my story
From a young age, I've both loved food and been fearful of it. I could never pinpoint why, and i didn't want to blame anything other than myself, however, now on reflection, i know I'm not blaming anything or anyone for this, but I've found a trigger. My trigger was the outside world. How i thought they perceived me, both for my looks and my personality. I was a very quiet, 'liked being by meself' kinda kid, but liked to play rough and hated wearing anything that was remotely tight or fitting (or anything to be more precise!). I naturally held a little bit of tub, especially compared to me mam, dad and sister, not that it was ever, ever, mentioned by any of them, but it was noticed by me, some kids at school and family too. There was never a mention of weight in our household, we loved food, always ate together, had brekkie in bed before school and our first question to our mam when we left the school gates was 'what are we having for tea'.
I think i always felt slightly out of place, and my way to both hurt and comfort myself was through food. I didn't realise but from the age of 11 (how are you so flippin young when you go to secondary school!) i started restricting and controlling my diet, started the little lies of promising that i'd ate, found ways to reduce intake or not take part in outings, and most of all push everyone away from me. I was bloody miserable to be around and, not only felt lifeless, but was probably lifeless to be around. But one thing i could, was hide my control, anxieties and fears well. I had no idea all of this would build up to where it did, and that it was to last this long.
Shit me, writing this, i've realised I've wasted so much time of my life transfixed on hurting myself, and its not benefited me in anyway whatsoever.
I can already tell writing this, i could write forever and about a million different things. Memories are cropping up that i didn't even realise were a part to play in this journey.
I have so many topics and paths i want to take with this blog.
But, most of all, i want to create a space which i wish i had to read over the years, in the depth of anorexia, the confusion and pain, and in the many stages of 'recovery'. I really don't want this to come across as dramatic or a pitty story, it is literally just the truth, and i want to one day at least help just one person in the same position, or prevent it from fully taking over ones life. It is still such a taboo subject or just deemed as 'silly' or ' something you'll grow out of', but it literally takes over your life and can be majorly life threatening.
Honestly, i have told myself and others i'm 'recovering' for so long, but somehow, it never sticks. But i don't want to be that person anymore. As i said above, i'm realising just how long this has gone on for, over 10 years to an extent. It does feel like i'm losing part of me and all i know, but i want change, i actually want to be different and live the life i really want, and be the person i really want to be.
This is my journey through a life of control, addiction, confusion and shame. Someone who now wants freedom and a life outside of all these intrusive thoughts and the 'safety net' of anorexia.
At the start of the year (i'll explain wayy more about that time soon), i wanted to recover and change my life. I wanted to document the journey then, but i was all to trapped still in the ED life. But i did start a post which i stumbled upon today when restarting this old blog, which i completely forgot about, and it hit me so hard. If this isn't a reason for me to just crack on with it now, i don't know what will be.
This is what i wrote :
4th January 2022
i don't think i can do this, again
this is my final shot
'I'm back here again. Attempting to recover for the millionth time. But this time i have too, I have no other choice.
I cant cope with giving people empty promises anymore. I cant cope living in a constant fog of misery or doubt. I can't cope with the constant highs of self promising recovery to the depth of the lows of failure and discomfort. I can't cope with turning to the drink to get by (defiantly writing a separate post on this). I just can't be arsed anymore. It's either, recover and have a life, or continue until I basically flake out. I have a good life and prospects now, I'm scared of the later half of that sentence.
Most of all though, right now as I'm typing this, my body can't do it anymore. It sounds so dramatic and stupid but it feels like its had enough. I quit my job because of the steps and my brain and body just felt like complete mush, every part felt so much pain, yet also like i just didn't exist. But I've always carried on, in the depth of the disorder, i just carried on day by day. I realise now it was because i was in the thick of it, i was killing myself, but my brain still had something to focus on, strive for. Now, its just confused and lonely, even with the best people in my life around.'
And with that, i certainly cannot go back there again, but i can finally call this my final shot. As i typed that, anorexia missed that life, that pain, the control. But i know i really don't and i'm so close to getting to the freedom i want. I need to chose recovery every single day. Even when its not logical or comforting, I'm going to push through this.
 |
| just a happy memory and a peaceful place |
Cerys x
What's your opinion?