I considered splitting it down the middle – a post for each – because the one seemed so disparate from the other – but they seem to go hand in hand.

It has been that kind of month. Half shot through with a dizzying energy and an indescribable sense of awe; half like a nightmare that I didn’t ever expect to find myself in.

I have struggled to reconcile the differences. To have these sudden moments when I step out of myself and realise that, shit, I actually feel hug-the-world happy; and then a few days later, wake up with aching post binge limbs and the sense that I’m sinking.

Opposites?

Or not.

There is a tug of war in the middle. A part of me that doesn’t trust I deserve this kind of happiness and therefore pushes me towards self destruct. That expects rejection and acts out the expectation until it eventually takes place…

Still.

This is the relationship between the two sides. How they co-exist despite the seeming contradiction. I have been playing out old patterns, without even realising it, and in the process, got myself stuck.

And so, I can keep the circle going, which is what the eating disorder is trying it’s damndest to achieve; or, I can step out of the loop and ask myself whether I really want to keep going round and round and round –

Or if I’m prepared to give myself a chance

Practice.

She is spot on. What happens when you’re not hiding from the world, for whatever reason and through whichever medium, is that you get to practice being with other people and learning how it all works.

I am still catching up on this bit.

The conversation stayed with me, not least because it gave me an action plan for tackling an area that has felt, recently, like a closed off brick wall; but also because it highlighted the other stuff that goes on around the analysis.

Self awareness is not something I lack – its practice that I’m short on; and, unfortunately, the two don’t equate. Lots of one will not compensate for a little of the other – and the interaction between thought and action can change the direction again.

This is what recovery taught me, although the lesson was a long time coming.

You can not think it out.

It gets easier with practice.

It can feel, before you start practicing, like you will never be able to make it to the end – but doing moves you forward, and the movement changes the knowledge and the perspective that goes in.

I guess the same is true for other areas of life. That there is a bit beyond analysis where you just learn by experience. Where you have to accept that you can’t think life out in isolation and you have to realise that practice is part of the process –

Rather than waiting until you’ve figured out all the gaps.

I have found it quite upsetting.

My online community has become as important to me, over the past year, as my “real life” friends. I have wanted, desperately, for them to share the next stage of my journey as they have been so important in me getting this far –

This post started out as a pulling apart of some of those fears that a sense of disconnection brings but it got railroaded by an overwhelming desire to say a big thank you to all the people who have been so wonderful and supportive of me online. After going round and round the real life / virtual life debate, I have given up trying to work out whether a line exists and analysing the risks of throwing it all out there – because my world is far richer if I extend the parameters and I, far stronger, thanks to the people I’ve met online.

So, this is a shout out to the people who stop by and visit my blog, and the comments that offer me a new perspective, and keep me moving forwards, and make me realise that I’m not trying to make sense of this on my own.

It’s a huge thank you to a wonderful Twitter community that has reminded me of how generous and caring and loving humans are; that has put up with the ups and downs of my tweeting, and helped me to find a sense of humour, and kept me inundated with a stream of fascinating and beautiful and inspiring stuff –

Isolation is one of the most devastating effects of an eating disorder. We need human connections, I think, like we need food and sleep and water and air. I’ve been getting back in touch with the world over the past few years and growing in leaps and bounds, but I’ve been surprised to find that the connections are as powerful and the relationships, as rewarding, when they start off online. I didn’t realise this when I started my blog. I didn’t realise quite how much I’d learn from people online, nor how important those connections would become –

They’ve grown my world and helped to change my life.

Thank you.

xx

p.s. I’ve brought a netbook and a spare wifi card.

I will come back to the recovery vodcast post. I will write it, another day, when I have moved beyond the hot relief that people are talking about the things that I’ve been too afraid to say. Now, though, I’m writing before I lose my nerve because I’ve known, for a while now, that this is a subject I will end up exploring.

I just thought it was only me.

And that it was because I was me.

Knowing that other people have had similar experiences makes all the difference, and this single quotation from Carrie Arnold (ED Bites) – “I was in survival mode, so [dating] wasn’t even on my radar” – summarises exactly where I have been. Relationships were another part of life that I rejected without even realising it, and I am only now beginning to get a sense of what that omission might mean.

It is glaringly achingly absent.

I am not quite brave enough to dig deeper into my experiences at the moment. There’s a sharp kick of shame, and a sense of failure, and a very very high wall that I’m finding quite overwhelming. I wanted to write this post though, to draw attention to the article and to start tentatively exploring how difficult it is to have a relationship when you’re hiding from the world -

How impossible it is to let other people in when you’re ashamed of who you are and every action is an expression of self-hate. How the few relationships that slip through the net are quickly complicated and twisted and tangled up with a relationship that’s already stranglehold strong. How you can wake up, when the illness – and then the recovery – stop consuming your every moment, and realise that the rest of the world has paired off and you’ve missed out on one of the most beautiful aspects of human existence and would kill for a weekend strolling hand-in-hand with a special someone…

I was blind to this when I focussed on food.

I did not miss it because I did not realise it was there.

It is. It just feels like, yet again, I’m on the other side of a very wide abyss.

Nb. For anyone who missed it, here’s a link to ED Bites article.

I guess the difference between where I am and where I was a few months ago is in the level of feeling. Okay, I haven’t got the emotional regulation quite figured out yet, and I am still ricocheting between the highs and lows like a teenager; but I have let down the defences and gone with the unpredictability of life, rather than trying to keep it all ordered and boxed in. I don’t think I felt safe enough in myself to do this until now. I certainly still had a lot of crutches and support structures in place to make sure that I was okay.

I am okay.

Wobbling like hell and falling over multiple times on a daily basis; but, ultimately, I’m okay.

There have been some hard lessons in amongst the amazingness. I guess that this is why I think I needed to make sure that I was safe; that I didn’t respond in the way I would have previously, and play it out through food. I have learnt that there are lots of things that you can’t control and more variables than I could have imagined. That there are more disappointments when you engage in life and certainly more risks. That uncertainty is inherent, and fear doesn’t go away.

This is all okay too.

It is just the stuff that I would have learnt if I hadn’t removed myself from the world. I have no doubt that there are plenty more highs and lows and lessons to come –

Unexpectedly, I find it kind of exciting.

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.

It is not the food that has turned out to be the hardest part of my recovery – it’s discovering how far I have removed myself from life.

For a horrible moment, things seemed frozen and I felt myself zooming away, again, from the sea gulls, and the muggy morning air, and the sounds of cars, passing by in the background, to a place that was familiar, and understood and, in some ways, far less overwhelming. Where the parameters were defined, and life was much easier, or so it seemed, to control -

But I promised myself that I would never go back.

On the way home, I realised that in one weekend, alone, I laughed, danced, cried, talked, lived and shared. In two short days, I felt tired, alive, alone, connected, attractive, excited and scared. I drunk my first ever Long Island Iced tea and had my first cake in however many years; danced without caring what I looked like and laughed without forcing the smile. In one 52^nd of a year, I visited a new place and met new people; had breakfast at lunchtime, and lunch, at tea; breathed in the salty sea air and felt the sun burn off the morning cloud…and so so much more.

I do not underestimate how many firsts there still are for me, nor how terrifying it will be to start doing the things that I have not been doing for years. I am under no illusions, anymore, that I had sectioned myself off from the world for a long time, and created walls and barriers where they didn’t exist before –

But next time I feel myself teetering on the edge, peering at what seems to be an insurmountable void, I’m going to remember that each journey is made up of a million small steps, and each bridge is the accumulation of all the tiny achievements and firsts. That in two days, I can do a hundred new things and, that if I keep just focussing on reaching the other side, I might miss all the moments that I pass through on the way.

I had always considered myself to be a rather brittle and cold person.

I am not, by nature, particularly tolerant and tend to lose patience pretty damn quick. I can rarely be bothered with explaining; am only just learning to listen; and, had become accustomed to life as them – and me. Compassion is not a quality I have associated myself with, nor something I thought I’d ever get –

It turns out I might have been wrong.

A little part of me has been ignited, like kindling, and I find myself, almost instinctively, wanting to reach out and say – “yes, I get what you’re feeling, and I want to help you feel better” – or – “no, I don’t understand what you’ve been through, but I’d really like to listen to what you have to say.”

Who’d have thought?

I am curious to find the source of this phenomenon, so that I can bottle it up in case I run short again.

There is something in there, I think, about leading by example. Now that I am slightly less condemning and critical of my own imperfections, the tolerance is diffusing and it is easier, under these conditions, to be kinder to someone else.

Or the odds are improved, maybe, now that I’ve taken some of the barriers down. There’s an opportunity for compassion; and a greater chance of connectivity; and an open invitation to share experiences and insights, because I’m not struggling so desperately to hide who I am.

Perhaps it’s just easier to empathise with others when you start to understand yourself a bit. That after exposing – and then exploring – my own mental mechanics, thoughts and feelings are easier to recognise in someone else and, as the bars come down, I am increasingly wiling to help.

Or it could be the other way round entirely.

The kindness and understanding that I have been shown, and the acceptance which I didn’t think I deserved, have transferred, like gold dust, and magically swept me away. Or, the reaction to the held-out-hands has been instinctive; and, as I cling tightly on, the connection has been a daily reminder that, no, Melissa, you are not really alone.

Probably it’s a taking – giving – reaching – receiving – listening – sharing combination of the two.

I have been taught by experience and example. By my own story and by others’ too. By listening – as much as talking. And by realising that we are often, despite the surface differences, very much the same.

So, I still snap when I’m interrupted; and my patience, whilst definitely improving, continues to be rather slight – but I understand their impact, and I am trying to take responsibility and slowly change.

And, I am still quite harsh in my self judgement and tend to lean towards punishment or a sharp-tongued attack; but it is easier, with this recognition, to see the process in others, so that we can start, together, to make better sense.

Most notably, I feel a lot warmer, and more open, and far better equipped to encourage and love and give – because compassion helped me to recover; and I am able, now that I’m moving a little, to reach out to others too.

Related Stuff…Mis-Understandings; The Little Things; A Listening Ear; Love; and Stories, Secrets and Stigma

This is something that matters a lot to me.

Spurred into action by an indignant anger – and propelled through my discomfort of changing the day’s agenda by a sense that I should put my feet where my mouth was, I am still tingling from the excitement – and have learnt as much about myself as I have about Parliamentary Reform.

This is what I mean about recovery taking place in context.

This is why it’s important for me, every now and again, to take a deep breath and say, “yes, I’ll come, I’d like to do that” – even if it means that my lunch will have to shift back a time-slot, or I do something that I wouldn’t normally do –

Because I am richer for the experience, I think; and I have learnt some things about myself – and other people – that I didn’t previously know.

Like the fact that loud noises and crowds don’t need to be threatening, when the intention is good and the connection really felt.

Or, that it is empowering to stand up for your beliefs and take ownership of them, rather than waiting – as I so often do – to gain approval for an opinion, or check that it will go down well.

Because the loud speaker wasn’t very loud and it was hard to compete against the traffic and morris dancers, we left Trafalgar Square and traipsed down, towards the river – past the Horse Guards and the gates to Downing Street – heading towards the first port of call.

A group of young and inspiring campaigners led the way and we followed, purple clad and banner waving: babies in buggies, the old, the young, the singles, the holding hands, families, friends – and those just making a point. Through stopped traffic and past the landmarks of London, we ambled; and, I felt, in a way that I rarely feel, strangely engaged – and connected – and part of what was going on.

We reached Smith Square and, even though the excitement was building and I am normally scared of people, the atmosphere was friendly – and positive – and the message was not lost by a surge of anger, or buried under the hype. It was, instead, inspiring to see how many people really cared; and, I didn’t realise, until the crowd started to disburse, that the sense of shared commitment, had somehow suspended my usual fear –

It is important, I think, to have something to fight for.

Not in angry sense of the word – but just because I didn’t really use to care.

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…