Yearning to stop yawning

There are good days and bad days. Good hours and bad hours. 

I'm learning what it's like to live with this.

It's relying on caffeine to stem the yawning that comes from being depressed, being on anti depressants and just not sleeping well. Yawns that come unbidden and to accommodate them you try to unhinge your jaw. An exhaustion you can almost feel in your blood. 

Half zombie, half fidget.

It's forcing a smile on your face and a spring in your step that you can only manage for short periods of time - and afterwards, you're left exhausted. Nearly tearful. As if you weren't already on the edge anyway.

It's a physiological change in who you are, fundamentally, as a person. It's going from a morning person to dragging yourself out of bed after snoozing your alarm for 45 minutes.
It's changing from enjoying the gym to struggling through a personal training session like you're being forced to do algebra 10 years after you left school.

Your tastebuds change. Things taste bitter, or of nothing at all. There's never anything you really want to eat; you eat because you have to. Like the way you're living because you have to.

You're sensitive to hot and cold and loud noises. It's a sudden and brutal change to your world when the phone rings; you begin to dread the noise. You hold things gingerly. 

You don't want to be dead necessarily; you just want to close your eyes and not exist.  

This is horrible. There's no other way to describe it. I'm always uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable not just in my own skin, but in my own brain. I want to get out. I pound on the walls as if someone outside could rescue me from this. 

That same brain that I feel trapped in, it doesn't work the way it used to, the way it's supposed to. It takes minutes, even hours to process things. It feels steeped in fog, and I have to work overtime to push through it. 

I don't recognise myself. I don't like myself - no, it's more than that: I don't even care about myself. But I still worry about others. I'm worried that my problems will hurt other people. I don't want to let people down. 

It's having a good day, then a really bad day, then a pretty ok day but at the end of the pretty ok you realise just how hard you had to work to be ok and being left totally exhausted.

So excuse me while I yawn until I gag. 

Eye of the Storm

The last two months have been a storm, and my mind has been at the centre of it.

I have now reached the eye of the storm. Not because there's peace and calm inside my mind. But because I actually can't get my mind to do anything.

It's stopped really thinking, stopped really feeling. It's numb most of the time now, with peaks and troughs of sadness and happiness.
I think this is preferable to the overwhelming sadness I have been feeling. Sadness that came in waves, gushing over me and ebbing away, only to return once I'd managed to dry my eyes and carry on for a bit.

So this is my diary of depression. 

I don't make my bed like I normally do. 

The curtains don't really get opened.

And the mirror is back to being covered up because I can barely stand to look at myself.

Now, as an adult, I realise that everything I went through from the ages of 8-16 weren't all because of puberty. I have had trouble with anxiety, with expressing emotion, with feelings of self-hatred that go far beyond being a teenager and hating the world because that's the cool thing to do. 

This time it feels so much more like a failure, and there's so much more pressure to get better. No one is directly putting pressure on me, but it's pressure I feel personally because I'm an adult, and I have a place in the world. A place I have been carving out for myself. I have a job, and some responsibilities. Ones I have been struggling to carry out and maintain. When I can barely get out of bed and wash my hair, how can I be made responsible for the duties of my job?

I feel ashamed. I feel so ashamed that it has gone this far. I feel ashamed and guilty that I feel like this when the world is in the state that it is. I feel so self-centred. I feel like I have sunk so low. I feel like I have absolutely failed because I have been put on anti-depressants. Have I not been working hard enough with my counsellor? Did I not keep myself busy enough? 

Why me?

I'm also relieved. I am protected now, in a way. 

Do you know what the last straw was? The tipping point? Other than dragging myself to work and being unable to hold back the tears?
It was not being able to enjoy exercise. Not wanting to go the gym not because I was tired or being lazy, but because I didn't see the point in exercising because my life is worthless.

I've reached my tipping point. Or have I? It could get worse, I know that from experience. It feels right now as though I am in the eye of the storm, and the only thing ahead of me are rocky times as I make it through. Up, not down. Through and out. 

Are you there deity? It's me, Emma.

Good evening deity, I trust you are well. I hope you enjoyed the fascination we all had with your fog, and the great photo galleries it created. 

Do you like the winter? Do you even have a favourite season? I'm not a fan of winter, but there is one jumper I am looking forward to wearing. It belonged to my granddad. 

You would already know that, if you existed, because you know everything. Deities are all-seeing, all-knowing. Some of them even preside over a heaven, in which case you might be hanging out with my granddad. Not that my granddad ever "hung out", but you know what I mean right? Of course you do. 

It's been a year. I can't say it's been an easy year, and I know I've been so busy at times to stop and reflect. I know I'm lucky to have the family I do, and the friends that I have. But I still miss my granddad. We all do. And one of the hardest things I've had to get my head around as an Agnostic verging on Atheist, is the utter absolution of death. That's it. You die, you're dead. No heaven, no multiple brides, not even a purgatory. My granddad is just gone. 

So it's on days like this when I want to believe in a deity. I appeal to you, if you exist, to let my granddad know that we miss him. That we loved him very much, and he will forever be in our hearts. 

Also please tell him that setting up a Facebook account was the best thing he could have done to encourage my nana's stalking tendencies. Thanks a bunch, Terence! 

Misty-eyed and surrounded by fog

Tears. I try to blink them back- dog walkers are coming towards me. I let the water pool in my eyes until they pass, then they spill down my cheeks. 

It was just a rabbit disappearing through a hole in the hedge. A flash of brilliant white that caught my attention, so I crouched down to peer in. I couldn't see anything at first, except a clearing in the bushes. Then it bounced into the clearing from where it had sat, hidden from view. Hidden from me. Ears long, and all a tawny brown except for that white tail. Like a bit that had been missed by the painters. 

I panic. I'm not sure where this path is going and I'm rapidly running out of time. I pick up speed, my feet wet from morning dew and numb from the cold. Not as numb as my hands though. I look at them: the nails aren't blue but a rosy pink beneath the flecks of leftover polish. I shove them deep into my pockets. 

It feels like ages, but it's not long until I get to a part of the path I recognise, and soon I'm back at the lodges. I feel peaceful, despite the sudden panic. It was fleeting, unlike normally. But things aren't normal anymore. I felt it, by the lake. A monumental shift in my spirit. 

I ran down this path only 24 hours before and yet now I have seen so much more. Before the rabbit, I came across a side trail, down to the edge of the lake. Covered in yellow leaves, the ground gives way to two small jetties. Jutting out onto the water, dark brown and bright yellow against the grey water. In fact, everything is grey - the water, the sky, everything in between. The fog surrounds me here and in this space, I feel cocooned. I feel like I am the only person that on the planet, and with that comes a deep sense of calm. I breathe in; I listen intently to the hooting of moorhens that have no idea that they are my own private theatre. A stage of dancers, gliding across their marble surface.  

I cry. I cry with sadness, relief, anger, and joy. This place, this wonderful grey place, it's mine. I'm aware I'm literally steps away from the outside world but I feel so at peace it doesn't feel like an intrusion. Merely that this place of my own is a small piece of real estate in a world I don't and can't own or control. I have never been more in love with a place. And I've been to New Zealand. 

Now, away from my place and back in the real world, I have such a strong sense of self that I can't believe I ever lost it. I have a weight off my shoulders. I am beginning again to understand what is important, what I need as a person. What my body needs, what my soul needs. 

I haven't felt it in such a long time I didn't think I'd recognise it when it finally returned. 

But "it" is unmistakable: This is pure happiness. 

And I feel so blessed. 

Poem of Pain

London has no patience for me 

As I hobble along at half the speed

That I normally march at.

No idea of the pain in the soles 

Of my feet

Or the cramping in my calves

And the ache that my thighs have never felt before. 

Reversed, I would have no patience for me, 

If I was storming along at my normal speed.

Just as I can't stand the phone zombies 

And the "where are we"'s

That can only possibly discover the way

By stopping in the middle of the pavement.

Pain pervades my every move.

But this way I hear more:

I hear more snippets of conversation.

And I see more

Of people, and their lives. 

Just as they can't know

That I ran a half marathon yesterday,

I have no idea

What pain they might be in. 

And that's why we ran.

Let there be life

As I write this post, I'm standing on a station platform, trying not to throw up. There's no toilet I can go to, no seat to sit down on to relax and feel better. My trains are delayed and the absolute fear of beings stranded and hungry led me to binge eat. And now, after a chocolate bar, a nutty cereal bar and a pain au chocolat, I'm unsurprisingly feeling a bit icky.

Even if there were a toilet, I am now 96 hours since my last "purge" and determined not to go back to that. I guess it's lucky that I'm not at home, or that resolve might very well crumble.

I can't remember ever being this crazy around food. Not to the extent that my brain screams at me and  food dominates most of my thoughts. I use it as bargaining chips, I use it to scold myself. I'm constantly trying to evaluate how hungry I actually am, and how much of it is in my mind.

And I am terrified that I am jeopardising my health in an even greater way than the "bad" foods I eat and binge on ever could. How much is this going to affect my performance this Sunday, in the half marathon? Am I going to be able to restrain myself beforehand? And when am I going to get away from language like "restrain", which only reinforce the deprivation mindset that triggers binge eating in the first place?

I am coming out of an especially dark episode in my life, my darkest since earlier this year when I self harmed for the first time in years. This feels darker still because of the rapid way in which my mind unraveled. Whilst I'd felt the difficulty of staying stable for a week or so, the descent into this depressive episode, and the binging/purging cycle felt rapid; I was fine one day and then it had been 4 consecutive days of binging and purging and panic attacks.

Now I've made it 3 days and all I can think about is being sick and trying to blank out the judgements that I get from people and from myself. Yes I know I wasn't starved as a child, yes I know there are people out there with more to juggle than me. I know you're only trying to help me.
I know all the logic but my mental illness defence barriers treat logic like spam email - groaned at, ignored, trashed.

My journey back from this brief but brutal sojourn into despair and disordered eating will be hard. All I can say is that I'm glad I have supportive people around me. It makes me all the more grateful to be running the half marathon this weekend for a charity that helps people who, in situations like mine, feel they have no else to turn to.

So if you think mental health, and looking after people is important, then please sponsor my sister and I. After all, I'm going to spend 2+ hours thinking of when I can next eat.
https://www.justgiving.com/smithbodie/

Taking Deep Breaths

This will be short. I have to put it down on (virtual) paper because for some reason I agreed to be honest and open.

I am on the verge of developing an eating disorder. Having "binged and purged" before in my life, and sometimes just simply "purged" to make myself feel better, I can say that this last week is different. 

Because I feel like I can't control the rest of my life, I'm trying desperately to control my food. But in my desperation to tighten my grip, I am losing it hard and fast and now more frequently.

I'm aware my behaviour is destructive, and unhealthy is a different way to the "unhealthy" foods I'm binging on (Tracker bars are becoming my worst enemy). I've irritated the lining of my stomach pretty quickly - I have a delicate constitution apparently!

But I can't seem to break the cycle. I know I'm losing control and having trouble because I'm trying to control my food, but I keep feeling like if I could just control my food then I could feel much better...

I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, to ensure that this doesn't take control of my life - a control I wouldn't welcome! I'm not well, and I'm the cause of this. But I'm ok, I know I can move forward and get back to sane eating. I will get there. I just don't really know how.