a sinner's cranium

An endless fountain of immortal drink Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink

I wrote the following post a few months ago. It's still true. Sometimes I almost feel guilty for being so happy when I know how many unhappy people there are in the world. I worry that I am insufferable. But I deserve this. I suffered so hard and for so long. I am so so grateful for everything I have now and I won't feel guilty for it for a second. I think I'm ready to leave here. I don’t relate anymore. I struggle to connect to the endless torment over a piece of fruit or a bowl of cereal. Now I worry about getting stuff right at work and where to go on holiday and where to buy a house. I eat cheese pretty much every day (and it’s fucking awesome). I’ve made a totally new corner of the country home. Oh, and I’m engaged. I’m getting married on the 24th February 2018. I bought a wedding dress last week all by myself and it shows off my hips and that is cool. Life is cool. I’m an adult. An actual grown up. Anorexia is in my past. It’ll stay there, it isn’t going anywhere. It will inform who I am for the rest of my life. But it isn’t coming back. The shit thing about being ill is that you will always fear that ‘getting better’ will make it so much worse. And it does, at first. Recovery for me was hell. I still cannot believe I’m alive, let alone happy. But I am, and if you can stick out the shitty awful painful months and years then suddenly this LIFE lands in front of you and it’s sparkly and glittery and so PROMISING and you’ll be excited about what is waiting for you, not fretting about the calories in your low cal hot chocolate. Remember you don’t need people to pander to you. You don’t need people to go easy on you, however much you think you do. Your brain is telling you this is the most important thing ever, but actually it is silly and frivolous and insignificant. You have to pull yourself together and shovel that food into your mouth and wait until it gets better. And it will. I promise. Please start now. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt so badly. I traded anorexia for a period of depression worse than I thought possible, but I believe I had to go through that to fully appreciate what happiness means. And it doesn't mean being happy every day. But it means accepting yourself, stretch marks and cellulite and all, and it means looking forward to the future. And that is a beautiful thing. So start now.

I don't believe in 'strong not skinny'. But I do believe that this badass sport has given me more than anorexia ever could.

Being strong and getting stronger is awesome

Today marks the first time in four years that I have been able to stand on the scales without visibly shaking. I still didn't want to know my weight. I still had mixed feelings about being congratulated on no longer being underweight. But then I left the surgery and moved on. Spring is here. I love my job. I love my boyfriend. I don't love myself yet, but for the first time I can remember, I like myself. Recovery is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever done by far, and I am genuinely astounded that I am still alive. I'm not there yet, not 100%. I might never be 100%, but I'll try. Be belligerent. Be determined. Accept the shitty days and weeks and find the sheer bloody-mindedness that you need to say 'I am better than this. I deserve better than this'. For the first time since I got ill, I can no longer see myself going back to anorexia. I don't want to. I no longer see it as a worthwhile pay-off to be thin. It doesn't serve me anymore. I fucking did it guys. I did it.

Thank you food, for allowing me to do awesome things

Five-year-old me invented body positivity

An enchanted moment And it sees me through It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you