Monday, 28 January 2013

The writer of this blog...

... has been in hell for the past two months...

perhaps more.

My silence here has been down to the simple fact that my head is mostly a jumble of sounds which don't seem to translate into anything as neat and orderly as WORDS.
It even sounds far fetched to me, but it's one of those 'you just had to be there' things. 
Unless you've been in my shoes (and stomped round and around the same hospital building three times a day for twenty minutes 'fresh air') my ridiculously dramatic sounding excuse for silence just won't wash. 
(Cue Persil ad...)

No really. 

Prompted by a friend to describe what it's like to be restoring weight, I wrote that it's like...

...having your skin peeled off in long strips, and then your body being rolled around on a grater, with pressure being applied in varying degrees in different places
and sometimes
it makes you bleed purple rivers in hidden places
or mouth short 

and other times
anger-fear juices inwardly curdle
with an inverted agony
that leaves me folded on the floor
pressing cold fists into my eyes
to stem the red pain seeping out of my sockets

and in me, a mighty snake twists
my colon, a strangled tree trunk 
and the more I eat
the more it turns and thrashes 
against the raw muscle tubing 

Okay. So every word is wringing with pubescent angst and perhaps the silence, if not golden, is at least preferable to the torture - jargon. 
But this is the truth of it.
This is how it feels for my anorexic head to be growing a body.
And no amount of Seroquel or Pregabalin or Duloxetine is going to make it okay. 

It's not supposed to be a joyride, this recovery lark... but six months in... it hasn't got easier... just...
... different. 


  1. HELLO LOVE - oh my, I ache with and for you as you forge on this journey to wellness through the muck and mire of agony and despair. And yet, you are here - writing, inspiring, being, one moment at a time and I get the honor of knowing you and your journey and the privilege to pray for and with you and believe that you will emerge whole one day and we will stand together and just sigh.......
    Love and honor

  2. My God that feels agony. But you have the courage to push on through and I have such admiration for you. I hope, truly hope, you can win the battle and go on to live a life in which you are fully alive and in control of the disease that saps the life from you. The process you describe is one of coming alive - but it hurts like absolute hell.

    Still here right beside you.

    Much love

    Sky xx

  3. Hi,
    I've debated writing you again as I realize that you have so much to deal with right now, that personal communication must be at the very bottom of your activity list.  I'm certainly not expecting a response, nor should you feel any pressure, guilt or obligation to respond.

    I taught teenagers for many many years, and I am certainly familiar with what you label "pubescent angst":

    "I sit, alone,
    a tiny,
    flickering flame,
    to illuminate a world
    that condemns me to darkness."

    Yeah, this prose is certainly purple ,and it is certainly heavily slathered with self-pity, but I'm sorry my friend, for this is not your genre, self defined or not.  While that angst ridden teen might feel miserable and unloved, her pain is not the pain of pushing herself beyond limits to achieve a goal, but rather the self-loathing pain of surrendering herself to the values and definitions of others, and a fear that she doesn't measure up.

    Your pain, wrenchingly and powerfully painted is the pain of the athlete, striving for one more rep, the mountain climber, struggling to summit or the dancer, stretching muscles to impossible limits.  Your courage is not only in enduring that pain to achieve your goal, but also to attempt, beautifully (yes, I said beautifully) to help us understand what this all feels like.

    Your words are in no way “jargon”, but a personal language of deep emotional expression. If jargon is reducing language to the thoughtless cliché, your words are personal, and feel as if they were torn from your inner being.

    And by the way, I absolutely loved your: “ feels for my anorexic head to be growing a body. Wow, I think you found the title for your book.
    Best wishes, Bob

  4. Gail - Thank you for sticking by me as we wade through muck and mire. You are so loyal! I honestly wish that I knew you in real life! The way you inspire through this medium must only be a fraction of how amazing you are in 3D world!! Bless you.

    Sky - Another loyal traveller... Thank you for still looking in. Thank you for staying beside me. How I deserve that, I don't know.
    It means a lot that you seem to believe in me.

  5. Bob - You sort of take the air out of my lungs with your response. I read it a few days ago and have been quite touched by your persistence in supporting me and encouraging me to write. You are an incredible champion for the creative cause... Your absolute belief in myself expression is quite inspiring, despite my inner critic's attempts to paralyse my pen and dismiss your critique.
    I can only say thank you for your undeterrable faith in my writing.
    Best wishes