The Dogs, and the cat.

 

Last night I got more talkative than usual, maybe. Or  maybe I just couldn't keep it in anymore... I dunno. Doesn't really matter, the outcome was my admittance to how much I've been fucking up in terms of keeping my bulimia in hand lately. It didn't go down too well, obviously. Why would it? I can't actually imagine what it must be like to have to live with, no worse, love, another human being who has their finger permanently on the self destruct button, especially when the only time it gets removed is when I stick it down my throat. Well, I can imagine... I have a good idea. Only fleeting, just for a few minutes, and it was horrible. The feelings it evoked in me were not ones I am able to deal with. And you know who I called on for help and guidance when I had to feel those feelings? The very person I admitted my bulimic behaviours to last night. So. I understand the anger, I understand the tears and everything else, I get it. And it broke me. 

Had a bad night anyway... two night terrors. They shake me. I wake up the next morning and I'm like a shell of who I actually am. I have this weight on my chest, this ache, and it doesn't lift for hours and hours, well in to the day when the night is truly passed on. I wake up screaming, I'm stuck to the sheets I'm sweating so much, questioning whether I've wet the bed it's that drenched. (I'm just creating a picture, not trying to gross you out, reader) I am shaking, literally vibrating with sheer terror, and I can't get my breath, I don't know where to look, which part of my body needs to be held, just held, until the pain stops, first. Usually I'd hug my knees first because it envelops quite a lot of the body, that type of self embrace. Not that it works anyway. I have never successfully calmed myself down after a night terror. 

My usual response is to get the fuck out of bed, because I need to move, and because bed is not a safe place for me anyway. And I usually end up in the kitchen eating, followed by the bathroom, bringing it back up. It's my go - to reaction/response when something goes wrong , when I feel scared, when I'm anxious, upset... get sick. Bring up whatever might be in your stomach, if anything, in the hope that some of the pain will come up as well. Just for the record, it doesn't. But it is my first response when feeling emotion, is to vomit. Fuck, fucking hell. Even pleasure. I swear to God, I have honestly, even reasonably recently, induced vomiting when I am not remotely distressed. Not only because it's an automatic response for me after eating, but it's like.... Jesus, this is so fucked up. Forgive me, but I've only ever told one person this, and it was last weekend. I have to get this out. Okay so basically, like any addiction, as bulimia is, there are highs and lows. With bulimia, for me anyway, I get a very distinct rush, a high, if you will, from bringing up something I have eaten. Not every time, but enough. The other day I actually said to myself "God that felt good". And it's not the first time I've said it, nor, I doubt will it be the last. Well. That's a stupid thing to say actually because it gives the implication that I intend to continue being bulimic. Which I don't... I actually never have. Every day I wake up with a new intention to get it right today. 

But I did get high from it. That's why I call food a drug. Same as any alcohol or drug addiction, I do, on a daily basis, experience highs and lows before, during and after, in my case, meal times and eating and episodes of purging. I know how fucked up that is, but it's the truth. And I tell the truth. I've lied a lot in my life, and though some people may not like what I say, this is my space, this blog, to say what I feel and think and experience, so damned if I'm going to lie on this. No way. To use a major cliche, truth hurts, huh?

But the rush I get is more than that. That part explains the highs, what it doesn't explain is my thought process behind inducing vomiting while I am feeling good. I actually found myself doing the same with cigarettes. I feel anxious, I have a cigarette to calm my nerves. I feel stressed, I cool down, take a moment, and have a ciggie. I cry for ages, after it's over, I reach for the tobacco. And... I feel happy, relaxed, elated... I have a cigarette to 'celebrate', in a way I suppose it's like heightening the good feeling, by intoxicating your body with an addictive substance which also makes you feel better/good. For me, it's the same with my bulimia. There I said it. I don't get that sensation anymore, and I would never, ever, attempt now, to search for that high by doing it, but I won't lie, it has happened before, that I have done it even when feeling good. I would not do that now. I honestly only admitted that for the first time 6 days ago, and that was to another person with my illness. I have never ever told that, even to someone with anorexia, I honestly don't think even they would understand it. Only someone with bulimia could understand that. I don't have a lot of followers of my blog, but I know that saying that could actually stop some people from ever even looking in my direction again. And for that, I am sorry. Please don't think too badly of me, 'cos it's nothing compared to some of the stuff I've got buried in me, but it's enough.

So, night terrors. Last night I did not get out of bed when I woke up or eat anything, but the whole point of that diversion was that I was going to say, that I have, very often, woken up from a night terror and got physically sick. It's an emotional response for me, and I honestly can't say how soon that is going to change? Even if I stop inducing it, which I have already by the way, I don't know how long it will be before the feeling that I am going to get sick goes away when I am feeling emotional in any way. I feel nausea at the slightest bit of upset and distress and it's becoming increasingly noticeable. I worry those feelings will never go away. Which brings me to the first point of this post. 

Depression. 

I can't count the amount of times the words "Snap out of it" have been said to me. It's not that bad, they say. Just eat it, they say. It's easy, they say. WHY DON'T YOU GO AND FUCK YOURSELF. Anybody with depression will have that response. Nobody with depression wants to hear that. People have a vague idea sometimes, that it actually is that simple. (Maybe it is?) People, without knowing what is really involved in the process, have suggested hypnonis (rather than hypnotherapy) as a  means of doing the said "snapping out of it". Like, wake up and magically want to eat again, like that kind of snapping out of it. I've mentioned of course that I've had hypnotherapy and of course it doesn't work like that, but people watch TV, they assume that it works like that, you wake up and you're cured. But anybody with depression, or indeed, any mental health issue in any shape or form, even mild stress, will surely agree with me on this one, for someone to say, "Get your shit together, grow up, come on, you can do better...." and the dreaded snap out of it, or worse, for me, JUST EAT IT, is the single most stupid thing you can say to someone who is literally sitting wondering why the fuck they're still alive.

Which is really, in all honesty, where I was at this morning. My attempts at explaining how I felt were pretty lame, such as, "I don't matter" and "What's the point", which of course evoked the response Snap out of it, hardly surprising given my pathetic replies, but it was all I could muster up. When I'm feeling that level and that intensity of despair, apart from anything else, I barely have the strength in any part of my body to cry or scream, and I can't talk. I'm sitting there focusing all my energy on just breathing, and as soon as I become aware of that, I wonder why I'm bothering breathing in the first place. And it's just such a feeling of total darkness that you really have to wrench yourself out of like tar just to force yourself to take another breath... No, I do not want to launch in to explanations of "how I'm feeling". This is why therapy was ineffective for me for years. I didn't want to be here, and I didn't know how I was feeling, nor did I care. And being asked to explain it just pissed me off. Basically, I have no idea how to express myself, all I can think is.... black. Just black. And thick, like something you have to wade through with so much strength, that in the end isn't even worth the effort to get to, so you just give up and sink in to the blackness.

Which is how my dream started last night. I was in a sea or river, at night. I don't really remember much about my dreams most nights, I tend to block them out before they can grip my soul too tightly, but I do remember from this one, this incredible, vast, endless, wave of black, black, water washed over me, came at me... there was nothing I could do... As I'm sure a lot of people know, eating disorders, particularly anorexia, are all about control. I do not, DO NOT, like, feeling out of control. It's why I rarely drink. It scares me, I mean the most deep rooted sheer terror that you can possibly imagine. I really, really hate it. When I have these dreams, the really bad ones that wake me up, that feeling is there. It's not a case of fight or flight. It's freeze. Like, petrified still, rooted to the spot with fright, in the knowledge that there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do to prevent what is about to happen to me, and the only thing I am certain of at this moment is that it is going to hurt. So you know what? I wake up, and I get sick. I really cannot describe any better, the feeling I get in these situations. Luckily now, it's only in my sleep. But I can safely put my hand on my heart and say, because I've experienced it (See one of my earlier blog posts, I think the one called The Past), that is what rape feels like. That feeling of total and utter helplessness powerlessness. Particularly when you've been drugged, because it intensifies the lack of control over the situation and over your own body. It engulfs you more than flames engulf wood, every part of you is going to feel that pain, and there is no choice but to succumb to it. That's night terrors, for me. Like I said, not very nice! And I had it twice last night.

Which brings me back to my introduction of: This morning was not much god damn fucking fun, yeah? Most of the time I was sitting there making the aforementioned pathetic attempts to explain myself with statements like, what's the point, I was actually mentally dragging razor blades down my stomach. It seemed like a good option at the time. I didn't, just for the record. But my God, I wanted to. Like I said before as well, I just didn't have the fucking energy to bother with anything. (I refer to my earlier: What's the point). Then it would lift, something would shift slightly after a particularly truthful statement that hit home, and I'd see things clearer... but it just went back. And kept going back, back to hopeless. Back to black, to quote the song. Took a long time to get out of this morning, and to be honest I'm not really sure if I have come out of it. I feel a lot sort of... quieter, or humble, or something, than I did before.

However, I did shift. Significantly. This is why, and the reason for at least half the title of this post. The dogs. I looked up, in the middle of all this, and said, let's take the dogs out. I know, I know, they do say that exercise is good for depression, which I am a firm believer of. I advise exercise for every living thing on this planet, it's just the most fantastic thing you can give yourself. (As long as you don't walk til your feet bleed... and as long as you nourish yourself with the right foods to balance the exercise, which obviously I have a wee bit of a problem with) But seriously, generally, exercise? Fucking brilliant. It releases chemicals in your brain, endorphins, which in turn bring about positive and happy feelings. Same you get when you eat chocolate. Seratonin. Happy hormone! Exercise does it too, and it's great. Anyway, I just suddenly thought, let's take the dogs out. Let's get out and see the world, taste the air, give the dogs something to feel good about, breathe the cool morning dew and just generally let nature wash over us. It seemed like a good option, given how I was feeling. So we did.

It's not difficult to describe the feeling of walking through muddy fields in wellies and the feeling of fresh air hitting your face. Most of you, I'm sure, have had that simple pleasure more than once in your lifetime. Fresh. Cold. Dewy, just... pure. I get that every day, the second I step outside. But today I noticed it a bit more, and once we got to the field and the dogs went running after the frisbee, I allowed it to soak in while watching the dogs fetch it. The redness of the frisbee against the subtle colours of the winter scene struck me. It didn't bother me, it just struck me in particular. I guess I was watching it too, following its path like the dogs were. The rest of course was the gentle greens of surrounding pasture, the soft pastels that blend in to each other. And of course, the person I love was standing beside me, training the dogs, in the most amazing way, gently explaining his actions (I'm not exactly someone who knows how to train a dog). And that calmed me, because it was just... the situation. As it was happening, right now. That's it. So I started to feel a bit more like the person, the woman, that I am. My age, my name, my size, my sex, my shape... Pippa.

And then I got thinking about the dogs, while watching the dynamic between dog and owner, and between the two dogs themselves. The dominance of Skippy, the way she needs to be in control to feel like she is doing her job, her absolute adamancy that she will do what she is told and be the best dog she can be, and loving the satisfaction, versus the humble nature of my lovely, Milo, who is clearly more interested in giving his love for me and for everyone around him, than engaging in silly frisbee games. It's not that he won't play, he chases it, I've watched his body arc in exactly the same fashion as the frisbee as it flies. He just is busy loving. Anyway, we talked about this, we watched it, and soaked in the good feelings it envoked. We walked a little through the fields, not more than a stroll, but somehow it felt like enough exercise. And I do a shit tonne of exercise, this is not something I would usually even consider counting towards my calorie burn for the day. It just somehow felt like enough, the right amount. Which is pretty rare for me. Usually it takes a lot, or I still angst that I haven't done enough. So you can understand the goodness I was beginning to feel.

It was nice.

Tiny, pathetic, insignificant word really. Nice. Doesn't really belong in the English language...and yet, it does. Sometimes it describes something perfectly. It's just a little word, and it's misused and overused. But what I felt was nice. In the sort of... not good, not bad...just comfortable, steady, satisfied and enough, in the right way... nice. You know?

Kept watching the dogs, and continued to feel nice because of the thoughts about my dog, my Milo, and what he means to me. I'm sure most dog owners will feel this, and also say what I'm about to say "He's special. Nobody else has a bond this strong with their dog". But nevertheless, I do feel that. Milo, though I've had him barely two years, has been a constant in my life. His love for me, I feel, is unconditional, and always will be. He doesn't ask for anything, and therefore doesn't punish me if he doesn't get anything. And so, it's really easy to give to him. And he accepts with so much joy, and radiates love and care for me. He knows, he knows, how much I hurt inside. And he knows when it's bad, he knows when he needs to be there, but he also knows when I need a bit of fun, that this will help, so he plays. The way he behaves towards me, other people, and other dogs, is how I think humans should behave towards each other. I genuinely believe that if Milo was a man, and that the world was full of men, and women, like Milo, that the world would be a seriously lovely place to be in. I know that's kind of a weird thing to say about a dog, but hey, it's less fucked up than some of the other shit I've come out with tonight, so let's let it slide. Again, I'm trying to create a picture here. Go with it.

Not only that, but Milo was there for me at a time when I didn't feel I could rely on anyone else. I said, he was a constant. He IS a constant, that still remains, even though he knows now that I do not need to rely on him. Nobody else in my life was that constant, always there, no matter what, and he doesn't even have a smart phone! Sure, there were people I did rely on, all the time, and still do, I don't need to name you because you know if you're one of them. There's a lot. But people have their lives, their shit, their problems, and they need to be places, whatever. Life. I wouldn't ever expect another human to be my constant. (Yet I seem to have stumbled upon a constant in my life I never ever even dreamed of). Milo was that person. He just knows. He knows everything. Sure of course he does, I've told him things I wouldn't tell another living soul, of course he knows. He looks at me, and he understands every god damn word I'm saying.  Also, he's watched me go through it, and trust me, the looks he gives me while it's happening have actually made me stop in my tracks, at least in front of him. It's crushing, all he is, is disappointed, and downright heartbroken. He can't bear it, I mean literally he leaves the room, or waits outside the bathroom, he cannot stand by watching his Person in that much pain. Okay, I'm stopping dog talk now cos I recognize I might be starting to sound slightly off my game here (but start at the top of the post, it's a lot crazier up there). The point is, I just love my dog, I love Skippy, and I am more in love with the person I share home with these two incredible creatures than I ever thought possible to love another.

So, I started to feel a whole lot better. Exercise eh? Air. Nature. Does the trick. And all that love.  You may be in open air, but you're surrounded in it, it's just like a warm wind from another direction. It's subtle, but you feel it and you notice it. I think it even has a smell, you know the same way sea air does. It's a bit like being hugged, all the time.

I feel a lot better, and blackness shifts and lightens. In the same way that a thick smoke clears, so too, does dark water. Eventually you begin to edge closer to the sun... in other words, you do, quite literally, See The Sun. There's songs about this stuff, it's real. It doesn't get more real than what being outside this morning did to shift such deep feelings not only of falling and flailing, but failing, in to feeling well, alive... and it honestly took about four minutes from start to finish.

(Just in case anyone wants a bit of mush, I'm now tearing up, for two reasons. One, because Milo just wandered over and licked me, at the perfect moment And then, I took a break from writing this, I just wanted a cuddle, and I was feeling loving but turned away typing, so I really wanted to give a cuddle, and the little cat was curled up behind us - no, I haven't forgotten Lottie in this, notice the blog post is called The Dogs... and The Cat, she's a major part of this, but the latter half - and I was gazed at with this immense flow of endless love that put a sort of balloon in my chest, and then the dogs came over and lay down at our feet and it was just this lovely sense of being part of a family, my family, that really made me feel... at One.)

Do you know what changed all that, in seconds? It's nothing I did or said, no behaviour, thought, word, action or feeling; nor was it anyone else's. It was purely physical. Nothing alarming, no. But it changed things for me, and I went back to a darker place, because of how I was feeling physically, and the reasons that led me to feel like that.

Bit of a whirlwind week with the health to be honest! Compilation of a bunch of things, and a serious mother fucker of a toothache. On top of crippling digestive problems (I had a year long stint of taking a hundred laxatives a day and eating fourteen packets of chewing gum a day, and my stomach rarely had anything in it for very long, for a really really long time, my digestive system and my whole stomach lining and all that is pretty fucked by now. Not to mention a bunch of other stuff, including how many prescription drugs I was on to fuck up my stomach), I had to have a tooth extraction. Wasn't a routine extraction so lots of pain and then, inevitably, it got infected, so she put me on antibiotics. Which I had a pretty alarmingly bad allergic reaction to, resulting in some pretty awful stuff for two days, only really ended last night. So, I haven't actually kept anything down for two days, and before that (the whole cause of my 'fess up last night as stated at the start of this) my bulimia had gone pretty haywire. So there wasn't a whole lot of anything in my system. Funnily enough, I've gone eight days without ingesting anything except black tea, and water with lemon in it, and functioned an eight hour exercise day without a wobble in the past, but these days, I guess my body has had enough of my bullshit, because it gets a bit narky when it goes through, or gets put through by me, much rough treatment. My point is that basically I began to find it pretty hard to stand up because my head just went really fuzzy and dizzy and I just kinda wanted to lie down but the ground was wet and I didn't want to cause a fuss all over again. So bluffed my way back somehow and ate something, which I did actually keep down. I wanted to because I needed to. And in that respect, and after everything that was said, and that I felt, it was pretty easy to do.

Wrote that paragraph you just read before I took my break, and then came back and wrote all the stuff about my family and all the love I'm surrounded by,  and how it's like being hugged all the time, and when I came back, I deleted was written about the day, all the dizziness what it represents blah blah, and about the mental struggle of lunch blahde blah,  because actually, none of that really matters any more, what matters is what is right in front of me, here and now. That, readers, is what we have. We have a fixed past, and we have a potential future... but we have a sure and completely definitive Right Now, and that is actually all we need, because once that is secured, whatever That is (doesn't even have to be good) the rest is laid out in the pattern we choose before we act in the present moment that means the future is secured too, for the better. So even if the present isn't good, you know you've already changed it. Not only that, but once we're Present, in the present moment, the past doesn't matter either, and it just melts away a bit, until it's easier to let go of. 

I felt this a lot while I was away and scribbling in a notebook while travelling. I thought about my life now, my whole present way of life and of being, and it brought me back from any not so good places I was going, which it always does. Being in the present moment shifts all that. I forgot that, this morning, and had not remembered until after I wrote the first part of this post, and looking back, it's pretty bleak. 

I honestly nearly went too far down this morning. Came back up for a bit, but that dizzy thing slipped me back again. It brought up a lot of emotions to do with inadaquacy, feeling like my eating disorder ruined a good moment again, and that it would always do so...and bad memories of blood sugar dips (it kinda makes you hallucinate if it gets really low) and those feelings kept coming back all day, I wasn't feeling lighter when I started this post. And the knowledge that all this stuff started because of my bulimia was repeatedly doubling all those feelings. The whole feeling was too much. I honestly nearly went too far.

I don't want to go there again. I said I nearly went too far - I have been too far, that is what I mean when I say I don't want to go there again. Last time I went there, even though it was only for a few hours, I nearly died because of what I did to try and escape it. It would kill me this time, if I went there again. You know what? I don't deserve to go there again. With this knowledge, it's in my power to prevent myself from going there. It makes it my choice, where I go in my head and which side of me I choose to help me in which situation. This thing is about using my whole self to heal my whole self, not trying to completely eliminate the negative sides of me, which I end up abusing myself with. We all have different parts, some good, some not so good - "a dark side" so to speak; or a devil on one side and an angel on the other. Whatever way you look at it, this is fairly commonplace. I have these two extra devils on my shoulder called anorexia and bulimia, so it's a little tricky, but it seems that it can be figured out in a way that you sort of mould yourself back in to one amazing being, a complete version of your true self;  but in a way that you remain separate from the negative part of you, which allows it to work with you rather than against you. Reading back over this it seems so simply put, and actually sounded a lot more complex in my head: it is complicated alright, but once you integrate yourself, the whole You is fighting against the badness, the demons. It's a good place to be, united with yourself.

I did a brave thing today. It sounds like nothing but for me, it was. Not buying chocolate today... I've used it as a security a long time, but it got to the stage where I was replacing meals with it after purging, and eventually, purging because I knew I could just eat some chocolate... It goes in to this cycle every few months actually... love-hate relationship. For a time, I replaced meals with it in general, until for years, it was the only thing that was safe. I spent a number of years in my very early twenties, eating enough calories to be on a safe weight gain program, but I never ate an actual meal, ever. This of course got me in a lot of trouble in hospital because I was forced the meals but purged them because I was getting enough calories in my own way, which was of course the wrong way, and I got little proper nutrition. I  refused to follow their programs and did it on my terms, which pissed off one hell of a lot of people, but at the time, my terms kept me alive, and it was the only way I could do it without literally falling in to emotional oblivion. 

If anybody is reading this who ever bought for me, or brought in, special food for me... I know you may have felt like you were doing the wrong thing, but it was the only thing that stopped me from going so crazed inside those places that they sectioned me. It saved me. I mean, I barely wanted to be alive during those times, but somewhere inside deep down I did, so I ate chocolate to keep me alive, because the will to live wasn't strong enough to eat, and my eating disorder and body dysmorphia was consuming every rational thought in my head so that I could NOT eat....except one rational thought, I have to stay alive, I can't do this to my family...I knew I had to survive.... It became the only thing I could eat for months at a time. Even if it's half a square, that's enough to keep you alive. Chocolate also actually saved my life at times. I've eaten it before when I could literally feel life draining out of me, and in so doing, felt life flow back around my body.

So, not buying a bar of chocolate today, just in case I, a) bring up my dinner or, b) freak out and can't eat it... either way, not having a chocolate get out clause of either of those situations is a pretty big step, it would seem. I didn't need that security today for the first time possibly ever. Because I knew, I just had complete faith in myself that I knew what I ate for dinner tonight was one hundred percent going to stay in my body.

Another way that a negative part of me worked with Me in the Now, and created a good future, certainly for this evening and its outcome, despite being built from a rocky past. It's pretty cool. And really, all I have to do is open my eyes, look up, and take a good visual intake of what's happening right now. In all aspects of your present. Finances, romantic, all of it. Have a good long look at it, take it in, see how it makes you feel, and why, and what you might change - not about the situation - but about your response or reaction to it, to make it better for next time, or improve another aspect of your life, the best way to go about making that inner change or adjustment... by the time you've done all that thinking, it's already happening, because it's now again, and the rest doesn't matter, as it is in the past, and because you're a master of living in the Now, you can let go of the past.

Another interesting thing that happened last night while I was writing this was that I texted my best friend about something in the first bit of this post, about loving yourself. She said, it's not that easy is it? I was feeling pretty low when I started replying, and said You know what, no, it bloody isn't. I was actually getting sort of het up inside feeling frustrated at having to do this impossible task of learning to love myself. I said, I've spent my whole life feeling at fault, for everything I do and have ever done, and not only that but I've been conditioned to believe that assumption is correct, that I need to apologise for who I am, and that I am a failure as a person. Even if I wanted to love myself (which I don't, because I don't feel I deserve to) I have no fucking idea how.

In a previous text I had said that I was upset at being told that if you don't love yourself, you don't truly love others. And she said it was easier said than done, so I said yeah, exactly, the truth was that it broke my heart, because it's true. Love another in a way that makes the other grow as a person, you cannot, until you have those feelings for yourself. 

I then said this.... and I wasn't planning on saying it, and had to go back and edit it to include what I was going to say just to make it fit with what I'd already typed, because out of nowhere, I just completely changed tack and it just came out as I typed. I started off saying I was crushed... then: it makes me see how much more I have to give once I start loving myself. What I added was - through all the self hate and self-abuse, somewhere in there I've been able to see that I am loving, have the power to help others, and was born a care giver and empath. Realizing that you can't do any of this without self love made me feel like I'd failed even at loving people, and that's why I was feeling so low all day. And then it just turned around in my head, just like that. I just sort of went, oh, can't believe I just wrote that, and realised that it was the way I should be looking at it becuase it was -is- completely true: If I am as loving as I am now without the self love, then the love I have to give after literally knows no bounds. 

Again, this knowledge instantly makes it easier to change the way things are in terms of self love. And that was it. The text started out with what verged on despair, if writing could have tears in it, then my words were crying, and as I typed it was like a little light flicked on and filled me with light. I think I might have actually been told as much before, or showed that way of looking at it, I'm not sure... maybe, but it felt like such a revelation for me really. I actually turned around and asked if the lights got brighter, I felt like this little glow had lifted the darkness I'd been feeling all day. This, with all the love I was feeling (aforementioned)... I went to bed and slept beside the man I love for twelve hours straight. No dreams, night terrors, no medication to aid sleep... Just sleep. 

 

Anger is a tough emotion. At the end of the day there are actually only two emotions: Love and Fear... all the others stem from one of these. I think anger stems a little from both. But for me, mostly fear. And you know what else? I fear my anger. I fear what I might do if I allow the anger inside me to come to the surface. I may have little to no self-love, but I have enough to know not to let the anger out because I think it would kill me - that I'd hurt myself so badly - as we've established the self-love is there enough that I have not managed that yet: that's why. 

But I have quite deep rooted fears of anger. I get scared of other people's anger very easily, even if it's not directed at me, I'm just in the room with it; my instinct tells me to run away. In this case of fight or flight, for me, it's flight. Sometimes it's even freeze - going back to my fear of losing control. Which makes complete sense: I see anger as a form of loss of control. So, yes, I fear my own anger. Because I fear losing control. Perhaps it is time to look at why I fear control or lack of it, and figure out a way of dealing with that; perhaps if I do that the rest will fall in to place? Like the fact that at the moment that anger is directed inwards. Consequences aren't great.

On the flip side of fear and anger, love resides, and lives on inside all of us, protecting us from the fearful things and the feelings we fear. The last thing I wanted to write about today was a form of love, and the newest source of it in our home: Lottie.

Lottie is a little kitten, a little piece of delight that came in to our lives about four weeks ago. Given to me by a friend of mine and her family, even the circumstances by which she came in to my life are the exact ones I am, and want, to be in. Having Lottie here (in all her cuteness), heightens this feeling every time I see her, and play with her, bring her up to be the lioness she has the potential for. It's like a It's not just 'Pippa and her dog came to stay' feeling. Having a cat together allowed me to settle in more firmly in to being here, and gave me a huge sense of belonging, and of worthiness within the space I live. Like me not being here would make it not as nice... These kinds of things, are the things which came about for me when we got the cat. She's so important to me, I can't tell you. (Bear with me, I may not have children but it's my birthright and is written in the stars that I will have them, so my maternal instincts are pretty strong) Not comparing animals to children, but I just mean in the sense of rearing a tiny, helpless life form. 

Lottie is a pretty amazing little creature to be honest. I've had a lot of kittens and loved them all in all their different ways, known them all, but Lottie seems remarkable in some ways that I had yet to see in a cat. Specifically in one way which I haven't seen - she sits on pain. It's different than the way dogs sense emotion and come to aid the situation, Lottie, because of her size, can actually come directly to, and then sit on, the site of pain. She does it with emotional pain and physical pain, the sites that the emotional pain is manifesting in the body. She sat on my chest this morning, where I was carrying a big brick of emotion, and she did it the night I had the antibiotic sickness, she sat on my stomach all night. It's taking a typical cat behaviour and going further with it: She, like all cats, likes to sit and sleep in warm spots. They seek them out, and they know where to find them. Lottie... she sits on the pain. It's like she can feel a surge of energy coming from the site of  the pain, the warm spot, so to speak, and she comes to rest herself and emanate her healing by sitting there. 

She goes where she's needed, too: Sometimes, I am in a snuggly cushion and kitten mood, and she comes to me and sits with me, and sometimes, it might not be me that needs the hug or attention, so she goes there instead. She anticipates mood and feelings, and it's really quite remarkable in such a tiny creature. 

The reason for the pictures in this post is sort of tied to the cat, and it wasn't entirely a mistake that Lottie ended up in the pictures. This little marble model cat, was a mascot of mine for a long time, for the duration of my first hospital stay and throughout many more that followed. He came with me, accompanied me, to every meal and snack I had for years, and didn't leave my sight when I had to eat for a long time after even hospital stays. He was my little guy. I eventually had to let him go, as I do with a lot of comfort things, but this one had significance for me, and I couldn't eat without him there.

If you look at what's written on the base, the sides: Health. Happy. Wealth. Those words are etched in to the marble base and that's what I like so much about it. Things to live by, and a little happy kitty on top to prove how easy it is to live by those things. The cat simply sits on top there, smiling away, because he's living three things: Healthy, happy, and because of that, wealthy.

But as you see from the last picture, my little mascot has actually broken. The cat has come away from its base. The base that holds it down. It's been sat there forever, since it was made, but now it's free to move around. When I noticed a few days ago that it was broken, I felt a bit stricken and made plans to fix it. And then I thought about it and it seems like the wrong thing to do. It is not a case of wanting to be away from health, happiness and wealth. It's just that being free from any base gives a certain sense of autonomy that being in hospital and being unable to eat without a mascot next to you will never give you. And I am not in that place anymore. I am free. Not just from institutions and rules, but in my head too. I am free, when I choose to be so. I do not feel a need to fix this little carved cat. He can still sit on his base whenever he wants, the health, happiness and wealth are still part of him, in fact, he doesn't stand up without the base anyway, he needs them. But like I said, it's not fixed anymore. 

In that respect it's like Lottie, who has very much got a home, and a base, and she has people she needs and wants to love here in that base, and the dogs too, she loves. However, she is not barricaded. She can go wherever she wants. The thing is, is that she doesn't feel the need, because she knows she can go. She knows she's got a good life and she likes it and she feels part of it, and wants to stay. 

It's nice, knowing that I contribute to a cat wanting to stay in her home. I feel like I too, am finally home.

 

        

The Attempt

3am. From a hospital bed after waking up from an induced coma.

Not that I know, maybe because I don't know, but more likely because the answer freaks me out, so I don't know. But honestly, by this stage, I've actually forgotten the question. So that's that. 

How many of you out there can honestly say that you've run a bath, strategically placed  not one, but two razor blades on the edge of the bath, run the bath, had a cigarette, taken over a hundred and fifty tablets used for psychiatric care, and washed them down with a bottle of vodka. How many of you out there can honestly say that you've then got in to the bath and, while the tablets begin to take effect, taken the blades, one in each hand, and slashed at your arms til the bath water is pink because of all the blood?

I can say it. 

I did it two nights ago. While I was doing it, I was thinking, shouldn't I be crying, be in some sort of pain, anguish, desperation? I didn't at all. It made me feel better. The option of the physical pain of repeatedly slashing my arms with razors was preferable to the pain I was feeling inside. But you know what the really fucked up part of it is? (And this really highlights how much of a problem my eating disorder really just) Most of the time, I was just counting the calories in all the vodka I was downing. 

I systematically took every single tablet in that pack, my weekly supply. Even the fucking Pill, even the calcium. But I guess I must have known I wasn't going to die, because I saved the tablets that help my tummy, I knew I'd need them. But sleeping tablets, prozac, anti depressants, mood stabilizers... all of it. What I can't figure out is why I was so calm about it. Probably because I knew that it would stop the pain. I've come to the conclusion that I didn't - DON'T - want to die. At all. I don't. Sure, I say my life is worthless and I believe that down to the core, I genuinely feel worth nothing and that my life isn't worth living, but you know what? I still want to. If that's okay. 

You know. Only if it's okay. And sorry, just....sorry. I'm sorry for more and more things these days, I even apologised for going to the shop and buying a bottle of water today, like I needed to justify why I was spending money on myself, because I honestly don't feel like I deserve to. Especially now, because of what I've done. Everything is usually my fault. I am learning though, and my way of learning is to catch myself apologising and then laugh about it. 

It's not something I've ever done before, is laugh about it. It actually feels like a massive break - through. Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a laughing matter but when I think about some of the things I used to do, and still do. It's ludicrous. I'm laughing as I write this and it feels good to laugh. I'm thinking of making a comic book: Pippa's Eating Antics. 

OMG. Even that, those letters, it spells a food. PEA. That's funny. Maybe not to you, but it is to me, I've lived without laughing properly  for fifteen years so if anyone has the right to laugh at herself it's me. 27 tubs of butter every week for about four years, I mean come on. What must people have thought? I think it's safe to say that although it's desperately sad, at the same time it's pretty fucking funny, especially if the person who bought the butter is laughing now. But sure, at the time, it was not funny. My mum cried every time I bought butter, and that's on me. And for the pain I caused her, I will never forgive myself. Ever. 

 Anyway, whatever. My point was that if you can laugh about your mistakes, even just something or even just something you think about, you can begin to own them as your mistakes, and when you own something, you have power over it. Does that make any sense? 

Laughter, they say, is the best medicine anyway. As far as I know it releases certain endorphins which in turn make you feel good, but I will have to look it up, don't quote me on that. In the meantime, as yourself, when was the last time you truly laughed, I mean laughed so hard you couldn't even stand up. If you can't remember, it probably means you need to do it. Go for it. I dare you. 

Anyway, on a more serious note, I am currently in the Regional Hospital after taking a drug overdose. Tomorrow, men in white coats will come to decide my fate. Am I worried? No, not really. Because I don't really care enough about myself to worry about what happens to me. If I worried, it would be like giving myself a present or a reward, and bad girls don't get presents, do they Daddy? 

I've called this post "The Attempt" for a reason. Before I started writing this, I wrote a letter to a close friend of mine, in which I said that if you try to do something, the chances are you've probably already failed. I should point out, that this is not actually my sentiment so I don't want to take credit for it - but I understand it so I can explain it. The reason I'm passing it on, "spreading the word" for want of a better term, is because the person who told me is right. Think about it, a simple statement "I tried to open the door", translates, basically, as "The door is still shut, because I only tried". Get it?

You can apply this to your life choices and actions as well as your thoughts. I'm going to try it. Ah! Ha! I'll rephrase that shall I? I am attempting to make changes in my thoughts, behaviours and actions. Consciously. I'm already doing it sub-consciously, and so are you. One thing I've learned over the past four weeks, your sub-conscious always always has your back. Think I'll make up a new song. If at first you don't succeed, attempt, attempt again. 

There's actually a lot of tricks like these in the English language if you take a closer look. And if you're aware of them you can really use them to your advantage, and it can make conversation pretty... illuminating. For example, someone I know texted me to ask if I was okay and I said no, and she said what's wrong, tell me I WON'T TELL NO-ONE, she said. Translation, I'll tell fucking everybody because she loves gossip and she loves a scandal. She said it herself - the words, I'll tell no-one. Completely true. But at the moment I'm only really becoming aware of this language thing, only know a handful. Practice needed, and experience. Will report back. 



So... this... this... situation? Mess? that I'm in. It's now 4 am, and I'm hooked up to a bunch of machines, can even have my phone cos every time I pick it up my heart rate jumps and the nurses freak out. It's dark, and they're wondering why I won't go to sleep, I''m writing this with pen and paper. Now, I could go off on a tangent here about how nice it is to put pen to paper for once, instead of all these electronics, blah blah, but I know full well that it's just a delay tactic, because I don't really want to have to explain my latest fuck up. 

Yes. Latest. I fuck up on a regular basis. I keep saying "I'm sick of it" but if you think back to what I just said about language, cover up the words "of it" (just with your finger). See what you're left with? I'm sick. Yeah, well I already fucking know that, so why drop it in to everything I say? (Probably cos it's always on my mind). 

Went to see Orla Foley last week, for energy healing, chakra alignment, sports physio (By the way, highly recommend that everybody go to see her she's magic). On the way out, a little plaque on the wall caught my eye. I couldn't see all of it, but I got the gist: it said Impossible.... something something... means I'M POSSIBLE. I thought it was just brilliant. It's just another way of looking at words and use of language and it's the complete truth. 

Okay seriously, I said I was going to talk about the attempt about three pages ago, and I still haven't. I've got delay tactics down to a fine art. Especially at mealtimes, I'd say it's really fucking annoying. So, it's (almost) Monday morning. On Friday, I had a good morning and a lovely afternoon with my friends doing crafty stuff, and then I went for a walk, just because I felt like it, not because I felt like I had to, and I felt good. My phone died so I had no music, so I just sang the entire way down the mountain. We ate some cake, and had a laugh, and... i dunno. My chest felt light. I remember saying, I feel like there's a balloon in my chest. I felt free. For someone, really, who doesn't know what happiness feels like, to me, it was happiness. It felt good. 

Now, it's like the balloon has been replaced with a concrete block. Well, actually, I'm not going to say that. It's really more like the block has squashed the balloon down, because that feeling is in me somewhere, I know it is, because I felt it. I have that much to hold on to, at least. So what the FUCK happened? I felt so good on friday. Something shifted and there wasn't much warning. Friday night, I went so dizzy I couldn't get out of the bath, had to eat a banana just to get the energy to get dressed and have dinner. Even then I still felt awful and during the night... oh my god the dreams... I don't have the words. The cramps were unbelievable... no, I'm not even going to think about them because they'll come back, and I've had a whole hour without any pain. 

So, waking up Saturday morning, didn't feel any better. I barely slept and I was physically fucked, dizzy and weak and awful cramps and getting sick. (I'm going off on another tangent here cos this is a good point, back to what happened later). Interesting, that in the past, I have gone 8 or more days without ingesting a single calorie, and not a single wobble. Nothing. Done shit loads of exercise and not a bother on me. Now that I'm coming to these realisations about what I've put my body through, not to mind my soul, it seems that when I mistreat my body or use my disorder against me, my body talks back. I know you're probably thinking, Jesus wept, this girl is off her tits on morphine or something (I'm actually not). Truth is, I know my body very well. It is very sensitive to change. Plus, it's had a lot of abuse and basically what it's saying now is "Enough!"

Anyway, point is, whether it talks or not, my body really ain't happy. Not for long though, I seriously have treats in store for you like. I won't say that this thing has given me a wake up call or a scare as such, cos it's a bit of a cliche, it's more like a realisation. A revelation. T

Thus: I am done. 

I am done, counting calories, exercising, bingeing, purging, all of it. I'm done. 
Oh but... she says. Oh But nothing. Fuck off. Pippa says no. Not this time. 

That was actually really hard to write it took me about an hour. Just that, I'm done. But it's written now, nothing can change that, there it is in this random notebook the nurse gave me. In black and white. I can't scribble it out, or tear up the page, or burn it... It's there, because I, Pippa, created it. 

Ha! Cool! I've created a lot of stuff. More than most, cos of my profession, and everything I make, I pour love in to. I try (TRY, see?) to live my life like this, and to live up to the true meaning of my name. 

Oh yeh what was I saying? Creating words. Right. Not a particularly good sentence, it's short, it's not good English, ya da ya da ya da (Shut the fuck up). But it's there. Just that. I'm done. 

D'you what else is there? Shock. I literally owe my life to another human being. Not to mind the emotional damage I've caused. Oh my God, what the fuck was I thinking.... I really don't know. All I know is that I just wanted to escape the pain. But anyway, here's what happened. 

We got as far as Friday night, saturday morning. So, ate the dinner cos I knew I had to and I knew I wouldn't get away with not eating it, got fuck all sleep basically screamed all night. Tensed up to fuck with pain. Same in the morning. Spent most of the day on the couch, actually, all of it, being looked after by the two boys. If you're reading this, I've learned enough from ye to know that you won't accept my apology, so what I will just say: thank you.

Nothing can change what I have done, I can't take it back. But what I can do is choose what to do next. Something, somewhere, has given me another chance at this life thing. D'you know what, it sounds kinda cool, I think I'll give it a go. Anyone coming? Or are you already there? Can I join you?

I mean basically, the way I see it, I've got three options here. 
1. Do it again, and succeed.
2. Leave hospital and carry on as if nothing happened.
3. Start over. 

A good friend of mine recently said to me, in response to something I said about the break-up with Kegan. I think it might just be the best piece of advice anyone ever gave me. She said, Pippa, start again. Start again, not by picking up the pieces, (I assume she meant 'of my shattered life'), just literally, START OVER. 

Very cool. It's been about ten minutes since I wrote a single word, I've been completely lost in thought for ages now, to the point that I had to lift my legs to wake myself up. The TV is on now, just on a music channel, so there's lots of perfect bodies. I was pretty much in a trance just now, looking at everything, but not really seeing anything. Next second, a bikini clad girl comes on screen and I'm like, bitch! Cos I'm jealous cos my body isn't as perfect as hers. But you know what I did? I closed my eyes, and whispered shhh, not today, not now. I've told you, I've written it down. I'm done. 

And I really fucking mean it. 

Another ten mins went by there, just thinking, planning, not really planning as such though, plans tend not to work out when I make them. It's a learned behaviour, this thing of always needing to know what my next move is going to be. I'm much happier when the only plan I have is to follow the wind and follow my heart. SORRY, what a cliche. It's true though. It's like the word "try", I think, "plan" usually means "fuck up". So now, new plan is no plan. 

So that's that cleared up. Now what? Oh yeah... happier going with the flow. That's probably why I like writing so much, it just kinda flows out of me, I don't plan what I'm going to write. It just comes out. And I let it. I don't mean "going with the flow" as in, be like everyone else, be normal, think, feel and act like every other fucking pleb on this planet kind of way. I just meant... ok I don't really know what I meant, but I know what I didn't mean!

Where was I, like aaaages ago? Oh yeah I got up to about Saturday lunch time. Managed a few spoons of soup. Dizzy, hard to focus, cramps. Massive amounts of anxiety. Like nothing I've ever felt. The only thing that got me through it was planning (ironic, that it was a plan, which I've already said is usually a fuck up) my overdose. Waiting. Waiting for my opportunity. 

What kind of fucked up bitch am I? Oh my God I can't believe I just wrote that. On the other hand though, it came from a desperate place, and a desperate human being will literally do anything to get his needs met. That's the human condition. Look at it from the point of view of an addict. Which I am. Anything to stop the pain. My need? Just... escape. Forget. I wanted to stop the pain, not my life. I am not suicidal, I am desperate. And I am desperate because I am in pain. 

Right, so by this stage I've covered actually taking the tablets, having the bath, the razors, two of them, could do more damage faster with one in each hand. I got dressed, and wandered around for a few minutes, I think I even had a cigarette. Hung up the towels, put my clothes away. Etc. I remember Ian coming back, I think I was in the bedroom, and I heard some screaming about "oh my god you fucking cunt what have you done" kinda think, and he told me to throw up, you have to bring them up. But by then I think I was gone, I must have done because I only know the rest from what he told me. I have absolutely no memory of it. Whatsoever. 

I thought it was maybe an hour later, but when I woke up my mum was looking me straight in the eye, she was right beside me. Roger was there. And I am so glad that they were there, cos I was having some serious hallucinations and I couldn't get the words out to explain what I was seeing because I'd been on a ventilator, I couldn't breathe on my own, so my throat was fucked. Anyway, then Ian arrived, and he's like, it's Sunday evening... what the FUCK. He'd taken me to Nenagh hospital where they'd transferred me to the regional by ambulance. In the meantime, 3am in Killaloe, and the guards are knocking on Kegan's door looking for my mum. And so it goes. So here I am, it's now 5am and I'm in intensive care, but I'm off life support and breathing unaided. It's over. 




Or is it just beginning? My life I mean. I'll let you know.

The Break-Up

Today , about an hour ago, a close friend said "You are such a strong and amazing person". I wish she was right.

If I was strong, if I was amazing, I wouldn't be back bingeing and purging. I wouldn't have bought cigarettes yesterday. I wouldn't have spent three hours running up and down the stairs. On top of an hour's swim, two hours walking and over an hour of aerobics. I wouldn't have had to go to the doctor to get a prescription for Ensure drinks because the truth is, I'm losing weight, and exercising like a fucking maniac, and eating fuck all. Because I can't.  If I was strong, I would be in control. I am so far from that it's almost funny. Except it's really not funny at all. Every day is the same. Eat (purge), sleep, exercise, repeat. If I was strong, I'd be able to live with the decision that I made two weeks ago.

But every day is not the same anymore. Two weeks ago, because of me, all that changed. I broke up with the love of my life, my world, my heart, my rock, my Kegan. Things will never be the same. And it is my fault. Now, every day looks bleaker and bleaker as I go further and further back in to my eating disorder. The difference is now that I am on my own, and I will be for a long time. As I said to the dog yesterday, it's just you and me now buddy there is nobody else. Nobody wants me. And I can see exactly why. I don't even want myself.


Yesterday, basically, everything came crashing down. I let myself feel something. For the first time in two weeks. As I've said, eating disorder is a massive (and effective) distraction technique. However, sometimes, feelings that are otherwise completely ignored and squashed down so far they might as well not exist, come to the surface. And when they do, it's not pretty. At all. What happened was this: I rang my mum and I began to cry, and I said, Mummy, I think I've made a massive mistake. I want Kegan. All I want is Kegan. I love him and I don't want to be apart from him for another second. I hate it. Life without him is not really worth living. She said, Ok Pippa, it's ok, where is he, and I said he's out, she said go find him. Put on some makeup and wear something nice and go and tell him all this. Go and get him back. So, I brushed my hair (for the first time in a few days) and I put on some makeup, and I went where I knew he would be. I wanted to sit down and have a drink with him but he had already left the pub, he was just leaving, so we ended up standing outside the pub in the pissing rain, but still, I told him how I felt. To cut a long story short, he said no. He said, I cannot ignore the conversation we had that led to our breakup (which I will get to in a minute) and if I did, I would be lying to myself and betraying how YOU feel. He said, those feelings, and those thoughts, cannot be undone. He said that he had processed all this stuff and sort of said he had tried really hard to come to terms with it, and that he couldn't undo that. He said that if we did get back together the same thing would happen two months down the line, and that he could not go through that heartbreak again. He said it would be worse too, and that we would end up out of each other's lives permanently if that happened.

So by this time, I can literally feel my heart splitting in to a thousand pieces and I can't even see because I'm crying so hard. And I want to run. All I want is to run away, so far that I run out of my own body because I don't want to live in it anymore. It hurts too much and I don't think I can take it anymore. Full blown panic sets in and I have a huge anxiety attack, which I haven't had in quite a while. I forgot how awful it is. Kegan, at this stage, is crippled with embarrassment because he says we're in public and what the fuck am I doing behaving like a two year old, you're a grown woman, how old are you? Answer me, he says, how old are you? I mumble something, and then break down with more tears. I can't feel anything except pain and I can't breathe because my chest hurts so much. At this stage Kegan, I think, realises that he needs to get me home. He starts walking, because at this stage I'm barely standing. We're still outside the pub and it's still raining. Kegan starts off across the bridge and I really have no option but to follow him. Three times, I stopped because the pain was just too much. By the end of the walk home, Kegan had turned around three times to try and get me to follow him, and in the end, he actually physically put his hand on my back and steered me in to what used to be our happy and loving home.

Not anymore. Now it's really just a place to sleep. For both of us. I have barely seen Kegan for the last two weeks, he only comes home to eat and sleep, and I only stay at home all the time because the food is there, and it's where I cook and eat and purge, and it doubles as a place to exercise. Otherwise I wouldn't be at home either. And now, I have to find myself a new home. I seriously, seriously considering getting the hell out of Killaloe, and moving away. I've even had three job interviews in other places, so we can add that to the list of things that have gone wrong and disappointed me on top of the break up. Job rejections. Other rejections too. I feel pretty fucking defeated. But as of yesterday, I think I've made up my mind that I am going to stay in Killaloe. My life is here. It may be a really shitty life but there's a lot of people here that look out for me and I don't think I want to walk away from that yet. I don't think I'm ready.

On the other hand... Killaloe. Everywhere, anywhere, all of the time, every day, at least twice, someone utters the dreaded words "You're looking well" or comments on my weight, asks me when my baby is due (FOR THE LAST TIME I AM NOT FUCKING GOD DAMNED FUCKING PREGNANT), or tells me how healthy I look. To me, those words are poison. I cannot express how much I hate it. I KNOW, I know, people mean it with every good intention and they want me to know that I look better now that I'm not less than four stone, and they tell me this because they love and care for me, but in all honesty, I hate it, and it literally translates directly as You Look Fat. I have such a history here of the disorder, and everybody here knows me as the girl who walks a lot, the girl who used to be anorexic. Even the shop assistants where I shop know full well that I am buying food I won't even contemplate keeping down. I'm not even allowed in some of the shops here. I don't know that I want to stay. But like I said I just don't think I'm ready to give up my entire life. Obviously, I am going to move out of this house, and really I think that might be enough of a change. So please GOD let me get a job here. Cos I sure as hell can't afford to live on my own without a job. Anyway.

So.  Why did I do it? Why did I even start that conversation? Yes, it was an in-depth and adult conversation, and it was something we should have done three years ago. But that doesn't make it any easier. Deep down, sure, I know it is the right thing but that is somewhat overridden by my insatiable desire to have the love of my life back. The coversation, I think, was sparked by my recent birthday. 29. I think something kind of (slowly) clicked in me that I need to settle down and get the things I want in my life. What I want is babies. Seriously, all I want is to be a mother. I think in many ways it is the only thing that would truly end, once and for all, my eating disorder. I've wanted children since I was only a kid myself. I always have, for as long as I can remember. Kegan does not. There's nothing wrong with that, he just doesn't. But I do. And early menopause runs in my family - my mum was 36. I am running out of time. And I have a thing going on that means it will be difficult for me to conceive anyway, so I need to figure out my options. I want to get married. I want someone who is gonna be there, always. Not always in the pub. That's okay, Kegan, I know you're reading this, and I know how much you like to go out. Like your dad. That's okay. I accepted it a long time ago and I know I can't change it. But even if we did have children, what's to say he wouldn't still be doing the same thing, while I am at home alone struggling to raise our children. I think I realised it's a risk I am not willing to take. I need stability. I've had a very unstable life so far and I need to know I can count on someone. I need to feel safe.

Kegan gave me that for a long time, and I will love him as long as I live for everything that he gave me, did for me and the love and safety he gave with all his heart... but it's been less and less lately... especially with my recent relapse back in to my bulimia and anorexia. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to be at home with me either. But see, it has become normal. Normal for Kegan to come home to find me fucking about with food, normal for me to exercise six seven hours a day. Normal, then, for him to retreat to the pub. But thinking about it properly, what is normal and what has become the norm doesn't necessarily make it RIGHT. And it has now got to the stage where it is convenient in our relationship for me to have an eating disorder. As long as I'm exercising for all that time, Kegan feels justified in spending the same amount of time away from home. Fair enough. Why shouldn't he? So he has an excuse, and then, while he's away, I abuse food. In more ways than can ever be explained unless you see it for yourself. It is not pretty. So in many ways me and Kegan are enabling each other and that is not healthy at all. Something had to change. And now it has, we had that conversation and now I am alone.

There's a saying: If you love someone, let them go. Kegan and I love each other and I hope we will always be part of each other's life. He is, at the end of the day, my soul mate and my best friend. We have been through too much together, good and bad, for us not to be part of each other's lives. I hold on to that. Today, I miss him. I've hardly seen him, but what I have seen is what my life is now like without him, and I really don't like it. But I guess I have to grow used to it, because there is no alternative. Life feels lonely, withered, and the future is now uncertain and bleak. I really do not know what to do next. I'm the kind of girl who likes to have a plan at all times, so I really am struggling with this. I'm in a sort of limbo right now, and Kegan is too. Until I move out. But honestly, I am not stable enough to do anything at the moment.

So how do I go about making my next move? Has anybody, anywhere, got an answer for me? Because I am, without a doubt, stuck. Up to my fucking neck.

I texted my dad today, asking his advice and he agreed with me that I had made a mistake. At least, he sort of did... His message was a little mixed. My dad is the kind of man that, when he talks, you shut the fuck up and listen. I try very hard to take his advice because much as I dislike it, he's almost always right and he has helped me make a lot of life decisions. And when he gives advice and I don't take it, it almost always goes tits up. So that's why I texted him. I asked him what my next move should be. He told me not to attempt further reconcilliation, and I told him that I wasn't going to. Because it is too late. `But then he said something about not trusting Kegan and his words, which really confused me. So now I don't know what to think. Who knows? All I know is basically I can't lean on anyone this time, it's up to me to fix this relapse. I'm really flying solo this time. Me and Milo.

Speaking of Milo, he knows full well that I am struggling. When I make a load of binge food, he doesn't know what to do, and he leaves the room while I'm eating. He follows me to the bathroom, like he knows I am about to do something bad. I feel guilty, and I feel like I am hurting him. Which is actually heart breaking. If it does that to the dog, what on earth did Kegan put up with for six years? I really can't imagine what it must have done to him, and for that, I will never regret it enough. No wonder he stayed away.

One thing I feel I have to acknowledge: Kegan never, and probably will never, give up on me. I have lost many, many friends over the years because they got sick of it, sick of reaching out and being rejected when I chose my eating disorder over them and their advice and support. I don't blame them. Even my own sister said that if I wasn't family she would have deserted me too. It hurts, and I miss them, and I wish they would give me another chance because I am not like that any more, but I don't blame them. But Kegan, he never stopped believing. Ever. Even at the height of it. Sure, he got incredibly frustrated and angry and all the rest of it, but deep down I know he believes that my eating disorder will not win. I should probably start believing this too. Because otherwise it's never going to happen. Kegan can see beyond the eating disorder, beyond all of it. He sees PIPPA. He always has, and that's what attracted me in the first place.

Ok, I am going to stop talking about Kegan because it's making me sad. Also I've been writing this for three days now so it's time to post and go for a bath and try to eat. Ha. Good luck with that.

The Fat Guy in the Pool

Before you look away in disgust because of the title of this, you should think twice. This post is basically a therapy session, and the title is an analagy for what I am about to teach. It is not a judgement, far from it. Read on, you will see. 

I go swimming every day. I know I swim too fast, too far (3km) and for too long, but I have a problem with exercise and we will talk about that another day. Or later on in this post. 

A couple of months ago I was swimming away and a huge guy got in and started swimming. When I say huge I mean he really was huge. I've seen him a good few times since, he comes quite often. I've even seen him walking his dogs and chatted to him briefly outside of the leisure centre, so he must be from around here. 

I used to be a snob. I'm not happy about it and I wish it wasn't true, but I used to be seriously judgemental, particularly at school. I shopped in Brown Thomas, and if I bought anything in Penneys or some other high street shop, I hid the bag so that nobody would know I bought something from there. I cared deeply about what people thought of me, without considering that people might be thinking 'she and her friends are fucking snobs'. Which I wouldn't blame them for, they probably were, and they were right. On no uniform days, me and my friends once sat in a corner commenting and giving marks out of ten for people's outfit choices as they walked past. I am NOT proud of that and I hate admitting it (afraid what people think of me, duh) but we honestly did that. There was one girl who the boys in our group christened "number ten" because she was fucking gorgeous, as a result of that game. 

What a turnaround, given how I am now. I am one of the most accepting and non judgemental people you can find. At least, I try to be. Sometimes I'm not but I really try very hard to see the good in people, and in situations. It doesn't always work, inside my head, but I have a little method which I have trained myself to do. It's a fairly simple concept, but it has really helped me be a better person, to have better thoughts, better comments, and a better outlook on life. All it is, is when you have a negative thought, anything at all remotely negative about a person or a situation or an opinion about something or someone that is negative or distasteful, you immediately and consciously replace it with a positive one. 

Here's where the fat guy in the pool comes in. He's an example. When I first saw him, my first thought was a negative one, I thought something probably along the lines of 'holy shit he's fat how can he walk around nearly naked looking like that, ugh that's gross........' and so on. It was not nice and I felt bad for thinking it. But the next thing that came in to my head was 'hang on, this guy is swimming. He's exercising which means he is trying to do something about his weight. Well fair fucking play to him'. See? I consciously and deliberately replaced the bad thought with a good one. I've been doing this, practicing this for a few years now. It's not as easy as it sounds and once you start doing it, you really notice how many damn times a day negative thoughts flit through your head. Most of mine still are. Even things like the weather (this is a favourite of mine)... when it starts raining and you're out with no hat or hood. You think 'Fucking fuckety fuck I hate this bloody country' but replace it with, 'hey look, God is watering His flowers'. I'm not even religious but that's honestly what I think when it rains. Nearly every time... After the fuckety fuck part. Replace negative with positive. 

My best friend is having a bit of a tough time at the moment and she's reading a lot of self - help books and stuff, and when we go for walks together or coffee or just hang out, we talk about this kinda stuff, and I try to help her by sharing my therapeutic knowledge from the amount of stuff I have learned over the years. I've learned a LOT of stuff, life skills, problem solving skills, life lessons, how to be an adult, how to enjoy life and how to process it without causing x y and z emotions and feelings. How to get the most out of the cards you've been dealt. You know. But I have this big huge toolbox of therapy. And in all fairness, I do use it. (Just not on myself haha) No I'm joking, I'm joking. I've learned some really good ways of dealing with life and the feelings and emotions it envokes at times. I believe everyone should have this toolbox. So many people need it. But on the plus side, I do use some of the things nearly every day. I'm lucky, because a lot of people I know have a great big toolbox full of therapy and they have no idea how to put it in to practice. They just have the toolbox. No idea what the spanner is for. Etc.

Anyway, this best friend has been helping me, and I (I hope) have been helping her. She calls me her guru. But I explained the thing about replacing negative thoughts with positive ones, about catching yourself thinking bad things, and replacing them with good things or things that make it seem a bit more hopeful. I'm not just talking about the weather, I'm really talking much, much deeper. "I can't go on" could be replaced with "Let's get through the next hour and then see what I feel like". You might feel a whole lot better in an hour. Maybe you won't, but what alternative is there. You have to keep going. And you know what? The darkest hour has only sixty minutes. So. 

But the whole thing started as a bit of a joke, I was just trying to explain the good/bad thought replacement method. But it's become a thing now, when we talk. The Fat Guy in the Pool. It all comes back to that, the fat guy in the pool. I think I'll make it the title of my motivation and self help convention. You know, like George Clooney and the What's In Your Backpack talk in that movie a couple of years ago, called Up in the Air. Anyway that's beside the point. What I am trying to say is that no matter where you go and no matter how negative things are, there is always a positive side. You have to look for it sometimes, but it's always there. Somewhere. 

I made a further discovery about the fat guy the other day. I was walking Milo, and he was there, in the park, with his dog. It was a lovely sunny evening and Milo went up to his dog to say hi, so I asked him did he go swimming today. His first reaction was one of surprise, he was like, what? And I said, oh, I see you at the pool sometimes, do you go quite often, and he was like, oh right, yeah, sorry, I don't wear my glasses when I'm swimming so I didn't know who you were. And then we had a chat about swimming, eye sight, and dogs, and went on our way. The point I am trying to make is one about judgement. When I saw him at the pool, my first thought was about his weight and was really negative and horrible, which I am ashamed of. Ok, yes, I replaced it with a nicer one, but the negativity was still there originally. If I had met him in the park before I knew that he was a fellow swimmer, I may never have had that negative thought. But! That's not my point. What I am (inadvertently) trying to say is that first judgement should never be your final one, and you should never judge based on looks and appearance because it turned out that the fat guy was really nice, even if he didn't even smile at me while swimming together a few times. Why? Turns out there was a reason: he can't see without his glasses. So really, there's always a reason and there's always an explanation and often, it resolves itself in a nice way. So there's another message in this story: looks really can be decieving, and you should never judge until you investigate something further. 

So all in all, this guy, this random guy who happens to be fat has taught me a lot, and has inadvertently helped me and he will never know it. I could never tell him, because I couldn't call him fat to his face (obviously not). So me and my friend and anyone who chooses to read this will learn a valuable life lesson and he didn't even do anything, all he did was go for a swim. Little miracles happen everywhere, every minute of every day. You just have to be willing to shelve the negativity and let in a little light. It's always there. 

The Fuel

Yesterday was the 12th anniversary of the 7/7 bombings in London, 2005. Although it took a full seven days to find and identify her, we lost someone that day. Emily, my first cousin. She was 24 years old. I don't really want to talk about it but I wanted to acknowledge it because she meant a lot, and she is never forgotten. I just wanted to start my post with this today because I have a very heavy feeling in my chest thinking about it, and I didn't acknowledge it yesterday, on the day, because there was a lot going on. It's not that I forgot, I think of her most days, but I didn't realise the date. And now I feel really guilty about that which is definitely adding to the feeling in my chest. Going out tonight, in her honour. I will drink to her memory. Emily, we loved you. What a God damn fucking waste. 

I had somewhat of an encounter last night, almost immediately after putting up my last post. It left me literally shaking with anger and disbelief. I had to get out of the house, so I went to find Kegan where I knew he would be and we had a drink together and we talked it through as he calmed me down. Kegan really is a wonderful person and he knows me, and my emotions, very well. He knew exactly what to say to help me through the situation. He always does. I wish I was half the partner he is to me, because he can literally gauge exactly what he needs to say or how to act to make me feel better. Like the other day - when I was watering Aine's plants, and the hose broke and I panicked and completely overreacted and rang him bawling crying. The first thing he said was "Shut the fuck up and stop crying" which worked. Then he said Pippa it's ok, relax, we can sort this, nd then he calmly talked me through fixing the hose. Which I did. He wasn't angry and he didn't get cross with me - no, telling me to shut the fuck up was not cross, it was his way of shocking me out of my hysterical state, and it worked. He must be getting used to my bullshit because he knows what to do whatever the situation. Yesterday, he proved his love and attentive nature yet again. And he gave me a good idea too, hence the reason for this post. 

What happened was this: I wrote an in - depth post about the general struggles of living with an eating disorder. I aim for complete honesty, and I do not sugar-coat the information or make it look pretty. Why? Because it's NOT pretty and people need to know this. I am not in denial, though I will acknowledge that I certainly used to be. Others, however, live in the pretense that things are okay when they are far from it. I know when I am in trouble and I address it and try to solve it. Which is why I am so fervently writing my blog at the moment, because it is my space to get everything out there and as a result, try to process it. And it works. It's like a way of getting to know yourself, and get to understand the reasons why you do things the way you do. 

Other people, who I would love to name and shame but won't, live in denial. This person I am talking about was in hospital with me when I was 18. She was 23 at the time and she is 34 now. Her anorexia was very advanced, far more than mine was (at the time, I have since become equally as unwell and close to death) and basically I hated her. We, as normal people, did not get on, and forced together in a hospital environment we clashed many times. She did not want to be there and she tried her hardest in every single way to fight the system and stay ill. Meanwhile I was trying to get better. I picked up a lot of bad habits from her and to this day some of them are still habits. 

For example... when I get anxious or restless, I wriggle. Just move my feet and legs a lot. I got this from her. She used to do this, in a fruitless attempt to burn off the calories they were feeding her, and it. drove. me. fucking. nuts. Even the nurses used to (I swear) HOLD her legs to try and stop her doing it, but she still did. I used to get really upset about it and once stormed out of the room in protest, which resulted in me being punished, making the situation even worse. We never got on, mainly because she never had any intention of getting better, and to this day she still remains as anorexic as ever. I will never forget some of the things she said and did to me in the ten months I lived with her in hospital. I will forgive them though, because that is the right thing to do. In forgiving, we set ourselves free. I will not be tied to her in any way. So I forgive and let it go. 

However, her actions yesterday did not exactly appeal to my forgiving nature. After I put up my post yesterday, I recieved a comment from her. It simply said "You should put trigger warnings on these", which instantly gave me a sense of foreboding. I just said "What?" to see if she would explain exactly what she meant. She did. She said that she never would have read the post had she known what it said and that she felt it would give her bad thoughts, or mess with her head. This pissed me off, so I just said "Well then don't read it. Problem solved". What I wanted to say was "Nobody fucking asked you" but I didn't. Anyway then she said that she had read it and that she was trying to recover and didn't want to read about how I didn't take my Ensures "like it was some kind of badge of honour" BADGE OF HONOUR????? It CLEARLY said that I hated admitting it and I wasn't proud of it. I wrote that feeling very and deeply ashamed of it, did she forget to read this bit?? 

People like this are poison. Let me explain. Anorexia is a very competitive illness, and many people who suffer from it have what is known as an 'Anorexia rival', someone who they compare themselves to and aspire to look like. In a hospital environment, this is dangerous. In a ward full of people trying to lose weight and nearly killing themselves in to process, the thinnest person is the envy of the rest. Not many people with anroexia will admit to the jealous and competitive nature of the illness but it is there. Oh, by God, it is there. If one of us refused a meal, we all did. 'Why should I eat if she doesn't?' if that helps explain it. Many girls, particularly younger sufferers, may have a file of people they wish they looked like. This is why Photoshop and airbrushing is considered so dangerous, it gives vulnerable girls the wrong idea about what women should really look like. I have very clear recollections of weeping over a copy of cosmopolitan magazine at two o'clock in the morning, contemplating cutting flesh away from my stomach and thighs with a knife. At the age of fourteen. I am sure I am not alone in this, even if it sounds impossible to comprehend. I am not lying. 

Anyway, this girl obviously read my post and thought, hey, let's shit stir a bit, because she thinks I never took my Ensure while I was in hospital with her (Which actually, I DID, I was talking about later years, many years later) and basically, she got jealous. This girl, the girl who threw glasses of Ensure at the nurses, decided that I was "wearing a badge of honour" by stating the fact that I did not drink my Ensures. SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK. What the bloody fuck gives anybody the right to come and shit all over the ONE thing that is actually keeping me sane at the moment and have the audacity to say that I am proud of something which I USED to do, i.e. DON'T DO ANYMORE and that I clearly said I am not proud of it. Someone with issues does that. Someone who is still ill because they're still looking for a rival, someone in denial of their own problems. 

This same girl went on television not too long ago to talk about eating disorders. I have written out talks to give to students in schools about anorexia and bulimia, because I feel very strongly that there is not enough information out there for girls (and boys) and as a result people suffer in silence. The lack of understanding about eating disorders is astounding, and much of it is shrouded in secrecy, and hushed up. This breaks my heart. I went to my old school to ask if they would be willing to take me on as a guest speaker, and then wrote a talk. They agreed but then said they had enough speakers that year but I am not done. I will tour Ireland if that's what it takes. BUT. Not unless I am a normal weight like I am at the moment. Because of the competitive nature of the illness. What kind of message does it send to vulnerable girls obsessed with body image if someone very underweight stands before them and tells them to eat. The wrong message. It's unbelievably hypocritical and I feel very very strongly about this. I would never ever go on television or tour schools talking about eating disorders if I was not in a good place myself. It's a disgrace that she was allowed to at her weight. Now to be fair to her, she spoke quite coherently but there was nothing to her, and I just feel this sends the wrong message. It's a bit like holding an alcoholic intervention in a pub. I hope this makes sense.

It's been a day or two since this happened now, it's Monday and this shit went down on Friday, so I have calmed down. She deleted me just after writing those comments under my post, so I now feel I can say what I like, she won't see it. Also, I never have to talk to her again. I only did out of politeness anyway really. I try my best, most of the time, to only allow positive influences in my life. This girl is not a positive influence and none of us need that. Everyone has people like that in their lives, but not all of us know how to filter people like this out. Not everyone even realises that certain people ARE a negative influence. I have a few, and I tend to avoid them these days. I learned this the hard way. Negative influences can be disguised as positive ones, particularly when the person in question is manipulative as well. It can be really hard to figure out who those people are in your life, but it can be done:

Step one: Identification. Everyone has a few... and sometimes you know who they are straight away, sometimes you have to think about it. Whatever the case, make a list of people that you think are either causing problems or maybe making you behave in a way that causes problems in life. Either way, those people are the ones who you do not need in your life. The first is easy enough to identify, the second, is more sneaky and manipulative, because it's disguised, because it's you doing the negative acting, not them. But these people are still negative INFLUENCES, because they indirectly cause the behaviour, which means that they are a problem.

Step two: Removal. This is harder. Often, negative people know FULL WELL that they are causing problems in your life, and they are reluctant to get the fuck out of your life. Especially the manipulative ones I mentioned, because they are doing it deliberately. Another reason these people might be harder to delete from your life is because some of your positive influences are also friends with them. So, sometimes you have to lose both, and that's really tough. It makes it a lot harder. Other times though, especially with the really important people in your life, they too, have identified your negative influence. Use this, they can help you get rid of them. The removal process doesn't have to be a complete extermination!! You can just sort of... filter them out, at least, their negative behaviour. You can simply CHOOSE to only accept positive people and positive actions in to your life. This is honestly easier than it sounds and it doesn't mean you have to just shut out the negative people. You can accept the good, and reject the bad... but in your head, that way it's not obvious what you're doing, except to yourself or people who know you intimately. They may not even know you're doing it, but most importantly, you will know. It doesn't make you two-faced, because you're still being honest with the people that actually matter, and you're being honest with yourself and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. 

Have I made ANY sense at all? I wasn't trying to be cryptic, but it's harder to explain when you don't have a good example. I actually _do_ have a really good example, but I don't want to name and shame... I have successfully removed someone from my head without really removing them from my life, not completely anyway... and she doesn't even know. I think the might have even done the same to me. Not bothered. She was manipulative and I am not the only person who has removed her from their lives. She came with a disguise too. A big one. I've watched her worm her way in to the life of a lot of people I care about, pretending to love and care for them, when actually all she was doing was enhancing her own life, with little care for the consequence on their lives. Some people are just like that, and once you know this, you can be on your guard, and either avoid or filter them. Take the good with the bad, that's fine. Just be aware that that's what you're doing. 

Awareness... this is where therapy starts. Question 1, what are you feeling? Identify the feeling, and become aware of it. question 2, where in your body is that feeling? For example, "I feel disappointed", where in your body are you feeling it, "in my chest. My chest is really heavy". When you have identified the what and where, you suddenly seem a lot closer to finding out HOW not to feel bad any more. Or how to embrace the good feeling, it works both ways. Elation... where are you feeling it? Behind my eyes, they're dancing because I feel so good and my chest feels like I've got a balloon in it... Or whatever. Acknowledging that a feeling is there in black and white is half the battle to feeling it again or getting rid of it. From there, pin pointing the reason why you're feeling a certain way is easier because you're focusing on it, and you can then work on fixing it. 

Ok well, we've done all the wheres, whats and whys and hows, so I'm going to publish this because it's now the 13th. I've been writing this one for days. I'm now completely over the bullshit that whatshername put me through because it was nearly a week ago. Hopefully anybody else out there having a tough time who reads this will actually take good advice from it, which after all is why I wrote it. Here's hoping. Also, I hope that the little bit about awareness made sense. Awareness is the first step to a healthy mind and soul. Take note.