I noticed, this morning, as my sleepy eyes slowly sharpened on the drizzling rain, that I hadn’t checked the forecast for a while.
This is progress.
The need to know – or control – or anticipate the future seems to have loosened; and, instead of checking in to BBC weather at hourly intervals, I have obviously found more interesting things to do, or just realised that I can manage, come rain or shine.
(more…)
The guy next door offered to walk me home.
I forget sometimes, that it really doesn’t take a lot.
One kind word or a gentle gesture, and suddenly, the bridge between me and the rest of the world seems infinitely smaller.
It is important, every now and then, to remember this.
(more…)
I am turning 30 on the 6th March.
The occasion is bittersweet.
It has, as birthdays tend to do, sent my mind racing up and down the timeline. Somewhat tragically, the memories don’t hang on the parties or the celebration, but on the particular phase of my eating disorder that each year has become bound up with.
20 through to 25 are pretty much blanks.
Interestingly, the last pre-Eating Disorder party is one of the most poignant, maybe because I hadn’t stopped taking photos at that point or because it feels, sometimes, like I have been frozen in time…
(more…)
Some of my friends think that I should move on.
Some of my family worry that I’m clinging to the past.
My doctor suggests that I might be making it harder for myself; my counsellor imagines me with a career, a husband and two kids, and thinks I shouldn’t waste another moment; my head is sick to death of the whole subject –
But I am not ready to let it go, just yet.
(more…)
….is a question that I have been asking myself rather a lot recently.
Now that I’ve realised that people are preferable to an eating disorder, I’m eager to make up for lost ground and appreciating just how much we’ve got to offer each other –
Only, it’s a little harder now that I’m nearing 30 and most people seem to be settled; and, I’ve hit a few unanticipated questions – like where do I go, and what do I say? – and some overlooked assumptions – like what do I have to offer? – that have put a few barriers in my way.
Making friends is far more complicated then I remember.
Given that the last time I tried to make friends, the other 30 people in the classroom shared my sentiments, this is, perhaps, unsurprising. However, after doing lots of things that I thought I couldn’t do, and as I’ve already come this far, there’s no points in shying away from a challenge – and this is what I’ve started to learn:
1. Being my own friend
(more…)
Now that the worst is over, it feels, sometimes, like I’m left to pick up the pieces of a life or clearing up after a party that has gone horribly wrong.
In the moments of quiet, when I’m trudging up the stairs to my lonely flat or clutching my stomach in the middle of the night whilst it spasms, backwards and forwards, then I wish that I could reclaim a little of what I have lost –
(more…)
After hiding behind an eating disorder for so long, explaining my absence from the world is proving slightly problematic.
There are gaps, where there shouldn’t be gaps; and, holes, left, right and centre. Questions that should be obvious, are unanswerable; and small talk raises some pretty major issues –
My favourite food? Not sure. I’ve just got to grips with eating, full stop, and normally describe things as safe – or unsafe.
(more…)
For some time now, I have become a little anxious about the frequency with which the word “but” is creeping into my vocabulary.
“Should” has always been bit of a problem for me, but I’d kind of prided myself on my ability to problem solve and think creatively and take the initiative …
The realisation that I automatically see objections – rather than possibilities – is a little sore.
(more…)
Last night, when I was busy flooding my flat, my ears woke me up to warn me of the impending danger. In the light of the abuse that I have thrown at this very body over the years, this was quite considerate. My body has been far more forgiving then I am. It’s not the first time it’s stepped in to divert a disaster.
This morning, as I surveyed the wreckage, and realised just how timely my ear’s intervention was, I have been struck by how successful my mind and body are as a double act. The eating disorder may have succeeded in driving a great big wedge between us; but, really, we should be fighting on the same side.
We are not meant to self destruct; we are meant to survive –
(more…)
When you notice the flakes, sparkling in the lamplights, and watch the snow, gradually lighting up the night sky; there seems to be a sudden shift of perspective –
Because as the landscape is tinsel-touched and transformed, and the trees become silvery across a whitewashed skyline; it is impossible to deny that nature is far greater than we are –
(more…)
Now that I’ve finally discovered Maggie O’Farrell, I’ve been scouring the bookshops for more of her stuff, and ‘The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox’ was my latest purchase.
It didn’t disappoint.
Whilst the story (the piecing together of why Iris Lockhart’s previously unknown great aunt has been locked away in a psychiatric unit for 60 years) got me curious, Maggie O’Farrell’s style has me hooked –
(more…)
After going to hell – and back, a strange thing seems to have happened; and, like a lens that has been unexpectedly clicked into focus, things suddenly look a lot brighter.
You don’t take anything for granted when you have come so close to losing it all.
As the shadows shift and the clouds begin to drift away, even the ordinary seems tinged with gold; and the mundane, something to be treasured.
They said that this would happen when I got better. That it would be like soaring above a shiny new world; like the clearing of the clouds. They predicted that, one day, things would be different, and I’d look back and wonder how I could have turned my back on life so completely –
(more…)
I have got my ages out of sync.
In this stopping – and starting – of life, I seem to have mixed up the pivotal phases and got all confused. I didn’t realise that we operated on so many planes: part of me has stalled in 1993 whilst other bits have zoomed off ahead, and we’re not yet on the same page.
I had assumed that time was a constant. I’m not so sure anymore.
The drawn out eating disordered days were disguising the passing of months and years and life events that I have missed out on – irretrievably – because there are certain stages, for certain things; and it’s harder when you’re going against the flow –
(more…)
‘after you’d gone’ made me cry.
Twice.
This is a rare feat for an author. It might well be a first and, it’s definitely a sign of Maggie O’Farrell’s word wizardry: she hasn’t just created characters, she’s managed to create emotions as well.
(more…)
Last night, as I surveyed the wrapping paper wreckage of Christmas and the bag of goodies waiting to be packed into the car, I realised that it was the people – and not just the presents – that I would be taking back with me.
And when I got home, after the excitement had died down and the evening had settled into a cinnamon infused glow; I noticed that I was, indeed, unpacking the people – along with the presents –
Because each carefully chosen gift is a constant reminder of someone’s care; and, every item, however big or small, is imbued with the person that gave it and the relationship behind it.
And so, every time I slip my fingers into my new gloves, the warmth will be doubled by the thought that they were chosen for me; and, as I touch the soft leather of my new bag, the love that selected it will feel equally tender.
The scent of my new soap will be automatically associated with a face and a person; and, when I’m using my new salt mill, it will not just be the fact that I can actually grind salt that makes me smile –
It will be the continuous reminders of other people that were wrapped up along with my presents.
I won’t be surprised if you miss the link between book reviews and finding your identity; it’s not that obvious. I’ll admit that I’m being a tad indulgent here – but then books and literature are a big bit of me.
And they’ve helped me work out who I am.
A good book is a gateway to another way of being, it’s a way of exploring and travelling and seeing. It gets you in to different ways of thinking.
A good character can tell you heaps about yourself, can test your emotions and responses, challenge your perceptions and assumptions. It helps work out who you are.
A good author can say the things that you can’t put in to words, can articulate the things you’ve thought and felt. It helps to see that you’re not unique.
A good read makes it all better.
I am not great with new years.
I tend to find the ending, daunting; and the expectations, a little too much to take.
I get a little scared that I will wake up, on the first of January, to a completely alien landscape –
Or that it will be completely the same.
For a few years, I worried that I wouldn’t wake up at all.
I’ve clearly brought into the ‘new year new you’ hype and the inevitable annual apocalypse; so, this year, I’m getting prepared, and I’m trying to enter 2010 on a more positive footing –
It is an opportunity, and not an ending.
(more…)
If I hadn’t ignored my head then I wouldn’t have seen the snow, shimmering and sparkling in the early morning sunlight.
And if I had, as it commanded, stuck to the weekly regime and gone swimming; then I would have missed being the first to walk through the unmarked snowfall, spraying glitter in my wake and leaving a dance of footprints behind me.
If I had given in to the demand to justify and earn every mouthful, then I would have been lapping up and down an empty pool while the sun was working its magic over the snowswept fields; and, against the diamond white backdrop, the colours and shadows became breathtaking.
And, if I had listened to my often overpowering head – rather than my often overpowered heart; then I might not have noticed how beautiful the world can be, and how much fun there is in the smallest pleasures –
Like a twirling whirling flake of snow.
One Christmas in hospital, handmade cards were my salvation.
With time on my hands and a head that wouldn’t behave, having a clear focus was a godsend.
After months of food and failure and going round in circles, a tangible product was just what the doctor had ordered; and, being able to give something – rather than always being on the receiving end – was a pleasant change.
(more…)
When I was walking back through Kings Cross station with the world on my shoulders and my eyes on the floor, I suddenly remembered a good idea that I’d almost forgotten; and, all at once, the weight was lifted and the bounce in my step returned –
There is nothing more important than a little hope.
It is that small glimmer of possibility, that makes the unbearable, bearable; and, changes the frustration of ‘can’t’ to ‘might’.
Without possibility, there is no hope; and, without hope – well, what’s the point?
(more…)
I am having to undertake a little social re-positioning now that I am emerging as a person – and not an illness.
The parameters have shifted somewhat; and, there has been a little lag in the transition – which is only to be expected after 17 years of living within the clearly defined cage of an eating disorder.
So, I am having to re-navigate relationships and re-set the expectations. I am learning to show that the things that weren’t possible before are now okay; that the concerns that were so palpable are no longer overwhelming; and, that the hope that was previously cloaked behind self protection and past disappointment, can finally be enjoyed –
After a lot of pain, the best way to do this is by example.
(more…)
There is a bit of a risk that I have been type casting myself.
I am slightly concerned that I may be positioning myself as the showcase survivor.
This was, of course, a distinct possibility when I started writing – but it has presented some interesting questions –
Like whether it is possible to articulate an experience – without being caged by it?
And whether the stigma is so strong that honesty is fatal?
And if this is drama – or discussion?
(more…)
There’s nothing more satisfying when you’re reading then the sudden clarity of a ‘that’s exactly what I think’ or ‘that’s exactly how I feel’ moment.
Seeing yourself in someone – or something – else is like a big breath of relief: suddenly, it all makes sense or answers the question that you hadn’t quite realised you were asking.
Some books do it through the characters and the events; others, Aesop-fable-like, through the story; and, some, just give it to you on a plate.
‘This book will save your life’ fits into the latter.
(more…)
A regressive future is far more ominous than a progressive one. There is something distinctly unnatural about evolution undoing itself; something horribly unsettling in the inference that we’re going in a direction that needs to be undone –
The Pesthouse heightens the discomfort.
Even though it’s wonderfully written.
And even though it’s full of love.
(more…)
Today, I was discharged from mental health services.
It is a little scary. They have been looking after me for rather a long time.
This is the first time we’ve done it properly. No fizzling out or abrupt terminations or running from the radar. We have, instead, reached a nice ending and said goodbye as people.
I will be looking after myself from this point on -
Which is a little scary (after being looked after for so long) and feels a little vulnerable (although it’s cause for celebration) and has been a tad unsettling (even though I’ve been on track for a while now) –
- and strangely quiet because I am on my own again –
(more…)
Finding something that you have lost is always the harder part of the equation. Particularly when you’re not quite sure what you have been looking for.
Eighteen months ago, I started with a blank – albeit baggage ridden – canvas: food and all that aside, any impressions of an identity had been well and truly buried under years of sickness and obsession and hospitals and depression.
It was like learning to walk again.
It was like dressing up in fancy dress until I worked out my style, like tasting asparagus for the first time, like the first unaccompanied trip to the shop.
It was like trying a hundred new things all at once – in the hope that I’d find the bits that fit.
And these are some of the things I did….
I stopped believing in an afterlife around the time I realised I was far more likely to end up in hell – than in heaven.
We’ve got an eye on death from the moment we start developing a consciousness.
It’s bound up in how we behave, and what we believe and how we live our lives –
There’s no escaping the subject – it’s just how we approach it that determines where the emphasis is.
Thinking about death can either ruin your life – or make it- and, after an evening contemplating the subject with Mark Vernon at the School of Life(!), I’ve decided that I’m going for the latter
(more…)
I had forgotten that there was an element of risk involved in any relationship.
Writing a blog has heightened the experience.
Start an interaction and you’ve got to be able to handle the response –
An eating disorder protects you, to some extent. It’s a risk reduction when the social interactions decrease; a comfort when they go wrong.
The real world does not operate on these terms and self protection comes at a cost. You do, quite possibly, lose far more than you gain –
(more…)
It has been a bleak day – and so I have been skipping.
Not with a rope – I hasten to add – but kiddie style, with an i-pod and Flo Rida, and because the sun is shining, even though I have had a bleak day.
I have learnt how to cheer myself up now.
I have been shown a few little tricks to ward off the black clouds and evade the tug of addiction…
(more…)
I am currently in the self management phase: I am managing myself, by my self.
It’s a good place to be, although it sounds quite serious.
It means that I am keeping a vigilant eye out for potential pitfalls and I am avoiding any routes that will end up leading backwards. That I am being a little cautious with myself and am on the alert while I make sure that I’ve regained my balance –
I don’t know whether an eating disorder ever disappears totally – but I’m making damn sure that it doesn’t come back.
(more…)
It has been years since I last read a book in a day.
I thought that the voracious page after page consumption of a novel was a pleasure that you reluctantly said goodbye to when life got serious and camomile tea became the nightcap of choice.
‘Talking to the Dead’ proved me wrong. I had forgotten what an outstanding author Helen Dunmore is. The elastic band taut tension and the palpable desire shoots right off the page and into the reader; it pulses through the language and the actions and the characters, so that you can’t resist the suspense and you can’t stop turning the pages and you tumble, word over word over word –
(more…)
An eating disorder is not very funny. I kind of lost my sense of humour for a while; I sort of forgot how to laugh.
It’s not surprising really – it likes to assume control and dominate the head space – but now that I’ve reclaimed the territory a little, laughter therapy’s just what I need.
I started small and simple. Things that brought a smile to my face, or provoked a slight titter. It felt a little alien, I was a tad self conscious – but then anything that you haven’t done for years feels slightly strange.
(more…)
Every now and then, my indecision gets the better of me. It drives me round and round in circles…that are all identically the same.
Today’s focus? Bathroom tiles – and which Thai restaurant to go to tonight.
We are overwhelmed with choice.
Making the right one has never been harder –and it all depends on which version of ‘right’ you’re hoping to hit.
For someone who is put off manicured hands by the drying time of nail varnish and is more than happy to 2 for 1 on Boots’ selection of beauty products, Champneys was a revelation. I may be a serial multi-tasker with an eye on the clock and a foot on the gas in real life – but the rules are different when you’re 5 star spa-ing.
Time is far more precious when there’s nothing to put in it.
I haven’t just been reading the world through books; music works the same way.
It’s a little harder to pick out the salient bits, to identify exactly which bits you’re connecting with – and why – but the premise is the same: music transports you.
It takes you somewhere else and reminds you of where you’ve been.
It’s an emotional rollercoaster, a miraculous way of moving you from one headspace to another – an expression, a way of speaking without words –
I’m using it like I’m using books – to work out what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. I’m using it like I’m using the characters I identify with – to bridge the gulf between myself and the world a little.
It’s therapy all by itself – to make me happy when I’m sad; to energise and elate and excite; to speak what I can’t say; and feel what I can’t always reach -
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds:
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
William Cowper
It’s the desperation and the recklessness and the pure, red hot, energy, that gets me with Florence and the Machine.
I’m normally safe in my listening material. I know that my head can easily swerve off course with a little minor harmonisation. I have learnt to watch what I subject my ears to, however appealing anguished wailing or sombre melodics can be –
Florence and the Machine hits a strange balance: it gets the dark side – but it buoys you up.
It explores the things that we feel but rarely say – without being too much. It balances anger and anguish and despair – with exhilaration and delight and a strange kind of poignancy.
I like Eminem. He takes me out of my comfort zone. He forces me to imagine things I’d rather not imagine. He says things that most people wouldn’t dare to stay and, with a stroke of genius, turns the tables right back at you –
I can’t take offence when I’m buzzing on the rhythm –
I can’t complain when I’m singing along with the melodies –
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I said goodbye to The White Tiger last night. He’s been talking to me when I’ve been drifting to sleep over the past few weeks.
I had become the audience that Balram’s (aka The White Tiger) addressing. It’s the sign of a clever narrative. In the absence of the intended listener, His Excellency Wen Jiabao, I’ve been taken into his confidence and held in the relished suspense. I’ve become accustomed to his voice – because it jumps
straight out of the page.
Aravind Adiga’s novel is possibly not the best night time reading because it revs you right up again. It takes you into the hustle and bustle of Bangalore – and the words are audible: you can hear Balram in your head.
(more…)
I am learning how to exercise – in moderation.
I am exploring whether it’s down to genes – or open to all.
Whether it is possible to enjoy the experience – without feeling obliged.
The gym is therefore out, although I’ve given it a shot. As is anything that results in injury; involves excessive dirt or does not consider the unstable state of the UK’s climate.
After veering from one extreme to the other, I’m now playing it safe and taking it slow; and, I’m learning from the experience.
(more…)
Lily Allen is cutting painfully close to the bone in ‘22’.
I have to resist the temptation to skip the track. The lyrics would be far too close for comfort – if I didn’t find myself singing along.
As a nearing 30 year old, I am, officially, over the hill and on the shelf.
I’d find it offensive if the social commentary wasn’t so astute – if I wasn’t caught off guard by the spotlight.
(more…)
This is my liberation.
This is my time to feel alive.
It’s been a long time coming, but I’m singing now and I’m holding onto each golden moment.
This is my emancipation, my thawing.
This is finding my voice when it had been taken and recovering my self when it got lost. This is coming up for air –
I am developing an unexpected interest in the culinary arts. It started with soup and hand blenders, carrots and coriander.
It’s not another unhealthy obsession, I hasten to add; but, I didn’t realise that you could taste pride. Along with organic vegetables and freshly mezzaluna’d herbs.
Who’d have thought that something which had caused me so much pain might actually start to bring me some pleasure? Food feels quite different when you breathe out a little of that guilt and start getting over the fear.
Cooking is becoming strangely therapeutic.
(more…)
The Book Thief. Satisfying on so many levels. I tend to read things quickly but I luxuriated in every delicately picked and carefully placed word. The text sings. It’s a delight to read.
Even though the subject is horrific and the narrator is death.
I am a bit of a wimp. Forget Lilly Allen’s no fear: I am very much part of the over-paranoid-hand-washing-superfood-eating-risk-reducing crowd; and, ironically, my membership of this gang made me the perfect candidate for the nofit circus’ latest visit to London.
Middlesex. Not the place. The book. It’s got inside me – like the best books can. A little late possibly, given that publication / Richard and Judy recognition occurred a few years ago – but I got there in the end. And it was well worth the wait.
I had been hoping for the white dove letting go elation. The release of a balloon. A ceremonial burning.
I was expecting the worst. A painful wrenching. A terrifying step in the dark.
It has been like a tick that I have been trying to shrug off.
A recurring theme.
It has been a whole mishmash of emotions. A turbulent and unpredictable journey. A snail’s pace edging towards recovery.
Weight.
(more…)
Despite baring my soul, I have been reluctant to put my name out there – but, as the site’s all about finding your identity, it would be pretty silly to keep mine under wraps.
Plus, you might be a bit interested in seeing some of the other things that I can do – or seeing whether Finding Melissa might be able to do anything else for you.
I am Melissa Wolfe, 29; born, bred, and currently living Hertfordshire.
I’m a Business Writer by day; a freelance copywriter, aka Wonder with Words, by night; and currently writing Finding Melissa in all the spare minutes that God has given me.
I have an English Lit degree from UCL; and – despite the interruptions – a strong academic history. As you’ve probably gathered, my career has been a little slow to get off the ground – but I’m now running…somewhere…..
Aspirations? Writing is my passion: I need it like I need fresh air -
- and, I think I’m pretty good at it.
Wonder with Words writes to order; Finding Melissa writes from my head and my heart.
Years of therapy have not been wasted: I’m pretty hot at getting to the bottom of things; at challenging what people think and helping them to look at things a bit differently.
Maybe I’ve been conserving brain power –or just become accustomed to problem solving; because, making the connections between the real world and the personal worlds that we all live in comes quite naturally; and, I’ve become adept at coming up with ways of understanding – and then managing the things we all go through.
Book reviews are my indulgence because literature is my love – but, it’s also one of the best ways to make sense of the world; and, just one example of how important words are to human beings.
Finding Melissa seems to be taking me on an exciting new journey – and I’ll keep you updated with where it ends up.
If you want to contact me about any of the above or just to throw some ideas around, you can email via this link.
It’s hard to find a structure that contains as many dimensions as the human mind, that reflects the connections and contexts and conundrums….but there is a method to my madness.
Finding Melissa is loosely structured around 6 key themes or, in WordPress speak, categories. Within each of the categories are a number of tags (to your right, in the clever cloud thing). These, as you would imagine, are the sub sections within each of the categories.
Most of the categories / tags are what they say on the tin; but, because it can get confusing, here’s a whistlestop tour:
Losing Melissa is about taking the wrong road and losing your sense of self. It looks at the causes of eating disorders, the features that seem to contribute to eating disorders (psychiatric stereo-typing; self esteem; perfectionism,growing up), and the physical and emotional journey into an eating disorder.
Lost is an exposé of life with anorexia, bulimia – and a whole host of associated conditions (addiction, OCD, depression, isolation). There’s also a little more specific focus on eating disorders (food, body image, control); what living with an eating disorder feels like; and, the emotional struggle involved in trying to get over an eating disorder.
Being Human, puts the personal sections into the wider picture of human evolution and behaviour. Its the connections between my head and the wider world; an exploration of how people seem to work (perception and belief, gender) – and how that relates to emotional health. It covers lots of things that touch lots of people today and yesterday and maybe tomorrow; and uses poetry and prose to try and make sense of things that are hard to make sense of.
‘In Context’ brings together the theoretical bit and what’s going on today. It’s about society (photoshopping and super-stressing)and culture (hypochondria and supermarket consumerism) and what’s happening in the news – and how this impacts on eating disorders and emotional health. It’s an exploration of what it feels like to be growing up today – and relevant to anyone.
Getting Better is about recovery. It’s the practical things that made a difference (friends and family,cognitive exercises, learning how to eat, treatment); and the emotional journey that recovery involves (change, letting go).
Finding Melissa is the silver lining. It’s the things that I’m doing to find out who I am and who I want to be. It draws on my passion, literature; and what it feels like to find yourself – and your voice.
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickinson
Eating disorders are clearly at the heart of this site and it would be great, as Emily Dickinson so eloquently put it, to stop one heart from breaking; however, if that’s too much to hope for, I think I’ve covered a fair amount of ground and made a few interesting points…
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my experiences, it’s that human beings may behave differently and experience diversely – but they tend to feel along similar lines. And, if my literary evidence stacks up, they’ve been feeling along similar lines for a very very long time.
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.”
John Donne,Meditation XVII
No woman’s an island either and I wouldn’t be where I am today without the people around me. This is just a quick – but very big – thank you to my much loved family (Mummy and Daddy and Becky and Chris) and to all the wonderful people in my life, most especially….
Big (in heart and mind) Melissa and Jennie and Fiona and Chloe and Lou and Janey and Nats and Sue
..and to the people who’ve helped me pick up the pieces along the way…
Trevor and Brid and Kate and Richard and Dr Clegg
….and Mikel, who sorted the site.
