A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: K Is For Karen Carpenter

While I would in no way suggest that anyone’s recovery should be done in another’s name and for another person’s gain as I would always advocate the notion that the only way one will ever succeed in recovery is to really want it yourself and seek help voluntarily, I felt it was only right to take this opportunity to honour a notable figure (rather sadly) famous for her struggle with anorexia nervosa. She was also recently brought back to my attention following the viewing of a documentary which focused on her life after having fallen off my radar during the years of my own struggle despite being a regular feature of many Saturday afternoons spent “helping” (or rather “hindering”) my mother’s completion of housework. I am, of course, speaking of the one and only Karen Carpenter.

*SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING*

Carpenters 1976 Karen Carpenter (Photo by Chris Walter/WireImage)

Karen Carpenter shot to fame as one half of the sibling duo The Carpenters alongside her brother Richard during the 1970s. Noted for her enchanting contralto voice capable of bringing a tone of such melancholy, pain and knowledge well beyond her years to any song and amazing drumming skills, one thing is for certain: the lady had talent utterly oozing out of every pore and positively pulsing through her veins. With such hits as “We’ve Only Just Begun” and “Close To You” under her belt, it is undeniable that Karen should go down in history as one of the greatest musical artists to ever live. This is what she should be remembered for.

 

However, the world’s memory of such a beautiful talent is clouded by this unbelievable woman’s unfortunate fixation on dieting. It is believed that Karen first started dieting in 1967, embarking on the Stillman Quick Weight Loss Diet at the suggestion of a doctor, eating only low fat foods and drinking eight glasses of water per day. At a height of 5 feet and 4 inches, Karen began dieting at a weight of 66kg. By September 1975, Karen had dropped to her lowest weight of 41kg.

It is evident from interview footage from this time how little was known regarding anorexia nervosa. Dismissed only as an extreme form of fad dieting with interviewers being so insensitive as to comment on Karen’s struggles with “The Slimmer’s Disease”, Karen spent the latter part of her life attending psychotherapy. This was to no avail (obviously due to a lack of knowledge on the part of her consultants) as she continued to deteriorate, abusing thyroid replacement medication and laxatives. Finally, she was admitted to hospital in September 1982 and attached to a drip, which caused her to gain an excessive amount of weight much too quickly, putting a massive strain on her heart. Karen Carpenter died on 4th February 1983 at the age of 32 as a result of  “emetine cardiotoxicity due to or as a consequence of anorexia nervosa.”

Today, a greater knowledge in regards to the complications surrounding anorexia nervosa allows us to assume that Karen experienced refeeding issues. Today, there is considerably greater help more widely available. Today is different. Today, we can change.

It breaks my heart that the musical achievements of Karen Carpenter are often forgotten in favour of this cruel and terrible disease which destroyed her. She was an innovative artist, she was intelligent and she was brilliant. We need to remember this. She was so much more than this monster that lived inside her head. And so are we.

I hope that despite whichever afterlife Ms Carpenter has found herself in, be it The Summerlands or Nirvana or Heaven, she is able to look down and gaze upon this article. I hope she can read this next statement. Karen Carpenter has inspired me. Her story has encouraged me to murder this demon once and for all. I will not let my achievements be overshadowed by a pathetic voice in my head which craves all my attention because it realises how insignificant and ridiculous it is. I will not let my unique personality be forgotten in favour of my demise. I am killing it for Karen Carpenter.

That being said, I do not want to forget my battle. I am sick and tired of people assuming that because I look a bit healthier that I am completely cured. This statement is also spurned by a comment one family member of mine made whilst watching the Carpenter documentary. With no intended malice and without a second thought, he simply uttered under his breath that, “She [Karen Carpenter] was really miserable, wasn’t she?” This angered me a little, as it was said with an air which suggested that my own struggle was forgotten; that someone close to him had never experienced something similar. I will live with this taunting voice in my head for the rest of my life. It is my closest companion and it will live with me forever because, honestly, it has nowhere else to go. But I own my disease. I own my tormentor. And that is what makes me a warrior. I will say this without a stutter: I am proud of my anorexia nervosa because it made me who I am today, and that is a fighter.

I will leave the last words to Ms Carpenter herself, and I can only hope that this melody and this voice stays with you long after the final note resonates through your eardrum and nestles in your mind’s landscape. And I can only hope it encourages you to live.

 

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: J Is For Justice

On this day, August 4th, exactly one year ago, I received my diagnosis of anorexia nervosa, restrictive type. Eight years of body-checking, excessive exercising and starvation, all boiled down to one moment of medical confirmation…and I saw mine and my family’s world fall down around us. What seemed like an endless dark tunnel, suffocating with reams of questionnaires and assessments and blood tests and therapy sessions and dietetic appointments and weigh-ins, lay ahead. Most of the time, I was pessimistic. Most of the time, I believed I would not succeed. Most of the time, I made decisions to pack it all in, to succumb to my eating disorder and let the vile creature who lives inside my head to kill me.

This was me then:

A hell of a lot can change in a year.

This is me now (excuse the goofy pose…it was supposed to represent ‘celebration’):

Here are some differences which may be detected by a trained and observant human eye. Firstly, I have learned to let go of the regimental buzzcut, a hairstyle I claimed was a product of my rebellion but which was, if I am being completely honest with myself, yet another one of my OCD attempts at control, my ability to have a completely even cut all over my head a symbol of my success at perfection. I have added quite a significant amount of ink to my body since this exact moment, namely a completely breathtaking stomach piece which encapsulates both the struggle and the beauty of anorexia recovery. Above all, I have just recently entered my healthy BMI range.

There is much more going on inside this butterfly body of mine. This summer, I have successfully left the house numerous times without a coat as I no longer feel I am going to die of hypothermia anytime my frail and decaying skin is attacked by the slightest of breeze. I have the pleasure of complaining about my rosy cheeks ruining my Gothic aesthetic once again. The whites of my eyes are actually white again and my teeth are also white and my nails are getting stronger. (Warning: TMI ahead.) Despite currently being 19 days late, I am happy to say that I have had five very painful and very normal periods.

What a lot of people fail to realise is that reaching a healthy BMI does not equate to being anorexia-free. We can’t have everything and many aspects of my health have not improved, nor are they likely to ever be the same again. I am still covered in downy hair which I am extremely self-conscious about. My osteoporosis makes it difficult for me to be quite as bonkers and carefree as I used to be. I am chronically fatigued. I am awaiting an appointment to get tested for arthritis, meaning I could possibly be officially a 90-year-old woman at the tender age of 19. It remains to be seen if I will be able to have children without complications. I’m not happy. Yet.

But this is not a day for focusing on the negatives. I would prefer to see this day as a celebration of what I have achieved. A year is not a long time, yet I feel I have come so far in my journey. This book is nowhere near its conclusion but I am proud of the little victories in this chapter. So I guess that all that’s left for me to do is address all of you warriors out there who are currently suffering and tell you that it is time to do yourself and your body the justice it deserves. Recovery is a long and winding and difficult road but you never know what beautiful future lies beyond.

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: I Is For Initiating And Inviting Change

Picture the scene: you are standing in the familiar surroundings of your bedroom, having just purchased the skirt of your dreams from a notable high street retailer and in the process of trying on said skirt…when you discover that the combination of zip-length and waistline do not accommodate your new famine waist/feast booty body shape. What do you do? Do you;

A) have a small meltdown, resulting in a Rudolph nose, blotchy cheeks and Nile deltas of eyeliner streaming down your face?

B) forget about it and move on with your life because these things are just a factor of life and should not impinge on you in the slightest?

C) take to the internet and cause a storm, becoming a pioneering sizing standards activist?

It is with great shame that I tell you, reader, that my response in the heat of the moment was to go down the A route, with disastrous results. The rest of my weekend was ruined and, despite this event occurring around a fortnight ago, my anxiety surrounding the daily switch from pyjamas to clothing suitable for public exposure is sky high.

It was only a few days later when I was alerted to this news story, which thus confirmed a further argument that I literally do live in my own little Niamhy bubble, considering I had been completely oblivious to the controversy that had been sparked online from this one particular selfie:

This was snapped by one Ruth Clemens PhD in the fitting room of H&M, where she was scouring the sale rails for the latest bargains, as we all do. What this image shows is the size 14 Ms Clemens failing to fit into a pair of size 16 jeans. And I, for one, want to salute this lady for her bravery and panache for taking a stand against the retail regime with this condemning letter to the outlet, which has since gone viral:

I will admit that initially I was critical of the praise and publicity Clemens’ post was receiving, simply out of immaturity and jealousy. I begrudged her courage as it only exacerbated my fear that my polemics are merely superficial, the opening situation providing the evidence that I really am neither proud nor comfortable with my adult female body. And it was only as I was removing my too-big size 4 Topshop culottes to try on a pair of size 6 H&M jeans that were displaying a “NO VACANCY” sign to my refuge-seeking thighs that I realised that it is my job to join hands with this Ruth Clemens and call for change. It is society’s mixed signals regarding shape and body image which has made me this way, hating this new body which is just “not right”. What is “right”? Who are you to advertise the need for people to love their bodies on one page of your glossy magazines, only to tell me how to diet appropriately to lose 30 pounds in two weeks on the next? Who are you to tell me what clothes are the most flattering shape to compliment my body shape in order to ensnare onlooking males? Who are you to deny me the right to standardised sizing in high street retailers? It needs to be known just how triggering this failure to regulate clothing size ranges can be. Unfortunately some people, myself included, simply do not have the strength of women like Ruth Clemens to call clothing shops out on their wrongdoings. Instead, we consider what food we can cut from our dinner plate and how many squats we must do to burn 100 calories after we “indulge” on a banana.

I recently had the opportunity to talk on BBC radio about mental health and what must be done in society today in order to reduce the stigma surrounding those suffering from mental health issues. But the truth is that this is not just a problem for those suffering from or vulnerable to eating disorders or depression or any other mood disorder. Whilst I write from the viewpoint of one who has experienced anorexia, this is a universal dilemma, as I cannot name one person, male or female, who would or has not been disheartened by a situation similar to those described above. We must take to social media and follow the example of Ruth to initiate a change in our high streets. I do not exaggerate when I say that it could save a life.

I would like to close by once again thanking Ms Clemens for her fearlessness and as I bring an end to this blog post I hope that it won’t be long before I too can appreciate the new dance moves I have acquired as a result of now having to do the wiggle-boogie around my room in order to get my jeans on in the morning.

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: G Is For Growth

Note to reader: prepare to be bombarded with images of me being a pouting, posing imbecile over the next 500 words or so. I promise there is method to the madness.

Exhibit A: 10th March 2016. Formal number one of the year with my best friend of fifteen years.

Exhibit B: 13th April 2016. Demonstrating my newly discovered zest for life and desire for spontaneity, I was finally reunited with my favourite band of my youth, Two Door Cinema Club, after a two year estrangement. Tickets purchased approximately five hours before the show.

Exhibit C: 20th April 2016. Formal number two of the year, with the weirdest, whackiest, most brilliant pack of bookworms I have ever had the pleasure to know.

Okay, so this is a photo of a photo…shoot me.

Exhibit D: 7th May 2016. Dancing my life away with the most beautiful people to grace the planet, my glorious Urbanites. Still feeling the agonising aftermath but hey, I was sporting a new do, and it was totally worth it. Photo cred to the wonderful Miss Lauren McCune.

Exhibit E: 10th May 2016. Spontaneity is key; yes, an unpremeditated, off-the-cuff, completely irresistible trip to The Ulster Folk And Transport Museum. AN ENTIRE TRAIN JOURNEY AWAY. No planning, no scheming…it just happened. Spontaneously.

The reason behind this post is not to brag about how beautiful, perfect and carefree my life is through a series of snapshots. Believe me, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Every waking second is spent battling self-critical thoughts which pirouette in the forefront of my mind to mock every single action I perform throughout the day. But I am living. And that is what I want people to take from this.

Recovery is about so much more than physical growth around the bust, waist and hips.  So much more. It is about the mental, almost spiritual growth you experience. You learn who you are as an individual. You learn what it means to be alive. You simply learn what it is to be. And that is truly what I find to be the most beautiful gift of all. This is what makes this long, painful journey so worthwhile.

I am still learning. I am still growing (both literally and metaphorically). But I suppose we do have to acknowledge some of life’s greatest clichés and truly focus on how far we have come, leaving the worrying about how far we have to go for later. None of what I have referenced above would have been possible even as recently as three months ago. I (we) are entitled to off-days, off-hours, off-minutes, off-seconds, but it is in those moments that we must remember why we partake in this battle with ourselves daily: it is to live. And yes, I have overused superlatives in this post, but so what? That’s what life is about. Making everything bigger, better and more extraordinary.

Peace out.

-Niamhy xx

 

 

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: F Is For Finding Happiness

I have a confession to make. The Niamh you have become acquainted with through the posts on this blog is not altogether real. I have constructed a character. There is nothing wrong with that; surely all of the personas we carry off on social media platforms are simply one facet of our true selves, but for the purposes of this post, I feel it is necessary for me to strip back the facade and (perhaps for the first time) unveil my personality in all its naked honesty.

I wish.

It is important for me to do this in order to tackle some misunderstandings about anorexia nervosa and eating disorders in general. For the common outsider, it seems to be the case that their understanding of anorexia nervosa is that this illness is simply a case of self-starvation. Thus, the recovery process is easy: eat some food, gain some weight, hey presto! All better. And that is perfectly understandable; the taboo surrounding such a difficult and complex disorder has led to a lack of education, so much so that even my own mother would admit to this being the extent of her knowledge before her own daughter was diagnosed.

This is not the case. While it is evident that, in general, my physical health is certainly on the mend as a result of my food consumption increasing significantly, I am in no way better. I am not so shallow as to fail to recognise the good nature of mankind when casual acquaintances, friends and family members comment on “how well I look” (despite the fact that this may translate in my head to, “Wow, look how much weight you’ve gained!”); I appreciate efforts to congratulate me on tackling my greatest fear for the sake of my health. But I do think that the use of the word “well” in this instance is anachronistic.

Here is the ugly truth: I am not “well”. I would argue that, despite approaching a healthy BMI, at this time I am the sickest I have ever been. I would argue that I am currently at greater risk of physical harm than I would ever have been at my lowest weight and all of the medical complications that came along with being at such a low weight. And this is because I am currently a danger to myself.

I know this isn’t a pleasant thing to read but I cannot ignore how necessary this is in order to stimulate some discussion and to educate, even if it is an address to a small readership. I hate myself. This is not news to me; after all, an individual must experience true self-loathing in order to feel that they do not deserve to eat. But before, starvation was the perfect distraction from such a harsh reality. If I could succeed at starvation, I had a raison d’être. This has been taken away from me. And that is terrifying.

I have lived with disordered eating for eight years of my life. Those were my eight years of adolescence, the time in a person’s life when they truly come into their own and begin to understand who they are as an individual and learn what their position is in society. Unfortunately, I have no idea who this person is. When your main focus in life is to eat so little as to be a waif in the wind and to be the greatest dieter that the world has ever seen, it is almost impossible to be yourself. You are not you. You are Anorexia. And, at the time, that is all that matters and you are perfectly okay with that.

I am proud to say that I am now trying to leave Anorexia in the past in order to be Niamh, but this is honestly the hardest part of the journey so far. It is difficult having to face your greatest fear every few hours in the form of eating. It is difficult waking up every morning knowing that you have to spend the next few hours or so walking around the planet wearing a body that you are not comfortable in. It is difficult knowing that you wasted years of your life creating something only to have it taken away from you. It is difficult knowing that you are causing your loved ones pain because sadness is an inherent part of your life now and you can’t explain why. It is difficult hating yourself.

I don’t know whether depression is a cause or a symptom of my anorexia nervosa (and yes, it is “my” anorexia nervosa; I feel I have every right to “own” my illness now) but what I do know is that it is certainly present throughout and after the event. So the next time you use the term “depressed” in reference to a fleeting feeling of sadness or frustration, take a moment to think about what the word “depression” really refers to. Self-loathing. Worthlessness. Hopelessness. These emotions are constantly present in the mind of someone suffering from depression. So please, think before you speak.

Finally, before you assume I or any other ED warrior is recovered because I now eat sandwiches for lunch or my palette has developed beyond one serving of spinach for dinner or I don’t perform jumping jacks until I collapse into a sweat-drenched faint, think again. There is more going on in this head of mine than you will ever know.

-Niamhy xx

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week: It’s Time To Talk

We interrupt my series “A-Z Of Reasons To Recover” to fully exploit the opportunities that NEDA and b-eat’s establishment of the annual National Eating Disorder Awareness Week has served us up and to spread a short, simple but powerful message. Running this year from 22-28 February, I have found the internet bombarded with messages in support of recovering from all brands of eating disorders, from anorexia nervosa to bulimia to binge eating disorder. This is a fantastic mechanism which works to promote the idea that you are not alone. No-one is alone in this fight against a massive evil. And NEDA and b-eat make it their mission to ensure that all ED warriors are aware of this. That is why it was my pleasure to brand my body with their symbol of recovery in December 2015…

Okay, so I added a bit to the simple symbol…but it’s my body so hey-ho, do what I want.

Having this on my stomach reminds me of my bravery. It reminds me that I am fighting the greatest war of all, the war against the self, and I deserve to come out on top. I deserve to feed my body. I deserve life. We all do. Be brave. Make the first step to recovery. It isn’t easy (in fact, it’s the most difficult thing I have ever done) but I have faith that in the end it will be beautiful.

My heart is torn on the issue of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. It angers me that we need to dedicate time to speaking out about an issue which pollutes our society so deftly. Having a dedicated week suggests that the other 51 weeks of the year are spent in silence, this cruel monster given the rest of the year to slowly but surely kill off any poor soul that falls under its captivating but fatal spell. This should not be the case. I encourage all ED warriors to speak out all the time, no matter what. Scream it from the rooftops. Shout it from the mountain. Heck, stop a random individual in the street and tell them your story. People need to know. The world needs to know. Your voice, your words could save a life.

It is time to educate. It is time to inform. I am sick and tired of having to explain to people my condition, how it affects me daily, how it will continue to affect me for the rest of my life. We need to destroy the stigma, dispel the illusions, kill the myths and legends about eating disorders. The truth needs to be revealed. And we have the power to do that. I only hope that the internet popularity of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week is not just a fad which will be forgotten about as soon as Monday morning arrives on our doorsteps. Don’t let it be a fleeting shadow. Let this week be a spark which ignites a flame to burn an entire lifetime. It is time to kill eating disorders once and for all.

Thank you.

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: E Is For Eating What I Want When I Want

DISCLAIMER: this is not an article detailing my hopes and ambition for a miraculous Damascus of a recovery, in which I spend each day indulging in the richest, most luxurious of foods every breathing second. So don’t be expecting it. It ain’t gonna happen. You have to be realistic about recovery. I gotta suck it up and accept the fact that I am never going to be a Nigella. As much as I may dream to be. A moment’s silence in praise of Our Lady Lawson, please…

Instead, this post is about these:

No, not my ridiculously distorted facial expressions in every single photograph of me ever taken (although that would prove an interesting read). This post shall be about that little booklet of treasures in my hand. If you can decipher the smudgy black line along the top of the page, it reads: EATING PLAN FOR – NIAMH LUNDY. Boring. Sorry.

My dismissive smirk in this selfie is a tad misleading. I don’t know what I would do without this. I was pathetic. I am pathetic. I didn’t know what a snack food was. I didn’t know what filled a sandwich. I didn’t know what an appropriate dinner portion was. I still don’t. This is why my meal plan is the greatest thing to happen to me in the past six months. It is essentially my holy bible, my guide to maintain…well…an existence, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Who would have thought that seven stapled pages could literally be a life saver?

Now for downfall. Many people believe that sticking stringently to such a plan equates to being a recovered individual. After all, you are eating. Ergo, you are normal, right? No disordered eating patterns here, isn’t that so? This plan does it all for me and I just have to think of it as medication, like someone with a physical ailment would take pills at particular intervals throughout the day to keep their health in check. I have had these thoughts. I was one of those people who was led into a false sense of security, believing that because I was putting food into my belly in accordance with a meal plan that I was fine and dandy, that I could keep following this plan for the rest of my natural existence and everything would be okay.

This is not okay. This is not normal eating.

How many people do you know that cling to a booklet which dictates exactly what they eat (right down to teaspoon measurements and milliliters of liquid accompaniment, I kid you not) and at what precise hour they eat it? How many people do you know who have seven meals assigned to them which must be consumed in the seven days, with no adjustments or replacements? Yeah. The silence is deafening. This is not recovered eating. This is one of the earliest stages of recovery, missy. You are nowhere near recovered.

Clichés are my forte.

I am not putting us down. This is my attempt at encouragement, as backward as it may be. The thing that fuels me is the desire to be adventurous. I will say it: I AM BORED. I am bored of the same dinners, I am bored of being dictated to by a piece of paper telling me when I can and can’t eat something, I am bored of having to use the excuse, “It isn’t in my meal plan,” or, “It doesn’t comply with my meal plan,” when my friends invite me out. This is not the life I want to lead. This meal plan allows for existence. This meal plan does not allow for living. I want to live. I deserve to live.

I will admit, it is my freedom with fruit that I miss most of all. I want to be trusted to lead a healthy lifestyle again but not exploit it, to acknowledge that I deserve to be treated to foods that aren’t necessarily part of a ‘clean eating’ diet and to recognise that if I’m craving the darn cake, I should eat the darn cake.

Been a bit cake on the brain since I made this lemon drizzle badboy…

I have been promised greater freedom of choice with the foods I eat once I reach a BMI between 17 and 17.5. Today, my BMI was calculated at 16.2. But slow and steady wins the race. And victory will be sweet.

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: D Is For Dancing The Night (And Your Troubles) Away

Today’s blog post comes to you in the form of good ol’ procrastination for the author is most certainly avoiding her impending doom and would prefer to ignore the fact that she has an English Language exam tomorrow instead of facing the facts head on. I will protest that the anxiety was too much for me to bear and I simply had to step away from the study in order to cleanse my mind of any negativity and just chill for a bit. Of course, it is the truth.

Apt…but learn how to spell “pronounced”…

I can honestly say that I have never dreaded an exam quite so much as I am dreading this one tomorrow. But that’s no matter because do you know what? I have something to look forward to. I, granny-ish as I am, have made plans to celebrate the completion of said atrocity. I, Niamh Lundy, am going out. THE HERMIT IS LEAVING THE HOUSE.

Apologies for the meme invasion.

Granted, no alcohol will be consumed. Granted, I’ll probably get muscular pain and cramps 30 minutes into the evening. Granted, chances are I will be tucked up in bed before midnight, completely exhausted. But no feat is ever too small. The very fact that I am excited about heading out partying in celebration or commiseration of my exam only makes me more grateful that I have chosen this path to recovery, this path leading me in the right direction to achieving one of my goals of just having a normal student life and acting like your average young person. I received a taster of this lifestyle before (in a time and place which involved masking my age to sneak into nightclubs somewhat illegally…but we shall say no more about it) and I have missed it so. I finally feel that the wheels are in motion for its return. You know what they say: slow and steady always wins the race.

It is also only right that I take this moment to acknowledge my gratitude for best friends, whose patience is bewildering and humbling. I don’t know if I could be bothered with being as welcoming to someone who has spent the past six months or so locked in her own shell, refusing to even grace society with the simplest of outings. I merely had to mention a desire to get out and they were immediately supportive. I’m not entirely sure if they really do care about me or if they just love the drink (I jest). Either way, I am so unbelievably thankful for their constant encouragement and I am forever indebted to them.

I suppose one’s head better return to the books but it would be criminal of me to publish a post on this sad day without taking a moment to issue my condolences to the family and friends of one of the greatest icons of androgyny, eccentricity and fearlessness. King Bowie, despite all of my efforts, I have yet to fully emulate the gusto with which you lived your life and embraced your originality. I can only hope that one day I achieve your bravery. RIP angel.

I leave my parting words up to our dearly departed prince. I will not go in for deep, raw emotion…instead, I allow Bowie to lead himself and my blog post out in a manner which I think he would have approved of:

 

How appropriate.

-Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: C Is For Christmas

I would like to take this brief moment to wish you all a glorious Christmas and to thank you for your support over the last few months. It has been more difficult than I can say but I know for a fact that it would have been downright impossible without your help and constant encouragement. So eat, drink and be merry because, in the immortal words of the great philosopher L’Oréal, you are all more than worth it.

So all that is left for me to say is a merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight! À bientôt and go raibh míle maith agat!

Lots of love,

Niamhy xx

A-Z Of Reasons To Recover: B Is For Babies

No beating about the bush here, it’s time for a biology lesson (and for me to insult your intelligence…but it is really rather appalling how little some people know about this very vital aspect of everyone’s existence)! This is the female reproductive system:

In order for procreation to take place, a fertilised egg (ovum) must implant itself in the wall or lining of the uterus. For fertilisation to take place, an egg is released from the ovary once a month in the hope that some little enthusiastic chappy known as a spermy-wermy makes his way down the fallopian tube and decides he wants to fuse with said eggy-weggy. If fertilisation does not take place within a biologically determined window of opportunity, the lining of the womb collapses, positively distraught that it has to face yet another month of unemployment. This collapsing of the wall of the womb is known (amongst other aliases) as the menstruation cycle.

Well, that’s enough science-y spake for one day (I am an English student after all; I am essentially allergic to science). This is yet another blog post I deliberated about composing, fearing that it may be a socially unacceptable subject matter to discuss so openly. But then I had an epiphany: what does the fact that I feel that I cannot write about possibly the single most natural event in the world for fear of causing offence to some readers say about the society in which we live? Therefore, I have decided to put on my “Lady Bravery” cap, loosen my tongue and verbalise my thoughts in an act of disregard for this male-dominated world. And I’m going to do it in capital letters.

I, NIAMH LUNDY, HAVE NOT EXPERIENCED A PERIOD IN ONE WHOLE YEAR. I AM OFFICIALLY 322 DAYS LATE.

And who is the guilty culprit? Who is to blame for such an atrocity? Yep, you guessed it: the old villain Anorexia Nervosa. This absence of menstruation in women is known as amenorrhoea and the longer it persists, the greater the chance of difficulty in conceiving later in life. And I kinda want to leave my options open, believe it or not.

I hear ya, ladies. I know that monthly visit can be an absolute pain (both literally and metaphorically). But take it from someone who knows: YOU WOULD MISS IT IF IT WAS GONE. The most horrendous aspect of this consequence of AN in my opinion? My body is constantly in a state of flux, teetering on the brink of prepubescence and pre-menopausal. Yes, you read that correctly. PRE-MENOPAUSAL. At 18 years of age, I experience nightly hot flushes which often force me to awaken at 3am in a more-than-slightly disorientated state. It is no fun.

I shall stop myself here before I go into the really gory details (I’ll save those for the autobiography…you ain’t getting those gems for free) but I simply could not justify withholding the secret of this rather taboo but extremely serious consequence of subjecting your body to such savage mistreatment. When I decided to reincarnate my original blog, I vowed to approach it with complete brutal honesty. And I will not turn my back on this vow.

Over and out.

-Niamhy xx