote this on the morning of March 30th, Thursday.)

Good morning, er, day. I slept in a bit after a night out w N and her mates. I joined them at S’s place after their meeting for the March 10 event. It wasn’t the typical bright lights, loud music, gyrating bodies type of wild night. S’s place is closed on Wednesdays so there was nothing going on. It was a relaxed, subdued, after hours sort of thing - just a small group of friends goofing around, pilfering the bar, and ordering take-out from a neighborhood eatery. That’s exactly the kind of night I look forward too these days. While I do enjoy the occasional party night out, I can safely say that I am well done and over those days. Even if I’m 22, I think I’ve fully exhausted myself in terms of partying. Well, for now, at least. Last night consisted mostly of me drinking and talking to S, while N and her boy talked things out.

Anyway, I had an episode last night. I meant to post something too, but I was just too tired. It started off with, “I’m sitting in the attic, smoking the same old cigarettes, nursing the same old headache, hammering heartbeat, swollen face and shaking hands…” Dramatic, I know. You’d think that after being at it for so long I’d have gotten used to it by now, but it’s more than a blessing to me that I haven’t. I rue the day that I get used to headaches, hammering heartbeats, swollen cheeks and shaking hands because in my heart and in my head it’d mean that I gave up. My last episode was 3 days ago; between the last session with my doctor and the one today, I’d have had 2 episodes. To be honest, my average per week has increased; it used to be an episode weekly, but now it’s two. Naturally I can’t exactly be thrilled that my episodes have increased in frequency, and some of you might wonder if there’s anything to be thrilled about at all, but I am proud of the way I handle the post-purge.

A few months ago, I might not have handled the situation very well. I’d be sitting in the dark, listening to my sad music whilst cursing the world and myself for the misfortune that it had brought me. My world would’ve have been plunged in darkness and I’d be spiralling downwards towards the abyssmal recesses of  mind, contemplating death, and suicide. (Speaking of death and suicide, I’ll be coming up with a post on that as soon as I learn to make it private. Someone close to me has read through my entire tumblr and I can’t risk that person reading just about everything about me.) I’d wake up heavy hearted and wishing that I’d never woken up. Some days I’d spend all day in my room, foregoing showers, food and social interaction, because I couldn’t handle the world that day. I used to dwell so much on my episodes that it’d take me days to recover. However, luckily to say that after a certain incident, those dark days are behind me. I’ve learned to look toward the light and move forward. These days, after an episode, I simply accept that it has happened and move on. It sounds easy said than done, and on some days nigh impossible, but it IS possible. While some people are overnight wonders, it took a while for me to get the hang of going with the motions and recovering quickly from a post-purge. I suppose I have Buddhism to thank for that, and maybe another therapeutic tattoo, but those things aside, it was really about putting things into perspective and seeing the bigger picture. there is a lot more good than bad in this world. Just because I had an episode doesn’t mean Earth and it’s 8 billion inhabitants are loathsome, evil things. Despite the bad and the ugly, there’s always something to be grateful and appreciative of. There are still pockets of beauty and goodness. Acts of compassion and kindess still exist; it just takes an open mind, open heart and a discerning eye to see. 

I’m back! After so many months of not going on tumblr, I’ve finally decided to fully commit to writing on tumblr again. Urge to Purge helped me through a lot of difficult times in my life, and it’s a shame I ever stopped. It was my therapy away from therapy. On the days I couldn’t vocalize, or didn’t feel like vocalizing my thoughts, feelings or concerns, I’d write it all out. It saved me from a lot of episodes too. I do keep a journal handy except these days I haven’t been writing much either. My posts might not be as good as the ones before but I’m not here to win any awards (although I probably should start using this as practice since I’m joining a writing competition in April!).

Anyway, how’s everyone doing? Hopefully you’re all faring well. Hello to new followers and good-bye to the ones who might have un-followed me due to my absence. I hope they’re all in good health (and that they follow me again once word gets out that I’m back in business, teehee). If you’re wondering how I’m doing, well, I’m doing quite well. I’ve matured a lot since the last time I was here - mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I’ve learned let go of former mentalities, like thinness defines who I am, and my tight grip on perfection. I’ve learned to relax and let the currents and tides of life just carry me through. I have a better grasp on who I am, and I’m not letting anyone take that away from me. I’m focusing more on the important things in life, like nurturing the self, family, friends and relationships, and less on the menial things, like other people’s opinions of me, people who don’t matter, or the way I look. Things are actually looking up for me. 

My bulimia is still there, but it’s taken a backseat. My episodes are down to once a week, but then again sometimes two. The most I’ve had in a long time is 8 times in a week. The greatest thing I’ve learned since I’ve been away is that things just happen. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it’s a bad thing; life will always hand out curve balls, surprises and presents. We can’t control everything that happens to us, but what we can control is how we react to the situation and what we do about it afterwards.

Love and light for you all.

Last night one of my best girlfriend’s told me that she had an ED. She didn’t say it outright. We were discussing tattoos and she asked me what mine meant. I said it was a recovery symbol for an ED, and she said, “Ohhh, really? I have too.” It didn’t really come as a shock to me. I wrote about her once in a post, but we weren’t that close at the time. She was the one I bumped into in the bathroom, where I saw the toilet swallow the last few remnants of regurgitated food, where the cubicle reeked of the unmistakable odor of vomit. I told her that I’d always known, and that I just didn’t know how to approach her, or if I should; who knows, she could have a stomach disorder or just happen to vomit because she was pregnant or something. I didn’t know at the time, but now I do.

I never thought I’d end up talking to her about her problem, or even my problem, but I’m glad she opened up to me.  She told me a bit about herself and I told her a lot about myself. I didn’t censor my stories or sugar coat them to make them sound better. I gave her the cold, hard and cruel facts because truthfully, nothing about this disease is pretty. She seemed a bit hesitant and doubtful of herself but that’s normal; even if she wants to get better, she can’t let go of the weight thing. 

I told her that what I learned from my psych is that people like us are control freaks. We thrive on perfectionism and control. Whenever something chaotic happens, something out of our control, we freak out and we try to exert that sense of control on our weight, on ourselves. Whenever something bad happens to us it translates into us being fat, and therefore undisciplined, invaluable, undeserving, worthless. She needs to learn that she is more than her bodily composition of skin, bones, muscle, organs and adipose tissue. With help, in time, she’ll realize that and believe it.

The fact that she is willing to tell me about her issue means that somewhere deep inside of her is that little spurt of yearning and desire to get better. It might not be a full-blown, relentless need for recovery, but it’s there. Flowers just don’t pop out of nowhere, you know? I gave her the office and contact number of my psychiatrist. I told her that whenever she’s ready to see someone, my psychiatrist will be open to her. She thanked me but said that for the time being she’ll see if she can handle it on her own first. I have my doubts about that. I’ve heard that so many times before, not just from myself but other people in the blogosphere. Do I doubt her? No. She’s strong. But sometimes the disease is stronger.

Hopefully in time she realizes that she needs help, and when she does, she takes the necessary steps to embark on her path of recovery. Until then all my hope, faith, love and prayers are with her.

I have a current favorite song which I listen to everyday. It’s called, “Who You Are” by Jessie J. Moral of the story? It’s OK to be who you are.

I’m not the skinniest person on earth, but I’m not fat either. I weigh 130lbs. which by most people’s standards is too much, even if I have 23-inch waist line. My arms are somewhere between toned and flabby because although I lift weights, it’s not enough to undo the damage of my weight fluctuations (from overweight to very thin.) I wear a size 10 UK in bottoms and size 8 UK in tops. My lower body has always been a source of frustration for me. Even at my lowest weight, they were just never that spaced apart. Even at my lowest weight, my hips were still wide and curvy. My legs will never be as slender or spacious in between is I’d like them to be, nor will my hips disappear but that’s OK. That’s just how they were meant to be. They’re also powerful and strong enough to take me to all the places I’d like to go, whether it’s trekking through the mountains or strolling along the sidewalks of my favorite cities. I can run a race with more speed and power than the average person. And who am I kidding? I look great in a pencil skirt or a pair of slim fit jeans.

I try to eat as healthily as I can, but every now and then I allow myself a lit bit of naughtiness and indulgence. I can have a burger with fries, and then maybe a bowl of ice cream for dessert. Sometimes I’ll have a few slices of cheesy pizza. I love frozen yogurt and prefer it mounded with scoops of granola, nuts and CANNED fruit filling. And that’s OK. It doesn’t mean that I’m undisciplined or lacking in will-power. I just know how to enjoy myself. Besides, I have a sweet tooth, I want to be a pastry chef and I’d be doing myself and the world a great disservice if I denied who I was.

I don’t exercise everyday, but that’s OK. I don’t have to be hard on myself. I’m not a cyborg or a robot. I’m human. I experience laziness, relaxation, fatigue and tiredness. Sometimes my body and mind tells me to take a break, so I do and I enjoy it just much as the days that I am up and about and active.

I don’t always have the nicest things to say to myself. Get me started and I can go into an endless, heartless tirade of meanness and insults about what a worthless piece of shit I am. I can slip into a few days of depression and suicidal thoughts. I recently develop a habit of squeezing my arm with my sharp, long nails, and I have the scars of my wrist to prove it. It’s all OK, because that’s not who I am. That’s not my reality. Everyone has there good days and bad days, too. It’s OK. What matters are the days that I’m carefree and fearless, the days that I am kind and forgiving towards myself. What matters is not how many times I’ve fallen but how many times I pick myself back up and how hard I fight.

Even if I’m in recovery for bulimia, there are days when I slip and cave into the urge to purge. Still, it’s OK. It’s not that I’ve developed more tolerance for bulimia, it’s just that I refuse to punish and berate myself any longer. So I slip, so I cave. So what? It’s OK. Every day, every minute, is an opportunity to do better. To be better. The person I was is not the same person I am today, nor the same as the person I will be tomorrow. What matters is what I do about it today, NOW.

I don’t fit the mould. I am not tall, skinny, and cellulite-free. I am not perfect, and that’s OK. I am good enough for me. THAT’S MORE THAN OK.