SQUINCHY...

is the name that my OH and I use when I'm feeling anxious, or stressed, or a bit 'argh'. Like that feeling you get inside, you know? When you're all sad and tense and a bit confused. I get it a lot. But having the 'squinch' is not such a bad thing. Why? I hear you cry. Well. having a silly name for it, putting it into words, communicating it, makes it lessen. Like, it's a safe word. I can say it without having to say 'I feel like self-harming' or 'I want to die'. It helps both of us to get through those dark days. And most times, when we've talked and had a cuddle, the squinch dies away. So that's just my take on those days, you know, when you know how you feel, you just don't know how to tell someone.

Good day? Mostly. My knee is now even more extremely buggered. I walked the dog in the ice and snow again this morning for a couple of hours. It's NOT good walking conditions when you have unstable joints. It's bloody hard work and I'm terrified of dislocating something. I struggle through it every day because it is my soul food and G adores the walks. It is SO amazingly beautiful around here right now. It looks like a film set of the Canadian wilderness or something. Amazing. The trees all frosted white, the sky crystal clear blue, the lake frozen over. I LOVE winters like this. Probably because I don't mind any weather but walking the dog in the rain is a nightmare, and when it is really icy there is no mud to clean :-). In fact, he comes back sparkling and covered in icicles, lol.

Food wise? I B/Ped again last night, 'sigh'. However it wasn't major. I have been going to bed after purging and waking up REALLY starving. I guess I'm emptying my stomach before I sleep, then realise it when I wake. So today I ate really well, like a lot, I mean. But it wasn't drama-provoking. I made an amazing meal of peppered beef steaks, Mexican fried rice with veggies and a salad. It was yummy. Pretty much healthy too. I don't use oil to cook and I gave all the garlic butter to my OH.


I find it eternally ironic that I will leave butter off my steak and then quite happily proceed to eat a giant bar of chocolate and a packet of biscuits in the evening, without a thought for the fat. I sometimes think that because you don't physically PUT the fat and the salt and the sugar in junk food, it's like the connection isn't there. I mean, like the difference between cash and credit card. One feels tangible, real. One, on the other hand, is false, gives you a sense of security. If I bake or cook I do so consciously and make it healthy if I possibly can. Yet food that I buy? I glance at the calories...rarely any other information. I sometimes wonder if all the good I do to by body is negated by all that shitty food. I guess trying my best to eat well and exercise and stay at a good weight is the best I can do. I'm doing pretty well right now. I hope it lasts.

Well, I have started writing a lot again. I have written about 6,000 words this week so my millionth attempt at a novel is emerging. Slightly. It'll probably wither and die with all the rest. But even if that happens, it's good practice. And it helps. Bigtime. Hours fly by and i feel satisfied. Bought a new piano book too and so I've been hashing my way through that this evening.

My life is so dull, hey?!

Ciao for now guys xxxx

CONTENT

So it's a beautiful day outside, wintery and crisp. Perfect walking weather. Me and my furry friend just got back from a great two hour walk. I think I managed to wear him out. He's asleep on my furry slipper boots right now. Anything to get close to Mummy's smell, hey?! Silly dog.

In other news, I'm feeling pretty good today. I ate pretty normally yesterday, as drinking makes me RAVENOUS, and I weighed the same this morning. I've been EXACTLY the same weight for days now. That never normally happens; for some reason my weight majorly fluctuates. Maybe my body is happy here.

It's a fine line right now between me being 'healthy' and 'slim' and 'gaunt' and 'skinny'. I mean, I'm probably a stone under the weight an average person my height would be. However, I have an EXTREMELY small frame, like my bones are teeny tiny and I do not carry weight well, as I am the classic pear shape despite being small.

So I guess I can't trust my own judgement. Yet I'm SO much more functional at this weight, I'm calmer, happier, more confident....I guess because being heavier means I'm using bingeing, which means I'm purging, which means I'm anxious and angry, and constantly frustrated with myself. Plus I isolate REALLY badly when I'm in B/P phases, because I can't stand the thought of other people knowing how much weight I've gained. And like I said, it shows very quickly on me. I don't carry weight well at all as a little person. God I want long, lean legs!

So it's my birthday Monday and my OH is working Saturday so he can take the day off and spend time with me. I hope we can go for a lovely long walk in the country and go out for dinner. That would be perfect. I need to go into town at some point - I haven't done any decent clothes shopping in AGES and I feel like being girly and traipsing around the shops on my own.

I guess it would be nice to have a close girl friend here. I isolated myself so totally during the last few shitty years that I literally have no close friends now. And I don't know how to make them. I'm not good at close relationships, I'm not great at getting out, I'm confident yet shy... go figure. I have acquaintances but noone I would even consider close enough to go shopping or for coffee with. That's pretty sad, because I know I'm good company when I'm well. I guess people always FREAK when they find out how unstable and self-destructive I can be. Plus obviously people judge me by the terrible scarring on my arms. It intimidates a lot of people. Luckily I'm not ashamed of them at all and don't cover them up. I guess it's because I want there to be more awareness of SH as an issue that is seen as shameful and something to be hidden. I know that some people would like to bear their scars but don't feel brave enough or safe enough to do so. Perhaps by showing that it's ok to do so I can promote a healthier image of the issue. I think it's surprisingly taboo, considering the extent to which drugs, alcohol and food are singled out by the media as aspects of self harm or self abuse.

This post has turned out long. I guess I talk more when I feel good. There is a lot that I want to write about at the moment. For now I'll go get tea and see how the day pans out. I should really be practising for Saturday's gig. Whoops.

SO? I HEAR YOU ASK

I thought that for once, as promised, instead of trudging through my dreadfully boring day-to-day existence, I will explain some of how I came to be in this position...FLASHBACK ALERT!

Think back to the year 1999... I was at the tender age of fifteen. The same year that I started having the dreaded 'curse' each month, or there abouts. I also started stressing more and more about why I was unpopular, chubby, ugly...you know the sort of banter that goes on in a pubescent girl's head.

I was ALWAYS an anxious kid. Everything made me freak out. These neuroses came from my mother, I swear. Silly things like we had to dry our hands before touching light switches so we didn't get a shock, we had to use a separate pan to boil eggs because the shells released deadly toxins....I really don't know how I didn't just sit in a corner and shake like a nervous wreck.

So how does that relate to my teenage troubles? I guess it just meant that I was very on edge and terribly self-conscious. Because I was constantly criticised and rejected at home, I felt like my entire circle of peers was doing the same. Of course it didn't help that I was murderously bullied.

Actually, the worst bullying incident I remember happened when I started college (age 17). Our college was across the road from a park, and sometimes we would skip class to go hang out there. Now, a gang of my supposed 'friends' thought it would be a great idea to torture me by wrapping me head to toe in duct tape, put me on the roundabout and leave me there to rot. As you can imagine, it was a pitiful sight and I have NEVER been so mortified in my life, considering these people who called themselves friends never bothered to come back. God, I cringe even thinking about how hard it was to hold back the tears while the only friend that stayed around pushed herself to me in her wheelchair and untied me. I feel so embarrassed even writing that story out....but it goes a way to explaining how alone and pathetic I was in my teenage years. Insecurity sure is a curse.

Anyway...back to school days. I got in with a bunch of kids who, like me, were pretty messed up about the world and how it had treated them. I had always 'hurt' myself for attention as a kid, without realising what it really meant. I would scratch myself or pour hot water on my arms so mummy and daddy would take notice and make me better. I would pretend to be ill ALL the time so I didn't have to go to school, and succeeded to the extent that in the year of my GCSEs my attendance was 30% and I was taking taxies to and from school. Anxiety riddled wasn't the word.

So yeh, I guess I knew from a young age that physical pain takes away the hurt inside and gets you love and attention from people who rarely give you what you need. I think this may have been a phase if I wasn't in said group of misfits. There were the abused kids, the bitter-alcoholic-single-parented kids, the poor kids. And I got really big time sucked in to their ways. Pretty much all of us had some kind of ED or were self-harming.

I remember the first time I seriously did it for real. I had contemplated it for months, agonised over it, wanted it to help for me like it did for my friends. So I took a compass and carved lines into my arms. I guess at the time it felt good. It took away some of the hurt and abandonment and deep, aching loneliness that a mucked up teenager goes through.

I'll leave the cutting there for now...don't want too many freak outs at once!

But I guess I should say that the summer of that year, before my final year in school, I was SO anxious (repeat pattern of 8 year old kid) that I couldn't swallow and I lost a ton of weight. When I went back to school in the autumn I was suddenly liked MUCH more. I guess being the fat kid really does suck.

Problem was, even though I had better friendships, I was still messed up at home every night and I guess I had already begun a cycle of starving myself and using physical pain to block out how hopeless I felt.

Cue Prozac, the cure-all for depressed kids, right? Well. Not really in my case but I took it faithfully. Still do.

I guess with all this mess around me I decided the one thing I would NEVER do is get fat. So I freaked out over my weight, dropped out of college and concentrated on my weight loss full time. Sad, hey?

Needless to say by the winter of 2003 I was down to around 68lb (pretty near dead) and was given days to live.

Now bear in mind that my loving parents had not mentioned ONE WORD to me about how terrible I looked, how I never ate, how when I wore 4 layers of clothing I was still a bag of bones.

I guess they stuck their heads WAY in that sandpit.

In a fit of craziness I prayed, and it came to me that if I didn't leave I would die. I remember being crawled in a ball on my bedroom floor sobbing because the pain my stomach was SO bad. I was GREY. It was scary, really scary. My hair was falling out in clumps, my periods had stopped, I had lanugo on my body. I had scars and bruises all over my back from obsessively exercising in my room.

I will still never forget how absolutely near death I was. I was so weak I could barely walk, let alone DO anything. Any movement made me exhausted. Like, the deep down, aching, painful tiredness like when you've just trekked all day and night in the snow. And did I mention the cold? Blue nails, blue lips...white fingers.

Enough. Back to my crazy escape - I packed my bags and flew to Australia to stay with my Aunt.

I will never forget the awful look of sadness on my father's face at the airport. He knew how sick I was, deep down, he just didn't know how to express it. His eyes told me he thought I'd die trying, I'd never come home...


This feels very convoluted and is pretty draining so I will pick up where I left off next time... at Heathrow waiting to board a Boeing 747 Singapore Airlines flight to Perth.

UP/DOWN....AND AGAIN

Well what can I say? As usual things are going well but I don't feel good inside. What do I mean by that? I'll try to explain. Basically everything is, I guess, as it should be. My weight is stable enough and I'm not bingeing. I played a great gig tonight and got lots of compliments, including being asked out on a dinner date (not sure my OH was too impressed!). I've been able to walk the dog without collapsing in pain, and I've been taking my Antabuse regularly.

Yet...I STILL feel down, hollow, numb, empty.

Will I ever get to a stage where the good days outweigh the bad? Sometimes I really just want to black out the room, lie on the floor and pretend I don't exist. At least that way I can shut out the world. Unfortunately I can't shut myself off from my thoughts, and since I'm doing such a 'great' job at not using negative behaviours, I find myself stuck with a head full of crap that I don't want to deal with.

Take last night. Now, as an aside, I very very rarely cry. I'm not a girly girl, I'm not slushy, and I can't even remember the last time I cried sober. But I was watching a stupid documentary on school leavers' proms, and for some reason I was in floods of tears. It took me hours to calm down. I just felt like a scared little child again, and all of the pain and fear and shame of my childhood and how desperately unhappy I was hit me full in the face. It's not really something I've ever looked at or tried to deal with. I guess I have always tried not to look backwards, because it is painful and usually not productive. But suddenly I found myself SOBBING for the childhood I never had, mourning my loss and feeling like I've lost so much of my life that I'll never claw back.

I guess the saddest fact is that I'm 25 years old and I still feel like a vulnerable, scared child that cannot cope alone, and needs someone to support me otherwise I will crumble and fall. I know that I am STILL holding myself back from living the life I want to live, in terms of my career, my friends, my relationship...pretty much everything. All because of fear. I'm afraid to be alone, I'm afraid I couldn't cope, that I'd end up back in hospital. And the sad thing is I probably would, given my track record.

Gosh that all sounds pretty depressing. I guess relatively I DO feel good, and things ARE going well. I mean, last year I was pretty much in and out of the hospital (medically) from doing so much shit to my body...overdoses, alcoholism, skin grafts, drug abuse, severe self harm to the point of cutting through muscles, veins, nerves....I know that my poor body wears the scars of all the years of abuse. And there is much progress being made. It's just hard to stay positive when sometimes I just want to get off the rollercoaster and take a break from my emotions.

Well, I should probably try to focus on the positives, including the fact that tonight was wicked, and I sang harmonies as well as playing. I feel like my musical life is progressing well, but there are SO many things I want to do with my life and I am still holding myself back. I will post more about my desires soon....I just don't feel very coherent after a night of blasting my ears out with live music. It was kinda fun though, hey?!

I wanted to take the opportunity too to say THANK YOU to everyone that has commented. It means so much to know that I am not alone. I will be responding, I promise, I'm just mega tired and in need of my bed!

Much love x

More memories...

I wanted to post a little of what my life was like a year ago. I think a snapshot of my progress may go a little way to understanding where I am at on my journey.

Last August I entered a detox facility for drug and alcohol abuse. I was, by that point, drinking a litre of vodka a day. Now, bearing in mind I was also abusing benzos, I was in a bad way. I had a stomach ulcer, my liver hurt ALL the time, I was a terrible ashen shade of grey. In the months preceding this inpatient treatment I had pretty much sunk into the depths of depravity. I had been hospitalised numerous times because of my drinking and because of the terrible damage I inflicted on myself whilst intoxicated.

By damage, I mean the awful physical trauma I inflicted on myself. I have deliberately self harmed for many years, but last year it was so out of control that I was having the police and ambulance out regularly. I have cut through veins, muscle, had a skin graft for third degree burns, broken my hand, given myself concussion...to name but a few instances.

I shall of course go into the reasons WHY at some point. Now is not the time.

I guess I knew, deep down, that I needed help. And yet I couldn't take responsibility for myself and turn things around. Ultimately it was the threat of losing my beloved partner and dog for the sake of my next drink that saw me finally giving in and getting clean.

Since stopping drinking I have had a few, rare lapses. I have not self harmed once sober since last summer. Yet, the last incidence of drinking almost killed me. I have nearly died on several occasions, but this was a CLOSE call. I had been sober for months, then had two days of major drinking on top of a cocktail of sedatives. Ultimately my OH was out and I cut very badly, through the muscle in my wrist. I must have passed out because the next thing I remember was waking in resus, having lost three pints of blood and nearly dying. Needless to say I was in hospital for a week, too weak to stand. I survived. My relationship almost didn't. But we are, miraculously, still together. He is my rock. He has been my inspiration and motivation to change. Hence the reason for this blog...

In the past year the trend has been leaning towards positive, affirming behaviours. I have been making small steps towards a healthy future. Yes, I'm still bulimic. But I am a RECOVERING alcoholic, and a RECOVERING self harmer. I am in full control of my actions and accept the responsibilty and consequences that come from making bad choices.

When I left rehab, I felt like a newborn baby. I had to relearn how to FEEL. How to cry, how to be sad, how to express myself through language and emotion. I had covered up my true self for so long that for months all I felt was an intense, deep feeling of sadness in the pit of me, almost as though someone was physically wrenching my heart apart. Finally, that awful distressing fog has lifted and I can say that I feel free from the despair that has been my life for so long.

I guess then my aim now is abstinence. From alcohol, from self-destruction, from thinking that I am not worth it. Because I know that, through this journey, I have learnt to embrace myself and respect who I am, regardless of how I am perceived in the world. This self acceptance has been the key to freeing my soul, yet it has been immensely difficult. I just continue, daily, to put one foot in front of the other and focus on the ever brighter light at the end of the tunnel.

My goal for the immediate future is to keep control over my eating and my weight so that I abstain from abusing food to cover my emotions. This is ultimately my last demon, and yet at the same time it is my biggest, the most deeply ingrained, almost to the point that I would feel, still, lost without it as my security blanket. This is what I need to work on. Letting go of that control that I fade, so that when I eat I can do so guilt free. I know it is self-hate, shame and guilt that drive the binges. Thus I must continue to respect and accept my body and soul.

Easier said than done?! Let's keep trying, hey?

In the beginning ...

I have created this blog to document my journey out of chaos and into a better world, ever hopeful that I can inspire others to change along the way.

A BIT ABOUT ME

THE BAD PART
I struggle with an Eating Disorder
I used to Self Harm
I have Borderline Personality Disorder
I am a Recovering Alcoholic
I have Hypermobility Syndrome

THE GOOD PART
I am a gigging musician
I adore my dog, Harry
I love reading many types of literature
I strive to be better in a small way each day
I am SH free since May 2010
My other half J keeps me strong and grounded

I hope to use this blog as a platform to document my experiences, past and present, with the eventual plan to turn it into a book. Writing is a big part of my life. Expect poetry, musings, ramblings and emotional heartache.

Ultimately my life has been a bumpy ride in the dark without a map. It is only now that the road is starting to even out and I feel like I am going in the right direction, with a plan and the correct tools to ensure I no longer lose my way.


I am guessing that I will continue to take wrong turns. I hope that in writing about my experiences throughout life I can begin to understand more about who I am and what my purpose is in life.

Here we go....