Category Archives: Eating Disorder posts

I still get to choose

Quick catch up on my life.

 Some of you may know that I had a bit of a blip with my eating disorder in the New year. I stopped eating for a month and became ill and obviously dropped weight, which wrecked chaos in my mind. I started getting panic attacks every time I thought about eating.

Anorexia’s voice managed to find the speakers I had hidden and   turned up the volume. Hate the death metal  music genre. It was terrifying. Where did it come from ? I mean, I ended 2015 on a high. So much to look ahead too with my

volunteering

 the eating disorder support and recovery group

my wedding in 12 weeks!

Saving up to go to Orlando

My pyschatirist who has known me for 10 years and was on leave at the time I was in melt down mode. I saw a different psychiatrist to ask for a medication change. The medication has helped a lot.

What hasn’t shifted is the sadness and the spark I have lost and that doesn’t seem to want to come back from harming myself for that month.

Today I am going to see Doctor J. I’m nervous as hell. I do use a variety of coping  skills and medication is one of them. I’m scared he will change my medication. I don’t know why I have this perpetual fear of my medication being taken off me?

Especially ,the ones that help me with my anxiety and sleep.

One day I want to be rid of all these medications but I need them for a while longer.  I have managed to keep a stable weight -19 bmi. shwee im eye….

 I’m  beyond fatigued of of this illness!

I won’t it to get off my chaise longue and fuck off. Leave it’s wiry bits of fur so I can suck them up with my vacuum and empty the contents in the trash.

Usually, my fears are unfounded.

Writing is another coping skill of mine.

I write this not in the hope that someone will think it is an epic piece of writing. You can  think this if you wish. I won’t say no to that thought 😀

 When I write, exercise ,eat, get out, read and take my medications -the combination is what works for me.

So this is the purpose of my post to relieve the sadness and anxiety –

If you have read up to this point –

REMEMBER

It is okay to  have doubt and feel unbalanced. Having a blip doesn’t have to mean the end of the world.

I am back on track.

I do want point out as a ‘mental note’ to myself and  for whoever is reading this:

is to consider how long it is taking to shift my mood and for my confidence  to come back .  Acknowledging this  might help me from not falling from such a high height if/when the next time my illness comes to stare me down in a dusty old town  – hands ready to draw the gun faster than me.

There can only be one cowboy in this town.

 So, Mental illness, if I am going to have a cowboy in my life I am going to choose who that cowboy will be and I choose this dude

1167059452-woody-quotes-toy-story-6811

(IMAGE AND GIF  SOURCED FROM GOOGLE IMAGES)

The ‘if you need a new perspective’ post

So, I ended 2015 in a state of stupefied drunk despair. Regretting every action I committed on New years eve. Just over one month has passed. I’ve kept far away from the alcohol. I had my dip with my Anorexia. February life has started to pick up where I left it in December. 

Waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care! 

I’m gaining my self-confidence back. My diary is filling up – idle hands all that jazz. The wedding is coming together. I’m am delighted and a tad ‘on edge’ at the same time. 

Positive people are gravitating toward me again. To say I have to peel myself from the roof is an understatement. Lionel Richie and me are busting out some moves on the ceiling. Oh yeah, baby. Has anyone ever seen him being interviewed? He is such a dick head! There is no way someone like him could write such beautiful songs. Who remembers ‘Ballerina girl’ ? Google him in an interview and then you will get it.

 

 I am doing my -co-production awareness training workshop on the 16/02. All of these workshops brings me closer to getting the Eating disorder recovery group up and running. As a person in active recovery from an Eating disorder, to be able to realise this and watch it germinate and blossom like a flower 😀 and be a huge part of the process off it-is like -not being God- no, I am not Kanye Wet ( Yes, I will keep that last spelling error) delusional.  It’s more self-validating. What I mean by that is, it shows I am on a good path. A well-lit path. Like this dude. There is light in my hands I am responsible for keeping that light going and I am in charge of where I end up. Does that make sense? 

 I’ve recently posted some seriously depressing posts and I will continue to share my past with you; but their needs to be some writing room to rollick in the present. I need to  feel the quiver of fluttering,

the beating of butterfly wings, reminding myself I am indeed alive and have purpose. I think my posts need a bit of balance. I don’t know if I am the only person -I suspect I  am not. I sometimes finish writing posts that send me lunging backwards to my past and I am reaching out for the Diazepam- I can have full-blown panic attack.

The cure?    ( Great band. wrong context- or is it?)

Stop writing Daisy. 

No! I won’t!

I have a purpose.

I am a human being.

 I have a story to tell.

A past, a me right now and a bright and vibrant future.

Without me trying to get all Disney ‘Lion King’ on you  (cue African music that makes the heart swell); I believe our lives and experiences are full circles. Sometimes you are at the top and then inevitably you need to go round that circle. Of course, there will be many times when you are at the bottom. I always say

‘Look for the silver lining’.

 

That is my way of saying: I and you will come full circle again (eventually) . We all will get to the top of that circle of life again. The only thing I can’t tell predict is how long it will take to come full circle.

I have this belief, that if I use my time at the bottom of the circle, productively and push ahead and not do too much damage interfering with the flow. Then, I won’t slow down the time scale it takes to get back to the top again. I need to learn the lesson, feel the pain or whatever happens but I must move on. Easy words to type. Harder to put in action. However, it is possible. 

Possible is all  I  need to hold onto and go and do great things.. 

To get off the whole philosophy bandwagon. My man and his rumbustious friends 😉 are coming round to ours for ‘SUPER BOWL 2016’ night. It is a tradition in our home. I don’t want to watch a bunch of dudes watching another bunch  of dudes ‘tackling’ and touching up one another. I DO want to know who is doing half time this year. 

I don’t know if anyone saw Katy Perry and her foam mascot sharks last year?  

PURE COMEDY GOLD

So here is to a fresh new week. (Great shit is happening. Everything is coming together, not at the pace or even exactly how I plan it to go, but that’s cool with me. Stuff is getting done! 

My mantra, I have used for a few months now is working. Mantras work!  Mine is:

‘I am a success in everything I do’ –

I’m fulfilling my thoughts- the ‘mini-like prayers’ that I tell myself. Find one that resonates with you. It works! I am the most analytical person I know – I wouldn’t lie to you .

img_3012

Time to buzz off and get reading some of your awesome blogs and thoughts. Word reader is a bit crap. I don’t ever get to see all the posts that I follow. I don’t know if anyone else has the same problem but I will read as many as I can. 

blg-sz-family-reading-time-2-js-hslda-blog

Namaste, Soca, peace, light and love until next time.

Bored with Anorexia

I don’t know if I am the only person who thinks this: but I hate it when I want to type something and I can’t think of a single thing to type. I’v posted so much about my Anorexia, I am bored with it. It is not 100% bored with me.  I am back up to a normal weight. I finally have more energy to work out. It’s one of my greatest coping mechanisms. I need to do it every day but I don’t go on for hours at a time. I really want to help people who are struggling and give them tips on how I manage and how I carry on fighting.

  • I have a great psychiatrist and C.P.N.  – I didn’t think he was so great when he sectioned me but he understands my addictive nature and understands that me wanting to stop the benzos needs to come from me. I am an all or nothing girl. I went from 100 laxatives a day in 2009 to nothing the next day. I haven’t looked back.I stopped smoking cigs in Feb 2015 (admittedly I vape now-still better than all the crap in cigs) 

  • I have my husband to be who doesn’t smoke, drink or take drugs. He is always telling me how beautiful and sexy I am. He tells me he loves me several times a day. I found a true rare diamond.. I had  to sink very low in the ocean with male fish to find him. well we kind of found each other. He is my own blue diamond salvaged from the titanic. He has broken through the ice berg that is my façade and I am finally me again. A better version.

  • I don’t abuse my medication any more. No crazy overdoses. No drugs and at the moment I have given up drinking until my wedding in June.

  • I have a daughter. She is my world. I  want more children. I don’t want the cycle of self harm to continue.

  • I have more respect for others and most importantly for myself. 

  • I have responsibilities 

  • My blog is another of my coping mechanisms. It’s great to connect with others and to have people follow me. What a compliment and a confidence boost.

  • I’ve realised that being real and looking natural and not superficial is more beautiful than any model in a magazine. Celebs you can keep your job! I’ve got to that point where my facebook profile is of me when I just woke up. Birds nest hair, sleep still in my .eyes. I still see some beauty in that picture.  

These changes have slowly built me up to be the character I am today. I know in my recent posts I have been bigging myself up. But who else is going to pat me on the back? 

Exactly,

Faking it until I make it has helped me be more positive – I recommend mantras – they can be so powerful. 

I sound like I have a perfect life. I don’t. I’m poor money wise. I have a small council home and make the best of what I have. I have ruined my teeth due to my illness and drug-taking. I still have to weigh myself twice a day. I have a Dad and a sister and two nieces who live in Africa and I don’t have any kind of relationship with him. I can’t go back in time and show my granddad who I am today. I find it hard to cry. I have thoughts of am I putting on weight? and I panic.  I still have safe and unsafe foods. There are a lot of materialistic things I desire, clothes etc.. 

But, most importantly I have my family and friends and I can’t put a value on them. I know I am getting older and so are the people I love and care about. Death and illness seem closer and I don’t want to lose anyone. I have already lost my aunt to cancer in Feb 2015

I don’t know how to end this post but I wish I knew exactly what can change a persons mind set. I wish people didn’t have to suffer.

 

My insanity dilemna

So, here I am. Eating again. I know the scales are going to up. I’m scared. I don’t want to go up to 65 kilos again. I’m bartering with my Anorexic Dinosaur- old, gargantuan and frightening. I got my wish. I am on diazepam and the novelty of taking it has died already.

There is no magic pill. Yes, these little pills are meant to be ‘mothers little helpers’ but I have built up such a tolerance to pills that it seems like they don’t work.

I have a lengthy list of what I take:

  • Fluoxetine 60 mg

  • quetiapine  600 mg

  • Lamotrigine 300 mg

  • diazepam 20 mg

  • Lorazepam 2.5 mg

  • Nitrazepam 15 mg

Today I took my morning dose and for the first time in a long time I felt melancholy about how I rely on so much medication. I get so forgetful -I am terrified of getting dementia from all these pills. I’ve been on medication since I was 14 years old. I’m going to be 35 this year. I want to be FREE of these pills but I am addicted to them. There we are, I said it: I am a legal drug- taking  junkie. That’s what is boils down to. I’m not going to lie, I am down and out. I feel like a failure today. I can’t even leave the house. I’m letting my daughter and my partner down. It’s sunny in the U.K.! What a perfect opportunity to bask in the sunlight and be a family and go to the park. No, I’m way too morose and in my comfort zone.

What about the volunteering you ask ? The eating disorder recovery support  group I am setting up. Where has that passion gone? That drive and lust to live with purpose?

I don’t have a clue. But, I am going to get it back. I’m going to start enjoying exercise again. Eating what I want- feeling proud of my body. Be happy again. Happiness comes from inside- where are you hiding? WHERE?

I can’t spend my days sleeping away like I have been pricked by some poisonous needle. I need to wake up  from my nebulous slumber and face and accept that the  figures on the scale are not what makes up the whole sum  of me. How crazy is it that I get so upset over a weight increase of 1-2 kilo’s? I want to be free again. I love food. I do!  I want my life back. Reclaim it. It is mine. I will not be prisoner of my mind any longer. No, no ,no.

I want to feel attractive again. I want to be free to rise to the dizzy  heights of success.

NO MORE SELF-SABOTAGE. I feel like this post is not worthy of publishing but I must write first and foremost for myself.

End of postimages (2)

 

Self Sabotage

What is my definition of crazy ? self sabotage.

 

I am finally in the loop- getting ready to put all my experience into helping others and guess what? My brain decides it is a good time to cut back on food, obsess over 0.53 grams and some. My brain gets a buzz from seeing the numbers fall. My partner thinks I look sexy as hell. Doesn’t he see I have lost nearly 7 kilos in three weeks? How is that possible?

I know it is no real weight loss, I am well versed in this Nervosa.

I just don’t get it. 8 years since my last hospital admission. I have a child. I am getting married. I have a BA with honours in the Arts and the humanities. I like myself. I like my personality. I think I’m a good looking girl because of my flaws – the gap in my teeth makes me attractive.

My passion in the volunteer sector has raised my profile 100 % fold. I thought getting a first in ‘creative writing’ couldn’t top any other success. It topped the epic success with my Anorexic history.

Everything that I have done in the past four years has been a success. I’ve made it. I’m in the inner circle. I have been ordained and been given permission and guidance to help others wanting support in their recovery in their own Eating disorders. I have four months, if that, to get my shit together. Anorexia has decided to toy with me.

Here is my theory on what  I think: for most of my life I felt I was only really successful with Anorexia.  Now I finally have the key to freedom and success in ways I never dreamed possible and the bones of Anorexia’s success have resurrected from the grave and have started to rattle my skeleton to the core. I have stopped eating. Well, I’m severely restricted my eating. The misery of hunger is what drives me to type. When I am not hungry and not eating I am winning! What?

 Why am I self sabotaging myself? 

Someone told me once that some people are so afraid of success they run away from it.

No. I am not going to be the one that runs away any more. This weed- me – Daisy needs to get away from the pansies and to turn my face to the sun and bloom again. 

I just have to figure out how…

 

The true cost of Anorexia

” No I am not leaving until you give me what I came here for”

There are a variety of different contexts this statement can be used in. In this context, I was a 15 year old girl just under 9 stone if that; sitting in a doctors office surrounded by all his framed merits and accolades. Perfect family pictures

” I can’t give you what you ask for.Sorry but that is it”

I screamed abuse at the doctor. Tell him I am fat. Is he blind? put on your glasses old man. He has to help me. I need strong diet pills and diuretics.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for. “

This went on for a good hour. I put up a good dramatic performance, tears, savage cries, pleas,  threats to take my life.

Until he finally gave in. My Mum paid for him. We left -me with a sense of achievement and happy. I was finally going to be thin.

I would sit in my grandma’s room and look in her massive mirror, with my crappy eyesight and look at my body, pinch the fat I was convinced was on me.

Can’t a doctor get down for bad ethical practice?  Come on I was born in Africa. The right leverage and price buy you a lot.

My Mum was into her reiki and doing a bit of weed and finding herself. She got pissed off and gave in. Just like she always did.  I wore her down.

I’ve never been able to fully shake off my eating disorder. I’ve stopped the laxatives. The heating up 2 mushrooms and drinking loads of Pepsi max and other tricks I learnt to stave off in my anorexic journey. I don’t want to give any vulnerable people all the tricks. I don’t want anyone to copy these behaviours..

All the hospitals I have been in. Sectioned against my will.  The rage. The anger. The weight may come back on me, but this beast: it lives inside me. It is like a tumour or a cyst that won’t go away. to cut it out would cause it to spread and I would die.

Oh, I have wanted to die many times.

Until

I made a pact with life.

I was going to try it out properly.

Like an average person.

Whatever or whoever is average.

I love my daughter and partner and Mum and I have so many opportunities coming up and January is not even over yet. Yet, I confess I have to weigh myself every day. I can’t help but get giddy when the scales show me at a lower figure. In fact it is one of the biggest triggers in my illness. 

Lose a couple of kilos and then the chase is on. It’s time to beat these numbers and watch them disappear until I’m feeling bone everywhere. Jutted out hip bones, a hanger like a collar bone with my big head attached. Knee knocking until I am bruised. Loose clothes…

I hate it when I have gone too far….. I live every day with this illness- this maladie. This puss filled abysses.

I wish I didn’t care about my weight. I wish I could allow myself to eat pasta and chips and pizza and pie and cake and all the yummy foods there are to eat. Maybe when I hit 50 and realise I’ve  wasted so many years in my quest to look like a hung scrawny wire coat hanger.

I know sexiness and true beauty comes from within. The emaciated look is not attractive to me.

Addictive , yes.

Here’s a snapshot of how me- a recovering chronic anorexic mind works… I put on weight in June 2015 , whilst on detox I may add. I hated the fact the scales went up to 10 stone -65 kilos. I somehow managed to live with it. The exercise was my saving grace and being told I am beautiful and sexy by my partner many times a day. Plenty ‘Ilove yous’

After Christmas, I suddenly lost weight. I stood on my scales this morning and I am 59.

That is meant to be my goal weight. I need to fit into my wedding dress after all. Alas, that is not enough for my dismay. That snide critter plugs me in and sends dopamine chemicals of euphoria around my brain. Fires me up. If I can lose x amount of weight. I can push it down even lower…

This is the torment. Then the iron will and battle again hunger starts. The reduction on food starts.

This is a deadly game.

I don’t want to be a part of it. I scream. Eating disorders run in families -well at least they do in mine. I have a 4-year-old perfectly proportioned child, I don’t want to pass on this to her.

I have to keep on fighting and fight I shall. I wanted anorexia so much when I was younger. I’m 35 now. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to go to the hospital again. I want to be happy with what I have.

The hardest bit is I have a couple of close friends who are seriously overweight but I love them so much. I see past their weight

Why can’t I do the same with me?

 

 

 

How Recovery feels for an Anorexic

Possibly one of the hardest posts to write down- ever. The one that I don’t want to put down into words for a fear of failure and nor giving my fight the justice I feel it deserves..  I need some form of a  creative out let, so I am going to go all Dear diary, I think I’m going to re-invigorate our old diary by giving it a name.

Dear Sid,

From the years 2012 to just before summer this year in 2015. I thought I had recovered from Chronic Anorexia. How fucking arrogant is that?  I started eating more types of food and letting myself indulge a small bit. I got into exercising to be healthy. It was great I lived with a set weight that varied by 1-2 kilograms

Roll on to the present day…

Seemingly from out of nowhere, those Anorexic thoughts have managed to take on Greek tragedy chorus effect. Telling me things I don’t particularly want to hear. It tells me that I have put an extra two kilos on and that is way over the limit. My mind can’t process this thought. The weight needs to go down. Some days I can shake off those critter thoughts in my head. This is great progress from a few years ago. If I had put on a couple of kilos back when I was entrenched in my illness, I would hide away from the world, purge and restrict all food and fluid intake until my weight was in back in my safety zone. It feels like being stuck in a painting with no room to move and evolve.

I have been challenging my thoughts for the past few months now and for the most part, they have been silenced.but then they release a double whopper and it literally throws me into irrational thinking and behaviour.  It grabs my animated emotions by the scruff of the neck and bullies me with my own negative emotions. Then I think I have ‘fooled’ myself into a body that I don’t know how to dress for. I wear proper bras these days, that makes me feel self-conscious and womanly. I am now forced to confront my true identity. This is a huge mountain of ‘oh fucks’ in itself.

These past few weeks I have wanted to scream and ask people to tell me if they think I am thin or average or chubby in places. I  have been thinking a lot about my food intake. I feel myself falling down that spiral staircase into unhelpful thoughts and behaviour. I get angry when I say yes to food and ‘give in’, I weigh myself a lot, I am possessed with capturing my weight gain in images again.

Let me get something straight: I don’t want these thoughts. I don’t. I was so happy and then seemingly out of the blue, the thoughts have been coming at me like arrows. One after the other. It seems like pot luck if I manage to escape from one or another. Eventually, I  know I was going to get hit- in my case, repeatedly.

I have moved ahead in my life!

I said that to that Anorexic part of me. It still haunts me. I could dress in anything. I didn’t have to worry about size-all clothes would fit me and look ‘great’ on me. I was non-conforming to society. I was in the elite who had the willpower to restrain myself. I didn’t need pro- Anorexic websites. The power was all in my head. It reminds me how intoxicating and almost euphoric that feeling too surpass the hunger is. Then the adrenalin kicks and I  get a kick out of that too. The figures go down on the scale and that drives me on even more. Then the food cuts down. Drinking water turns to drink coffee or Pepsi max. Chewing large quantities of chewing gum.

I communicate less and less with my world until I am genuinely scared to go out. People begin to terrify me.  They might talk me back into recovery to stop me from relapsing. I can only see a merging of people. A black unfocused mass. The mass becomes a force conspiring against me. The panic attacks start. The hissy fits and pouts begin. Excessive exercise takes over more of my time and I push myself to go until, I literally pass out

RECOVERY from eating-disordered goes in cycles and not in a linear way. It is very easy to relapse.

I don’t want to relapse. I want to enjoy time with my family. Eat what I damn well like and without shame and guilt. I want the anxiety and depression to go. I want to embrace my womanly curves. I want the next 30 odd years of my life to not be held at knifepoint by  a merciless pirate whose only aim is in collecting things. I am not a thing! I a person.

I suppose this is where I start talking to people, using my WRAP and getting my plan out to challenge my thoughts. Even thinking about going to war over fighting my thoughts has brought on feelings of betrayal. Something- a whole identity- a person-almost- has been in my life for nearly 25 years. A whole quarter of a century.

Not an easy post.. but it is out of my head and on paper. The one thing I have to remind myself is it doesn’t matter if other people read this or not. It is the fact that I am articulating my pain and my issues in a way that releases some of the pressure..

So Sid.. thanks for being a good diary. You are doing a great job. Keep it up!

 

 

 

My Big Fat Monster.

Write about what scares you the most. What is the big monster inside you that stops you from writing?

In order to answer this question, I need to explain how I feel. How do I feel? I feel that nauseating twisting cord in the pit of my stomach, that bit that hits the lungs and makes it hard for me to catch my breath. It is pure fear. I’m waiting for fear. I’m crying with rage thinking that I am going to fail. Going to fail? WHY  the hell have I put those words down? I’m fulfilling my own destiny if I continue to write, to think this way. So pessimistic.  I’m so sad. Who wants to know about sadness? there is too much of it already in our lives. I try my hardest to carry on and swallow down the lump of sadness and anxiety that keeps rising up trying to force me into regurgitation mode. I try and smile and distract myself by the cows and the horses and the sheep passing by. I make the animal sounds with my daughter. I never want her to know such sadness.

My big monster is a haunting sense of failure. As I type the cord pulls tighter. It is my very own Gordian knot but it pulls at me with such a force that I forget that I’m typing and it reminds me that I’m freestyling it. Winging it. Just getting it out. Letting it all hang out. Let’s face it, I’m not going to become a better writer if I don’t write.  A pause here. My partner doesn’t know how to help me. I glance at my daughter. She brushes her teeth and gives me a smile of pride. She turns around and I suddenly notice her honeyed hair has grown and she finally looks like the little lady she is. She is an only child. She has lot’s of imaginary friends and is always talking to her friends and singing. How can I be so sad and have this terrible sense of inauspicious dread pervading my insides? I should be happy! I’m getting married in 8 months. I am loved and I love.

Yet, Here  I sit -twiddling my fingers – hesitant. expecting to be caught out.  I’m waiting for the tokoloshe or some other monster to come and turn me inside out and roll me out and shake me around like a big old cotton sheet. Hang me up and then beat the starch of uselessness out of me- for all  to see. I know it is there-somewhere – camouflaged chameleon-like  – waiting to expose it’s true face. I just don’t know when it will strike.

It will be quick like a scorpion attack – one quick whip and all my innards will be turned inside out.  Something has happened to my breathing.

The knot has gone away! Where the hell did it go? Did I imagine it? No, it is gone. I’ve typed myself out of a brooding sense of failure.

At least I hope this is what I have done. Has typing down just anything and everything cured my manic inflictions? The one thing I fear – is I can’t write and yet, when I write I feel more contained, a wholly vessel, worthy and strong enough for arduous  travels across the waves of  an ocean of enigmas.

Okay, so this post is no masterpiece but I know what cures me. The sadness has lifted somewhat. I can now pin down the real reason I feel sad today.  Before I continue, my partner has just come to tell me he loves me and to take a break from typing. I told him

“Oh I’m just typing some rubbish!”

Why the hell do I put myself down so much?  I’m currently holding the title of Atlas… I don’t want his burden, thanks. How do other people cope and stop that feeling of failure? Don’t answer that… or do if you wish to. In fact please do…

Sadness comes from an afternoon visit with my Gran with Dementia and Alzheimers. Why does this illness have to exist? Why does my Gran have to live like she does? How can there be a God when there is so much suffering behind those eyes-  her confusion staring back at me? Staring me down. A mischievous imp -goading me too carry on smiling with my eyes. It knows I’m faking it.   She stroked my face -touched it like a  blind person -feeling every bump, every contour. I’m sad because I can’t control time. I can’t control what is happening to her. We are all getting older and time is running out and I need to make a bigger contribution to my life and to the people around me before my time is up. I close my eyes and think : When was the last time I really laughed?

Oh yeah, two nights ago. I Skyped my mom and I said something and my uncles overheard what I said and started taking the piss about how direct I am. Family…. not going there but I need my family.

‘THAT’ ITEM OF CLOTHING

I’ve been thinking about this subject for two days. I t won’t shake off so I am going to have to do a post. Right, how do I give my feelings and thoughts on this topic any  justice? Well, since I can remember I have always had that one piece of clothing to measure myself against to see if I am still thin or need to lose more weight. It started as young as the age of 5 years old. I have always been conscious of my body and my inability to live happily inside it. The time that it tipped into the ‘warning! warning! flashing, red- lights danger zone, started with a ridiculous size of denim shorts that had the size 1 on the label.

NEVER LOSE SIGHT OF HOPE
NEVER LOSE SIGHT OF HOPE

I don’t know if this size was a U.K. / USA/ Mexican size or even a made up size. I had to fit into these shorts or else I thought my life would cease to mean anything. My life was only worthy of challenging myself and pushing myself to  weigh less and less than I did at whatever moment. Over the years I’ve kept those jeans. Over 15 years. The travelled with me from South Africa to France to the US.A and then the U.K. As time went by and  I became more accepting at living at a higher body weight; I found another item of clothing to size up my idea of  what I deemed an-acceptable body. It is a play suit. If I try it on and it feels  tight in the middle it freaks me out. How crazy is it when you consider that most women’s stomachs bloat throughout out the day and from week to week.

It doesn’t even matter what the scales say in these moments of despair and failure. The play suit has to be loose. I’ve been able to get rid of my teeny tiny shorts recently as this year ( A round of applause for me). However, I am not willing to give up the play suit. What I loathe most about this ridiculous and self esteem crunching obsession of mine, is I have a whole closet full  of clothes that I could wear but if I’m having a ‘tight around the middle play suit’ day,I refuse to wear anything else but the play suit! Yes, it is true that these outfits can be used as  a metaphor as to  how I measure my self  worth. I’m am working on being less obsessional, if only so I can I can wear different outfits and make more use out of the clothes I already have. It’s a good job fashion’ a la mode- does the full different era circuit, frequently. The moth balls get more of a show case than other people.

THIS IS ME CAMPAIGNING ABOUT EQUALITY AND DIVERSITY
THIS IS ME CAMPAIGNING ABOUT EQUALITY AND DIVERSITY

These words don’t do justice.

It is 4 a.m. and I want to write something so profound and worthy of the POST BUTTON. Of course, on some level  I know that I am worth more than an item of clothing. These days I do think more of myself in other contexts. I wish (oh here goes the whole regret bit) that it didn’t matter so much.  This obsession has at times stopped me moving on with my life and going out and has made me cry and made me want to harm myself.  It’s been the worst, poisonous partner I’ve had. It won’t stop haunting me.  It has stopped me from trying to date guys. Isn’t it so bizarre how I can hand over  so much power over an item of clothing?

My existence does mean more. I am a mother, a wife to be, a granddaughter, a daughter, a niece, a cousin, a friend, a cat owner, a  woman, a human being. The mind is a cunning bastard at times. It taps into to those feelings of fat and thin. Lingering doubt and insecurity. It’s skeletal frame dance chillingly around me – around and around. Dizzy thoughts of you are not good enough’ ‘you can’t go out in that’ ‘you have failed to be a human’ ‘people will think you are fat’ ‘how dare you think of wearing anything else but the freaking play suit’.

It toys with me. Plays with me. At least I have made the piece of clothing relevant to what it does to me.  It makes me introverted and unable to speak to others. I have that cartoon like storm cloud thundering over my head. Ruminating.  All the time. The silver lining in all this is that these days I challenge my belief system and I make riskier choices with my clothes, I get out the house even though I want to hide away. I will continue to wear my lustrous battle of armour. What I won’t  be doing is weighing  myself when I have it on.. 🙂