🌞 The Only Way Through Is Forward 🌞

Oftentimes, in both active addiction and in the difficult moments in recovery, we look back on ourselves with rose tinted glasses. We see our worst moments as hazy and pink with a healthy glow, rather than as the horror show they actually were.

For those of you struggling with that, and myself, imagining how good the depths of this disorder were... here's the truth. No hyperboles or cautionary tales. Just the tape played back as it really happened.

Being skinny and pretty.

Being so gaunt that strangers think you’re dying of some horrible disease, and your friends/family know that you’re dying of some horrible disease.

Being fit from exercising.

Being so weak that you can’t even do a star jump, or the active hobbies you used to love.

Being unable to sit upright, constantly tipping over in your seat because you have no core.

Loving your bones protruding from your body.

Being terrified of what you see in the mirror but not being able to stop. Not being able to touch your own body without flinching from the feeling of those bones that you used to covet.

People being nice to you because you’re pretty.

People being kind to you the way they are when they meet a dog with cancer, with that pity you’ll learn to fear because you know they’re right.

Having more time to focus on work and academia.

Sitting and staring blankly at your laptop or book because you just don't understand what's happening.

People caring about you because you're sick.

All of your closest friends and family being so scared of what's happening that they don't even know how to bring it up, so you continue to fall into disease, believing you're alone and unnoticed even though you aren't.

Finally being happy.

Being consumed by constant terror because you no longer know who or where you are due to dissociation and your brain shutting down cognitive functions as you starve.

Crying yourself to sleep, afraid you won't wake up.

Every piece of clothing looks good on you.

Nobody cares how you dress; all they see is how unwell you look. They don't think you look good, or pretty.

Being 'healthy'.

Worsening eyesight, strength, constant fatigue and stress.

Going to the bathroom takes 20+ minutes, and you cry when you do because it hurts so badly. There's blood. At work, you get questioned for taking so long.

People catching you when you faint like in the movies.

Nobody catches you. You fall, get bruised, get concussed, get hurt, and you hide it.

Wrapping up in oversized hoodies.

Always being so cold that you give yourself burns on your hands/neck from sitting in front of space heaters.

Recovery making you greedy.

Wanting to cry from fear the first time you eat a ‘breakfast’ that most would class as a tiny snack.

Being confined to a bed/room for a month in order to gain weight again, because you cannot be trusted to do it on your own anymore.

; May 12, day 28. ; Day 62.

Disclaimer: this is just how I view my own recovery; nobody else's. If this mentality works for you too, fantastic! If you think this is dogshit, then please continue to do what works for you. Before anything else I want everyone to have a shot at recovery. I don't care how we all do it, just that we do it. Your way, my way, who cares as long as we're all well. This is just how I've learned I need to view my recovery.

Not gonna lie, I’ve had a very rough few weeks mentally. Today especially I felt like I was gonna blow and do something stupid, like relapse.

I didn’t! But I really fucking felt like it.

My treatment team cancelled an appointment and didn’t bother to tell me, so I hyped myself up to talk about all the things bothering me, and then had no outlet. So I sulked for 6 hours about how I always get let down in the end, yada yada. I hate how my body looks, I hate myself for ‘causing’ it to look like this (by fucking recovering???), etc.

Then I went to a recovery meeting and chaired (led it) because the usual lead didn’t show and we had a newcomer, and I wanted him to feel welcome and like our group collectively has it’s shit together. It ended up being a great meeting, and what do you know? After 2 hours of chatting with people who share the same problem as me (our silly brains), I felt good again.

I feel silly for wasting the day being miserable, and bringing others’ moods down with me. But equally I have to be gentle and remind myself that the day wasn’t a total waste, and that this is another learning experience. Wallowing makes me feel like shit, and talking to other addicts pulls my head out of my own ass.

I get to play a solo acoustic gig tomorrow. The first time I think I’ve ever done that, actually, in 6 years of studying music and writing. I’m not as excited as I could be, but I’m not going to bed miserable, and I’m going to make damn sure I have a good day tomorrow. I don’t need to feel like shit to validate my frustrations with my team. My feeling shitty doesn’t hurt or punish them. I can send them an email and explain my frustration calmly, and I can get on with my fucking life in the mean time.

Sure, I’m struggling. I feel like I can’t do this alone, and right now I do feel abandoned by my care team. But that doesn’t mean I get to give up on myself; or sabotage the things that make me happy.

I’m gonna play a great show tomorrow, attend a writers group too. I don’t have to do uni work for it to be a productive day. Fuck’s sake, I finished my Final Project today - that’s a huge achievement! And fuck me from 3 hours ago thinking I deserved to feel miserable for any reason.

Here we go! One of the first prompts I'l share from my ED support group. Here's what I wrote down.

Being intersex and the body perks that come with it (I actually wrote having a fat c*ck, but that felt graphic to put here. And yet I've said it anyway, ha!).

Understanding music.

Being able to read sheet music.

Having passions.

Being able to see sunsets, and stars.

Being able to feel rain and the cold night air on my skin.

My hands; being able to play guitar.

My ability to use instruments to convey emotion.

Though I've lost the ability to walk and dance (which was once my career), I'm thankful that I had such a good connection with my body for so long. And I'm thankful that even though I can't dance anymore, I can still feel those movements flow through me when I listen to music. Muscle memory, I think.

My eyes are pretty.

My flirtatious (false) confidence.

My ability to make others feel good and special. I like making others feel good about themselves.

My brain sucking it up and choosing to recover, from everything.

My brain continuing to choose recovery, even when it's difficult.

Being able to write and play music.

My competence and skill, which comes from my hard work and drive.

I'm thankful for having such a drive in everything I put my mind to, never wanting less than the best in what I do.

My ability to read, which has saved me many a time through escapism.

My imagination and creative nature.

My ability to get lost in the things I find interesting, allowing me to learn more.

My passion for learning and growth.

My knack for languages.

"As long as we feel victimised, we have lost the power to change." - Anonymous

The pickle was once a nice, fat cucumber. When it was left in the brine for a prescribed length of time, it emerged as a pickle. But once it had become a pickle, there was absolutely no way in the world it could ever become a cucumber again. 

"What's that got to do with the subject at hand?" you may ask.

Everything. Once we've been caught up in, or addicted to our drug of choice, or compulsive behavior or an aberrant lifestyle, we can never go back to the way we were before it began. No matter how recovered we are, we will never be able to do in moderation what began by serving us, but in time became our master.

The bad news is that it's extremely hard to watch others doing with impunity the things that are forbidden to us. 

But the good news it that we've become something new - a pickle instead of a cucumber. And this new form allows us to be better, more productive and happier than we've ever been in our entire lifetime. Extravagant as this promise seems, it has been proven true, time after time, by those who have gone before us. 

As we celebrate the new form, it becomes easier to let go of the old. And in that celebration, we become willing to let God remove these defects of character. 

Today's Step - I rejoice in the new form my life is taking.

Hi! всё хорошо. I'm alright. Sorry for not posting much / making people think I gave up. Recovery is still coming along strong.

I'm facing a lot more triggering comments at home now, and the person I live with is being very controlling, which has worsened as I've gotten better - or maybe I'm just noticing it more now. But I'm standing up for myself, and even my treatment team is getting involved to tell him I need to be allowed out of the house and to 'get back to living a normal life'. Hopefully he listens to them at least, but even if he doesn't I'm going out anyway. Just for coffee with friends, or local gigs and rehearsals. I'm not letting someone else's mood or opinions dictate how I live my life anymore. Teaching myself not to be a crowd-pleaser anymore.

But in spite of the controlling around food and my movements, I'm doing pretty good. I'm not letting the comments affect me. Sure, I get upset, and I think about drinking or using on it, but I haven't relapsed. In fact, when I have thoughts about restricting my food intake, I actively make sure that I eat anyway. I'm proud of myself for it. So... doing good. Pushing forward, pushing through.

; Month 1.

Going out for a cafe lunch for the first time in nearly a year, with my mama. I ate a slice and a half of cake, and it felt like all the rules in my head were exploding into little particles of dust. I fell in love with eating again that afternoon, 5 days into recovery.

Calling my friend to explain I was entering treatment for anorexia, and them being so supportive and immediately reassuring me, suggesting ways we could hang out while I was still on bedrest. We’re trying to arrange a picnic/sleepover right now.

Playing a gig with my best friends, which I wasn't sure I was physically capable of getting through (logically, not the best or safest idea, but worth it), just a week into recovering. It was one of the highest nights of my life. I was so proud to have done it, to have performed well, and everyone came up to congratulate me on the gig and my choice to move into recovery.

Going to buy some new glasses and mentioning to the store clerk I'm gaining weight, and him simply replying firmly, "good". That, and the many other supportive, generous and kind strangers I came across in passing moments - often store clerks, the waitress at the farm shop cafe who said I look much better two weeks on from first meeting me, and receptionists at appointments. All those comments, the positive smiles and little acts of kindness (remembering my name, winking and giving a discount, helping me reach something from my wheelchair), they feel like little slivers of God, and Goodness showing it’s face, reminding me that the world is a good place if I allow it to be.

Watching movies and TV shows almost every day with my dad. We watched Singin’ In The Rain together, and both seasons of The Pitt. There were other movies, but those stood out. We’re also binging Castle currently, which always relaxes me and makes me laugh. He reminds me of my dad, a bit.

Convincing my dad to take me out on my birthday: we went for expensive sushi at a place I’ve always wanted to show him, an olde sweet shop I knew he’d love, and to a crystal/healing shop where I bought some stones. I had the best day with him, even though it completely ruined my physical and mental health for the following days (burnout, chronic pain and exhaustion).

Getting to say goodbye to two lecturers I’ve had for 6 years at uni. The last time they saw me was at my lowest weight, and I didn’t want that to be the last they saw of me, with no follow up or explanation. They both confessed their worries about me and I got to tell them I’m committed to getting better and finishing uni eventually. One bought me a gift(!) of a self care book and told me to consider studying a masters when I’m better, or to consider working in teaching. It made me emotional, realising that these people think about me outside of company time, care about my well-being and my future. The same thing I’ve heard over and over these past few weeks, but it always cuts deep into my heart.

Realising that I’ve been slowly getting better at coping with unexpected changes in plans. That I’m growing and getting mentally better, even if it’s only in one small way. This is one of my biggest challenges in living, so to realise I’m coping better with it makes me so joyous and proud.

Starting to plan ways to make my new life enjoyable and fulfilling; researching social clubs to join, trying new hobbies, and finding out what I enjoy doing with my time.

I just uncovered this writing from 7th April, a week before I began treatment for my ED. 

Reasons to stay out of hospital: - Finishing university on time. - Attending Download festival with dad in June. - Going to Bourton on the Water in late April/early May. - Not spending my birthday in hospital, or locked away, or frightened of food and feeling upset and guilty. The potential to enjoy that weekend.

I was so optimistic. Desperate, more like. Those first three things? Dead and gone. Not fucking happening, or didn’t happen. And even the fourth item was on tenterhooks. I only got ‘let out’ of the house for a couple hours to have a meal, and spent the entire time before and after totally locked up at home.

But it has me wondering: why was it so easy for me to be optimistic and determined throughout my ED; but this last week in recovery has felt like a constant slog? An uphill battle for something I don’t even want (even though I know that I do). Why is that? Why was I able to push through anything back then, but now I can’t even will myself to do basic things?

I’m genuinely asking, because I have no idea.

; (written on) Day 34 of all in recovery.

A person in group gave me a bloodstone this week.

I use the term 'all-in' recovery a lot, but this past week my life has massively looked like 'anorexia recovery'. To me, the difference is that 'all-in' recovery means that I'm generally working in all areas to improve my life. It's a positive, optimistic approach to my recovery from all substances and addictions. Anorexia recovery means fighting the disease because it chose to rear its ugly head again.

This week has been about survival, plain and straight. Optimism had to take a back seat, as did working on improving my whole life. I had to focus on getting through each day, each hour, each moment, ODAAT.

I didn’t have the energy to attend meetings or meet/talk to friends, or even to focus on self compassion and practicing my therapeutic tools. I couldn't do my uni work, or chores around the house. I mostly slept, ate, and thought horrible things about myself. There were triggers, which I pinpointed and was able to email my care coordinator about, and we've set up a meeting. My duty psych also called me and gave me advice for sleeping better. I'm really proud that I reached out and followed through on speaking to them both, but it was a behemoth task.

The most important thing this week was surviving my ED again; and I haven't really had that hard of aa time with it since my first few days of recovery. Worse still, it triggered some heavy drinking and using thoughts. But I did it. I survived it.

I did it with the help of instant-grounding tools for triggers I’ve learned from my therapist, and from actually taking steps to help myself, which I never would have done before. I actually reached out to my care coordinator and my therapist, and to my 12 step fellows when I was certain I'd drink at 1AM on a Sunday. These people helped me check my reality and grounded me in my getting better, but only because I took the first steps by reaching out for help.

This was HUGE. I can’t believe how lightly I’m taking all of this. Never in my life did this even seem possible. I actually reached out for help, rather than turning to isolation and self destruction. I don't want that life for myself anymore, as romantic as it seems some nights.

I'm hugely proud of myself. I reached out for help where I knew I’d get the right support and advice. I applied tools to stop triggers and to self soothe. I chose to keep eating, and I chose not to drink or use. Before, I had none of these tools available to me. I would’ve isolated and bottled it up, not dealt with it. I’d have pushed through triggers to try to desensitise myself, and would’ve ended up drinking and using to numb the pain and flashbacks.

I genuinely can’t fucking believe these past few days have happened. Okay, I wasn’t perfect. Who is?! I ate my feelings most days. Tough shit, so does everyone when they’re extremely distressed; hunger and cravings are a natural response. And besides, if it causes me that much distress in itself, then that's something I need to talk to my care team about.

But I fucking did it. I survived, and not only that but I actively sought out the proper help and took positive steps to keep myself safe and soothe myself. I didn’t punish myself. And I did almost all of it without thinking, without choosing to. Most of it came as naturally as reaching for the bottle and the blade used to be.

And sure, those ideas still felt pretty natural, and almost enticing at times. But I didn’t want to do them. And I actively fought those feelings and thoughts, and I fucking won. For today. ODAAT.

Holy. Fuck.

So this is what recovery looks like. All in. This is what ‘getting better’ looks like. It's not always pretty, or optimistic, or about doodling daisies in your journal and thinking about all the cool things you want to do in life. Sometimes it's fucking hard. It's choosing to keep pushing that boulder up the hill endlessly, rather than letting it bowl you over, even when your whole body wants you to give in to familiar ease and numbness. This shit is not easy. It's harder than giving in. But it's all the more worthwhile.

It was recently my mama’s birthday, so we bought this Black Forest cake (and several others, including a basque cheesecake) last night after my therapy session. We sat in the car and ate them all with wooden spoons!

It broke a log of food rules for me (eating cake, eating multiple desserts, eating in the car, not using real cutlery, having cake instead of a ‘real meal’ for dinner, the list goes on…) but it was really fun, and super tasty!

I’m trying to work through it. I'm not saying these thoughts are desirable at all. We are aiming for recovery here, not relapse. But I need to be honest about how loud and horrible the ED brain can be. It tells me I don’t really want to recover, that life was better when I didn’t have to think about eating. It tells me I can’t be trusted around food, because whenever I see chocolate lately I’m inhaling it.

Check it out; I post vlogs and sit-down discussion style videos about my recovery. Hope you enjoy!

Current post schedule is Wednesdays and sometimes Fridays.

That’s right! I’m a month into my ‘all-in’ recovery. To celebrate, here’s my top 8 smiles of the past month!

Here’s some yummy food I made today!!!!

Btw one of my fav YT recovery peopel is Hanne Arts

Hey! That all looks so good! I’d show you the cake I got from the Asian bakery today, but I’ve literally just finished scoffing it down with a cup of citrus tea before bed. Those cookies look DELISH! And what’s the drink? It looks very tropical and refreshing.

Oo thank you for the rec, I’ll check her out! I have a couple of her videos saved to my Watch Later but haven’t gotten around to it yet, but I’ll make sure to tomorrow.

One of the people who inspired me to recover (and start my own channel alongside this blog) is Finding Fi. She did a lot of vlogging through her early recovery and while it can be triggering to see her back then, it’s awesome to watch her recent videos alongside it and see/hear how far she’s come and it inspires me that I can recover to be happy/fulfilled too.

Feel free to add your own!

To not be freezing cold all the time.

To be allowed to go outside (for those of us who were hospitalised or put on bedrest).

To have normal bowel movements.

To get to eat every day for the rest of your life!

To be able to concentrate again. To be able to read and learn and study and understand things.

To not be so bloody miserable all the time.

To be able to go to sleep without being terrified you won't wake up.

To not have chest pains anymore.

To be able to walk around or up a flight of stairs without nearly keeling over.

So your organs won’t be eaten by your body anymore.

To be physically capable of doing chores and menial tasks.

To be able to carry things again.

To not have all those doctors' appointments anymore.

To not have all the physical ailments that come with starving yourself for an extended period of time.

So you can spend a whole day doing something without it exhausting you for days afterward.

So you don’t have to lie to people every day.

So you can partake in and enjoy the hobbies you used to love.

So you can explore and find new hobbies to enjoy.

To stop having pins and needles in every body part for no reason.

To have a sex drive (if that’s your thing).

So you’re not furry with lanugo.

To not be completely isolated and detached from everyone in your life.

To live an exciting and enjoyable life.

To feel human again.