I have been flat hunting this weekend.
It has sapped my energy leaving me deflated and overwhelmed.
It’s not the 100 people that are vying for each room that’s got me worried; it’s the revival of a few deep seated insecurities and the sense that I am floundering out of my depth. Yet again. I have caught up, in some respects, but scratch the surface and there is a great big hole –
(more…)
Last night, I bumped into someone from my past; and I shocked myself, when it came to saying goodbye, by nearly asking a question I’ve been grappling with for years: “am I still the same?”
“Am I still the same” is my “do I look fat in this?” question. The reassurance seeker that I continually seem to ask. “Do I look the same?”, and “Am I still the same”, or “How am I different?”. And please answer that I am not.
I have resisted, more recently, from externalising the discussion, but the variants have been tingling, slightly unpleasantly, on the tip of the tongue
Up until now, I haven’t bothered to unpick why this staying the same has been so important. What, exactly, I am staying the “same” as; and why it matters if I am “different”. There is a vague link to weight in there, and an outdated attempt at subtly asking the “do I look bigger?” question – but it is the underlying implication that has left me slightly more disturbed.
If it matters that I do not look different and is important to remain the same, then I am pretty much destined for failure; because if there’s one thing we can all be certain of, it’s change.
(more…)
I started to write an eloquent post about the semantics of the word “recovery”.
It has stuttered and spluttered, for the past few weeks, and I have made myself feel misunderstood. I do not want to write about it nicely, at the moment. I don’t want to phrase how I’m feeling in pleasantries or flowery terms.
To be honest, I’d rather just sit and cry.
(more…)
My sister has just informed me that the little package I didn’t recognise at the bottom of her bag is a tampon. Things must have changed a bit since 1996, which is the last date that I remember having a period; or maybe I’ve just forgotten. I’m not even sure that we made it to first name terms.
It is embarrassing, at 30, to be informed of what a tampon looks like; and I am beginning to get a bit concerned now, that even though I’m weighing in near normal, they have not made a reappearance. It feels like a kick in the teeth. After I have done so much hard work and changed myself, beyond all recognition, my body still won’t play ball.
(more…)
Last week, I was asked what I wanted to be when I was older.
This question makes me upset.
With ongoing job dissatisfaction and a permanent juggle between a profession I have fallen into; a blog which I love – but seems to lack direction; and a life that I’m still trying to repair, I’m desperate for an answer –
Only I was so busy getting my eating disorder that I didn’t really consider my career.
(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…)
The line between fact and fiction is gossamer thin; the difference, vast – but only when you look closely.
I couldn’t live without literature – but you’re likely to be disappointed if you don’t recognise the line and you don’t understand the difference.
The only problem with a childhood spent burrowing in books is that the real thing doesn’t always correspond with the written version. It doesn’t quite live up to the expectation – and you’re not necessarily prepared you for the disappointment.
Aspiring to the unobtainable is always slightly problematic.
You tend to let yourself down.
(more…)
If you’re not from my generation, you won’t get the title. Radiohead, Creep – a bit of a 90s anthem; played in my head for a few years.
It’s slightly perverse, really, that self destruction got mixed up with feeling special. But it did. It blurs into the attention-seeking theme; ties into the low self esteem theory; links up with the whole cultural backdrop of what was in and what wasn’t.
Anorexia made me feel special.
If the seasonal showings of Big are anything to go by, there is something fascinating about the idea of a child trapped in an adult’s body. The ‘what happens when a child’s mind finds itself in an adult’s form’ question has clearly occurred to other people. It evidently offers some enduring comic currency.
Unless, of course, you’re the one stuck in the wrong body.
