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I need to write more. I tell myself this all the time and yet I’m always getting caught up in work, socialising or just other hobbies that I lately haven’t written for months. I reminded myself this weekend how much I enjoy writing on this blog, both therapeutically and generally and I want to commit to writing at least once a week (or fortnight if I have nothing to say!).

There’s a few reasons I want to keep writing. Predominantly though, it’s always been therapeutic for me not to just write but to read other people’s blogs. Following on from this point, I’m coming up to my final therapy session and I realised I do need to actively engage with this blog to continue my recovery going forward – if anything, it’s my way of journaling. There’s also been a lot of occasions I could have written, or wanted to write, but simply didn’t. So I guess I might backtrack to begin with.

Perhaps this is my written down promise to myself that I’m going to keep writing. A promise to myself to maximise my recovery by continuing to write.

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I haven’t been keeping track as much lately but I think that I’ve been sick 6 times in five months and I can say for certain I’m 7 weeks and 4 days since my last purge. You’ll all know that recovery isn’t about the sole symptom people think you’re recovering from. That it’s a mixture of emotions and tough decisions to battle each day but I’m proud to be approaching my first ever 2 month mark of being, at least, ‘purge-free’.

The panic attacks and battles are becoming less frequent but I feel that they are stronger when they are here. It’s almost as though the more I pull away from my eating disorder the more the Demon digs its claws in and tries to pull me back.

This truly is the first time I’ve ever felt that I am recovering. I’ve accepted that I don’t need to have no symptoms each and every day to be “in recovery” and that having a day where I suffer a symptom doesn’t mean “relapse” or that I’m no longer “recovering”. I think 2 months purge free and hardly any symptoms is a good run.

I’m having symptoms today though. I suppose that’s why I’m back here on this keyboard. I’ve had bad problems with my abdomen 4 times over the last 4 months and they think I’m having gallstones or perhaps other issues with my gallbladder.

So let’s recap. I suffer from the following: cerebral palsy, epilepsy, psoriasis, psoriatic arthritis and a Volkmann’s ischemic contracture. I have had surgery to remove my appendicitis and kidney stones as well as surgery in relation to the previous disabilities I’ve listed. I have suffered 11 broken bones, several plates and pins remain in my body, I take medication that weakens my immune system and I sometimes have to use a walking stick to get around.

Don’t forget to add the bulimia and even if my gallbladder isn’t the issue, there’s certainly something going wrong with my stomach which may require even more surgery.

I don’t usually cope well when another new illness or diagnosis is given to me. It makes me feel broken – a feeling I’ve been overly exposed to since I was a child and not just because of medical issues. However, although I’m feeling sad today I seem to be coping with this half-diagnosis much better. It hasn’t sent me into an automatic downward spiral into relapse.

I do consider I’ve overeaten slightly today and I’ve had a panic attack as a result. Not one that made me want to purge but once that made me want to keep eating which would make me want to purge…so, yeah, perhaps one that ultimately had the goal of making me purge.

Although I’m coping better than I used to, I’m hurting a bit today which is making each hour tick by so slowly and every minute hurts much more than it should. I just want today to be over. And that’s okay. It’s okay to have tougher days where all you want to do is lie in bed and cry, it’s just that I can’t actually do that today. Today is a day where I’ve had to go back and forth from the doctors and work and I have plans with my best friends tonight so I can’t just hole up in bed and cry as much as I want to.

I know it’s okay to cancel plans if I need some time but, ultimately, my ED has taken so many social experiences away from me in the past and it still does. My recovery wants me to rest but it also wants me to stand up and genuinely enjoy hanging out with my friends this evening.

Today’s just one of those slightly tougher days due to factors I, simply put, cannot control.

So what can I control? I can control how I choose to act. I can choose to continue working this afternoon and I can choose to go bowling this evening with my best friends. I can choose to eat dinner with them or choose to eat dinner later at home. I can choose to be happy this evening and to cry later if I still need to!

I can choose to deal with my emotions in whatever healthy ways I can find this evening. And a healthy way is to make sure I still eat dinner, keep hydrated and, most importantly, relax and have fun.

I’m at my almost-two-month stage. A tough milestone to have gotten to so there’s no point stopping now.

Here’s a picture of me at HP world last week because days like today call for happy memories

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I did something completely off the bat last week. Something I’m so surprised that I did but something that I’m so incredibly pleased with myself about.

I went for a run which ended up being my first ever 10k run.

What’s more, I enjoyed it.

I came back home with such a buzz. Had I really just gone on a 63 minute run without stopping and liked it? Me? The girl who told everyone (predominantly herself) that she couldn’t run?

Earlier in the week I’d gone on a shorter run with my housemate. I was so nervous because I have “exercise-anxiety”. I know I can swim well. I know I can lift heavy weights and so I don’t feel self-conscious in the pool or gym (at least, not self-conscious when it comes to my ability, body image feels different although it’s improving!) But running? I have this fear I would look awful, that I’d be too slow, that I’d not be able to make it without stopping. These fears that inevitably result in me (1) feeling self-conscious, (2) running slower and (3) stopping.

Even though I love swimming and going to the gym, I still really don’t like working out with people I know. So running with a friend was a huge challenge but…it wasn’t that bad. I came back having run about 7k, the furthest I’d ran at that point and I hadn’t “died”. I hadn’t been “too slow”. It was all fine and I felt good.

And so on Saturday morning I went and dug out my official running trainers from my triathlon days. (As a para-athlete from a swimming background, the triathlon coaches were conscious not to injure my knees through a change in training so we focused heavily on my swim and bike and less so on the run, I’d never run more than 5k in training). I had planned to do the same run as me and my housemate did but ended up feeling really good and just kept going. Once I got to 7k I knew I had more in me I thought to myself, “how great would it be to get to 10” and somehow I managed to loop back to my house and finished bang on 10k.

I had a therapy session that morning and I cried over how happy I was with myself. I still can’t believe I cried tears of happiness after running a 10k! My therapist said it was one of the first times I’ve said nice things to myself and thinks that’s why I was crying. Afterwards, I was raging with happiness the rest of the day.

I told people that it’s the first time I’ve had that “buzz” since I was an elite athlete 4 years ago but I quickly realised that wasn’t it.

It was the first time I’ve had that “buzz” since I was a healthy elite athlete 8 years ago. It was a feeling I’ve not felt since before my ED days and I think that’s why I cried so much.

It’s been a long 8 years since I could exercise without feeling like “I have to”. A long time since I was competing in sports that I loved simply because I loved them rather than hating every aspect of competitive sport because of the constant bullying and psychological mind games. 8 years since I came home really happy with my workout rather than depressed trying to work out “what else can I do?”

I didn’t even care about the calories on the run and I automatically ate as soon as I came home. I ate a good meal and kept drinking water all day. It’s been 8 years since I didn’t automatically associate every single food with guilt. People forget that bulimia isn’t always categorised with binging and although I have had binge episodes, half the time I wasn’t purging a binge but purging every single item I ate, even fruit and water. I used to hate drinking water because it made me feel full and I had been taught to associate full with fat which meant no Paralympic Games for me which meant failure, worthlessness and more.

I then got thinking that I could do more than 10k. If that was my first run in over 4 years and I’d never even ran that distance previously then surely I could do more? I began to think I could do a half marathon and lo and behold, later that day, I saw a charity I knew advertising their last remaining spaces for the London Landmarks Half Marathon on 24 March…I contacted them and there we go, I’m doing a half-marathon in 8 weeks!

The thing is I didn’t sign up to the event in the hopes it would force me to keep running. I signed up because (1) I want to keep running, (2) I want to see what I can do and (3) it is for charity that means something to me.

I’d only ever run a charity event for a charity that has some meaning to me like, Beat, Epilepsy Action or Psoriatic Arthritis UK. None of these charities were running at or had places at this half marathon and Scope is a less-well-known charity that fights for disability equality. They campaign for the government to have better legislation and they also offer practical and emotional support to disabled people, families, carers and professionals as well as having various other campaigns. None of my friends have ever heard of Scope but I have. To be blunt, being disabled does mean I know more disabled people than most able-bodied people do and I know Scope through these friends of mine. Therefore, I felt it was appropriate for me to raise money for them.

And I really want to see what happens going forward. I just want to keep running. I want to enter so many more races (which is my “athlete” coming back!). I suppose it’s a sport that I have no background with so I can’t judge myself on times or distances etc.

I appreciate I need to be careful and ensure this new found love for running doesn’t stop my recovery but I can’t just pre-empt that that’s going to happen. I’ve already noticed I’m taking so much more care to hydrate, fuel and recover properly around these runs I’m now doing and I’ve even reduced my exercise plan by letting myself sleep more and gym less. But you know what? I’m 26 and I was an athlete for two thirds of my life. Being in sport is part of me. It was part of me before the ED, during it, and there’s nothing to say it can’t be part of me after the ED. I don’t need to be an international athlete at a Paralympic Games to be “worthy of sport”. I am worthy of enjoying sport.

I’m “worthy” in general.

I’m just so damn surprised it was a one-off run that made me realise that.

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I assumed that the very first post I saw was someone posting a ten-year progress picture because they wanted to. I didn’t realise it was a viral “challenge” sweeping over all social media platforms.

I’ve never liked these “challenges” that encourage people to essentially post a nice picture of themselves. I don’t mean to judge but I do feel like it’s a cry for attention. It’s a post that demands others to tell you how cute you looked then and how even better you look now. It’s a “challenge” that seeks self-affirmation from others.

I don’t want to judge. Everyone should be able to post whatever they want.

Thing is, I don’t think that it is a challenge for the vast majority of people.

Hence why I’ve been using quotation marks until now because it is a challenge for some.

It’s a real challenge for me and my ED to post a comparison picture but I decided to compare two pictures of myself.

In the darkest days of my ED, I deleted every single picture I was embarrassed off and if it wasn’t my picture to delete you can be sure I removed every single tag. I hated those reminders of the weight I gained when I was injured. The further weight I gained because I was burying my emotions in food every single day.

I removed every single picture which made me feel “fat” or “ugly” and as a result I have lost some physical reminders of those years. It’s like I tried to erase a part of me. I couldn’t accept that I had made myself that way and so I deleted the memories.

I’m currently trying to find any pictures of myself that survived the “Facebook purge” or ones that existed before the days of camera phones and social media. I’m going through an exercise of trying to love that girl in those pictures so I can accept my past rather than trying to erase it. That in itself is a challenge.

Anyway…

Scouring through my old albums was a very real and painful challenge. It hurt to see who I was before and during my darkest days. It pained me to face the hurt behind the photographs.

I did find one picture on Facebook from my best friend’s birthday party when I was 17. I deliberately kept it because the uncropped version was really funny and I wanted reminders of my best friend’s birthday.

I downloaded it and combined it with the most recent picture I have of myself. It was from 7 days ago and I was very drunk. It was the first time I had really let myself drink since mid-November (due to the annual “December Fears”) and I had decided to stop being scared of alcohol and parties and to “rip the band aid off” to enjoy myself. You can tell from the picture that it worked!

I haven’t been able to post it on social media though and, to be honest, I don’t need to.

Half of me doesn’t want to post it because I’m scared. My stage of recovering isn’t strong enough to let me accept that girl on the left. I still blame her for the things people did and said to her. The things that ultimately resulted in and helped the ED continue, even though I know that it isn’t her fault.

The other half of me simply doesn’t want to post it. I know I spent years seeking affirmation from others and I’d like to stop that behaviour. I still post pictures of myself but I’m no longer trying to post the most perfect picture of myself to gain likes from people I don’t even talk to. I’m posting the pictures where I feel like I look incredibly happy. Something I’ve not seen in my pictures for a while.

I’m going to post it here though. This blog has always felt safer than social media even though I know my connections have access to it.

Every day is a challenge when you are recovering from an eating disorder. Every day is a challenge to look in the mirror, to eat, to rest. Every day is a battle with my body image ; both my body image today and my body image from the past.

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I deliberately stayed away from writing during December even though I had plenty to write about. There was so much I wanted to say, so many emotions I wanted to get out onto paper but I always find I retreat in December. I shy away from so much because there’s so much going on.

December is already a difficult month and I found myself becoming anxious about it 2-3 weeks into November.

The battles were louder and lasted longer.

Every day I had to remind myself not to “earn” or “burn off” any celebration or socialisation that was in my diary.

I had to double check I was working out because I wanted to and not because “I had to”.

I then had to console myself for the days I couldn’t work out and the days my food plans became unpredictable.

I had to take my fitbit off and hand it over to my mum for the holiday period because I had a breakdown on a day where it wouldn’t sync to my phone and I couldn’t see what calories I had burned before a meal out with some old friends.

I had to remember to rest and relax.

But everywhere you look, every social media platform quickly becomes the “Competitive Christmas Competition” and we’re flooded with pictures of food and festivities. We’re reminded to “earn our Christmas dinner”, to “work off the Christmas parties” and to embrace a “New Year, New Body”.

Friends make harmless comments about “how much they ate over Christmas”. I had one friend tell me she ate so much that it made her throw up and all I could do was smile and nod. I didn’t know how to tell her that type of conversation makes me uncomfortable as I think of all the Christmases I have experienced relapses.

I relapsed this year and I blamed myself so hard because last year was the first year I was not sick on Christmas Day. I wanted this year to be the second year but whilst I ate breakfast and ate my Christmas Dinner, I purged when I had a snack at 8pm because it wasn’t on my food plan.

I wasn’t full at that point. I hadn’t overeaten. I had simply had an extra bite not on my plan and I went into auto-pilot. In hindsight, I put too much pressure on myself because of last year but I realised that this year was in fact better than last year.

Last year, I went home for the shortest time possible. I made sure I “worked for my Christmas Dinner” and I punished myself by over exercising and purging as soon as I got back to London on the 27th. I continued my restrict-purge cycle all the way through to February when I decided I needed help.

So I wasn’t okay last year. I was over-exercising, under-eating and purging whenever I could.

This year was different. This year, (minus my fitbit meltdown) I gave myself 2 weeks off exercising. This year, I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, including Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. I still didn’t enjoy my Christmas parties to the maximum I could but I still went and faced them.

This year, I’ve come back to London and my first instinct has not been to eat and purge. I’m still experiencing panic attacks with food. I’m still nervous around my triggers and I’m still trying not to rely mentally on my fitbit but all in all, it’s a much better Christmas period than last year.

I’ve suffered 3 purges in 15 weeks. Definitely some skipped meals in those weeks but not too many. Throw in a few good panic attacks and well, the end of 2018 wasn’t too bad recovery-wise after all.

There are going to be no resolutions this year. No promises to do X, Y or Z. No pressure on any goals. Just continuing forward each day.

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Time flies and a lot changes as each second passes by.

12 months ago I had bought tickets to a Bonfire and Fireworks display at Battersea Park and, me being me, I was really excited. But me, also being me, I ended up in hospital with a kidney stone that left me bedridden and in unbelievable pain for a few weeks until they had to operate.

They kept telling me to drink. I told them I was bad at staying hydrated. I didn’t tell them that was because of my ED. I didn’t admit that I used to be so scared of drinking for fear of that ‘fullness’ feeling that I stopped drinking even water.

I didn’t admit any of that. Not even to myself.

That was the first time I thought I may have damaged my body.

6 months ago, I started getting stabbing chest pains, on the left hand side, when I was walking around. Exercise was worse. I was so scared it was my heart but I didn’t tell anyone that. I didn’t want to tell anyone I was still having issues. Ultimately, I simply didn’t want to admit it to myself.

That was the first time I thought I was heading for a heart attack.

I truly think I was heading that way.

It had been 8 years since that Demon arrived.

Time really does fly.

Now, it’s been a month.

I haven’t purged for a month.

I’ve noticed I’ve lost weight.

I almost wish I hadn’t noticed that.

I’m second-guessing if I’ve been restricting in absence of the purges.

If I think about it, I have been sticking to soup every single lunch, although I really do love that soup shop next to work. Breakfast is on and off, as always, but I have increased dinner. I’ve managed to have dinner from the work canteen and I’ve tried to make it as healthy as I can.

Does that mean I was restricting though?

Yes, I reduced my carbs and fear foods but I still had some small amounts because I knew I needed them.

Is eating in a way to reduce panic, fears and triggers, a bad thing?

Have I lost weight because I’ve restricted? Or is it because I’m finally not purging and my body isn’t in starvation mode?

I  got a fitbit. Yes, controversial for an ED sufferer, I know.

I looked at what I was burning on days with and without exercise. I then looked at my food diary for the previous month and I must have been having an incredibly substantial deficit. An unhealthy one.

Seeing that even on a non-exercise day I was burning much more than I thought I was has made me increase my intake. It’s made me realise, that on days I’m working until midnight I need X. Let alone those midnight days where I’ve managed to make it to the gym in the morning.

I don’t know why that weight has shifted. I do know my mindset has shifted a bit and I’m conscious I don’t want to restrict.

However, whether it’s because I’ve restricted inadvertently or because my body is healing…I haven’t had chest pains for a month. I haven’t felt what feels like a kidney stone for a month. I have been stronger at work and the gym for a month. I have eaten ‘fear foods’ without a second thought every now and then this past month.

It’s only my first month into what I would call ‘my recovery’ so, of course, there’s still a few bumps to smooth out. I’m still well on my way to developing a balanced life.

12 months ago I was stuck in a purge-restrict cycle and I ended up in hospital with kidney problems.

This year, I baked brownies with a glass of wine without even thinking about numbers and fears. I also went to Bonfire Night, just 1 year late.

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It’s time to stay on top of writing. It’s always proven so cathartic and plays a huge role in my recovery but lately I’ve found it hard to sit down with the keyboard and type away.

Five weeks ago I rotated departments. That’ means I’m halfway through my training contract and well on my way to becoming a qualified lawyer after all these years. Rotation is tricky. You really have to hit the ground running as the team needs you to be able to pick up the work as if you know exactly what’s been happening the 6 months before you joined.

Some rotations are easier than others. Sometimes you rotate into a department and the work is realtively easy going and “quiet” and so you can take some more time to find your feet. Sometimes you rotate and the department is going through a busy period and it really is a “all hands on deck” approach.

My recent rotation involved the latter.

I was thrown into a chaotic intertwined web of different cases, all with imminent deadlines and all on subject-matter I had no knowledge of. Even the basic admin tasks were difficult because I’d never had to do them before.

5 weeks later and I feel like I’m settling in well but my first month was tough. I (somewhat) enjoyed what I was doing but I spent a month of working close to midnight EVERY NIGHT, and that took its toll on me.

Yes, I was tired. That’s expected. But it disrupted my exercise routine, my social calendar and my eating preparations. That was what I struggled with the most.

Every Sunday I plan my meals which I no longer consider a sign of weakness (progress!!!) and essentially my dinner one night is my lunch the next day. When you’re coming home at midnight: 1 – you probably have already eaten and 2 – you’re not going to cook your lunch for the next day.

Sometimes I ate whatever the work canteen was offering for dinner. Add on the fact I barely had time to exercise…that led to a couple of purges. Sometimes I was stressed because of the food on offer and other times I was sick because I could be, like I couldn’t control it. Auto-pilot.

It was happening 1-2 times a week. That in itself is a huge step forward for me.

Another huge step I took in these past 5 weeks was finally going back to therapy.

The intial session was so hard. I think I cried the whole time and then some more when I got home. It’s the right action for me right now though and I think I need some tough love. I still panic and worry but I’m not purging as much, I’m not restricting. The problem is the thoughts that plague my mind.

I still have so much pain deep inside that I haven’t dealt with, even in my previous therapy session and I think, at 26 years of age, I’m finally ready to deal with all the pain. I think I’m ready because previously, back with my other therapist, I was so desperate to get better but I wasn’t truly around supportive people.

This time I am.

This time I’m ready to not lie to a therapist and pretend I’m okay. I’m ready to be honest and listen to any criticism that may follow. I’m ready to stop hiding from it all.

Most importantly, I think I’m ready to stop hurting myself.

My first therapy appointment came after a week of 70+ hours at work. I was physically broken as well as mentally. After my appointment I started suffering from incredibly bad stomach cramps which saw me admitted to hospital. They think it was stress related and for the first time ever, I opened up to a NHS doctor and told them I was bulimic and scared that I may be starting to really hurt myself.

My boyfriend was there and he held me really tight as I said it, whispered that he was proud of me.

The past few weeks have really been tough in my recovery. Every day is a battle. I’m tired of being ill but, finally, I’m ready to stop being tired.

It’s time to finally get better.

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“But you’re fine” that’s what they say.

That’s what they always tell you.

But I don’t feel fine.

“So what if you’ve gained weight, you’re fine”

That’s how they continue.

But I don’t think “so what?”

I see more writing in my food diary, the increased number on the scale, an unhappy girl in the mirror looking at me.

I am that unhappy girl.

I’m trying to ignore the numbers and the thoughts but I’ve, simply put, struggled this week. I’m in a bit of a rut and I’m not sure how I can get out of it.

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Umbrella Adventures - Athlete Eating Dis.. by Umbrellaadventures - 3w ago

You say you don’t like to tell me you love me too often, so that when you do, it means ‘more’.

Those hidden words would mean a lot to me, if I were to hear them a little more often.

You say I’m perfect the way I am but I feel as though you keep me hidden.

You’re not hidden in my life. You are happy to be a part of my world.

You’ll come to events that my friends or I host.

But I’m never invited to yours.

19 months and I haven’t met a single person.

No work colleagues.

No friends you take part in your hobbies with.

Only your housemate but, I’m sorry, that doesn’t count.

I’m in your profile picture but you never post any other pictures of the adventures we get up to.

Yet you do with everyone else.

Family, colleagues, friends.

Just not me.

You always look so happy too. You never look that happy in any pictures I take.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it.

Maybe you’re making me feel ashamed of myself for no real reason. I know you would never mean to.

But I’ve been kept hidden before. I’ve been plenty of peoples ‘dirty little secret’. 

I’ve told you I feel hidden and yet nothing has changed.

God, how much just one introduction would mean to me.

But for now, I’m kept hidden.

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Please don’t ask me to talk about my eating disorder if you’re going to end the conversation as soon as I tell you what’s going on.

Please don’t ask me to open up when I say I don’t want to, but you decide I should, and then leave me with these thoughts festering in my brain.

Please don’t ask me to talk to you and then leave the conversation without even telling me how you felt. Why couldn’t we have continued to talk about something else? Anything else?

You started a conversation that you weren’t prepared to finish and now I’m on my own with my ED emotions eating away at me. Now I have no one to talk through all these toxic thoughts with.

I think you could be hurting. Hurting because I’m hurting. But shutting down right in front of me…

I feel so alone.

You’ve left me on my own until you decide we can talk, which is in 6 days’ time. 6 whole days – that’s when you’ve decided we can finish this conversation.

Now I’m trying to find the courage to face those 6 days with all these unresolved emotions seeping through my body like poison. But I don’t think I have any courage left in me.

Things have been left unresolved and I am left unravelling.

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