Aweighting Recovery

Expectations. Whether it is what we want to do with our lives or what others would wish upon us, the need to fulfil our deepest desires leads to an inevitable requirement to succeed. Taking the shortest path is usually the easiest option in the trouble-free seeking way of life our society has adopted. Though it may be the quickest way to reach the top it is very often by far the least painless way. We must unknowingly sacrifice a lot along the way and the making of rash decisions leaves us more often than not in regret, as we have not contemplated the outcomes or impact of taking such a leap. Rushing to reach the top would be accomplishing our dreams as quick as possible but when you take stock and look around, you realise that in taking the easy route you have lost a lot more than you have gained. I try not to be pessimistic but the typical warning of the higher you climb the further you have to fall does hold some logic, however I believe you will only fall by climbing hastily causing you to lose your footing and to stumble to your defeat. In taking it steady and earning your way to the top, only then do you feel worthy of that prime position. The comfort of knowing it is deserved leads to a determination to stay at the top surrounded by those who supported you along the- perhaps longer and more turbulent but more successful- way. When suffering from Anorexia Nervosa, pushing yourself towards the goal of recovery when you are not fully ready, leads to a foreseeable relapse.

The constant opposing thoughts which are like forceful repelling magnets in your mind make the step to attempting recovery very tough. After the first meeting with the consultant who officially diagnosed my Anorexia, he revealed the harsh truth that my rate of weight loss had surmounted to a terrifying 1Kg per week; fatal when at a BMI (body mass index) of 14.8. My primary ‘increase your calories as quick as possible’ approach to recovery was due to not being endorsed in my Kavos holiday with my friends ‘unless there was evidence of her starting to gain weight’. I increased my calorie intake from the dangerously low amount to an acceptable 1800 within a matter of a couple of weeks after the meeting. My dad, who had been away to America for a week when I first augmented my regime, was ecstatic to come back to me eating at a regular pace and an acceptable portion of food (only acceptable compared to what I had been previously consuming).  Some would say that this overnight change was miraculous but it was just an exterior, a ‘healthier’ front I was putting on in order to go on my holiday. In actual fact, had people been able to read my mind, they would have seen the turmoil I was in. Despite fervently declaring that I wanted to get better and knowing that I WANTED to put on weight, I was very aware that I was not ready for the actual process required for weight regain; this being a diet of the recommended 2500 calories a day. This contradicting factor led me to question my motivation to get better. The idea of eating so many calories repulsed me, whereas any rational person would revel in the ability to indulge in ‘forbidden’ foods. I had made a snap decision clouded by my stubborn determination to not be incarcerated at home during the summer; this decision was detrimental due to its hastiness. In the confines of the meeting rooms with my dietician I would agree to reintroduce a particular food to my strict diet, when in my heart of hearts I knew this was a complete lie. Lying was easy when the meetings were one to one and so my parents had no idea about the meal plan set for me by my dietician. This made it subsequently simple for me to pretend to my dietician that I had been following through with the plan at home, hiding the hand-written plans at the back of my food diary never to be frequented. My need for independence made consenting to adhere to a meal plan easier said than done.  
     

I have mentioned my relapse in September a number of times, however I have never fully described every emotion and reason behind it, nor have I recounted my appalling behaviour during that bleak period.  Having kept a diary during that time enables me to reveal my exact sentiments, so that people can really delve into my mind. My rapid spiral into depression compelled me to once again seek solace in my Anorexia. I had just received what others saw as outstanding A-Level results, yet this caused chaos in my mind at having to make a life changing decision. I could have either accepted my assured place at Birmingham University to do Medical Sciences, or taken a risk and leap into an uncertain future by taking a gap year and pursuing my dream to become a Dentist. I did not want to have to deny myself of any of these paths due to my Anorexia and so I did not base my final decision to take the latter on this factor (In hindsight I realise that I would have killed myself trying to cope at university this year the way I was at the time). I had dreamed about university for the past year, feeling much too old at 18 to be treated like a child at school and being made to wear the school uniform. Therefore my decision to take a gap year was made with an intense reluctance and I was unable to consider others’ assurance that I would have the time of my life. Some would relish the opportunity to be free and have the chance to travel the world and discover different cultures, however I neither had the health nor the motivation to explore. In the place I am now mentally, I honestly would love to explore the world, but the depression left me cold and unenthusiastic to even think of enjoying life. I could see no future. My mum at the time was still struggling to understand and come to terms with my Anorexia, as in many ways I can now see she blamed herself. This misunderstanding between us led to a rupture in our mother-daughter relationship I had always taken for granted, made harder when my dad went away on business trips for a week, as he was the only one who could rationalise the situation. On one such occasion my ‘mum decided that next week when my dad’s away that she didn’t want to eat her meals with me and that she’s going to completely detach herself. It hurts knowing I won’t have her support.’ My friends had all left me for university and I was not getting on with my sister due to my extreme jealousy at her free-will. In fact it sickens to report but I couldn’t ‘stand the sight of my sister we just don’t get on. I can’t be civil she repulses me. Everything about her’. I was miserable and so I completely isolated myself.

I would stay at home in despair counting my calorie intake repeatedly throughout the day in case I was tricked by the calculator whilst manically fixating on my next meal. Planning and controlling what I was going to eat and especially what my family was eating became an obsession My constant preoccupation with what I would have for my evening meal left me anxious and having ‘so many ready meals in the freezer and having that much to choose from drives me crazy.’ In an attempt to counteract the anxiety it caused, I recently started to plan out what I will have for each meal throughout the week after doing the weekly food shop; it has worked.  My biggest torment became the irrational fear of a full fridge, due to a feeling of being pressurised to have to eat everything in it by the end of the week. I would regularly check what was left in the fridge throughout the day and seeing the fridge drain itself throughout the week filled me with absurd delight; it is a habit I have not quite gotten out of. Having been left in control food-wise over the summer, September and October, I had slowly diminished the snacks and extra calories I had managed to introduce into my diet upon my first trial of recovery. Though I had been allowed this independence, my parents were regularly behind my back, always inquiring on my snacks and meals. I had to become cunning in the art of deception. I stopped having my morning juice and would pour it down the sink from the carton to give a semblance that I had still been drinking it regularly. I would also take out the little bowl I would use for my mid-morning snack of nuts and put it in the sink for washing, as if I had eaten them. When I started work it became the perfect excuse to cut calories, I would jump at any opportunity to work over-time in order to not have to have snacks or a big meal due to my restricted breaks. Sometimes I would go to town with my mum straight after work purely so that I could completely skip lunch by pretending I had brought a wrap with me from home and eaten it whilst at work. I would search every opportunity to save calories no matter how insignificant the amount. Avoiding licking the lid off my yogurts as well as always leaving a crumb of food on my plate appeased my mind that I had not entirely cleared my plate. It felt like I had a huge weight on my shoulders from the amount of lies I was recounting to everyone, as lying has never been a natural tendency between me and my parents. The numerous secrets left me incredibly tense and uptight, as my Anorexia was on constant vigilance in paranoia of being found out. I never lied to myself about my relapse ‘it’s true I’m getting bad again and I’m not lying to myself about it, just keeping from them (parents) the extent to which it’s got worse…’However, in hiding the truth from my parents, I was actually also lying to myself, as the pacifying nature of the Anorexia was too comforting to give up. As my physical strength ebbed, the energy was being lapped up mentally by the Anorexia; it grew strong.

My depression created malicious thoughts whereby I was convinced that I had ‘no one. Not even my sister. I’ve alienated everyone and I guess I deserve it. No one should know me when I’m like this. I’m a horrible control freak.’ Though what I had needed most at the time was company, reassurance and support, I had managed to push many of those who cared for me away. I believed I was a burden and if I were to truly mention how down I felt to anyone, they wouldn’t understand and feel like my persistent pessimism was bringing them down. My parents, who bore the brunt of my depression, were encumbered by my utter hopelessness which worried them, yet I saw their concern as confrontation. I still find it hard to see my old friends, as I feel they have expectations of what I should be like having been so close to the person I used to be. I have been through an awful lot and experienced the horrors of depression and Anorexia and therefore I feel I can never be the same care-free person I used to be for them. I have become a harsher version of myself and therefore I could not tolerate the disappointment they would hold for me when I can’t be that person. I would feel like a fraud should I try. I find it easier to get along with newer friends that I only acquired since my illness; they do not have any preconceptions of who I should be or how I should act because they never knew the Solene before. Yet, the longer I go abstaining from seeing my older friends, the harder it gets to see them. However, once the barrier is broken and I have got over the initial dread of socialising with them again, I realise why they are dear to me and that I really do want and need them by my side at this tough time.

Reliant on your feelings and emotions of the moment, Anorexia is a day to day battle concerning whether you are strong enough to vanquish the barrier restraining you from pushing yourself to try something new. When you are starving yourself you progressively become susceptible to being irritable with everything and everyone, as the hunger from food deprivation leaves you exhausted. You can go from a good day where it seems the sky is the limit and any trial attempted can be accomplished, to a dark day where there is a physical incapability to even carry out eating, within a matter of seconds. Some days the fight will be easier and seem more possible than others and all I can ask for is encouragement on such occasions without being EXPECTED to challenge myself because I might feel more secure. My parents will often coax me into trying something with a ‘couldn’t you try…?’ or ‘have you thought of…?’. My answer will always be ‘no’ and… ‘no’. Having repeated it numerous times, I can only emphasise that recovery can only and will only come from the sufferer and when they are ready. The need for control is far too powerful to allow you to be persuaded by others, igniting an irrational defensiveness within you in any attempt to thwart away any advice. I must constantly remind my parents to stop trying to give me guidance, as it will only result in me refusing to go along with whatever suggestion they have made no matter whether they say it is ‘their job’ to help me. Every decision will come from me. Every decision will be made by me. It is stubborn, I know.

I’m scared of trying to challenge myself publically, as I cannot have the notion that people are anticipating that following the accomplishment to conquer a fear once, that I can recreate this same feat on a regular basis. I cannot have a feeling of being required to immediately regain normality in that aspect of my life. You would expect that after the first defeat you would build up a comfort to tolerate that food again, as if the brick wall preventing you has finally crumbled. Yet, every attempted triumph results in an immeasurable amount of guilt- Every. Single. Time. What you do not count on is that though you may have blown down a house of straw, there is still the house of twigs and bricks left. You start by conquering the small and easy tasks but the final hurdle to a breakthrough in recovery is the toughest, as the next challenge will always be far harder and take more effort than the previous. Things often become worse before they get better and therefore I can use this as a motivation that I have gone through the rough patches of recovery and I am now on the up. In recounting the dark times I can appreciate how far I have come now. I am pushing myself towards a better future, one that I can actually see now as well as look forward to. I feel I am returning. If I follow a positive mantra and believe in myself, only then will I be able to achieve my aspiration to be free again…