I realised, when I was writing my real cards, that some of the people who have meant the most to me this year were being missed out.

You.

Whilst I’ve been fortunate enough to have met some of my fellow bloggers and tweeters this year, there are still a lot of people out there that I now feel very connected to, and who have helped me indescribably in the past year….

And so, in the absence of postal addresses, I’d like to a wish you a very very happy Christmas here.

I know that, for some people, Christmas can be tricky. I remember, only too well, the loneliness and anxiety and disconnection that has characterised my Christmases for many many years – but this year, despite the past few months, has been infinitely better; and it has a huge amount to do with the support and learning that has gone on over here.

It has sent ripples through my world, and given me the courage to do things I could never have dreamed of.

I’m taking that courage into the New Year with me.

Thank you and all the very best for 2011.

xx

I am finding Christmas quite hard.

In the long unstructured gaps, when people are together or spending time with their other halves, the years that I spent rejecting companionship have come full circle; and, whilst I’m slowly getting back in touch with the world, the gaping hole that the eating disorder has left behind has been highlighted by the holiday season.

And, because I’m not very good at relaxing (which is what I really need to be doing); and, as I’m feeling the pain of being left out so incredibly bitterly, then I have succumbed to the post Christmas sales (because I don’t want to miss out); and, I have given into the air of urgency (because it chimes with my desperation); and, I have returned, empty-handed, because the experience is as hollow as I am feeling and any shop brought satisfaction would only be an echo of what I’m really looking for –

So, I have taken myself home, and I am attempting to salvage the situation; because treading the aisles again is not a place I want to re-visit, and has provoked a lot of feelings that I’d rather not have.

And, like a cat tending her wounds, I am giving myself a little TLC, in the hope that next year, there’ll be someone else sitting next to me with a warm blanket and a tissue if it’s still this hard.

And, tomorrow, I will pick myself up and remind myself of how far I’ve come already, and that I have got this far with people – and not purchases; and, I will not be trawling the shops again, only to return empty-handed -

Because you can’t buy what I’m looking for –

And any shop brought satisfaction would just be an echo.

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 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.

Step 1. A little reflection.

2008 was all about giving up bingeing; and 2009 about stopping smoking – and then getting to a healthy weight. The two were not connected, – but they were both big steps in the right direction.

If you look at how far you’ve come in just one year, the prospect of another one is quite exciting. And, if it doesn’t feel like you’ve gone anywhere (2001-8), then it’s an excuse to draw a line in the sand and use the new year as an excuse to try something a bit different –

Step 2. An opportunity for change.

I am as bad with change as I am with new years (no big surprises there!); and, any big alteration to my daily routine demands a justification or an excuse. New Year does just that. I can stop taking 45 minutes to complete my pre-prescribed morning routine because things are fundamentally different now that there is a 10 – instead of a 09 – at the end of the date. I can try a few new foods next year, because there’s a “reason” to do something a bit different which might just pass my head’s firm demands –

It’s all about looking forward – which is step 3.

When you’re caught up in the minutiae of daily life, it’s easy to get lost in the detail and forget where you’re going. New Years let you stop.

Think.

And reassess.

Resolutions don’t really do it for me; however, it’s good to have a sense of direction and a few things you’d like to tick off at the end of the next year –

So, this year, I’m keeping my fears in check and remaining optimistic; because, you can change your life in a year, even if overnight’s a bit of a tall order.

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.

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.

Since that year, I’ve perfected the art of handmade cards and it’s been part of my traditional festivity. Baking mince pies or getting stuck into the Christmas catering might have been a leap too far, but making Christmas card has the same tinsel tinged effect and seemed to nurture a little of the festive spirit that got a little lost behind my eating disorder.

This year, I decided that I was far too busy for handmade cards now that I was ‘better’ and ‘working’ and joining in with (rather than opting out of) the Christmas parties. I thought that, after a whole bulimia free year, I no longer needed a distraction; and that buying cards might be a positive indication of my ‘normality’ –

Until I remembered that handmade cards seemed to bring a smile to people’s faces; and, that there’s nothing like a little personal attention to show someone that you care.

So, I have dug out my glitter and my Christmas stamps and a fancy hairdryer which is marketed as an embossing gun, and I am making time for a little creativity; because there are a few people that I’d like to say a great big thank you too.

And, with each cut out square and glued down star, I can feel the festive tension slackening, slightly; and, the focus shifting, subtly, from me – to them –

Because, with each slightly strange looking – but painstakingly constructed – card and every mini manuscript message, each relationship is illuminated, momentarily –

And I’m realising that handmade cards might have become a part of my identity that I’d quite like to keep.

And because everyone’s partying hard and booked up for months in advance; loneliness is heavy, shot through with the pain of being left out and accompanied by a barrage of self-criticism.

And when your eating disorder’s turns the Christmas roast into a new form of torture while everyone’s merrily tucking into mince pies or relishing the last bacon clad sausage; then the separation between you – and them – can feel unbridgeable.

And if your head is screaming with fear when the Christmas pudding is brought to a table of cheers; then the terror doubles in its disparity, and the distance from you – to them – can seem immeasurable –

Until you remember that you are not alone in your fears – and that the assumptions may be a bit of an illusion.

Because this year, if I’m feeling a little blue, then I will try and give myself a bit of comfort – rather than berating myself for ‘being different’.

And if the loneliness threatens to overwhelm me, I will remember that there are other people who experience the same festive pangs – and I am therefore not alone.

When my stomach clenches at the thought of the Christmas Roast, I will take a deep breath – and not let the fear overpower the occasion.

And when the chasm appears between me and the person I am sitting next to, I will try and stay in the room and within the radius –

Because it only takes a few words to start shrinking the distance –

And a little human contact to contain the fear.

Stop.

What I am really paying for is a particularly violent binge, after which (and if I’m still standing) I will feel like death – for the sake of a bargain.

And this is what I remind myself when the lure of Christmas goodies feels too strong to resist; and the taste of mince pies teases and tempts me, and promises me that one binge will get the craving out of my system –

Wait.

It will pass.

Because what I’m really giving into, I don’t actually want; and the one binge fix is a flawed solution.

When my head tells me that the opportunity for a few Christmas Eve last minute reductions should be scheduled into my diary; I will remember the loneliness of supermarkets when the rest of the world is with friends.

If it panics me into thinking that I will not survive a few days of closed shops and will be struck, in this little window of restriction, by an uncontrollable urge ; then I will remind it, politely, that a day is just a day – and the risk is preferable to the pre-sentence.

And, if it strikes me, off guard, and I am left to deal with the post-binge devastation or it declares Christmas, “ruined”; then I will remember that it has punished me enough already –

And I will not be giving it that power..

The bulimia was in seventh heaven (with a touch of hell); the anorexia was on a permanent state of alert; and I was bouncing between the two.

Sometimes, bulimia would win out; and I would succumb to the temptation of trolleyfulls of cheap chocolates and the Christmas Eve reductions.

Other times, Anorexia was king; and I’d nibble round the bowl of crudités, dodging the carrot sticks with a slight smear of humus or constructing a variety of ways to say ‘no thank you’.

Always, weight and rules and calorie contents reigned supreme; and Christmas dinner would be replaced by a plate of vegetables or followed by a quick trip to the bathroom.

Every year, my eating disorder would play the same trick of making me prepare and prepare and prepare for the worst, so that the anticipated weight gain turned into an inevitable weight loss.

Each Christmas, my eating disorder would reduce me to a quivering wreck, so that any chances of enjoyment were ruined; and any pleasure, came only from sheer relief -

But this is not what it’s about (even if the feelings are so strong that you’re blinded by the terror); and this is not how Christmas used to be (even if a full blown celebration and some new years cheer is a bit too much to stomach) –

Because Christmas is meant to be about hope and celebration and life – and it helps an eating disorder if you forget this.

The whole world has gone mad.

Supermarket shelves stocked sky high with temptation, full of aggressive trolley-pushers swarming to unmissable bargains, leading to Christmas tables laden with food and cupboards, bursting at the seams –

Stop.

This is not what Christmas is about.

Stand back –

Because it’s easy to get caught up in hysteria and the excitement without really pausing to consider whether the hype is actually serving a valuable purpose – or has just become a strangely uncontrollable seasonal trend.

And breathe deeply -

Because it’s hard to hold on to a little rational thought when the perspective’s gone a bit skew; and, if we’re all caught up in the flurry, then we lose sight of a few key considerations –

Like whether the scrabble for a limited supply of bargains is really just playing straight into the pressure of meeting seasonal sales targets?

And if the special offer sausage rolls are actually something that we want (when we’ve got a freezer that’s fit to burst), of the festive best buys are actually best for us?

And whether the piles of presents under a tree and a filled social calendar are an accurate measure of happiness – or even related?

The answer’s are rhetorical and the concerns as ridiculous as their context; but it helps to get a little distance every now and then; and, when the panic’s surging and the pressure’s pushing down, it helps to remember to –

Stop.

Stand back.

And breathe deeply –

Because it’s just one day, that’s really about just one thing –

And you can’t buy it in the supermarket.