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 too 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 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 their best.
Usually, the men I’ve chosen have brought out the worst in me. ( they have 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 it 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
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 called 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
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 I 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 chafe 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 aches 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 a better night’s sleep tonight
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 started 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 for too long.
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 led 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 suppress 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.
Dealing with life 😀
‘Don’t compromise yourself. You’re all you’ve got.’ –Janis Joplin
Got to live up to my reputation for being brutally honest, right? I feel so low. I know I post mostly positive posts and come across as having my shit together. I do, most of the time. I can’t pretend that in a couple of months, something has shifted in me. It’s been big enough to derail me – the crustal plates in my mind and body have moved too much and too soon. I have to lean on something to stop me from falling, falling to where? and on what? What if I just fall and never stop. How does it feel? I sit back. It’s gnarled at my insides. I have to remind myself to pull the carbon monoxide out with each breath.
Why now? I have so much to live for, to be happy for. Is this the nature of mental illness? My inner Iago is a great trickster -it can make the most amazing opportunities, experiences that are going to happen or are happening seem like a mirage. It loves to betray me. It loves to jinx me. It loves to beat me. I know it is him but he is good at hiding.
He is sly and duped my lazy /starved neurotransmitters into believing that they can’t take one tiny step over, from one synapse to another.
COURAGE YOU IDIOTS!
Man up! I’m on enough pills. I should be a billion dollar comedian with all the serotonin and dopamine whizzing round my brain.
I had a full-blown panic attack this morning. I had to ask G to come upstairs and hold me. This has worked before. I then got up and cleaned up and hit the gym. That helped but it came back with reinforcements. So , picture me mentally rummaging around my wellness toolbox to find the right tool to smooth over the grave bits. The ones that live between my ribs – that defy gravity…
It’s not my heart racing, it’s that space high up in the middle of my first four ribs. It’s like every breath I take is halved- stolen. I have the need to break free, to implode- no, explode from this human body of mine and let the energy disperse. It won’t leave willingly. I need to pick up my sharpest knife , slice myself open and let all the carnival loose.
The freaks can’t stay. I want to accept them but they repulse me. I am scared that if they stay within me, I may become them and I will feel this way forever.
I’m just typing. Loads of errors. I’m hoping I can write myself out of a panic attack. Nothing else seems to have worked.. I am trying to take the least amount of medication as possible.
I’m due to have a Skype call with a lady who will be making my jewelled bouquets in 20 minutes. I need to send the freaks on errands
Legless man,go and find a pair.
Fortune teller – read up on everyone’s star signs- dust off your glass ball. Go find some mystery somewhere else.
Obese lady- waddle down the lane and get some organic shit down your pipe hole- and make sure you stop by the pastry shop. Hopefully, you will be too full to waddle back
Claw hand man – practice jerking off and walking sideways – right, no just a bit more to the right, oops, sorry! I didn’t see the cliff.
ALL OF YOU – I MEAN EVERYONE. VACATE. THE CARNIVAL HAS SHUT DOWN.
They beg me. They have nowhere else to go. Pleading, I can’t turn my eyes away from them despite their defects. I look at them. How can I leave them stranded with nobody to want them and nowhere to go?
So I write. I tell them I need to cool off. I need them to just go and find something to do and they can come back once I’ve had time to be alone. Once I find peace. Once I can breathe again. I could never make them homeless.
They are freaks. Yes, they scare me but they are my freaks. Sometimes they listen to me and respect me. Let me feel a bit of peace. They come back quieter now and get on with preparing for the next show. I just need to reign them in every now and then.
It’s going to be alright. The order has been restored. I write to live- I write for peace.
I am …
and that is good enough.
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?
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 to 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 lots 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 its 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 to 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.
I know I have been going on and on about my Anorexia lately but what else can I do but pour out all my stress in my head out and down onto paper ( well a post) I have started eating again and yes, the scales have gone up by 2 kilos. I do feel anxious and think the scales are going to go up and up and up and up – you get the picture. Since eating food again I have finally got my strength back.
I have the energy to exercise again which means I can eat stuff I enjoy and fingers crossed not put on weight. I still am holding back with portions etc.. but I feel alive again.
Anorexia had started to take all my confidence again and I didn’t think I could work in the volunteer sector any more. I had started to become paranoid and my thoughts came out in jumbled sentences.
I was forgetting how to communicate. I felt like a failure.
But, the silver lining is I keep on fighting. I didn’t resort to old coping mechanisms such as using coffee, chewing gum, pepsi max and other vices to kill my appetite. If I had chosen to go down that route then I might as well have built myself a coffin. The truth I am stronger than my illness. I’ve accomplished so much in four years. I have a lot of livin to do and being skeletal is not a part of that journey.
Of course, I want to be lean and toned. I want to be healthy. I don’t know what has happened but there has been a shift in my mind set.
I wish I could tell you how I have done it. I suppose seeing what life is like on the other side of a despondent hell has helped me a lot. My family has helped me. I’m stubborn and wilful but I guess that has been my anchor.
My life raft. These tr
aits are being used for a more positive reason.
I read a lot of posts where people with mental health issues are suffering so much. They don’t have the support and help they need. Here is me with an almost perfect little family, my health- I am not in a wheelchair or have problems so severe I can’t keep healthy and fit. I am not some idiot. I am articulate and smart. I am ambitious and a go-getter. This is my true nature.
Not some vile, putrid anorexic that cowardly hides behind a mask . I got my medication changed and I do feel better. It may just be a placebo but it works for me. It has helped get me back on equal footing with the world.
I’m feeling optimistic again. I am going places and with one blow the candle goes out and I can turn the volume down on those voices- trying to lure me like Odysseus’ sirens. I’m navigating my way around the rocky depths of Scylla’s cave. I’m on my way home- to reconnect with my Penelope- my soul, my pure self. My most loyal self. The self who has never let me down.
“I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: That piece cannot be moved.” Soren Kierkegaard #FollowGreatFootsteps
WHY I’V CHOSEN THIS QUOTE
Not an especially inspiring quote but it does reflect my mood and the frustration I am feeling at the moment.
There are plenty of us living with all sort of illnesses and I just like many of you , try to cope with living with them in the best way I can. These days I have good coping strategies but they don’t seem to be working.
I’m using my new skills and upping my game harder than ever and still I suffer.
Well, there is an element of being lost and not knowing in what direction I am going in.
My opponent not only mastered this game of chess ,he carved the very pieces of each piece, made the board and wrote the the rules. To say I’m frustrated and stuck is an understatement.
I’m struggling . That is the truth.
I need to start to think differently. I don’t know where the rule book is. I know all the cheat ways to get to my goal but I want to do it in a courageous and new way.
Our fight is frustrating. We feel at the mercy of our illness but we can stick together and support one another. Just by expressing ourselves in our blogging we are reaching out for support.
I need another way. I’m reaching out today becasue I don’t know who else to turn too
“Happiness can exist only in acceptance” George Orwell
Why this quote?
I have days when I am buzzing. I’m on an all self empowerment mission
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 to see that this is healthy and is a desirable look to achieve and aim for.
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 are 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!
My biggest not so helpful behaviours are weighing myself obsessively -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.
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 so I can scrutinise 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. Try 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 to remind myself of the 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 that just a thought. ….
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 peas
Hard core, non divergent, box ticking Anorexic.
I can’t throw up. I can’t use laxatives.
I sit with my newfound rolls.
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 myself – 30 tablets a day – neck it down
Sit on the psychiatrist’s 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, Can’t go places without any juice
This ole devil gives me every sodamistic excuse.
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.
I want to stop stuffing my mouth with food
To allow the words I swallow tumble out my own truth .
I want my voice not to sound happy
I want it to be happy.
I want to eat meals without guilt.
I don’t want to be overweight.
I want anorexia to stop carving every single slice of edible part until there is nothing but my skeletal soul
Nothing but the debris of littered thoughts
Discarded remnants of self love.
Pleading for just one match to light up my black holed life
The abyss that taunts
I want to publish a book of my words
One solarity book to place on my bookshelf
I want to feel sexy without thinking that being curvy is criminal.
I want to feel pretty
Confident that I can eat sushi tonight when my daughter has a McDonald’s happy meal.
I’ve scoured the Just Eat.com menu
The thoughts become lairy loud
It becomes easier to take a valium or a drink
Awash myself clean against the accusations
My thighs touch
My breasts are disproportionately imperfect
I don’t want to blame it on Some tasteless comment some child made when I was 12 years old.
My collar bones are disappearing
My butt is bigger
Im not disappearing
I’m not smaller
I want a worthwhile exsistance
I want to claim my happiness
Perhaps my words are my winning ticket to recovery .
Perhaps I need to buy enough ink and paper to print off 6 years of documented writings, poems, plays, stories and musings
I want my body to understand what it needs
I need my mind
What it wants.
I remember my first meeting with a mental health charity to collaborate and co-facilitate an anti- Stigma workshop/group. This is what I have been wanting to do for some time and here I am achieving my dreams. When I was back -institutionalised in an Acute ward with Anorexia and Bipolar in 2005. I think that the personality trait of helping others and organising groups has always been in me.
I am a nightmare patient.
I always refused bed rest and focused my time on doing things like raffles to raise money for a charity shop connected to the Retreat,in York. I ended up raising over £100 in a matter of days with a BMI of 14.5. so about 41 kilograms. , 90 pounds – I’m nearly 5.8.
In other clinics- I was tube fed and restrained -often by up to four nurses.
That is a whole other story and debate.
I met another man who is/was a barrister and he had a complete breakdown. His wife had been cheating on him. I met an artist who expressed her unarticulated pain by painting. I met a woman who had been fighting Anorexia and OCD all her life and who taught me how to put a Christmas tree up.
I had forgotten.
I didn’t know what life was and what it meant to live.
I met a few ladies, not on my unit -The Acorn unit ( the name pun has not gone over my head). They expressed their pain through cutting and self-harm.
Nobody played games. Although some of us, from time to time would get hold of paracetamol and other shit and overdose to liven the humdrum mundaneness of life in an acute ward. I once got caught out on weigh day with fishing scales attached to my paper gown. The staff was quite taken aback with imaginative ways we would come up with to avoid putting on weight. These girls were hardcore. I met so many people.
I met a girl who terrified me. I could tell she had been in hospitals all her life. Her family could absolve themselves of whatever guilt they felt towards their daughter by putting her in private clinics and the problem was dusted under the carpet.
I had started the process and recovery of eating again and putting on weight. I couldn’t cope. I developed another way to cope, for at least 4 months my day consisted of:
making a coffee
eating more chewing gum
make a cup of herbal tea
smoke a cig .
I was on this loop for24 hours /7 days a week -for 4 months.
I was driving myself crazy in a way that was unfamiliar to me. The nurses tried to lock me out of the communal kitchens and one night I flipped out when they tried to grab me so I started throwing stuff around.
I wanted them to help me. The girl who initially terrified me came into the kitchen and sat down on the floor with me and held me for over an hour while I shed tears for everything I can remember.
All the emotions attached to those memories I had pushed aside. None of these people was violent. We were trying to be understood and to understand ourselves.
I met a young girl with schizophrenia -she dressed like a Goth. Always had headphones in her ears. She was trying to silence the voices. She had been coping well up until her Mother passed away and like any normal person she was traumatised by it and her mental health went a bit off balance again. She was trying to make sense that her mother is dead. She was grieving.
One night a new guy arrived on the scene. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He had that charisma of the kind of guy I always seemed to attract. His eyes were full of spark and mischief. A person you would want on your side. We became friends. We spoke a lot. He did a very Titanic thing and drew a picture of me. Fully clothed. I can’t find the picture to load up. He was still going through the DT’s. I will live with my memory of how the picture looked- possibly very trippy. Ha Ha.
Barry was only staying for 10 days before he went to a dry out clinic further up the coast. I don’t know what happened inside me but I didn’t want him to go.
He was a lot older than me but we did everything together.I got him to paint again. I know he had just got out of prison but he was so talented. I begged the nurses and psychiatrists to let him stay.
‘Look! Look! how talented he is! He needs help from you’.
Our last night before we parted ways. We sat in the smoking lounge and watched ‘Pulp fiction’. I know this may make some people reading this go .. erm………what?
I lay my head down in his lap and he played with my hair. For me, the act was more like a father gesture. I suspect for Barry it could have been different.
He wrote loads of letters and planned to come to visit me. The nurses censored my post and turned him away.
I often wonder what happened to him.
I get angry that just because he was in and out of prison for many reasons- he was denied the rehabilitation that I received. He had issues. I am not innocent.
I feel he could not have benefited from a recovery type community setting rather than prison. It’s not my place to say what he did, I don’t want to remember.
It would have ruined the fact that I found feelings inside me. I could laugh again, I could cry. I was real. I felt like a human being and not some freak with Anorexia. Anorexia took second place and I wanted it to always take second place. I felt real.
So back to the Anti-stigma workshop, I am doing. I can’t wait. I have a passion. I have the drive. This is my new chapter. I did have a beautiful picture Barry drew of a dragonfly but I guess moving around a lot means that I have lost other precious memories. I am finally in a position to help other people. I’m not letting this opportunity getaway.