Today I am haunted by an otherwise insignificant memory of me telling someone around Christmas time last year that I don’t cry anymore because all of the ‘bad things’ that could happen to me have already happened, and because of this nothing really bothers me anymore. This morning as I winced trying to apply eyeliner (in an attempt to make myself ‘presentable’) to raw and bulging eyes, I can’t help but wish I could rewind to that moment in my life and eat those words. I take it back. I take it all back.
I was reminded just a few days ago that I had abandoned the ship that is this blog by someone who very nicely said that what I had written had really inspired and touched them, and this remark genuinely overwhelmed and humbled me. But for a time I thought that this blog was no longer necessary and that to continue writing would only perpetuate an illness I ‘didn’t have anymore’ and prolong the suffering. On paper, I am very nearly a fully-fledged independent real human person or, to use the actual science-y medical jargon, a “recovered anorexic”. That being said, in reality I struggle to identify with this label that will soon be attributed to me (I am currently on a 20-week break from my clinic to test the water and see if I can actually cope on my own without constant support from the Northern Ireland Eating Disorder Service’s marvellous network of psychiatrists, dietitians and therapists I owe my life to before I am discharged completely). By saying I am ‘recovered’ implies that I no longer experience any of the thoughts or engage in any of the behaviours that are associated with my anorexic state, and unfortunately that is not the case. I still obsess over food more than your average person, engage in a strict exercise regime and am very aware that my relationship with food still bears stains of someone who has had an eating disorder. Sandwiches have kind of become a Disney villain for me again and consuming liquid calories does encourage a cold sweat (this fear no longer stops me from enjoying vodka however, and if that isn’t a victory I don’t know what is). That being said, whilst my weight has dropped slightly since my last therapy session, on the whole I have never been more content with my shape and eating habits, and although I do on occasion have little slips, I can honestly say I feel ready to leave the ED clinic behind.
I don’t think a full exorcism of anorexia will ever take place in this rickety old brain of mine. But I have learned to identify the most concerning behaviours and quash them before they spiral out of control. Anorexia doesn’t really frighten me anymore. Unfortunately for me, however, there seems to be some new monsters living under my bed.
Current buzzwords coming out of the mouth of the doctor in the house are ‘Generalised Anxiety Disorder’ and ‘Depression’. These are terms thrown about by the average Tumblr teenager to denote normal feelings of negativity that humans experience on a daily basis and, as a result of this, have come to be misunderstood by many. It is of the utmost importance that those who genuinely suffer from these illnesses reclaim these titles and make a decided effort to educate about what it feels like to actually experience these disorders. Which is what I’m going to try to do now. Wish me luck.
One of the more extreme symptoms I have recently begun to experience, and possibly the most concerning and scary for the sufferer, is that of derealisation. The old faithful NHS website describes this as a process in which one sees other people and the environment around them as unreal or dreamlike. It is essentially a wharped perception of reality. For myself, my dissociative experience unfolds like so: I will step out of the house about to embark upon my daily business and will all of a sudden become very aware of my own size and stature. I will become very conscious of the fact that the distance between my head and the ground is not very far, and this will immediately equate to feelings of insignificance. This is when it starts getting properly weird…I will begin to imagine that I can feel myself physically shrink, whilst everything around me expands and grows. Yeah. Some serious Alice In Wonderland shit.
However, as I said, this is a particularly extreme symptom, and I assume the reason I experience something so distressing has a lot to do with my past body image issues. These disorders manifest themselves in a variety of different ways, so there are any number of associated symptoms, and the sufferer can experience all or only one or two. I am also aware that I am conflating two separate illnesses, but for the sake of the length of this post and my attention span we will stick with it.
Sticking with the anxiety for a moment, the OCD behaviours I displayed at the height of my anorexia have returned, but this time, instead of obsessing over food, I have turned to compulsively studying. Before you all jump on the parental bandwagon of saying, “Oh, I wish my son/daughter had that problem!”…no. You don’t. You soon realise that obsessing over a subject that you love isn’t exactly great for your health when it’s 4am, you’re reading yet another article about medieval philosophies of evil and haven’t actually seen your bed in three days. And this is when the depression starts to kick in. You cry a lot. You start to think you have no-one and feelings of loneliness reach their peak because you’ve essentially become a recluse, hermitting yourself away in order to study. Which is really just an attempt to distract from the thoughts that are really consuming you. Thoughts about loneliness. Fears that you have hurt everyone around you. You start thinking about things you have said to people you care about and worry that you have hurt their feelings. You start to think that everyone you know hates you. And you can’t blame them because you hate yourself too. And you hate yourself because you hate the bad things that have happened to you. And you get angry because of the bad things that happen to you. And who knows, you may even start to lash out at those around you because, let’s face it, anger is very difficult to control. And then you really do hurt those who care about you because the words that come out of your mouth aren’t your words; they are the words of the cruel monster that lives in your head. And once you’ve calmed down and the episode has finally ended, you realise how much you have affected those around you. And the self-loathing begins again. The very definition of a vicious cycle, number 1.
The final symptom and thought process I wish to address is probably not the most cheerful topic of discussion for a Friday evening but is one which should be brought to the fore. I have recently become consumed with thoughts of my own mortality. This is not the same as experiencing suicidal thoughts, let’s make that fact clear. Rather, my awareness of the unavoidable fact that I will soon die has increased tenfold. This may sound completely bizarre to those on the outside; sure, we’re all going to die, so what? But when every waking moment is occupied by musings of when and how it will happen and the unpredicability of the act of dying…yeah. It can get pretty exhausting. An exhaustion which never goes away because sleeping is now an impossibility, behind every closed eye a memory of something or someone you have lost that you miss intensely. And you’re going to die soon, so shouldn’t you stop wasting your time wallowing and start doing something to get all that stuff back? But you’re going to die soon, so what’s the point? The very definition of a vicious cycle, number 2.
After all that heavy stuff, I think we might be in need of some comic relief. But we gotta keep with the mortality theme, and considering myself and the ol’ Reaper have become good acquaintances over the past while…tell me, do you have a fever?
The last thing I want is for readers of this post to pity me. I am not a pathetic figure seeking your sympathy. I am trying my best to be strong and brave, my hope being that if I write about my feelings and experiences I may break the taboo and encourage conversation. I know I am not alone among my peers. Distress and despair is ripe amongst young people but this generation (particularly the so-called ‘millennials’) are shot down and told to stop complaining; we don’t know how good we have it. But when does discontent and unhappiness warp and distort, becoming something much more sinister than simple feelings of restlessness?
Despite constantly declining medicinal help throughout my two years in therapy for an eating disorder, I have now accepted that this is not something I can do alone. These thoughts are not my thoughts, this existence is not me. I am now reaching out for drug therapy and will hopefully be starting a course of antidepressants within the next few weeks. I always frowned upon the biomedical approach to treating mental illness, always believing that it was a sign of weakness, turning to drugs being the easy way out. I could not have been more wrong. It takes a really strong person to recognise and accept that some matters are simply beyond our own capabilities.
What hurts most about this whole thing is that for a while I was happy. For about three months at the end of 2016 I lived in a state of blissful happiness and life was so beautiful. But the fact is that man is not invincible. I am not invincible. This blog has been resurrected and I anticipate that I will be a lot more active over the next few months. I can only hope that what I write will reach out, resonate and educate.
It’s okay to seek help again because I simply cannot ignore this arrhythmic ticking in my brain anymore. And I’m scared.
-Niamhy
High Priestess Resurrected 