Why did I eat That? 😀🤔

Why did I eat that ? 

Any cat will know I’m gonna scream bloody hell I’m so fat.

If only I meant it like I’m cool dealing with  a belly

extended like a starved, fledgling Biafran

Doesn’t mean I’m happy when the scales groan  

-too much mass. 

 

Why did I eat that? 

inhaled beans, and camembert cheese , tuna and pees

Hard core, non divergent, box ticking  Anorexic.

 I can’t throw up. I can’t use laxatives.

I sit with my new found rolls.

Puppy dog

not cute .

Eating disorder   you smutty little tease.

Why did I eat that?

Mushrooms to grow?

 Or shrink my stomach to  give off a sexy new  glow ?

Only so much fungi  I  can  mitigate when I’ve had an oral mastication blow.

This is not a pleasurable job.

Hands cover my eyes. No mirrors must  ever let me know.

 

Why did  I eat that ?

A memoir to torment my self – 30 tablets a day – neck it down

Sit on the psychiatrist  couch.

How about we  lose the meds, you give me the cure

I can show off a palatable pageant, non dentistry crown.

Why did I eat that?

I need energy, Cant go places without any juice

This ole devil gives me every sodamastic excuse.

The answer?

I’m feeling not quite right in the head.

I’m determined to  live out the next 30 years living free of   Bio-Pyscho-Social, self punishment  misuse.

 

 

 

 

Mr Willows takes over the willows

With my husband’s permission. I will let his words dominate this post. Not easy being Mr willows – just kidding. Slightly…..

No one said that life is easy, no one said that marriage or relationships are easy or perfect. 

It’s been hard for me to write about my feelings  on my blog lately,because of all the shenanigans going on in my life. It never stops, does it? 

There is a lot I want to say  before I pass over my blog to my other half. I talk and type  way to much for my liking.

We are all struggling and we are all working on our dreams. It’s easy to give up and I don’t know many people

-anyone -who has ever done this to show how much he respects and wants to know me and understand me .

I’m waffling. 

I will not hide that we have problems and we both fuck up.  I’m not proud of some of my actions or my behaviour. 

I do know that the man who is so different from me brings out the best in me and the worst. Mostly ther best. 

Usually, the men I’ve chosen  have brought out the worst in me. ( they got issues just like me.)

For the first time I can say I chose a good man and some guys have been proper knobheads to me.

I’m not making excuses for those men.

“You are wankers, no more making excuses for you. I hope you get what you deserve. I don’t know what you deserve. Karma is not something I have power over, or even wish to have. ” Daisy aka Natasha Bodley

 

I have a man who has shown me what is feels like to be loved,respected, cherished and who wants our happiness. 

Here is a man, who I get to call my husband.

I’m uber emotional. 

I didn’t know he was doing this. Our marriage has been crumbling  from the start tbh… (laughing, nervous laughter) 

I’m at a loss for words.

So this Mr Willows

 

Introduction

This is a rather difficult situation to talk about; my wife and I are at odds with each other, she suffers from a horrible illness call Anorexia, it is a controlling and manipulative entity. Anorexia has taken a lot from my wife and maybe even our marriage. Through researching this illness I have realised I will never know truly what my wife has to go through on a daily even hourly basis, So to truly understand what she suffers through I have decided to walk a mile in her shoes. I know that Anorexia is more than just restricting foods and liquids, but I aim to try to discover more. The last time I had anything to eat was two days ago (12th May 2017) and I will try to document both my physical and mental states through this journey of discovery. This may not be enough to save my marriage, but at least I will have a greater understanding.

15th May 2017

Weight: 89.7KG

10:15: It has been a struggle this morning, it is very hard not to eat when things are very automatic, the struggle with suppressing hunger takes a lot of energy and mental fortitude. My physical state is that my hands are shaking, and used caffeine as an appetite suppressant. This is my second day doing this and will try and document often when things change.

10:30: I have been aware that this illness is also about body fixation, I have been aware for some months that my inner legs chaff when I am warm; I am going to use this as a point of fixation because it genuinely makes me unhappy and uncomfortable.

11:00: Housework is both a blessing and a curse. The blessings are it takes up time so you get to switch off the brain for a while and you are doing something so it takes up part of your day. On the flip side I know it is taking up valuable energy and that is going to leave me very weak in the days to come. I know it is going to be hard to hide my non eating but Anorexia is a selfish and manipulative illness. The coffee I had over an hour ago has hit me like a truck, I feel jittery and my heart is racing. I will be doing a small shop for some bits, this is going to be very different because I am no longer free to just pick up an impulse buy, I feel a little anxious about going to be far but I feel I can handle it.

20:07: The household shopping was hard when it came to doing the food part, my stomach ached so bad. I managed to force myself through it. I guess this is something my wife has to often, it takes so much energy to get through all you want to do is hide away and sleep off the hunger. It fails in comparison to having to cook for my daughter, it was hard not to pick at the food or fall in to what I have always done (cook a little extra for myself. I just want to see this through because I need to understand what my wife goes through on a daily basis. The fuzziness in my head feels very strange; I will stop if I see it going too far.

22:28: I understand why she chooses to binge on bread and cheese, right now, it is looking very tempting just to grab some bread and cheese and just go mad. I hope that I get better night’s sleep tonight   

16th May

11:34: I feel very shaky today almost hyperactive. Finding it very difficult to focus on one task when you have so much running through your head. I can see why this feeling is attractive because you get a big buzz when you complete a task, even if it is something you do regularly. I can see in my face that bags have become to form under my eyes and have a yellow tinge, I look a bit more washed out and drawn. I dare not weigh myself because of both fear of seeing the numbers change. I can’t believe how hard it is to battle with something so simple as standing on something, what I can understand even more now than ever what those numbers represent. I promise myself that this cant continue to long.

17th May

9:30: Yesterday afternoon I had a large hyperactive spurt, I was walking round the house very giddy and wanting to spin people around, this lasted for about a half hour, during this I was running up lists of all the things I can do with the business, being a success at finding work, been a good partner and farther.

So to conclude what I have discovered doing this is this, Anorexia has a lot to do with control and hating parts of yourself both physically and mentally. It takes a lot of energy to get through the day and do simple things. Managing moods has been very difficult, riding high can be very addictive and the slumps take so much away from you. The stress on the body is frightening and I have lead a very active life. Sleeping is valuable if your body and mind can rest, this is because I have found when you are asleep you are not thinking, it breaks up the day and it conserves energy, plus I suspect that when someone is in full anorexic mode they don’t have to worry about eating. To think about food is a pain, caffeine helps supress appetite, gives your mind and body something to do and the caffeine and sugar gives you something to get through the day. Being around food can kick off a lot of anxiety because all you want to do is eat, and you feel disgusted and ashamed of these feelings. It feels like you are in a constant battle with parts of mind and body. I am unhappy with the way my legs chafe when I get warm, when you become uncomfortable with how you feel, you become very fixated on that area, you notice every time you move, get dressed and when you look at yourself. Weight gain and weight loss play a key feature because upon weighing myself for the last time I had lost 0.02kgs, with how much effort it has taken, I can see this been very devastating to sufferers because the results do not match the effort that is put in, this will lead to a big drop in confidence and mood. In a final note, I have a newfound respect for people who suffer from this illness because it is a minute by minute, second by second battle with what can only be described as fighting an intruder in your own mind. I know I will never know the true extent of the illness but I have a better understanding of how I can better support, listen and what actions I can take.   

MASSIVE RESPECT FOR YOU, WE DO HAVE A STRONG CONNECTION ,AND SOMETIMES WE NEED TO REMIND EACH OTHER.

 

okay……..

I’m off.

Dealing with life 😀

wasted

I’ve been sitting on this bomb for a few days  now.

It’s my God daughter that got me thinking about doing this post. She thinks she looks fat in her bridesmaid dress.

She doesn’t!

She is 14 years old and in the throws of puberty.

CHASING BEAUTY IS LIKE :

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Her Hormones are sizzling and she is going through a stage I tried to burn out of my vessel that is my body, when I was a couple of years younger than she is.

What can I say to her when I still struggle with my on Body self image?

Without become too preachers wife -style?

So I’m  gonna preach :

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Ladies and Men, Do you want to really waste most all  of your life chasing a idea of what you think  is the perfect weight and way  to look ?

Do you know that some dreams can turn into nightmares?

Some dreams are best left in the sub conscious- don’t fuck with your health.

Once your health is gone -it is a struggle to get it back.

This concept of ‘Beauty’  is something that not even the richest and most ‘beautiful’ people can attain.

If you don’t know and I know you do or have forgotten:

It is all a mirage.

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What The  Media proposes as an  ideal way to look, be and act is deeply ingrained in my own sub conscious.

I don’t want to go on and on.

These days, I genuinely find beauty in every person, I see on the streets, in my life and on social media.

Some people have got the stereotypical features of what is the “ideal ” look and are popular.

Others have it too and are not.

The thing that sets these two apart is their character.

If you are chasing for outer acceptance.  These things are likely to happen:

  • You will keep setting the bar higher for how you should look and act.

  • You may become adored for how you look. Usually these fans will be people that are so flawed and full of insecurities. 

  • You will have to constantly  wake up  in armour. It’s a bloody and vicious affair to try and live a life based solely on what you have to offer physically to your world.

  • One day you will lose it..

    Time goes by quickly -use it wisely

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Make everyday day count and make every day be your SHOW TIME- your time to shine. 

I wish I spent more time developing my character and personality when I was growing up.

Today, I have a sexy character and people love my aura.

My personality shines through.

I think any beauty a person  see’s in me  comes from that inner confidence in who I am.

I love to laugh and banter and I have so much to say  about everything and anything.

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The people who are hung up on my looks are usually the most insecure and un happy people – stay away from Toxic people. Let them work out their own shit.  They will be the first people to let you down in life.

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I want my god daughter and any person I stare at or is my friend  to know that when I see a picture of her/him or see her/him in the flesh. I think:

wow! you have got your shit together. You already have a strong character at such a young  and that is why you are beautiful. Not all the beautiful inside crap but you are indeed beautiful.

We should focus on showing ourselves to the world not trying to hide who and what we are.

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Worrying about what others thought of me cost  me:

  • friends

  • family

  • my career

  • life experiences.

  • My  looks

  • My Health

 If you have no spirit, you age quicker and you will struggle with each passing year to hold on to the light that makes you beautiful.

Don’t lose sight of what real beauty is.

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Most of my life,I didn’t get to enjoy a good laugh or be with people and have fun because I was too busy worrying about  what others thought.

These days, I work hard on not letting that be a main issue in my life but once that seed of thought  has taken hold – it needs more than some puny exorcism to drive it out.

I don’t know  if it will ever stop haunting me for  good.

I think it is inspirational to see people I knew /know come into themselves.

What sucks is I  mostly see  people only come to accept themselves with age.

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This is where change needs to happen.

Have your own style.

Be your own person.

Why the hell do we want to look like clones?

These crazy caterpillar eyebrows. pout trouts. We pay to  freeze emotion from our faces.

To feel and to be able to express it and show it is sexy and beautiful.

I could go on and on all day and preach.

I don’t want this girl or anyone: not my daughter- anybody  to waste their lives.

She is so popular, beautiful, good hearted .

Has a great style.

A head screwed on her shoulders.

She  wants to waste that because friend A or C seems to get more attention for looking like the rest of the world.

giphy (12)

 

THAT SHIT IS FUCKED UP!

 

We need more people like her, my niece and a couple of my younger  cousins.

Three I can think of are genuinely shit hot, beautiful and fit – they have interests and personality and drive and they are fucking hot because of it.

My fiance was drawn to me for my looks when I was confident in my skin. We argue when I am negative about myself because it is a turn off – it is the opposite reason he fell in love with me in the first place.

So much more can be said. We have read all this before.

Life goes by far too quickly .

One minute you are  raving it up and in your teens.

Then you are in your twenties and then like me you get to your thirties and if you haven’t got your shit together by then;

it is going to be harder to know yourself.

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Know yourself.

Take time to figure out what you find makes  you feel beautiful.

Make up and clothes are just one part of so much of what life is all about.

I love to look good  and dress up.

I do know that on the days I really look good are the days I accept myself and let my true self come out.

That is why people like me or are drawn to me.

Not because I am some negative body of self doubt.

On my self doubt days; I am lucky to get any heads turn my way -all genders included here.

On my ‘I am me and I know   what my worth is  ‘ days, I could be wearing a bin bag,I  still will  get the most attention.

It is all about perspective.

 

 

Even the Odds -Fiction

Record. Ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., 12/02/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets (equating to the dosage of 1500 calories) taken. Weight: stable’

 I close my eyes and open them, and when I look into my black bordered mirror, I see me but a younger, naïve me staring back. I inhale and exhale creating a crescent shaped smile. My hair shines vibrantly, my face: doll like. My mouth flushed, it appears to have taken on a bitten nuance of natural rouge. I smile to display ivory white teeth only a poacher could appreciate. In my world, white teeth are a rarity on someone from my generation.  It has taken too many of us. I caress my prepubescent size breasts and so does she. Nipples aroused by the naked air. Small boned, fragile, envied. If Eve indeed took Adam’s rib, raw-boned: it should be on display. There is nothing more invigorating than this reflection. There is nothing more exquisite to be hold. That is all it is: a former reflection. I close my eyes and then open them again. I am back in my bathroom.  The first course of treatment started five months ago. I have responded well and I have been able to observe the many seductive versions it shows of me, without resorting to previous extreme coping mechanisms.  It was not always like this.

            ‘The starch whites’ snatched me away from my entire world because of it.   Desperate to claw back some control of my life, I signed up to this new radical method of treatment for it. They inserted a hippocampus-morphic capture camera (H-MCC) into my brain. It creates recollections of all of a human’s senses. I only need to say ‘record’ to activate it. This is a part of the rules of engagement. There is nothing more innovative in terms of therapy treatments for it.

                                               **********

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 6 a.m., the date 12/03/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed.’

 Numbers flitter up and down. I look straight ahead, my feet push firmly onto the scales. Like a corset it dares me to breathe .The difference in numbers is a knife-edge in reality, but it will try to emphasise how little control I have if the numbers goes up. Today it is stable.  This is attempt 7. I close my eyes and for a split second the scent of oranges linger.

 I open my eyes and I am blitzed by an array of green, red, and yellow coloured fruit. I pose and I am poised, in front of that golden gilded hall mirror. The reflection is of me, in the original inpatient stay clinic, before this modern therapy treatment was possible. Before the pandemic rise of it. Like the eye of a hurricane, it mischievously lulled a large portion of members of our community into a state of security, then sucked us up with one sinister intake of breathe.  My reflection captures me in all my nakedness. My hair swathes over my scrawny shoulders and breasts. A pair of hands comes up from behind me, pushes away my tresses and cups my breasts. A deep throb pulsates in-between my inner thighs. I cannot fight it. I submit.  My head tilts back; my mouth opens to reveal my tongue. It is like a red carpet, awaiting for a celebrity to enter. It is him. His dreadlocks tinkle with multi coloured beads. His tongue commands to explore mine as if it is a well-versed master of sorcery. I tremble from the hot expulsion trickling down my inner thighs .My eyes remould into wide crop circles.  I realise that it has tricked me again. I spit out the clustered black mob of grapes into the bowl of fruit. I only have a moist stain as a reminder of his existence.

‘The time is 06:35 a.m. The location: bathroom. It feels more aggressive – not dormant as the manual states is what should be happening.’

                                    *********

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 12/04/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets taken. Weight: stable. This is attempt 8.’

 I close my eyes and open them. I see an ashen me spiralling further and further away as the powder compact mirror is whacked out from my hands. I can’t see my reflection, so I start furiously tapping on my collarbone, urging it to jut out that bit more. Gristle grinds against gristle. My knees knock together repeatedly: agonisingly tender from the friction. It takes more pain to make me feel. I can hold my head up that little bit higher.  A surge of power brushes a justified half -smile up my cheek, as they wheel me out of the ambulance and into ‘the starch whites’ base. I peer into my old inpatient room with its rosy shaded walls. The ‘starch whites’ are preparing for that time again. The battle with them every mealtime.  Their lips are moving but I can’t hear them. My eyes veer to the sight of my legs- splayed wide on the bed. In between my legs, reveals the man’s body, which seemingly hustles in time to some primal, instinctive beat. His tongue flicks in and out of my moist swelling vulva. My inner thighs quiver. Combined sweat drips collecting evidence of our lust. The flicking escalates in speed. My chest rises and falls in breathily rhythm. I open my eyes and he is gone! Another trick!   On demand it projectile vomits grotesque abstractions out of drink supplements and gourmet food; flung and hung pretentiously along the walls of that room. Cups, plates, knives are thrown about. It takes three of them to get that tube down me. Three!

                        ********

‘Record. This is ED500; it is 2 a.m., the 13/04/2025 Location: my bedroom. There is an almighty sound of bells clanking. I am trying to do the breathing exercises from the prescription manual app but my eyes won’t register the letters.’

 The contained puddle of letters on the screen splatter as my tablet falls to the floor. The memory is too potent. My back arches involuntarily, my eyes will not open fully. Seizing up, they flicker upwards into the half-moon gloom of my eyelids. DING- A LING! A bell rings. Saliva sloshes down the sides of my chin. My back is set against a cool wall; I look up and around and find myself in an unidentified location. The walls, the flooring- everything is a shade of white. ‘The starch whites’ hover around the location in an aura of purity. I fiddle with my zip jean and pull down my T-shirt as I try to cover a mound of excess flesh. I join the procession of the group gathered around the bell ringer. The wait commences. A stomach grunts hoggishly. Mine. My eyes sweep across the group hoping no one has heard it. In total, there are fifty of my kind. We all have the same scraggy arms and legs and distended stomach. We do not queue politely, but circle around the bell ringer like a pack, collectively growling, from the pit of our stomach, slavering: ready to attack. It does not do political correctness. It does not like conformity. Nobody wants to look too eager. It is part of the game. Parlour tricks. One involuntary twitch in the ringer’s direction and the game is lost. The bell rings again. I look up, it is him. He winks at me. It rages from him seeing me ready to engage in combat in the ‘labyrinth of edibles’. It gains so much power in numbers.  Deafening whispers ripple around the group. Those that cover their mouths with their hands only heighten the grand faux pas of my behaviour. The smirking turns to vaporous laughter. I watch that retro version of myself, head bowed, arms folded, shoulders hunched, walk alone and into hostile territory- a vulnerable outsider for betraying it.

‘The time is 3 am, location: my bedroom. Urgent memo! I should be having more control over my flashbacks not less. ED500 needs to make contact’

                                                            *******

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 13/05/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed. Weight 0.2 grams more than 13/04/2025.’

 I close my eyes and when I open them, I am naked and in what appears to be a floor to ceiling mirrored dressing room. Reflecting back in every mirror is us! The man stands behind me- pulling me in every direction. Every angle stabs at my eyes, repeatedly. One stab- that’s me! Another stab –no, that’s me! What am I looking at? An arm. The shards of deceptive flesh wound my eyeballs. An almighty shriek surrenders from my lungs; I see a pair of hands reach up to cover my eyes. Is this real? I grab an arm and pinch it, hard. The skin feels dimpled, not in that artistic stippled kind of way but in that bumpier cellulite fashion.

‘The time is 06:15 am location: bathroom. I feel out of control, I repeat I feel out of control. Urgent contact needs to be made.’

                                                *********************

Dr Owle presses the pause button.

‘You have stuck rigorously to the manual?’ – I see that flashback projected onto a wall- paused and very much in control.

‘Well, of course.’ I blather, ‘That’s why I signed myself up for this whole spectacle. You told me that I would be able to control the memory and the sensory triggers. I can’t just flick the pause button on like you’ve just done’

‘The results when adhered to correctly have shown a 100 % success rate. Today is the final attempt. Are you still willing to engage voluntarily? ‘He looks in my direction. I nod sagely.

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 09:00 a.m., the date is the 13/06/2025, location: Professor Owle’s office, two feedamile tablets consumed at 6:00 am this morning. My weight is 0.3 grams heavier than 13/05/2025.’

 Final attempt. I close my eyes and open them.  Astonished, I see a pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side, giving it a certain elegance. There is a fleeting recognition of this body. A fragmented puzzle of reflections pull together as natural as gravity. The magnetic pull, reassures, in the way that waking up before landing in a fall-dream- reassures. In the mirror reflection, I see him. A bolt of nerves implode in my brain, splintered nerves carve furiously.

A voice.

‘What do you see?’ It’s the Owls-no, the professor’s voice: the professor is an owl?  My mind steeps in ambiguity.

Then an almighty pressure forces my head to drop backwards from the weight of it. My hands instinctively go to touch the intruding protrusion. I catch sight of my reflection in the orange oblong mirror. My head is mal formed. I look like some freak, like some helpless victim with radiation side effects from some way out, imaginary town in Chernobyl. Grievous puss amalgamated to create a massive abscess.

‘I’m disfigured’, I scream. I feel his presence in the room as he moves closer to my puss-filled growth. Stretched, overcooked, fibrous skin. Heated puss bubbles away inside. He holds my head up.

 ‘It’s the man. I don’t know what he is going to do. He has something in his hand.  He is going to kill me.’

Tortured screams echo around the space.  Another voice penetrates through the pain.

‘Have you seen him before? Look properly. ’ it is Professor Owle.

‘No, I can’t bear to look .I’m repulsive!’

‘Don’t give up. Open your eyes and look in the mirror, tell me what you see.’

‘Something has gone wrong. I’ve consumed too much. The experiment has failed.’ I weep.

‘This is professor Owle. Tell me what you see!’ he orders.

‘Tell him my name’ the man urges, his dreadlocks shake off a familiar laugh.

He wants me to name him.’ I howl in pain, ‘He’s jabbed a needle into me!  He has jabbed a needle in my head. He is extracting the puss. It wants more power. I will not name it. Never!  The truth is what I‘ve believed from the start. You give it a name and it automatically assumes power’, I scream.

‘Look at me. Please!’ the dread locked man implores.

SLAM!  A car skids unlawfully across the black ice.

‘Who are you, what do you want?’ a tone of hysteria.

BANG! Car tyres leave vicious tracks marks on a deer.

‘Are there any letters forming in your mind? The professor inquires.

CRASH! A body smashes through the windscreen.

‘Yes, but I’m too afraid to let them form. Abort the experiment please, Professor.’

 The body lands with a nondescript THUMP. Blood marinades the icy snow.

‘You need to fight it.’, Professer Owle cajoles me.

My eyes burst open like a ruptured pea pod. I look into the mirror and this is what I see. It is me –a, hysterical woman with savage hair, screaming in despair I take both my hands and scrape my fingernails down both sides of my face. My grey slate- coloured eyes, dilated, search with hope. The man’s hand goes to brush away the tears trickling done my face. My hand goes up frantically trying to scratch away at the face etched with wretched wrinkles.

‘It is an older me. The growth has gone.’ Fearfully I take in the rest of my body. Again, I see reflected the same pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side- Holy shit, how can this be? This reflection is the missing piece to a surprising feeling of unity. I look over to him– he smiles. I look into his eyes- all I can see is admiration.

‘It’s me! Not perfect-far from it. But it is me!’ The man leans in to kiss my neck then his reflection turns around and leaves the room.

‘Very good, now carry on –what is the man saying? Interjects the Professor.

‘Professor, he has gone. ’, I turn away and around from the mirror to make sure that the mirror has not deceived me.

‘Gone?’

 Gone. It’s me. Professor Owle. It’s me! It is Vesna. My name is Vesna Numeral’ I babble out.

‘Vesna? If this is Vesna tell me who the man is? Professor Owle enquires dubiously.

A wave knocks my emotions. I buckle. The reeds of guilt tangle around my legs pulling me down to my knees

‘Oh my God! No, it’s Raymond.’ I cry.

‘Bravo Vesna. Well done. You did it- you engaged until the very end. We can finally start the de-briefing process.’ The professor hugs me.

‘I’m recovered? ’ my tone incredulous. ‘All he tried to do was help me recover from it.

Yes, Vesna. It was an accident…’

‘I couldn’t control.’ I conclude.

‘We now work together to start the process to rehabilitate you back into society.’

‘My family. My friends.’ A medley of images calibrate in my mind. ‘I will never go backwards, never! I have to keep ticking forwards’

‘Life will have a purpose again,’ the professor smiles

                        ************************

 One year later and numbers still hold this world together. I can never completely get away from numbers. It might not possess me but it still haunts me every so often by catching me off- guard. These days a brief encounter with my reflection consistently reveals my broken half capped teeth and withered bones. These are the scars of my struggle. I remember the lesson Raymond tried to teach me. These days I tend to look into people’s eyes when I speak and I tend to listen more. It is so easy to get caught up in that negative internal chatter everyone has in them. These days in spite of my scars, I smile and look for that small break in the sky. My name is Vesna; and like a cloud that merges and transforms all too rapidly, I too refuse to be defined by it.

T -Tatiana

TI’ve been looking forward to this letter.  T is awesome becasue I get to tell you  all about my first born, Bengal- Tatiana .Or Miss Tatiana as she is known in the family.

I’ve always had cats as family when I was growing up. I moved into a new home in 2009, started uni, again, straight out of another Eating Disorder clinic. I couldn’t take my Mocha with me to my new home.

 

 

Mocha was a black oriental Siamese my Uncle bought me for my 15th birthday in South Africa. She grew up with my Mom’s lilac point Siamese ,Lilac ( lee-lah) .. They came everywhere  with us -no matter where moved to -South Africa,France, Miami and the U.K.

It would have been cruel to separate the two mates so I spent a long time researching breeders because I had read up about Bengals and how affectionate and playful and smart they were .I was lonely and manic -not taking my medication.

I came across what I can now look back on as a not legitimate breeder  that were selling kittens and adults at a price cheaper than other breeders. It took ‘ two taxis and two trains to get to this town.

I told my Ma I was setting off to get Miss Tatiana. It was would have been close to midnight by the time I met her. My Ma knew I was hyper and she ended up coming with me to make sure I didn’t do anything else crazy.

I got to the breeder and it was clean but for whatever reason they must of being doing something illegal as they were very quick to drop the argument we started having when she tried to sell me an adult cat. I demanded to see the kittens and I saw one kitten ,so tiny, only 7 weeks. I picked her up.

She jumped out of my arms and bumped her nose, she was bleeding. I was crying. My ma and the breeder tried to calm me down. I knew straight away that Miss Tatiana was coming back home with me.

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She spent the first few years with all my attention on her. I would take her everywhere with me. Any place that someone said I could. I would. She didn’t like any men I brought home. She would wait until she saw a big toe sticking out the bed spread and she would attack my potential/short lived  boyfriends.

I found it hysterical. I know. -a total crazy cat lady. Bengals play hard and they draw blood. She has massacred my arms over the years.

I feel so bad for what I put her through with my ex. She used to growl at him. She wouldn’t leave my side. One night he left her out ( he denies this), I tried to find her everywhere, I heard her mewing and found her on the other side of the wall ,lost and full of blood, by a wild patch of trees and these scratchy  plants and woody area . I don’t know what you call it but I was in such a state and so was she.

When I was addicted to laxatives she would keep me company in the bathroom while I purged myself –  me almost always in agony. I was taking 100 laxatives  a day up until 2009.

She loves to pretend my arm is a tree and she lazes on it like some jungle cat lazing on a branch and if I dare move -I get bit.

I have a high pain tolerance threshold so  we must be a perfect match 😀

When my Bella Bee was born Tatiana didn’t know what to make of her. She became very jealous. Then with all the drama with my ex and my increasingly poor mental health –that night happened and the ex accused me of shaking my 12 week old daughter on the 13th December 2011.  I didn’t for the record.

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The 16 month battle to get my daughter back out of foster care meant Tatiana had me all to herself again.

When the ex finally walked away with his tail between his legs and social services could see I could look after my daughter on my own -full time. The care order was lifted- my 12 week old daughter who I was only allowed to visit for 10 hours a week was suddenly a 16 month old  toddler living back at home- full  time. I had a lot of catching up  to do and learn how to be a full time Mom .I guess I neglected Tatiana for a bit. I emotionally neglected her. I had to,

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For a full year and a half Tatiana started weeing  near the sofa . It got so bad me and my hubby to be started arguing. It put a lot of strain on the relationship. We spent hundreds of pounds trying to solve the problem.

I started giving her more attention but it was hard to always want to be loving because she was peeing everywhere. She even pissed on the kitchen  counter a few times. She went from sleeping with us and being best buds with my partner, to hating him and running away from him and even me.

I couldn’t give her up. I couldn’t bare to.

G knew I would never give her up so he stuck by me and we worked on trying to sort out Tat’s behaviour.

She was spending her evenings and times we went out in the kitchen or outside. It was not an ideal situation but what more could we do?

I finally had to seriously think about her happiness and I thought  maybe she would be happier in another home. My G came up with an idea to close the living room door at night so she couldn’t go and wee there at night.

IT WORKED! She has never done her business upstairs and I think she liked this set up because she wasn’t harassed by me or usually my partner to wake her from her slumber in my daughters bed,and to be put in the special basket we had made for her in the kitchen.

Tatiana has finally forgiven me. We have a routine in the morning where I play with her while I make the bed and she spends more time with me.

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Sometimes she even sleeps with me. She hates to be ignored so if we have been out or she has, she usually has lots to tell us and I stop what I am doing and give her my time.

I finally have both my babies back. She has a love -hate relationship with Bella Bee but I think she is coming round to the idea the even though she hates being read to by my Bella or be harassed for a RSVP to some tea party my Bella Bee has arranged ,she kind of likes the cuddles she gets from her.

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She has once again become my friend in the bathroom – especially when I have a bath. She loves water. I’ve caught her wading in a pouring bath tub on many occasions.

I wish I had done more research on how to look after her kind before. I did what so many other people do. Fall in love with her beauty and I didn’t swot up on what her kind of breed needed to feel 100% loved and secured.

I’ve learnt my lesson. The main point is we are a family again and the story has a happy ending.

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Acceptance

“Happiness can exist only in acceptance” George Orwell

Why this quote?

First of all if you haven’t read this dudes book  ‘1984’ . Get reading it. It is a dystopian novel and it packs a punch. This dude was so scarily right about what society could and has turned into

Secondly, the blogs I have got around to reading so far today, all have a common threaded theme  of acceptance weaved into the  content.

Acceptance.

I have days when I am buzzing. I’m on an all self empowerment mission

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if you don’t like me then talk to the palm , see the worry on my deadpan face.

Not accepting what and who you are and look like is a one way trip to an asylum – I know  this.

Some days I accept I am a “normal” weight  and body shape now. I am not supposed to l have  the body and measurements of a 14-15 year old.

 

I know this but I have moments where I struggle to accept I have breasts, periods, thighs that touch, hip bones not jutting out.

I work out but I am not muscular -I try and see that this is healthy and is a  desirable  look  to achieve and aim for..

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Sometimes it is hard to separate my old beliefs that healthy =  chubby or not slim or thin.

I wonder if I have made some God awful mistake taking up  exercise. I’ve bulked up and when I see a picture of myself, on a down day. I zone in my arms.

Why they so big? Where have my waif arms gone?

Not accepting yourself can drive you mad. I know this.

It drives old behaviours and thoughts.

There is me trying to fit in with the world and it ends up like this!

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My biggest not so helpful behaviours are weighing myself obsessivly -so I may as well super glue the thing to my feet, I do it so much.

The worst mind fuckery is when I ask my partner to take pictures of me. It is hard to accept myself  and be happy in a body when the mind won’t allow it.

It rejects the body as a whole. It zones in on one particular aspect.

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Big arms, no six pack, bloated tummy, cellulite.

So many thoughts scrabble  the mind

It must be the increase in medication

 I eat too much 

Why did I fool myself?

Why did I let myself be fooled that I am beautiful? 

The most insane thought…

Let me upload a bunch of pics of me  in my bikini,not in some exotic holiday place lazing by the pool ,sipping cocktails; but in my small bedroom, pale , no tan, trying to get in  as many angles as possible in so I can scrutinize my body.

Anorexia begs me

PLEASE PUT THESE PICTURES UP! WE NEED SOME KIND OF VALIDATION!

I won’t and I can’t….

So this is just a small insight into how even ONE day of not accepting yourself and others can turn your day from driving by in a vintage open top rolls Royce, past cotton fields, the air is a  sweet honey and the smell of fresh pine.

Not accepting yourself or  others can turn into a day of picking cotton, boiling and beating the starch out of the linen, the smell of sweet honey becomes a harbinger, it coats the scent of dead charred bodies- slaves.  Tries to mask it. You become the person who sees the carefree people drive by so cool and seemingly  no problems.

I want to be happy so I must strive to accept myself as much as possible. I cling on to the good days and try and remind myself of these days when  I feel like I am in a suit and not a real body.

in other news today… Money comes in and money goes out.

It’s bill paying day 🙂  Just go with this one, please.

That is fucking seriously depressing but it doesn’t depress me because I accept that in order to be comfortable and happy I have to pay for that privilege.

It sucks that  I have to pay for it but it DOES NOT  have an impact on my happiness. I know I am poor in money and rich in love – I accept thatjust a  thought. ….

 

The queen of my mind.

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. Yes, it exposes my vulnerability.  I am merely human. I have bad days and good days. This letter is to the so called friend I’ve kept as consul for most of my life.

Dear Anorexia and all the other secondary mental illnesses

I always seem to put this post off. I usually come out with all these things I have  to say to you  at the wrong times. Like when I am having a bath.

Erm…inappropriate.

Okay, I sought you out. I did.

I begged you to be my friend and you eventually became the only friend I had. I didn’t want to lose everything. So, despite how I felt or how  much pain I was in when I hurt myself, I did it. We had a strong bond. Bonds are not easily broken. Not even now, when I don’t want to be friends any more.

I thought you might be a bit more understanding if you understood what you took from me and what I allowed you to take.

You took most of my   life experiences and and  made me put on a pair of  your glasses so that I could only see life through your perspective.I didn’t have strng vision to begin with so I accepted your gift and I still wear them every now and then.  I don’t know why you want me to hurt myself,

Life: everything I have ever seen and experienced has been through a filter  of your making. You have had the final decision  before I get to see anything, so I can then process it and carry on.

You encouraged me to self harm in so many other ways Drugs, cutting, taking chances, impulsive behaviour, getting into trouble. I don’t know if friends should really do that but I only had you. What did I know

You are jealous. I became your reflection..

Your reflection.

I had no life in me for many years.  I was an merely a toy- puppet of yours. Attached to strings to dance to your cacophonous melody.  Sometimes I still feel you, hear you. Pulling me up. Making me go in a direction I don’t want to go in.

Every interest I had, be it watching a movie or reading or going to a rave and dancing or talking to people to try and make fiends-  you stole that from me.

 I allowed it.  I only see now, how awesome I can be without you. Fucking cool bananas.

You told me I was peculiar , not like other people, special, different.

You did a remarkable job of making me think that no body understood the words, I spoke so I stopped talking. I let your talk for me- everyday, every living moment. Every tick of the clock. Your voice. Sounds so soft to others- barely audible- Invisible. To me   it sounds more like a constant shriek in my mind, I feel anything but invisible – I feel I take up too much space.

Figure that one out? I can’t.

I lost my family. People thought I had an ego and thought that I was up my own fucking  arse.

I only wanted  to like me.

I just wanted to feel good about myself.  I thought you could help. If I was attractive to others people would get  me and see all my awesome qualities and my true personality. You couldn’t stop at that.

You needed to coerce me into changing one small thing , then another small thing. You helped chip away everything that made me ME until I was lost and abandoned in the dark.

A vacant spot in a vast pool of darkness.A world of black and white. If people tried to talk to me you turned up the white noise. I sat there motionless.

Every person who spoke  to me or who tried to be a friend to me  -you  would whisper they were lying to us, they don’t like us.

Always

be on  your  guard.

Your motto.

You taught me that. I was and I am  still on guard.

You know what?

Fuck this ..I’m not wallowing in the past.

What I really want you to know is I don’t want you in my life at all.

I was wrong and made a mistake.

I know better now.

I have a choice – it is my choice who will be in my life. Yes, you are powerful enough to try and come between everyone I love. I won’t let you.

I won’t.

You want to be friends with my daughter.

NEVER WILL I ALLOW THAT.

I know your  true face. There is nothing behind that mask. I rip it off and before I can see the true you you dissolve right before my eyes. You need me more than I need you,mate.

 You still try to  convince me that our friendship is a blessing – that you give me strength to live.

I’m pretty convinced if I could find the cord that  links me to you, I would  be brave enough to cut it and I would finally start  breathing properly  again. I would learn how to breathe again. I would succeed.

How many times am I going to have to evict you from  my mind?

Why don’t you get it?

I’m done with trying to kill myself.

You  have taught me one thing – I am not at your mercy to live or die. You don’t get to choose because : I. won’t. let. you.

You crept back into my life last year.

So cunning, so sly……

Look at you smirking -so sure, so smug.

Like a snake, you slithered   and curled around my whole bod. I remember the familiarity of  your touch -cold. Cold means thin. Thin means I’m winning. Your charm  nearly disarmed me again.

In what seemed like mere seconds,your entire body had coiled itself  around my neck -suffocating me. I nearly lost my mind for you again. A couple more months and I could have been back in hospital.

I’m not some new friend of yours that has to be emaciated to believe I have earned your undying friendship.  Today, I live in a body and a mind I  have created.

To  try and cast you out. Of course you weren’t going anywhere. How naive I still can be after all these years.

Why would you  go some where else when you have everything you need in me.

Today,

I am healthy.

You tell me I’m fat.

I’m not fat.

I eat and you tell me to pinch my skin, you tell me to loathe it. You  yell at  me , telling me to grip at my bones.

You tell me the bones have been lost in my womanly body.

How dare I grow up?

How dare I start having periods again?

How dare I have a child?

how dare I put her first ?

How dare I empower myself……

Now,you listen to me. You can make me cry- you know you can.

You know that every living moment I know you are with me, in me.

You won’t even let me be touched and loved by my own husband to be.

I flinch when he touches me because you have convinced me that my body is wrong.

It has taken four years to get to the place I am with my husband to be. You don’t want me to enjoy being loved.

You don’t like affection.

Affection means a chance to be loved.

Your kind of love is   like boiling water and third degree burns – plastic melting and merging with my skin -never letting go ;forever  scarred and deformed.

All this to make sure you have me forever. You feed on my thoughts.

Why won’t you let me watch a fucking movie with my partner without making me aware of my body?

You are sick. Contagious. A reoccurring  infection.

I don’t want to be sick. I know I can’t just get rid of you. For a time I was able to shut you out and started living.

 Oh, what a jealous friend you have been. You plotted and planned – ready for your come back .

Always  had to be the one who has to take the lead part.

You can’t have the lead part in my life any more. My life is my stage, I am producer,editor, stage hand, actor, writer, graphics producer , costume designer, light technician . You dear friend have been made redundant.

 See ,The terms and conditions of our contract?

See this lighter in my hand? Flame jumps from container to paper – it can’t lick up the paper quick enough.

I’m the one who says what goes in the script and what doesn’t

No, I know you don’t like this. You are laughing in my face. What  was that?

I have no confidence,

I’m needy  lazy, a failure.

You are right,I’m not fucking perfect. How many times have I nearly died doing your bidding?

I want to be happy.

No, not your idea of happiness.

I  want to forget about being aware of how you want me to feel about  my body. I want  to enjoy each moment away from the knowledge that my body is just there.

 Today, I respect my body. You don’t need a mask to cover up the fact you have no idea what that word means.

I had so many things I had in my head …. to say to you…

I feel you still don’t get it.

I know I eat.

I have to eat . Don’t put the guilt trip on me if I feel hungry.

Yes,I do. I love food. There are so many more types of food  I want to try and I am still afraid to try . I am learning though.

Every book or film or conversation I have ever had was drowned out by your voice or because I couldn’t stand to hear your voice again , I drugged myself, tried to take my life

– oh so many times.

Yet, I still stand..

You won’t go because you love a challenge. you enjoy the struggle.

How boring would it be for me to just give up.

Oh don’t get me wrong, love.

I have nearly died for you and you happily  appeared to allow it. We both know  you became my friend because you knew I would fight you.

Still now, twenty odd years later  I fight you.

No – you can’t have  increasingly lower digits. I  have set the bar for what weight I can live with. I’m not going to stop eating if I go over that weight thresh hold. – I will cope.  I will get back to my safe weight.

You hate the fact I exercise to keep fit and on track-to focus -to keep me rational – I have found out the  secret you have hidden from me for so long.

I’m not going to binge or take laxatives again. It fucking hurts. 100 laxatives a day for how many years. I’m not buying into that abuse any longer.

You are having so much fun with me at this moment. Forever toying…..

The scales have gone up. I should  know I’ve only been there with  you over  50  fucking times today on that scale. Willing that 1.5 kilo of weight to go down.

I am not having fun.

I am a woman not a child.  My spirit is not  a new born. You can’t corrupt it like you did all those years ago.

I get periods. There is a lot of ‘I don’t wants’ that comes with the power to create life.

Fluid retention is one of them. You want me to think that these laws of a women’s body don’t apply to me. Your arrogance never fails to catch me off guard.

You want me to think I have lost control…….

I see all this and I hate you with every thought, every emotion, everything.

Yet, you still won’ t go away

 You may be having fun but I’m not having fun and I don’t want to play.

You have brought many foes to  my door- snuck them in. Bipolar ,a so called personality disorder, the list goes on and on. All free loaders.

Remember when I was at the height of my career?  You wouldn’t let me become more successful. It wasn’t your definition of success  so you took it from me.

Remember when I tried to better myself and go to college?

You fucked with my head then too.

Yes, I got my degree, eventually. I nearly died getting it.

I nearly died getting my daughter back too.

You like the fighters. The ones that put up a struggle. The  more I struggled the more obstacles you put in my way- one of your finest tricks was the abusive relationship act.

I finally see you are indeed a one trick pony.

Well done, a round of applause.

You are not the master of my mind any more.

You are a bully- deranged.

YOU CAN’T HAVE ME!

I’m getting married and you can’t stop that. Yes, I know I’m vulnerable because I need to fit into my wedding dress.

Guess what?

I am going to have another child and I won’t let your stop me. I am going to nourish life, nurture it like I should have done the first time.

I will be free of the medication I take to stop you from having the upper hand all the time . I don’t think you have  realised,

the fight you have with me, does not just end with me alone  any more. You continue to take me on -you are now taking me and my family on.

You are a threat to my life- no not a pathetic  one,but one full of joy and love and respect. You hate it. I don’t know why you won’t allow me to love.

Where did you come from ? and what made you so malicious?

I can’t be your therapist and provider.

Yes, we are back to fighting again;

I  don’t need tarot cards to know the ending to this.

I’m winning.

Yes, I am.

You are strong, I will give you that but I have had four years of some kind of freedom from you –

You ,dear friend let your guard down .

Thank you, because you gave me another reason to live and want to be alive.  The devil I know or the glimpses of joy I have found in living ?

 you lose,

check mate!

I will continue to  rise as the queen of my mind and your whole kingdom built on flimsy lies is going to come toppling down.

If you are going to throw a punch – don’t let your guard down.

Practice what you preach.