Therapy - The Return

Somehow, the monster had fallen asleep in the overlooked shadows of the cave.

And the cave, in it's way, had forgotten the echoes of it's clawing and shrieking; forgotten even the heavy thuds of the desperate turning as it tore deeper at the gashes of its matted flesh.

The cave fast forgot and its rock surface smoothed soft.

In the Friday floodlight, the cave prayed for dimmer light as the monster stirred.

"You're censoring a lot", said The Woman - (not a question, you'll notice).

I nod dumbly. Then I jest, "Just taking it easy".

Really though, I'm afraid to wake something up.

Need.

My worst enemy.

Need breeds need.

Just To Say...

Mostly at a loss for words, I haven't been here much lately, and although a part of me has longed to express something, I confess that I have sought the freedom of release in mediums less healthy than language.

However, so as not to completely abandon my blog, I am stopping by to throw a few words at it before I attempt sleep tonight.

What follows is a list of whatever pops into my head in the next few minutes. Bear with me. It's late, I'm tired and my head is a bit all over the place after a very mixed weekend.

1. I managed to join old housemates for a night on Saturday. We sang, danced on the sofa, took photos, went to a Moroccan, drank Mojitos (and some horrible purple concoction involving Vodka and Curacao), laughed and reminisced. I felt loved, lonely, terrified, happy and accepted.
2. Therapy has been just as much of a mixed bag. On Friday The Woman asked me if I needed to get to a hospital. She was worried and I knew why. I think i might have been worried too but I don't remember.
3. My binge and purge sessions have become more frequent and more violent.
4. Despite my general "avoid-like-the-plague" maxim regarding hospitals, I recently ended up in A&E because my weight got too low and my heart didn't like it. It gave me a fright... I also ended up in A&E with a colleague and her daughter, who had taken an OD. (Did I mention those things here before?
5. I have been spending a bit of time with a couple who I used to know a lifetime ago. They have been painfully kind to me and I am struggling to accept anything that they offer. I'm very confused and very upset about this but I won't say more than that at the moment.
6. I have been thinking about God and how I can ever really be a Christian.
7. I've discovered that Tesco Finest Turkey breast steaks have less calories than a hell of a lot of other foods and because it's 'meat', it looks as though I am eating a little more normally, thus making other people happy.
8. I will acknowledge here (for the first time) that I do think my drinking is a tiny bit of a problem sometimes.
9. I have organised a lot of stuff which has gone well at work lately. It's been nothing short of pure joy seeing the kids get a kick out of doing some of the activities and actually feeling a sense of belonging and worth.
10. I'm tired and tomorrow is another gym day. Sigh.

Bloody Therapy

To The Woman,

This hurts me more than it hurts you.



(I hope you feel it though)

Dear Everyone...

... Although I'm not really up for saying too much, I do want to say that I've been quite... touched (*wince*) by the fact that you guys seem to be here regardless of the crap that I come out with.
I don't expect you to be and I don't mind if you're not, but it has hit me a bit and I want to say thank you, even while extending my arms to keep a distance.

It is difficult to put my thoughts out; partly because I risk being met with revulsion and scorn and partly because my mind is so full at the moment that any thoughts I have are packed too tight to breathe. It feels as though my thoughts are crammed into too small a space. Some are hunched over, defeated by silence and age whilst others feel cocooned in fragile threads, unrealised, stunted by the lack of space or daring.

Therapy has been different over the last two weeks or so. The woman sounded very pleased when she pointed out that I have been more 'well' when we have talked.
She noted the correlation between my sitting in the chair (I said I didn't want to lie down anymore) and my well part being more prominent.

My reaction is split.

I prefer to sit. I feel much more in control. The 'work' part of me comes more naturally and I am able to think more logically.
However, I don't think that she realises that the reason I have been 'well' is actually because another part of me has become increasingly UNwell.
I'm well in one part because in another, I'm abiding by stringent rules in order to have almost complete control over my body.
I'm at my lowest weight and at one point this week, I actually thought that I had cracked it.

"Well blow me down! I've finally taught myself not to need anything".

That's what I thought.

It's not true of course.
Tonight I have eaten a lot of chocolate but it feels manageable because I know I will starve and then work out for hours tomorrow and I'll lose it.

Pathetic?
Go ahead.
Pour out the scorn.

But it's working for me, for now.

My biggest problem is the parts thing... If this was a different part writing, it'd be telling you about the dread and fear. It'd be telling you about how it is to live like a hamster in a cage, running frantically on a wheel that it's forgotten how to get off.

I'm split y'see.
Split right down the middle.

Anyone got a zip?

In My Defence

I'm not going to even begin to try to analyse the 'whys' in terms of why I feel the urge to somehow protect and defend myself; mainly because I want to continue dwelling safely within the confines of the (disturbingly teenage) brick walls across which, the slogan, "you will never hurt me as much as I can hurt me" is emblazoned in dripping, white spray paint. Did I mention how safe it is here? No? Well then... allow me to explain that when I am here, nothing and no one can touch me. Even if they could cut my skin I wouldn't feel it.

In therapy today I discovered that the reason I binge (an, oh God, I'm still in the midst of a two day, non stop binge) may be similar to one of the reasons I cut. (And yes, I know you feel disgust).

It is just another attempt to do something physical in order to somehow correct / comfort / smother what is at heart, emotional

When it feels like the emotional pain is unbearable, I attempt to put it on my skin... to literally, put it on the outside of me.

When it feels as though the inner emptiness will make me implode, I attempt to physically fill the abyss.

I might be talking crap (yeah... I know. what's new?) but it's something that was discussed this evening.

Another thing was the theme of 'explosion' being the main feature of my recurrent dreams right now.

"Except," she said, "you don't EXplode, you IMplode"

"Yeah" I agree. "Yeah. Nobody would see anything had happened"

"No. All the debris is on your inside"

I thought about the blackened landscape and almost mentioned (and then thought better of it) the countless little deaths I have died and the piles of little corpses that I contain.

What am I saying? How is this a defence?

Well... you might well ask.

As per usual, I seem to have strayed from the path...

It is important to me that you guys (those reading) know that, although you may think me the number one favourite for winning the "Little Miss Can't Appreciate The Blessings She Has Cos She Is So Busy Being A Pitiful Misery Award 2010", in real life (and by that I mean, anywhere except the world of cyber - and the woman's room , which is almost as unreal) I am fully functioning, well respected young lady who you would have to be exceptionally sneaky to catch without a smile or a quip.

Part of the reason I made this space is because there is little or no space for this level of honesty in my real life. The position I hold at work, the responsibility I have for others, the fear of disgust... all contribute towards making it near impossible to show any of the stuff I write about here.

As I explained in a response to ABM, I have two very separate parts with this stuff. The first is covered in long spikes and says, 'if you don't like it, get lost'. It's an angry part that wants to lash out at you, but will instead, tear deeply into flesh that cannot be seen.

The other part of me recoils, disgusted at myself, horrified that I am daring to write, revolted by the fact that anyone would read here and say ANYTHING other than, 'WS you are a vile, Godless, self obsessed, self centred, selfish, miserable, ingrate worthy only of disgust'.

I am frightened of this response and yet, I think I deserve it. I'm angry before you say it, and yet I know it is true. In short, nobody who reads here will EVER feel the same degree of disgust towards me as I do.

I HATE the person I am on the inside.

This person you hear here.

It's a big part of the problem because, whilst nobody knows I'm like this, I am, and whilst I am, I can never be known.

I realise that people can see an issue with my weight, but I can fool them as soon as I open my mouth. Nobody who hears me sounding SO sound minded and wise would ever believe I have a disorder.

Trust me, if you KNEW me, I'd have you fooled too.

So, don't go thinking that I am some pathetic, hapless, little creature who you could slap some sense into.

You wouldn't ever see the need for that if you didn't read here.

A Fortress Deep And Mighty

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries

Tying it Up - The Need to Starve.

There is a twisted irony in the fact that whilst I have worked so damn hard to eliminate 'need' (a word not in my vocabulary, remember?) I have developed a need strong enough to kill me.

In my first post I wrote about the concept of needing, and how it causes such pain and such disgust in me, and I realise, in many others.
I later realised that without thinking, I had not acknowledged that not all needs inspire such a strong reaction in me, and I got to thinking that not all needs are equal.
In the last post then, I wrote about Maslow... about the fact that his hierarchical structure identifies and prioritises five different needs which, when met, culminate in self actualisation.
(Others have added an additional layer to the triangle, a top section which identifies the need, once self actualised, to trascend oneself, but I would argue that the notion of self actualisation somehow incorporates a degree of transcendance. That, or it completely nullifies the need to transcend.
It's not my intention to debate the neccessity of adding tiers to Maslow's work but it provides a (somewhat welcome) avoidance.

I have this thing where I start out trying to write something and I encounter such a magnetic resistance to it that my brain actually starts to disconnect (dissocation, I realise).


So.

Forcing the wires to connect...


At some point in the last two years, a tiny bomb went off inside me.

Looking back now, I think it had been in me for a long time and though Iknow I searched for it, the search was hampered by the fact that I couldn't always hear it ticking, and I didn't really know what it looked like, this thing I was blindly trying to locate.


In keeping with either the contained nature of the bomb itself, or the steely numbness of the container it was in, I didn't even really notice when it went off.

A controlled exposion perhaps.

It was only later that I realised something had changed. I still can't find a moment.


What had changed was my way of managing feelings. (Okay... okay... I learned that was what it was about in therapy).


I had, unwittingly I think, walked straight into the easily stretched jaws of an eating problem which may or may not be defined as Anorexia (and you can't hear me but I am wailing, "I'm too old to be Anorexic! I'm too old!")

My sister (who I intend to leave out of this post, honestly I do) was born right at the entrance of that gaping mouth. Now, God knows how many years later, I seem to have landed there.


Actually, as I type, I am aware that I have been tiptoeing up to that cavernous mouth for years on and off. I have run in and out like a child testing its bravery, testing whether mum and dad will still be there if they dare to go into the cave.

It was when I stopped smoking that I suddenly found myself inside.
Which is weird, isn't it?



So. This is my figuring. And I'm no expert.


I think that when I stopped smoking a big thing happened in me.


And this is where it somehow gets tied together but bear wth me because my brain is tryingto slide.

Years of depression wasted certain parts of my insides. Even killed a part of me (and for all the 'oh but I want to believe the world is ultimately a sunny place' people out there, that will be a line that they will want to jump on and slap dismissively as they shake their critical heads).

It is impossible to write about the depths of the depression, or to say just what it stole from me - again, a topic that my brain goes to great lengths to stop me articulating -

Part of the darkness was an inherent knowledge that I would die before I gave up smoking. I never, ever really believed that I had any willpower... I had repeatedly chanted to myself that I couldn't do it, that I was hopeless at self denial and that I was weak and needy.

Ashamed and disgusted by the inability to say "no" to myself, a spiral of need and denial, self harm and self hatred took over.


I stopped smoking in February 2008.

With that came the realisation that I could execise self discipline and that it was possible to have power over my self. To CONTROL.
I could control the shameful needs I had.
I could control everything if I could just teach myself not to need anything.
(Insert inner child theories in here. I can't).


So. If I can deny myself food I can teach myself not to need anything.

I will train myself to be grateful for the absolute minimum.

I will silence the need, whatever it is, by starving it.




This was a part of it.



I'm wondering whether I should slit this post in two.

It's very long.
But then, so is the history behind all this.

Oh for the gift of writing succinctly.


When I had spent a fair amount of time just tucked between the lip and the sharp teeth of this mouth, and I was reassured that the mouth wasn't moving/shutting etc, I moved further in.

What I didn't quite notice was that at some point, the mouth swallowed.


It's hard to describe the fear and desperation in here but it is perhaps true to say that those feelings exist in completely overwhelming proportions on the outside of this prison.

Words Outside My Vocabulary - Need #2

Maslow is kind of the King of Needs and so it seems only right that he should get a mention.

In the interests of keeping this post fairly brief, I'm going to assume that anyone reading is already familiar with his concept of a hierarchy of needs possessed by each human being, and if not, then there are a million websites given to explaining this diagram.

As a teacher, we have this framework drilled into us fairly early on in our training.
(And yes, I know, it seems unbelievable that I am capable of being both the illogical mess you hear in this place, and the reliable, "together", professional, who somehow manages to gain the respect of pretty tough *problem* teenagers).

Anyway, I have always considered it to be a fairly accurate representation of our needs, but that's not my issue.

The real reason that I refer to Maslow here is that when I was writing my last post, I realised that I was generalising to a considerable extent when I wrote that I am repulsed by the notion of 'having needs'.

In fact, I don't mind admitting to some of the physiological needs on the bottom 'rung'.

Even the second arena doesn't pose too much of a threat to me.

It's the Love / Belonging part that presents problems.

I don't want to NEED any of the things in that part. In fact, "I don't want" is far too passive a way of putting it.

Ideally I would destroy anything in me that pertains to the NEED of those things.

I don't mind having them. I certainly don't mind giving them. But NEEDING them?

That I can't take.



And...

... intimacy?


Another word outside my vocabulary.

There seem to be quite a few, given that English is supposed to be my specialism.

Words Outside My Vocabulary - Need

Need
1. A condition or situation in which something
is required or wanted: crops in need of water; a need for affection.
2.
Something required or wanted; a requisite:
3. Necessity; obligation: There is no need for
you to go.
4. A condition of poverty or misfortune: The family is in dire
need.
v. need·ed, need·ing, needs

Such a small word and yet I can barely bring myself to use it for the weight that it carries.

Since being in therapy, I have realised that I have an almost pathological fear of 'need'.
It's not something I can even bring myself to talk to The Woman about. (Note: dispassionate terminology for 'my therapist'... I have occasionally been tempted to refer to her as She Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken thus likening her in some way to Voldemort (anyone who has read Harry Potter will understand) but that feels a little harsh, even by my standards.

The word "need' is guaranteed to make me want to run a thousand miles. Not because of a desperate desire for weight loss (though there is that) and not because I am passionate about long distance running, but because the concept of need terrifies me beyond all reason.

I've started this post about eight times over the past few months and I've never made it past the third line.
Now I have, my head is a swamp and I know I can't possibly negotiate my way through in one go.
Bear with me. I have problems sticking with these things.

So... Casting my mind into the lifeless swamp of depression that nearly killed me about ten years ago, I have an image of me curled on my bed, hands over my ears chanting, "I won't need anybody or anything. Nothing can touch me".
A strange thing to say admittedly, but at the time, my eyes were unused to having to see in a darkness as black as this one and I had yet to master the art of decompression as I plummeted into depths I had never visited.
Somewhere in this distress, a determination never to need was consolidated.

I learned to hate need, and I learned that if I couldn't completely destroy it, then the most important thing I could do was to pretend that it wasn't there at all.

Need became shameful.
It became something I despised.
It became a cause for utter hopelessness.

A few months into therapy, I became quite desperately worried that therapy was breeding a need in me.
I was terrified of her. Terrified that I was losing control. Terrified that kindness was blunting my spikes. Spikes which were protecting me from needing anyone.

I recall one session a few months ago where The Woman suggested that I might miss therapy / her during a break.
I told her that I wouldn't ever need her, and the minute that I started to, I'd run a mile.

Today she mentioned her upcoming holiday.
And I wondered if it was time to leave or if it's all just in my head.

I don't want to need anyone or anything.
The idea simultaneously repulses, terrifies and enrages me.

There is so so so much more to this, but as I pointed out, I really will be swamped by the swamp if I wade too far out all in one go.

Warning.

If you could see beyond the iron,

the posion spikes, curling wires

the skin ripped red and white

gashed, gnashed, wept upon

in fury, in agony, in hatred

raw, numb nothing

numb

nothing



You think your kindness

your prayer, your touch

would soothe

would stay

would answer.



Ha!



If you saw beneath my skin

Your lip would curl in the corner

and then twist,

Your tongue screaming in surprise

expecting citrus sweetness

sucking, now curling,

rancid overflow of bitter scorn.

Your hand would scream

scaulded, scabbed, scarred

whipped away, withdrawn

revulsed, repulsed

spattered with acrid pus of greed,

of need.



Inside,

I am putrid

How can truth exist

in such decay?



Stay away

I will infect those

who refuse to stay

on the outside.

I am afraid

that if kindness doesn't kill me,

Me will kill kindness.