Internal Criticisms

The big, dreaded, over-thought-about-before, phone call happened on Thursday. It was supposed to be Tuesday but got switched last minute. That in itself freaked me out for a good 12 hours…

But deep breaths and I got there.

I was so incredibly nervous to hear my old therapist’s voice as I sat on my bed but as I did I felt relieved and safe. I wasn’t in his big warm comfy office, but I may as well have been.

I always thought the kidney surgery was to blame for my relapse. I had this month of being unable to eat and if I did eat I would throw up involuntarily and I lost weight as a result. I remember crying to friends about how hard it was but I don’t think I quite got across  the fact I was talking about the mental pain, not the physical pain from the surgery.

He tried to get me back to basics, to talk about what happened in the months before that illness and all of a sudden, I remembered:

  • “Peru Sunday” (although all of that is more than solved right now. It was SHIT. It wasn’t fair but it is what it is)
  • My dad forced me to meet my ten year old half brother and took me round some of my most favourite places in London (some of which are now too hard for me to go to).
  • Family arguments when they asked me to give them a substantial amount of money and I ended up threatening to get lawyers involved.
  • I’ve drifted from a best friend completely. That was a painful process which I tried to repair but I genuinely think we just drifted naturally.

I cried so much. All this pain coming out. My friends and boyfriend want me to talk to them but I struggle so much due to the fact they emotionally care about me. I’m not saying my therapist doesn’t care about me but there is an element of ‘he can detach his emotions from me’. So when I tell him things, I don’t see a cringe in his face or hear pain in his voice.

It’s easier to remember everything.

We discussed how it sounds as though my ‘critical voice’ is at a whole new high and it’s suppressing any sort of ‘compassionate voice’ that would soothe my feelings. He asked me what the voice says…

No one’s ever going to love the fat girl.
You should be grateful that you have a boyfriend, that someone’s putting up with you.
No one’s ever going to understand or love the girl who makes herself sick.
No one’s ever going 
to love you.
Everyone’s going to get fed up with you if you can’t recover, they’re justified to abandon you.
You’re so fat.

….

Then he asked me, who these phrases (oh there’s more than just the above) remind me of?…

My greek family told me at 10 years old that I would never find love because I was so fat.

An ex told me that everyone else would hurt me because of the bulimia, that no one would love me, that I wouldn’t find anyone else other than him and then I’d regret leaving….that I should be grateful.

An ex told me I wasn’t trying to recover. That he knew I was restricting and purging but it was 100% up to me to recover….I remember that one the clearest. That conversation hit me so hard, it made me feel like I was alone and couldn’t ask for help. It made me feel like everything was my fault.

The reality of what me and my therapist spoke about hit me so hard. I felt this lump in my chest as though I was choking trying to get words out. I had internalised all these horrible voices and was now repeating the phrases to myself.

And as I stripped down those phrases, as I looked behind the words I repeat to myself on a daily basis, it wasn’t me saying them any more. I could visualise the situation as if I was stood in a corner watching myself.

It was my greek grandma and my dad, in her flat in Athens, at the kitchen table praising my brother for eating so much food and then criticising me for eating the same. It was them saying across the table at a 10-year-old me that they would have to find me a rich husband because no one would ever love and want to marry the Fat Roly Poly.

It was a 13-year-old-me sat in the corner of a room whilst a group of ‘friends’ played spin the bottle but I wasn’t allowed to play because I was so fat the boys might have to kiss me and that’s disgusting. 

It was a 20 year-old-me being forced to do extra cardio and when the other athletes asked the coach why that was the case he replied, because unlike you she obviously has fat to lose. 

I remember each comment clearly. I remember my age, the room we were in, the clothes I was wearing. The comments clearly hurt me so deeply but I almost forgot that it was others saying these things because I started to, and still do, say them to myself.

So that’s my new task. My homework, so to speak, to keep trundling along with this recovery but to try unpack every negative thought I have about myself. To try detach that internal voice that actually isn’t mine.

It never was.

 

 

Hey Boy, Hey Girl

What’s that saying? A problem shared is a problem halved? Well, let me tell you, that’s never felt more true for me this past week. About a month ago I came across someone I didn’t want to see. There was no verbal exchange between us but the look in his eyes and the fear in my heart were more than enough.

It triggered me.

One month later and I’ve only just woken up to the fact that I need help again. I felt ashamed. The dirty feeling I had last year and three years before crept up and infected me before I could even attempt to create an antidote.. Riddled with memories of fear, the nightmares started again.

Family drama swiftly arrived just in time to make an already difficult time twice as deadly. I tried to bury myself in work to hide the pain. To avoid confronting it and then it all came crumbling down.

It all triggered me.

And boy, I fell hard.

But I eventually asked for help.

And boy, did I get more than I expected.

A text to ask for some company so I wasn’t alone with that bathroom calling out to me. A phone call to ask for dinner and a bed for the night and all of a sudden the fear subsided, the shame calmed down and the screaming in my head became a whisper.

And boy, did I cry.

I was all curled up on my bed and I let it all out. I ended up curled up on his bed and I let even more out. I went to her bed and let It all out again.

And boy, did that help.

Coming to London has been more challenging than I gave it credit for. I left Manchester and the people who had helped me over the years and I was in the City with no one to turn to. No idea who I could trust. However, I can safely say I have two people who have helped lift
the pressure.

And boy, do I appreciate them.
And boy, do I love them as my best friends.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the other half of El-squared (a name that was born because we realised if we combine our names we get Eleni or hers). I couldn’t be more grateful for such a wonderful human being who has entered my life and I sincerely hope she is here to stay.

I also couldn’t be more grateful for the guy who has recently entered my life. I’m incredibly proud of myself for letting my vulnerability come out. I do believe that allowing ourselves to be vulnerable with someone is a strong decision. He’s amazing, you know…and yet I’m still keeping him quiet. I really don’t need nor want anyone’s opinion and I’m enjoying keeping him all to myself. My special safe bubble. All mine.

In my little world of happiness both of these people have helped me create.

And boy, am I getting emotional just writing about them.

I suppose that shows that they truly mean something to me.

I have relapsed and I’m no longer scared to admit it. The hard truth is that if people do not know they can’t even begin to help me. If they don’t know my story they can’t begin to understand exactly how I need them. The other day I just needed his arms around me as I cried, I just needed that safe space he creates. I just needed her to help me eat dinner, I just needed that comfortable atmosphere she creates.

I’m sat on a plane right now and my emotions are considerably high. A slight tear of happiness drawing out the love I have for them both. Where am I going? I hear you ask. I’m off to Thailand, on my own little independent adventure. Two weeks to help me clear my head, two weeks to help me appreciate how strong I am and how proud I actually am of myself. Two weeks I am unbelievably excited for.

And boy, am I gonna miss them both.

She sent me a text before I went and it made me cry a bit. It genuinely did. God am I emotional for all the right reasons today?! Not only did she wish me the most amazing of adventures she told me how strong I am. I’m not about to go into details but she made me feel proud of myself and truth me told I feel exactly the same way about her. I feel as if she will be a constant in my life. A constant I truly need right now and I do hope I can give her just as much support as she gives me. A truly beautiful human being.

And oh boy does that make me lucky?

Signing off from God knows however many thousand feet in the air..

Laters taters ❤️

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