Routine

I seem to be a bit low and preoccupied with my weight these past two weeks. I’ve come back from qualification leave and have started work as a qualified solicitor in the department/area I was desperate to work in and I’m so so so happy to be there. Everyone seems happy to have me back too and it just feels like I’m home with family.

Good right?

Sort of…

I’m a bit “off” and I’m trying to work out why.

I’m struggling to wake up in the mornings to go to the gym before work. I’m struggling to get plan weekly meal plans – something I didn’t/couldn’t do whilst away on leave. I’m struggling to find the balance with my life and my bf’s life now that I’ve just moved in (how much time is too much time to hang out?!).

I spent the past week feeling slightly low and I couldn’t work out why. I was so happy to be back, happy to be living with my boyfriend, happy to be picking up new work so why was I sad?

I think I’ve realised this morning that it’s because I don’t have routine.

It all culminated with me really struggling on the day of my bf’s birthday party (the day after he didn’t really tell me when he was coming home and I got all sorts of stressed out). I wanted to be so happy for his birthday but I was low, couldn’t find anything to wear and all I wanted to do was cry. He ended up telling me not to go to his party, which made everything flare even more, but I did go and it was all fine in the end.

I’m waking up some mornings for the gym but not even half of what I used to. I kinda fancy a run but then mentally aren’t up for it and stop after 1 Mile. I’m trying to make meal plans but then not fully committing to them.

I’ve not always worked out to lose weight or for other ED reasons but sometimes I do work out to keep myself in shape. I don’t always stick 100% to my meal plan but I always make sure I balance it out. However, this current situation all feels a bit different.

I know recovery includes becoming comfortably flexible with my choices but I think I need to enforce some structure into my life again.

I damn well know I’m a creature who thrives off structure.Who loves to wake up with purpose and goals for the day. Who really enjoys proper commitments (even if it is a specific gym class I’m trying to get better at).

I know how living a regimented life can be dangerous for someone in recovery/with an ED but I think that reintroducing the structure I had before my leave will help me leaps and bounds.

So, after this brief rant about feeling low lately I genuinely do think it’s because I don’t have routine and, ironically, falling out of that routine, especially with exercise, is making it harder to get back into that routine…so I guess I have to jump back in…

Here goes nothing

Robbed

My purse was stolen. Within a 12 hour window from me entering my hostel dorm at 7:30 pm to waking up at 7 am it was stolen.

The hostel did nothing. They stared blankly at me when I asked what the protocol was for reporting a theft. They said they had none and were confused when I asked to speak to a manger for advice and even more confused when I asked to report it to the police.

They didn’t offer sympathy or compassion. They didn’t advise me on what I should do to get money (seeing as my cash and credit cards were in my purse). They didn’t so much as blink when I said the word “stolen”.

The people in my room refused to help me look. One even said “that’s a shame it’s missing” and left. I know it’s my responsibility but I had zero compassion from anyone that day.

The police were more helpful. They listened to me, they checked I’d cancelled my cards and they checked I had enough cash to get me back to LA before I fly home in a couple of days. They filled in and gave me a report so I can at least contact my insurance company.

The purse was old and damaged but there was a lot of sentimental value to it. I’m upset the $56 I had in it was gone but more so the fact something with no financial value but lots of sentimental value is gone and I’ll never see it again.

I was always smart, I packed my bags each night and would lock them away until the morning. I know I had the purse in my room as I would keep my room key in it to avoid losing that so I needed my purse to get into my room. But these things happen and between me entering the room and waking up it went. Whether it was pinched from my bag right before I locked my bag away or it was on my bed accidentally…I don’t know…but i know it was stolen.

Two girls basically ran as soon as I announced my purse was missing. No one offered to help me look but I can’t jump to conclusions. I’ve accepted it was taken and that the roommates and staff weren’t going to help me. I dealt with it the best way I knew by reporting it to the police and contacting various banks etc.

I feel violated. I hated the rest of my time in that hostel even though I only had one more night to spend. I was lucky to have emergency cash in my rucksack (thanks Dad for sending that to me!) and I basically ran away to the airport this morning as soon as I could. Rather sit here for 6 hours then spend longer in that room with staff and travellers who have no compassion.

I’m also lucky nothing else on my travels in the USA is reliant on my credit card. I’m staying in an air b n b and when I explained the situation to them they offered to get me cash if I transferred some to them. They told me they’d cook me dinner so I don’t need to worry about food and damn that made me feel so good, made me feel cared for by strangers.

My friends, boyfriend and family are finding ways to help me get money for my European travels that start on Friday. I have 12 hours in London but my replacement credit cards won’t arrive by then and I have to go get a replacement SIM card too (I bought a US one and kept my UK one in my purse).

I’m lucky nothing else was stolen. I have my passport and my phone but regardless of whether my purse was in my bag or on my bed that doesn’t give anyone the right to pick it up and not hand it in.

In the morning I felt very unstable ED-wise. I’m proud nothing negative happened on that front although it was hard to shut down the voice telling me I was stupid, that I’d fucked up, that it was all my fault.

It’s not my fault.

It’s a really shit thing that has happened to me and I’ve been able to deal with it in the correct way so that’s all that matters.

Guess I just needed to rant to someone, anyone who would actually listen.

Travel Freedom

Two weeks of qualification leave over. Two out of those exciting yet scary six weeks done and dusted. Exciting because it’s a holiday to celebrate my qualification as a solicitor and scary because of the challenge it is for my ED.

Even before I fully developed bulimia I displayed disordered behaviours which I managed to justify to my family. I lied to them and myself that taking my scales to weigh myself multiple times a day was a good thing so I wouldn’t go back to my training “heavier than I needed to be”. I was being a “good athlete” by moderating my intake on holiday. I was trying to stay active so that I’d be “ahead of my competitors who might be being lazy on their holidays”.

I loved travelling on my own but I think I avoided going away with my family or friends because I wasn’t able to break away from my ED just then. I wanted to keep as much of that false sense of control as possible by skipping meals, over exercising and purging.

So many of my solo travels were amazing but disastrous for my ED. I didn’t cope on them at all. I can’t lie to myself about that anymore.

I’m spending my first three weeks in California and Arizona. Travelling through the main Californian cities and visiting Yosemite and the Grand Canyon. Out of my qualification leave, I thought these three weeks would be easier ED-wise because I’d be very active, swimming, kayaking, hiking, walking etc on each part of my trip. It’s the second half of my leave which scares me.

However, despite three moderate panic attacks I am actually very proud of myself. Yes. I just typed out that I’m proud of myself. I don’t really know if I’ve said that before.

I’m proud that I’ve pushed to eat and have eaten three meals a day most of these days.

I’m proud I ignored my fear of “water / liquid weight” and have stayed thoroughly hydrated.

I’m proud I was able to have a spontaneous meal with a travelling couple I met and that I didn’t simply have a zero-calorie salad but food that had carbs!

I’m proud that I’ve only forced myself to do one tiny 20 minute workout. That I was strong enough to ignore my ED telling me to exercise compulsively on the other days.

I’m proud that I allowed myself to have small snacks for dinner when I wasn’t okay mentally to eat more than that. Better than nothing, right?

I’m proud that, when a colleague, who was in SF at the same time as me, invited me to dinner – that I took my time to pick between the two triggering restaurants he chose and that I fought the ED voice telling me not to go, telling me to be scared, telling me I’d gain weight.

I’m proud I happily committed to going to dinner with him. This one was my worst panic attack and I’m writing this post before I get ready to go for that dinner. I’m fighting to be strong for it.

I’ve loved every minute of these two weeks so far (except the train delays of course!). When I was in the Grand Canyon I sat down at one of the view points to reflect a little while and I cried because things felt good.

It felt good to not be negatively obsessed with food whilst on holiday.

It felt good to fuel my body to allow it to achieve what it wanted to achieve on this part of my qualification leave.

It felt good not to be hiding in my room, afraid to eat or crouched in the bathroom dealing with my emotions in the worst way.

It felt good to travel and allow myself to lose some of that constant control I have to have over my life and diet at home.

It felt good to travel a bit more freely than I ever have in the past.

Two weeks down. Four to go. Forever fighting to stay on the right and healthy track and, so far, I think I’m succeeding.

Flexible Planning

T-minus 24 hours until my qualification leave begins! (Well 24 hours if I leave work at 5pm tomorrow but my supervisor knows it’s my last day so fingers crossed he’ll let me run away as soon as it is professionally acceptable to do so).

It still hasn’t fully hit me that I’m going to be away and out of the country for 6 weeks from Saturday morning but I’m so incredibly excited.

There’s one pesky issue though…my ED.

Although I consider myself in “recovery”, the Demon doesn’t want me to enjoy my holiday. It wants me to avoid putting on weight, to limit my carbs so I don’t look as chubby on the beach and to exercise more than I should on holiday….

I’m used to doing weekly food plans – something that has thoroughly helped my recovery – but the idea of having an unpredictable and unplannable 6 weeks of eating has shook me more than a little. However, my first 3 weeks in California will be very active. The days will be full of hiking, swimming, walking, kayaking etc so I know I need to ensure I fuel my body for those activities.

But I don’t know what I’ll be eating. I don’t know where the supermarkets are or the restaurants around me and nor do I want to obsessively research that in advance but I can’t fully let go of my food planning for 6 weeks and so I came up with a more flexible way of planning.

I’ve made an itinerary for California and on the days I’m going to be super active I’ve noted in nice green writing: “very active day: higher calorie intake needed”. I toyed with the idea of writing “lower calorie intake needed” on my purely travel days (and initially I did) but I realised that could be triggering if my ED brain considers that a “rule” and then panics if I eat a bit more than anticipated.

I’ve not gone into any more detail than that and I think that’s fine. It’s not a solid food plan by any means but it allows me to recognise when I need more fuel and days where I need to prepare food for a full day’s hike the day before.

I’m far more concerned about visiting Greece with my boyfriend as I’m worried we’ll eat out and drink more on a less active holiday but we came up with a plan for that too. We’re going to rotate each night with a visit to a restaurant on one night and a gyros/cafe on the other. Also, every second restaurant visit will be one I can “splurge” at a little – a cheat meal so to speak.

(It’s been hard to re-educate my brain that eating at a restaurant doesn’t automatically mean over eating or eating unhealthily)

I’m hopeful that, in that way, I can keep one restaurant meal healthy and allow myself to enjoy holiday food a bit more on the other with much smaller gyros type meals on the other days (which are incredibly filling and only €2!)

Greece is the tough one. I’m panicking a lot about that part of the holiday because I’ve also put pressure on myself to not have ED problems as I’m concerned about them “ruining” my boyfriend’s first holiday with be and let’s be honest, I’ve not had a symptom free holiday since my ED began so 8 years plus….

But I’ve also never had a holiday with my ED where I have created a flexible eating plan…so maybe this could be a good coping mechanism going forward.

I guess there’s only one way to find out…but to begin with, here’s to me finally about to qualify as a solicitor!

It’s Time

It’s time to stay on top of writing. It’s always proven so cathartic and plays a huge role in my recovery but lately I’ve found it hard to sit down with the keyboard and type away.

Five weeks ago I rotated departments. That’ means I’m halfway through my training contract and well on my way to becoming a qualified lawyer after all these years. Rotation is tricky. You really have to hit the ground running as the team needs you to be able to pick up the work as if you know exactly what’s been happening the 6 months before you joined.

Some rotations are easier than others. Sometimes you rotate into a department and the work is realtively easy going and “quiet” and so you can take some more time to find your feet. Sometimes you rotate and the department is going through a busy period and it really is a “all hands on deck” approach.

My recent rotation involved the latter.

I was thrown into a chaotic intertwined web of different cases, all with imminent deadlines and all on subject-matter I had no knowledge of. Even the basic admin tasks were difficult because I’d never had to do them before.

5 weeks later and I feel like I’m settling in well but my first month was tough. I (somewhat) enjoyed what I was doing but I spent a month of working close to midnight EVERY NIGHT, and that took its toll on me.

Yes, I was tired. That’s expected. But it disrupted my exercise routine, my social calendar and my eating preparations. That was what I struggled with the most.

Every Sunday I plan my meals which I no longer consider a sign of weakness (progress!!!) and essentially my dinner one night is my lunch the next day. When you’re coming home at midnight: 1 – you probably have already eaten and 2 – you’re not going to cook your lunch for the next day.

Sometimes I ate whatever the work canteen was offering for dinner. Add on the fact I barely had time to exercise…that led to a couple of purges. Sometimes I was stressed because of the food on offer and other times I was sick because I could be, like I couldn’t control it. Auto-pilot.

It was happening 1-2 times a week. That in itself is a huge step forward for me.

Another huge step I took in these past 5 weeks was finally going back to therapy.

The intial session was so hard. I think I cried the whole time and then some more when I got home. It’s the right action for me right now though and I think I need some tough love. I still panic and worry but I’m not purging as much, I’m not restricting. The problem is the thoughts that plague my mind.

I still have so much pain deep inside that I haven’t dealt with, even in my previous therapy session and I think, at 26 years of age, I’m finally ready to deal with all the pain. I think I’m ready because previously, back with my other therapist, I was so desperate to get better but I wasn’t truly around supportive people.

This time I am.

This time I’m ready to not lie to a therapist and pretend I’m okay. I’m ready to be honest and listen to any criticism that may follow. I’m ready to stop hiding from it all.

Most importantly, I think I’m ready to stop hurting myself.

My first therapy appointment came after a week of 70+ hours at work. I was physically broken as well as mentally. After my appointment I started suffering from incredibly bad stomach cramps which saw me admitted to hospital. They think it was stress related and for the first time ever, I opened up to a NHS doctor and told them I was bulimic and scared that I may be starting to really hurt myself.

My boyfriend was there and he held me really tight as I said it, whispered that he was proud of me.

The past few weeks have really been tough in my recovery. Every day is a battle. I’m tired of being ill but, finally, I’m ready to stop being tired.

It’s time to finally get better.

Stuck in a rut

“But you’re fine” that’s what they say.

That’s what they always tell you.

But I don’t feel fine.

“So what if you’ve gained weight, you’re fine”

That’s how they continue.

But I don’t think “so what?”

I see more writing in my food diary, the increased number on the scale, an unhappy girl in the mirror looking at me.

I am that unhappy girl.

I’m trying to ignore the numbers and the thoughts but I’ve, simply put, struggled this week. I’m in a bit of a rut and I’m not sure how I can get out of it.

Restless Rest

I had a week off work last week for no reason other than I had holiday to use and figured that back in March, a random week off in June would work well.

I struggled that week more than I ever thought I would. Between all the hospital appointments I had scheduled and the inevitable ‘house hunt’ starting I struggled to fit in an ample amount of time to simply rest. I simultaneously struggled due to the lack of structure and routine I have settled into with work.

When I could fit in that much-needed-rest, I was just exhausted. I would sit in the park with my books and my laptop, ready to enjoy the sun when, in reality, I just sat there staring into the distance completely drained.

The fact I’d also gone through a period of work where I was finishing between 11pm and 2am every single night and having to work through the occasional weekend probably didn’t help either. It just meant I was exhausted before my week off, during my week off and now? Well,  I’m exhausted after my week off.

I started a new course of treatment at the hospital. They are trying to ‘de-scale’ my head as my psoriasis is getting out of control. They call the process ‘tarring’ and yes, that’s right. I sit there in my beautiful hospital gown whilst they put tar and various other concoctions all over my head. I’m then wrapped up in cling film, a shower cap is placed onto my head and I sit there for a length of time whilst I ‘bake’. Following this, they sit with an incredibly fine comb and ‘de-scale’ my head. They literally dig and scrape at the psoriasis in the hopes of peeling it off my head whilst removing as little hair as possible.

They want to do this 2-3 times a week and I hate it already.

I hate the psoriasis on my head. It’s itchy and it hurts. It gets infected and it makes my hair fall out. I’m also constantly leaving a trail of dandruff looking flakes everywhere I go. But the thing is, it’s also the least of my worries.

Along with psoriasis I have, psoriatic arthritis, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, a Volkmann’s Ischemic Contracture, nerve damage and ruptured muscles, kidney problems, endometriosis and the list of illnesses I’ve had over the years feels endless.

Oh yeah, don’t forget the bulimia now.

I’m almost half-way through my training contract and the department I am working in now is where I want to qualify. It’s where I want to work for the rest of my life following my training which means I’m so incredibly conscious of the time these treatments are going to take up. I’m terrified of not being allowed to qualify here for whatever reason and so I’m equally desperate to not give them any stick to beat me with, so to speak.

What’s worse is the way I look after these treatments. I have bits of scale that haven’t quite made their way down my hair strands literally just sat there and my hair is the most greasiest smelliest mess you can imagine.

It is oh so easy for them or anyone reading to tell me to put up with incredibly greasy hair for a short while but when I’m already so caught up with my body image I can’t shake this feeling of ‘ugly’ that’s seething through my body lately.

Even today people have been looking at and some have even commented on my hair and I actually cried over it. I cried because I’m tired. I am tired of frequently having to go to the hospital for something or other. I am sick of all these different appointments, treatments and medications that I have. I am just sick and tired of being sick.

All my illnesses and disabilities drain me completely.

Forever wishing I could know what it felt like to be normal because I just feel broken.

I feel so damaged and that makes me feel unworthy. Unworthy of my job, unworthy of my friends….unworthy of love.

And it’s those feelings that the ED clings to. It’s those emotions that the ED thrives off. That’s when it’s at its worst but just because I know that doesn’t make fighting it off any easier.