Spoke too soon

I debated whether to share this post but, as hard as it feels to say these things aloud sometimes, I gotta talk about the rough and the smooth or what's the point? A few weeks ago I know I couldn't have communicated to anyone the moments where I lose control, as my head tells me that losing control represents huge failure, so in talking about it I suppose I'm trying to take back some control.

Last night, I binged. I really binged. We're not talking the self-loathing yarn, too often overheard in female conversation, of 'Ooo i was so naughty, I had an extra slice of cake'. I'm talking the whole cake and then some. My bloated, full, painful stomach didn't stop me, nor the guilt and self-hatred that came with every mouthful. 

I'm too weary today of this hamster's wheel of a journey I'm on to even attempt to psychoanalyse and articulate the rationale for this behaviour, all I can do now is focus my energies on trying to resist the guilt and overwhelming sense that I'm losing.

The best way I can try to explain it is that when I've had a few consecutively good days and I just get to the point of feeling like I'm regaining some control of my life and habits, along comes Ted, stronger than I remembered, to tell me that I'm getting ahead of myself and make me feel like I'm right back at square one.

But I must must must remember that he's wrong. Because to paraphrase an analogy passed on to me by one of my 'team'- when you're climbing a mountain and you fall down, you don't roll all the way back down to the bottom, you may lose a few steps but then you get back up, brush yourself off and carry on up the mountain. And that's all I can do.

Baby steps

I'm back to (almost) full time work which feels good on a lot of levels. It means I get to see flashes of 'old' Katie, she who partakes in the real world, she who engages with other grown ups, and puts one foot in front of the other without always feeling she's about to fall. And I know these are small things - christ, I should have mastered walking and talking with 29 years under my belt - but right now these things are enough. More than enough actually, they feel borderline triumphant when the alternative is a terrified, lonely, ball of anxiety that's taken up permanent residence under your ribcage and exists solely to remind you, every minute of every day, of how pathetic and empty you are. I'm having to start again in some ways. Again, from infancy we learn to strive, compete, push and shove our way along, I don't recall any school lessons telling me that it's actually ok to just be still sometimes? So this is where I'm having to educate myself. Of course I can't switch off the reflex thoughts to want and push for more (and would I want to?) but I'm getting better at answering back. Revelling in the wonderful moments when peace and quiet wins out over Ted's voice and knowing that this is where i need to be right now - a small but significant step towards...bigger? ...better?...happier? I've no idea what tomorrow holds but as a wise (wo)man once told me, there's a lot to be said for just finding peace of mind. So whatever it takes, this is what I'm going for. I sound like I have it all figured out, don't I? Having finally started to less resemble a zombie and start living a bit (with more than a little helping hand from my wonderful therapists, an incredible support network of family and friends, and a wee daily dose of serotonin-stimulating white Smarties!), I've started to find some answers but putting them into play...well, that's a work in progress. Spurring me on when the bad days come is the thought of going for a curry; having too many drinks with friends; cake and coffee with mum; eating for pleasure again not necessity. And doing all these things without consideration for the calories, the exercise I'll have to do to counter them, or what the scales might tell me tomorrow. I have my first appointment with an NHS dietician this Tuesday after having to battle the 'system' (ah, the system....I'll save my insight / rantings on this topic for another day) for access to this service. Meal plans, 'unsafe' foods, working to normalise my habits are inevitably going to rile Ted. He's already trying to up his game, and if I wasn't tempted to choose him over being kind to myself then I guess I wouldn't still be ill. But I've got your number Ted. And you may have won some battles lately but I will win the war.

That moment when a song does the talking for you...

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/haim/falling.html

Ready to hope

Everyone meet Ted. Ted meet everyone. Ted has been my not-so-secret secret since coming into my life late last year. It was a slow burner of a relationship, he was really there for me at a point in time that I needed something more than my lot but knew when to allow me time to myself too. And as is healthy in any relationship, he gave me the space to enjoy nights out with friends, relaxed weekends and meals with family, and to succeed at the job I love, all the while knowing he would still be there for me. I suppose the signs were there for me to see, should I have wanted to acknowledge them, but he gave more than he took and any relationship involves compromise, right? Plus, he made me feel stronger and more confident, capable and successful than I had in a long time. Things started to really change around January this year. I realised that trying to sustain this (all-encompassing relationship, as it had become) had left me physically and emotionally bereft. I'd always been the strong one, I'd learnt from too young that sometimes you have to cover up the vulnerable, 'I'm not really coping' face with a perhaps colder, 'look how in charge and grown up I am' mask. But suddenly I had no energy to put on this facade anymore, it was written all over my face, in my dead eyes and aching, fragile body. Ted had taken over and I'd willingly, though without realising it, handed him the reigns. To the point where he dictated that I wasn't able to work anymore; I was to choose being with him over plans with anyone else, safer in his embrace than with friends; the relaxed weekends with family were replaced with strained faces and hushed conversations on how best to help me leave him; and an empty weary Katie who just wanted to fall asleep. Those god-awful, abusive relationships you read about and can never quite place yourself in, where boy meets girl before he steadily grooms and manipulates her to abandon all areas of her life in favour of being with him, regardless of how much he hurts her. I was there. Today, we're nearly six months on and I'm still with Ted but learning to push him away, bit by bit, day by day, choosing my health and a future he won't be part of. I wish I could say that every day I'm strong enough to ignore his hurtful words, urging me to deprive and neglect myself, I'm not there yet and so still the days sneak up on me when I want to be left alone with him and his persuasiveness can make me believe I can still have him and the life I so desperately want back. But these days and moments are diminishing slowly. Progress. I know we can't be together in the long term. He's toxic, abusive, and if I allowed him he would control me and my head entirely. And so I'm working hard and digging deep to find the strength (real strength, not the 'paint a face on it' kind that had become my default setting) to be without him altogether. Because I'm ok, just being me is good enough. And I choose life and living again, over him. X