I hesitated (because I had planned my supper already) and scrabbled around for an excuse (because they were going for pizza, and I haven’t faced that challenge yet); and then realised that it was more important – given the loneliness – that I was fully available to life.

An eating disorder does not let you be fully available to life. It is amazing how pervasive food can be. How it is not just the actual eating that shackles you but the everything else that gets swept up along the way. Not only have I been unavailable to things that have involved food. I have also been unavailable to those that interrupt my “stuff” around food; those that might contain food; those that might make me feel something that will lead to a food-related encounter; those that might effect any of the bzillion things that I have loaded with food significance…

Oh yes, and the food thing. It wasn’t just about the food in the first place: it was also about my response to life. There’s lots of other stuff that I’ve been hiding from by keeping the focus on what I do and don’t eat.

Anyway, as you might have noticed, I’m now big on making myself fully available; which means that I took a deep breath, last night, and said “yes please”. (It was lovely).

For a long time, I’ve been trying to bridge what feels like an abyss between myself and the rest of the world, to work out what I need to do to catch up and plot the steps that will take me from A to B. I’m beginning to think that it doesn’t work like this. That the most important thing about this whole adventure is being available to opportunities and dismantling the obstacles that get in the way –

Like the eating thing.

Or the little voice that pipes up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t get involved.

Or just the fact that something deviates from my normal routine.

This doesn’t mean that there are no boundaries, nor that I should tumble, head first, into every opportunity or possibility that passes me by. It doesn’t mean that it will suddenly become easy. No. It just means, I think, that life is going on all around me, as it probably always has been, and rather than theorising about how I get re-engaged with it, maybe the most important thing is removing the obstructions -

And being available to whatever comes along.

I am lucky to have a few of these precious friendships. They are like gold dust. The people that ground us when it feels like we’re being swept away; and offer a refuge when it all gets too much.

We won’t talk about things too heavily, I don’t think, though there are no limits on what we are “allowed” or able to say. And we won’t, I imagine, try and pull to pieces the months since our last face to face chat, although so much has been happening on both sides of the country –

But I’ll shrug off some of the heaviness that I’ve been wearing in the past month and we’ll slip, I hope, back into the easy conversation and the effortless friendship that I am starting to really miss.

Touchstones are important in recovery. When you often feel alone, it really matters that there are people around who you can reach out to and trust.

Honest relationships are difficult, when you’ve struggled with an eating disorder; or I, at least, found that my illness tended to feel threatened, and intervene –

But every now and then, someone comes along who is not deterred by the defences; and can see beyond the mess – or behind the mask – or around the illness, and then –

There is a sigh of relief as you can let the tension out –

And a rush of lightness as your shoulders start to lift –

And the sense of anchoring, when your feet seem to keep skimming off the surface –

Because the friendship comes without condition and it feels, in an almost inexplicable way, like a kind of coming home.

*      *      *

Related stuff….People Power; The How Do I Help Question; The Little Things and How To Make Friends…

Most of these tweets bring a huge smile to my face. “YES!” I want to shout: “I do do that too”; and “YES! That is exactly like me”… and I’m not the only one?

In that 140 characters of connection, there is an instant click to other people and the warm reassurance that I am not on my own.

I am not used to this warmth, after the coldness of an eating disorder. I hadn’t realised how important it is to hear your experiences echoed in someone else. To bridge the difference between you – and them – with the acknowledgement that, on occasion, you share some of the same random thoughts.

(Like: “When you stare at a word for a while, does it start to look less and less like a real word?”).

I am not used to spotting the connection, after working so hard to keep everyone out. I didn’t appreciate – when the walls were shoulder-high and the interactions, minimum – that the opportunities for noticing the similarities were worryingly slim.

There are lots of things that an eating disorder doesn’t let you share in, either because food seems to colour all experiences, or because you’re busy hiding what you’re up to. Lots of instances where you smile, emptily, because a reaction is expected; but the experience couldn’t be further from your reality, and the difference only serves to emphasise how much you don’t fit in.

My eating disorder liked division. It worked well when it was me – against them.

I work better with others -

And so now, I enjoying my daily dose of similarity; and find it reassuring that, even if the big things are different, the smaller things are touchingly the same (like: “Do you have a bunch of computer, camera, and video game cables that you don’t really need, but keep anyway “just in case?”).

And I am learning, after maintaining a strict policy of isolation, that it’s a reciprocal relationship; and the more you speak out, the higher the chance of someone coming back with “OMG I feel that too” –

Because the behaviours and the challenges may be different, but the feelings are often shared; and whilst we’re all unique, we sometimes cross a sunny path where we’re also the same.

Like -

“When you download something, do you just sit there and watch the numbers go by?”

“When listening to your iPod in public, do you randomly take your headphones out to make sure no one can hear your music?”

“When you read about a disease’s symptoms online, do you automatically assume you have it?”

*All italicised quotes nabbed from twitter stream @omgidothistoo.

After the loneliness of an eating disorder, you don’t take anything for granted: a night in with friends may be commonplace – but after years of me and my food, even the mundane is strangely precious; even the smallest of pleasures is noted as an achievement –

Because Saturday nights still feel like a novelty – and friends are proving far better company than food.

Stopping binging was not something I entered into lightly. I thought that I’d covered all bases before I made the leap: I had a plan for each eventuality and a strategy for any food related pitfall.

The only thing I didn’t really consider was time –

I hadn’t realised quite how many hours the whole shop-cook-binge-purge cycle consumed until I found myself staring emptily into the endless hours of an unfilled evening.

I had been so focussed what I was stopping – rather than what I was starting; that it caught me unawares.

At first, the spare time seemed to stretch forever; and was filled, distractedly, with clock watching and inane activities and an acute awareness of the tick tick tick ticking of a snails paced minute hand.

For months, the void seemed insurmountable; the gap between my life – and what the rest of the world were filling their evenings with – felt too wide to bridge and too unfamiliar to see…..

So I started with the bigger things; because it’s easier to have something to hold onto, and it helps to have a good plan. Trips to a show and a night at the cinema and the knowledge that, at least once or twice a month, the time that I would be struggling with would be filled.

Then I added in some back up plans for when my head pointed out the loneliness or a plan fell through or the rest of the world was already busy. A couple of good magazines and a stack of my favourite DVDs and some positive phrases for when the laughter drifting through the flat walls became a little too raw.

And I asked other people what they got up to, because the things that they took for granted were the things that were priceless to me; and plans are great – but human company’s a whole better –

Because, even though I now have too little – rather than too much – time on my hands; and even though the solitary nights have become a blessing (every now and then), rather than a sore; nothing beats a night in with friends….

So, if you’re spending a Saturday night slumped in front of the TV with a glass of wine and a couple of special people; this time is precious and this relationship is a gift. And, if you’re looking to a night in – rather than a night out – then enjoy the moment –

Because a Saturday night in with friends is priceless -

People are no longer looking through me or averting their eyes.

I didn’t realise that they were doing this until I had a comparison – but now that there’s a little more skin on my bones, the reaction is a whole lot more positive…

I actually feel quite good.

Even though I’m still readjusting to the slight rounding and some subtle curves, I seem to be getting on a lot better with the world.

Fading away may have featured highly on anorexia’s agenda but, what you lose in physical space is more than made up for in mental attention; and, even when you cancel out your identity totally – if, indeed, that’s the real intention – then you’re only really replacing yourself with a medical name…

So, now that I’ve finally broken through the gaining weight barrier, there have been some unexpected pleasures on the other side. I am beginning to feel like a person, again; and, I obviously look a lot better because the response has been totally different –

For a start, I think the male radar is beginning to pick me up again, which is kind of nice after years of falling below the recognition line. And then, there’ve been far more compliments flying my way which – providing that you take, rather than negate, them –generate an unexpected warmth, the forgotten rush of pride that comes when people notice you in a positive way.

It is a lot easier to make friends with my new body when the feedback is so encouraging. I don’t just feel a little softer and look a little less breakable; I’m also moving into a new social space.

Feeling included is far more fun than hanging around the edge. The stay away signals were clearly doing their job, because people seem to want to spend far more time with me now they’re not so preoccupied with the health implications.

So, I am being invited out for dinner – rather than specially catered for; and, I can take part in the conversation – rather than calorie counting my way through the menu. I have a little more to say now that food has stopped dominating my headspace; and, a little more energy to have fun with –

People are far better friends than an eating disorder; and a life is far more satisfying than the not dead existence of anorexia.

Plus, I can pack more real stuff into a day that is not consumed by binging or structured around rigid meal times. With a little more energy, the things that felt too hard, have been achievable; and, the things that only other people could do, have stopped being so exclusive.

With each step, the possibilities open up further – and, when your head is not hi-jacked by hunger and your body is no longer on the edge, life stops being a fight –

- and starts to get quite exciting

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 –

It’s something I’m keeping an eye on as I start re-engaging with the world. I have a tendency to back down at the first signs of criticism; to crumble under any hint of disapproval and retreat, swiftly, when I’ve stood up for myself and the assertion has gone a little wrong –

But it’s the self negation that got me ill in the first place, so I’m trying to change the pattern this time round.

Human nature is not always kind and we do not always agree –

So, this time, I’m not getting too hung up on other people, because trying to please everyone ended up in pleasing nobody; and, vacillating between his opinion and her opinion extinguishes any real opinion. Plus, someone with their own mind is far more interesting than a clone -

And, if the response is not that which I would have wanted; well, then, I’m picking myself up and dusting myself down and reminding myself that my opinion is valid, thank you very much –

And I will take on board the comments (because we’re all entitled to our thoughts) and consider any criticism (because that’s how we develop); and, I will recognise the niggling hurt and the horrible sense of failure (because that is what I am feeling) –

And move on.

It’s taken a while to get to this point.

The tendency towards approval and popularity is intrinsic. We are trained to please from an early age –

We just sometimes forget to question just how much we really value the people that we are pleasing.

And how much we’re paying for the pleasure.

I think I’ve dwelt on the ache of isolation enough; I’m starting to depress myself.

It’s not an easy ride; but I’m beginning to see a way out. I’m beginning to see where the cracks in the glass door between me and the rest of the world are.

The first step – recognising the loneliness – was the most painful. And now I’ve taken my head out of the sand: it’s plain sailing from here onwards – with an eye out for pitfalls, of course.

Lesson 1: Don’t expect the world to come to you. It’s easy to get caught up in the misery of loneliness: this will make it worse. Accept it, take a bit of responsibility (you did start the brick wall) – but don’t get hung up on your mistakes (the eating disorder’s probably punished you more than enough already).

Lesson 2: Try and fix it. It’s tiring and a little scary and potentially disheartening – but take the initiative. Start with a smile – they do smile back – and go from there.

Lesson 3: Learn a little patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day. It’s the small connections that lead to the big ones in the end.

“Always, Mrs Ramsay felt, one helped oneself out of solitude reluctantly by laying hold of some little odd or end, some sound, some sight.”

To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf

As I said, you’ve got to take the initiative.