How I Mash Potato

(I’m going to talk about some of my experiences in IP that weren’t neccessarily condusive to recovery – just a heads up because I know some people don’t like to read that kind of thing!)

I properly teared up reading your replies. Thank you from the bottom of my heart – I so badly needed to know I wasn’t alone, and that’s exactly what you guys reinforced. You’re amazing, truly. I don’t know how I’d survive without you guys!

Have I been triggered recently? Yes and no. Some of you mentioned feeling like ‘bad anorexics’ because others aren’t doing so well at the moment. I sure as hell know that feeling. I’m currently one of three girls I knew from IP who isn’t back in hospital.. the rest are either just being discharged now from yet another admission, or facing section, or just generally plummeting weight wise. And the hardest part is knowing that there’s a part of them that feels SO DAMN SUPERIOR. Even though they’re miserable, even though they’re either in or facing hospital.. there’s that anorexic competitive side, that disordered satisfaction that comes from thinking ‘Wow. I’m a hopeless case, I’m so much sicker than everyone else because I just can’t beat this. Damn. Even those people I thought were super sick are eating now – and I’m not. Kudos to me!’

I know these feelings exist, because I’ve had them myself. When I was admitted to hospital the third time, I felt such a sense of satisfaction when the nurses saw me walk through the doors. There was huge comfort in knowing that I’d defied everyone’s efforts to feed me and make me better – all these doctors, nurses, health care assistants – for all their training, all their therapy skills – they couldn’t take my ED away and they couldn’t ‘make me fat.’ Other, weaker girsl had succumbed to their pressure and tricks but I was strong, I was better than them.

What a load of shite. I know now that was purely anorexia, replacing what should have been feelings of shame and humility at my reluctance to recover with pride and achievement, because that’s what it needed to survive. But it’s so hard reading on Facebook that my friends are struggling, and hearing them say ‘GOOD FOR YOU! I’M SO PROUD!’ when I tell them I’m doing well.. Because I know they’re ticking me off from the list of ‘competition.’

It’s not surprising everyone in the Unit was always so supportive to one another. If one girl wouldn’t eat or drink her supplement, especially if she wasn’t on an NG plan (if you restricted a certain amount of times you were put on a plan that meant you were tube fed your meals if you didn’t complete them) all the other girls would go crazy trying to help – because the worst thing that could possibly happen would be that this girl lost weight at the next weigh in, or ate less – that would make her a ‘better’ anorexic.  

Actually, in the unit I remember going to ludicrous lengths to be the ‘best.’ One summer it was 35 degrees celsius, and we all sat for post meal in the tiny yard. The nurses came round with sun cream and told us to put it on. I remember rubbing it into my legs and simultaneously body checking. Then one girl shook her head and said ‘I’m not rubbing that on me, it’s got oil in it!’

From that day on, none of us put sun cream on. Even though we knew perfectly well it wouldn’t sink into our skin and turn to fat – we were anorexic, not retarded – if we let that girl have an obsession and a fear that we didn’t have ourselves, she’d be sicker. We even stopped washing our hands with soap, because ’soap oil might sink in too.’ Considering most of us spent the majority of meal times smearing butter and whatever else we could over ourselves to avoid calories, we were a pretty smelly bunch.

And then, two weeks later, a new admission arrived and she had OCD and washed her hands endlessly. They were all scabbed and dry, and every time she made  a a fist her knuckles cracked and bled. Cue a sudden obsession with handwashing on the ward. Everyone wanted those dry, cracked hands and within a few days we were all scrubbing away 10, 15, 20 times a day. We all forgot about our fear of lotions and soaps and creams, because the new ’sickest’ thing to do was the have OCD. Some girls stopped touching door handles in front of the nurses, though if they were storming out of the dining room after a confrontation over a fortisip, they suddenly had no problem with wrenching the door open and slamming it behind them.

In a round about way, my point is that it’s so easy to feel ashamed of progress. And that’s kind of how I felt last night. Like I was alone in my efforts to gain weight, to recover, and that I was suddenly the ‘worst’ anorexic. Rationally, I know that’s a pretty damn good thing to be!  But it’s a damn hard title to contemplate when you’re so used to pursuing anorexia. Even blogging at a BMI of 13/14 was easier – I felt justified in talking about my meals and calories because I ‘deserved’ them. Now, when I’m not *too* far off 17.5, it’s a lot harder.

But all those months ago, when I posted in desperation about my chest pains, my exhaustion – and I swore I would walk the walk, not just talk the talk, I knew this point would come. I knew I’d have to face up to a time when I would no longer look appalling, no longer face hospital each week. I knew a point would come where people stopped saying ‘Do you want a lift?’ because they were too scared to let me walk to the train station in case I keeled over.

Your comments last night made me feel less alone, gave me hope. And I’m sending a massive, massive hug to all of you – gaining or losing, recovering or relapsing. Because one day, we’ll all be at a point where ‘recovery’ is a looming reality – terrifying and thrilling – rather than a distant dream. And it’ll be hard then, just like it’s hard now.

And just because it wouldn’t be a proper post without a brekkie pic:

Oat bran with 1/2 banana whipped in, 2 tbsp smooth PB and dark chocolate (not carob - chocolate! No shame!) chips.

I’ve got to go and be weighed now – hurrah. Ahem. To be honest, I don’t really care what happens right now. I know it’s gone up because I can feel it all over me - but I just want to to talk to Michelle today. I know I probably – OK, definitely, will care if it shoots up but whatever.. She goes on maternity leave after next week I don’t know who I’m being handed over to and I’m kind of dreading it – I really trust Michelle not to bullshit me, and she EXPECTS me to recover – which is so, so important. I want to buy her a little present before next week to say thank you – maybe a teddy for her baby or something.  And then after that, a quiet day is in order.. I’m not feeling 100% so I’m just going to take it easy – which is difficult since I feel guilty if I don’t do *something* – but I know if I don’t nip it in the bud I’ll be properly ill by this time next week , and that would suck.