Long time no post...

Long time no post… I wish I could say it’s because things have been going tremendously well… but, it’s not. 

So, how have things been? Well my reluctance to post should answer that for you.

Things haven’t really been moving forward. When I’m not rushing from one thing to the next, distracting myself from this ‘recovery’ business, I spend my time reading up and watching videos trying to cajole myself to take the plunge and not waste another day trapped in this illness. So… I am still trying, I DO still want to get better, but each new attempt seems short-lived and BAM, before long I’m under anorexia’s clutches once again. I just feel a huge sense of failure at the moment; many message me saying how inspiring I am and how well I’m doing, when I really couldn’t feel less so. 

It’s not their fault for complimenting how ‘well’ I look, they’re not to know how maliciously this illness twists those words. Nor are they to blame for believing that I’ve got this recovery thing down to a T; my Instagram displays a grid of smiley photos and scrummy foods. Again, it’s my fault. It’s my fault I keep resorting back to anorexia, it’s my fault I portray perfection when often my life is anything but, and it’s my fault I’m still stuck in this illness five years on. 

I don’t want anyone to say it’s not so because it is. No one can do this for me, yes I may not have chosen this illness, but I can choose to get better from it, and I think that’s what’s upsetting me most. Here I am, handing my life over to an illness that has the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses, whilst others out there have their lives stolen from them when they fight so hard to stay alive. 

I haven’t been able to shake this overwhelming cloud of guilt and shame since attending a funeral last week. It was for a family friend who had her life stolen by Motor Neurone Disease; a disease for which there is no cure, only treatments to help reduce the impact it has on their daily life. See, that’s what I mean, despite there being ‘no cure’, this brave lady fought daily to stay alive in the full knowledge that she was fighting an insurmountable battle. Meanwhile, I’m here giving into an illness that doesn’t have to be fatal. Okay, anorexia has no magic cure, but at least in a way, it does have a cure… food. Food is my medicine, yet I still refuse to take it. You must think I’m so senseless, why the hell don’t I just EAT?! 

In the address at the funeral, the vicar spoke about the Bible teaching that, ‘our bodies are like tents that we live in here on earth’ and it really resonated with me. He went on to explain how we all spend so much of our lives dissatisfied with our bodies, trying to persistently chop and change them, when really they’re vessels that carry us through life, they are what enable us to experience and LIVE. I think that through explaining this the vicar was trying to emphasise that despite Motor Neurone Disease tearing apart Clare’s body, in the end our bodies don’t matter, it’s our souls that go up to heaven; our bodies are immaterial once dead. It just made me think, it made me think about how much time I waste hurting the very thing that enables me to live, I’ve never stopped to be thankful for how my bodies kept going despite all I’ve put it through, nor have I acknowledged my body as an instrument for creating memories, experiences, life.

I so want to change, I want to beat this and stop wishing away every moment, but honestly, at the moment… it all feels very hard.