Moving Platform

I don’t know what’s happened. 

People just aren’t viewing my posts anymore or interacting (bar one or two lovely people) and it’s really affecting my self confidence that is already severely debilitated after 5 years with Anorexia, depression and anxiety. 

Blogging is a really important part of my life and I thoroughly enjoy the process of writing, but I also need some sort of acknowledgement after baring my soul and making myself so vulnerable. 

This being said; I’ve decided to move to a different platform to continue my journey of self discovery and raising awareness. 

I’ve created a website I am proud of on Wix, and even created a GoFundMe page to perhaps help with the cost of creating my own domain. 

As of now, the blog is called: 

http://theglitterfight.wixsite.com/theglitterfight
(Stupid I know, but bare with me) 

I’d really appreciate it if you were to follow that blog if you currently follow this one. 

I’ll still be on here reading your brilliant posts and interacting, but I think it’s time for a fresh start for me after 50 posts on here. 

Thank you. 

Three Years Since the Hospital Saved my Life

Wow, this is a momentous day! Three years ago, on the 27th of September, I was first admitted to the general hospital 🏥. I had no idea what that meant in terms of how drastically unwell my body was, and was sure I would be able to go home to continue my deathly descent after a day or two. But more and more time passed in the hospital, on constant bed rest, so unwell I had to use a commode behind a curtain in the middle of the open children’s ward. I was watched constantly in the shower in case I fainted, told off for standing to brush my teeth. 

I was there for a whole month. 

I was then transferred to the Evergreen Centre (inpatient), terrified. I had just turned 14 and I was going more than a hundred miles from home to live?! How had my life turned to this? 

I don’t have any happy photos from this time at all; they are all black and white, body checks, and I’m quite sorry you have to see it. 
My life has changed immensely since then. Even from the last year when I wrote this entry, hating every inch of myself and rapidly descending back into Anorexia’s icy grasp. I’ve been back to inpatient since then and actually accepted the help they had to offer me and I am extremely grateful. 
I have gone from such awful Anorexic rituals, destroying my body, exercising every night/early morning until I passed out, fainting with my boyfriend every time we were together, having countless ECGs because my heart was failing. I have gone from self harming multiple times a day, deeper and deeper just to feel something as Anorexia number all of my feelings. I can’t remember years and years of my life because Anorexia has wiped it all away. 

And Anorexia has a way of putting those beautiful, rose tinted glasses on; creating elegant nostalgia from such horrific times. It lies. It always lies. This was not a beautiful time in my life where I was darling and fragile, happy all the time in my wispy ways. I was dying. I told myself constantly I wanted to die. I was so suicidal, every single day of existence was an achievement; just being. My head lay, lifeless on the desk every day at school. I didn’t care. I was so dizzy constantly; a whirlwind in my head. 

And when I made it to inpatient, Anorexia twisted everything. I was the fattest there, of course. Everyone was so tiny, so disordered, and I was a fat fake. I kept my big, black hoodie on ALL the time because I was so utterly ashamed by the size of me. 
And now, everything is different. So incredibly different. I never ever thought I would reach this point. I never self harm anymore, just tiny tiny slips. I am not addicted to exercise anymore, not trapped in compulsions (although that is admittedly trying to sneak back in, but NO thankyou). I can eat chocolate bars I never dreamed of. I can eat things without knowing the calories. There are so so many things I struggle with but I am battling every day and WINNING. 
Thank you all so much for being part of my journey; I love you all so so much. 

My Scars are Not

My scars to you

Are wispy and beautiful 

A poem etched

On my very human skin 

Making me more than normal

Making me 

A superfluous mystique 

An oddity 

To be cherished

To be loved 

To be idolised 

To be smothered 
I am not an idol

Not for my pain 

But for my recovery 

I am more than 

The blotchy scar tissue 

That turns blue 

And aching purple 

I am more than

The rolling red cells 

On those black and white gifs

That overwhelm 

Your dangerous dashboard 

You keep to trigger yourself 

To do the same 

Destroy your body 

For a piece of mind

You will 

Never 

Ever 

Get

My Scars are Not

My scars to you

Are wispy and beautiful 

A poem etched

On my very human skin 

Making me more than normal

Making me 

A superfluous mystique 

An oddity 

To be cherished

To be loved 

To be idolised 

To be smothered 
I am not an idol

Not for my pain 

But for my recovery 

I am more than 

The blotchy scar tissue 

That turns blue 

And aching purple 

I am more than

The rolling red cells 

On those black and white gifs

That overwhelm 

Your dangerous dashboard 

You keep to trigger yourself 

To do the same 

Destroy your body 

For a piece of mind

You will 

Never 

Ever 

Get

Eating Disorders are DEADLY; Don’t You Understand?!

I’m pissed, to say the least.

Well, no, actually, I’m past that point. I’m just fully expecting to be dismissed so I just feel a bit blasé to the situation.

In a brief summary of my debilitating emotions and anxiety, I am terrified to return to college. I feel compelled to tell you why and tell you the extent of my terror, (honestly it is; I had a mental break and ran away and did frankly shitty things at the thought of going for an hour walk around/visit) but honestly it would be too emotionally traumatic and I’m not feeling particularly stable as it is. Perhaps in the future, but it’s really deep set in me and my development so it’s a bit too raw for now.

ANYWAY.

What I did want to write about is how my college just ignores eating disorders and flippantly pushes concerns away.

They knew about my diagnosed severe Anorexia Nervosa from day one.

They knew I had already spent 6 months in an inpatient centre, fighting for my life.

In fact, the woman asked me way too personal questions about the matter because we were alone, and said some really hurtful and quite intimidating, triggering things to me. (I feel like I may have written about these. I’ll see.)

As time went on, the naivety of those even trained in the nursing profession was extraordinary. I’ll warn you, what my teacher said was pretty damn annoying, so skip if you like, but I’m sure it annoyed me much more because of my situation and the fact that I was behind the computers and I wasn’t meant to hear it.

The other group were creating supposed hospital menus as a task, and one of them had chosen to do one for rehabilitating an Anorexic person. Fair enough. She asked my teacher for advice and she said, I kid you not, “Anorexic people don’t eat. They just drink those Slim Fast drinks all the time. There’s no point making a menu, they just don’t eat, they have those.” And then proceeded to laugh at her HILARIOUS and clearly very well informed insight.

I just stood up and stormed out to sob in my isolated room the college lovingly provided: the cupboard in the staffroom.

When my afternoon teacher saw me later in the day, after I had DEFINITELY made sure not to eat anything after a comment like that, I told her, devastated at what she had said. I was very honest, making me feel so vulnerable and raw: “I have Anorexia Nervosa. I spent 6 months in hospital hours away from home because it got so severe and I’m very likely going back there soon.” And the darling lady said to me “It’s okay, Denica. People grow out of Anorexia. It’s just something that happens when you’re a teenager sometimes, but you just grow out of it.”

Yeah, really.

Well, I relapsed completely (not saying it was their fault, I was already slipping but the college failed to listen to that either).

I told them, and my parents told them from the beginning how agonising and how difficult it was for me to eat at school. So they provided me with the cupboard to eat in alone (I can’t eat in front of others, and am terrified on teenagers). As I was slipping and stopped eating at school, my weight was plummeting, and there was a meeting with my parents and those high up in the college to put interventions in place. My parents were begging someone to simply look in on me. Not even that, just see that I wasn’t throwing away my lunch (that I did literally just outside their office door). Their answer was “It’s not our responsibility to make Denica eat. She just has to deal with that on her own.”

 

Fast forward to now and my meeting there after my second 6 month admission. I was a trembling, anxious mess. I had a panic attack and sobbed. My CAMHS worker was there to express my concerns for me and look after me which I was really grateful for, and she saw first-hand how they completely ignored my Anorexia. She told them repeatedly that I had just came out of hospital for my eating disorder, that I was extremely vulnerable now. That it is was 2 weeks ago. That I absolutely cannot eat at college. That I simply have to keep up with my nutritional intake.

They didn’t listen at all.

They just flipped it back to my social anxiety every single time.

Which yes, in a way, I am very grateful for, but my anxiety will not actually REALLY kill me. My Anorexia very nearly has in two different time periods, and will again if I am not supported.

 

When I was first enrolled in the college and I told them my situation, I was told “you aren’t the first person to come here with an eating disorder.”

I get that, I really do, there are horrible statistics.

But surely that would mean that there should be a lot more intervention than there is now.

 

I just want to sit them all down and tell them:

There are lots of different eating disorders. There are even more different levels of severities. You may well have had people with eating disorders before, but did they spend a whole year in inpatient hospital? Very often, only the most severe cases are admitted to hospital at all, so why is it that you continue to ignore something so life-threatening.

 

Sorry not sorry for this rant. Please share your experiences and thoughts below.

 

A Week out of Inpatient Hospital: Lessons Learned

I wrote this when my emotions were all over the place and I was trying to ground myself on the day of discharge last week on the 25th of August 2016. Don’t worry, it’s actually a lovely positive post. 

Leaving hospital this time round has been so poignant and beautiful. On Tuesday I went out for the whole afternoon on the ward’s social eating; for lunch and for snack, laughing in the golden Ray’s of the sun. At night, after my favourite tea of peanut butter and jam sandwich, I went to my last yoga session in Middlesbrough, which was my favourite yet. 

On Wednesday I went for “the final soirée” with HW  (my outreach nurse who took me out weekly to challenge my immense social anxiety and helped me through sobbing suicidal breakdowns and cheered me through my achievements) that she’d promised me months in advance. We went out from 12 till 4. Blazing sunshine as we went to Yarm, sitting in the little cafe at the back of the gift shop Strictland and Holt. Browsing the charity shops, or rather, “having a mooch”. I got some Shakespeare. 

Then we went to Stockton for my first ever gel nails appointment which was so lovely. HW waited with me and we chatted away. I got a gorgeous deep orange sparkle. 

We then went to Costa for afternoon snack. 

Our afternoon was so lovely; it made me feel so happy and free. HW wrote me a really kind letter and gave it to me in the cafe, and we just reflected on all of our time together. Before she left she came to my room to say goodbye and I have her my card with a Yankee candle car freshener (as she always had a line one in her car and loved the cherry one) and a little shell from Whitehaven beach (my home town I told her all about as the centre was 2 and a half hours from home). She was so grateful. She embraced me in a hug and squeezed me and squeezed me, me crying and her with tears in her eyes, telling me

“that she has no doubts that I will achieve all that I want to. That it is entirely possible and I am so worthy of it.” 

Then she said “see you later” as she never says bye, and that she hopes to see me in different circumstances in the future. 

Today is my last day on the ward. Mam and dad are coming at 1 and it is now 11:30. I’ve cried 4 times already. I’ve parted ways with JM my psychologist, who has been so incredibly supportive and easy to work with. She’s assured me

“that this is all because of me and my incredible bravery and hard work. That I am so lovely and kind and approachable and I am worthy of all the lovely things I deny myself.”

She said she has written me a card and will give it soon, I have one for her also. (Reflecting, she wrote a beautiful quote from the book she highly recommended and I have now bought, The Life of Pi.)

I said goodbye to GB (my care coordinator and caring consoler), being totally honest with her about me being torn and wanting to relapse; but knowing I shouldn’t and couldn’t bear it if I did. She complimented me so much, sincerely, and she told me

“that if there is one thing I must remember from her it is that the Evergreen is always here, it won’t disappear, and there is a very real possibility that I could come back here in the future, but WHY?”

 I would have to do this whole process all over again from the start and for what? 

“People do not judge you or value you on your body shape. Being emaciated only pushes people away.” 

(This was in reply to me saying how alone I felt).

Saying goodbye to my best friend, in my world of loneliness and repelling friendships like matching magnets, KD was the hardest part. We were both sobbing, holding each other in our one to one session in the family room. She was so loving and kind and we just opened up about how completely grateful we were for each other. I just kept saying “I love you. I totally love you.” And she did too. 
Leaving this ward at 1:30 will be so difficult. My anxiety and panic has been so bad these past few weeks, but now I am excited. I’m so torn, so all over the place. So confused. 

This had to happen one day, but I am so grateful for the fact that this time it hasn’t been so rushed.

Bittersweet Bedroom

Trigger warning for those suffering from eating disorders as this was a totally honest vent. I will say the end is positive but the content is read at your own risk. PLEASE be careful. 

It’s bittersweet laying here. I’m about to actually go to sleep at my Nan’s house for the first time since well before I was hospitalised for the second time thanks to my Anorexia Nervosa. 

The last time I was in this room was 5 and a half months ago. 

I came to “bed” early, completely exhausted from another day of restriction, only to exercise the compulsive amount I must do. I would force myself. Completely force myself into something so utterly exhausting, yet in reality was barely anything, because my energy levels were so depleted. 

I’d self harm. I began to self harm again after 2 years clean. 

I’d eventually be forced into bed after sobbing on the phone to my devastated boyfriend, where I’d gasp for breath through agonising panic attacks as I felt my heart slow to less than 40 beats a minute. I felt my heart failing. I felt my organs hurting. I felt every inch of me exhausted. I was devastated at the thought of waking up in the morning to do it all again. I banged my head on the wall because all I wanted was oblivion, yet all the paracetamols and other such pills were hidden away to stop me in such a suicidal mindset. 
And I’m triggered. Rather; my disorders are triggered. 

But you know what? 

No. 

Anorexia promises the world, and has done to me so many times. I fell flat on my face, being rushed back to hospital, back to the inpatient centre I’d spent half of the 14th year of my life, just a few months before the time to celebrate my 17th birthday. Great. 

As I’m writing this, I’m aware of the time. I’m aware I need to wake early in the morning to have my breakfast and adhere as much as I can to my meal plan. I am aware I am travelling back to the inpatient centre for my last week. That I am being discharged on Thursday the 25th of August. 

That I came in this room and did not even think of self harming, nor exercising, I just got into bed. I reached for my iPod and I got out my meditation app that I do daily to keep in check with my newly learned life changing DBT therapy. 

And as completely and utterly anxious as I am about being discharged and how I may admittedly be already slipping before the day has even arrived, I have learned so much about myself in this admission that I’d say it’s nearly impossible to go fully back. I could well relapse but I know I could not bear this again. Sure, I’ll get thin. I’ll numb my emotions. But I’ll fall deeper and deeper again, plummeting till I slam into another hospital admission and start the process of recovery all over again. 

I refuse. 

I am changing. I am living.

I am not Anorexia; I am Denica and I am finally healing. 

Catastrophic Car Accident

I’ve just seen a car accident. 

Not first hand, but rather than the disaster of afterwards. 

A pearlescent Fiat 500, once perfect and striking, now just devastating. With skid marks cascading across the road, a wreck, crumpled like a paper bag you may find rolling out of an overflowing bin in the city. The airbags were blown. The dashboard shattered with the windscreen, with shards of blue and white glistening around the debris. The roof lining was falling. As we crept by in our car, it became apparent just how awful it was, with the whole back end charred from a fire eruption from the petrol tank. 

My heart stopped momentarily. 

I think this was the first time a car crash really sank in for me. I’ve seen the ruins before; been in the hours long traffic cues inconveniencing schedules and patience. This was the first time there was no one at the scene. The car was eerily empty, yet full of carnage. There was not an ambulance in sight, already having sped away, just a policeman waiting behind the striking blue accident tape. 

I pray their okay and I’m not religious. 

It’s so poignant that that was a human life, driving as we are today on my way home for 3 nights leave from the hospital. 

I’ll listen out for the news tonight. 

A human life is so precious. All life is so precious. 

We can’t allow ourselves to be destroyed by our own human nature and mental illnesses. We must strive to enjoy all the time that we have. This may seem cheesy, but it was so shaking to see such a mess. And I’m certainly not saying just get over it or that other people have it worse; frankly, as awful as it is I wish that I could have had a physical illness rather than something as life destroying as Anorexia Nervosa, depression and anxiety. I’m just giving you permission: a friendly and completely heartfelt wish for you to be okay darling, whoever is reading. 

My heart is going out to you. 

My Fitness Life-Destroyer

I have just finally had the courage to delete the app that has ruled over my life day in, day out through long periods for 4 years 😭. Admittedly, I have deleted this app a few times before, always giving in and creeping back to its obsessive and meticulous tracking of every single calorie taken in and every single calorie expended. I’ve recorded every single weight here since my first admission to hospital 2 and a half years ago. 

It’s so awful how a single app can have so much control over a person. How I would choose what I would be allowed to eat or even think about by first researching through here, as Anorexia grew stronger and stronger and tore gaping holes in my functioning brain and in my entire life. 

Anorexia has taken so SO much away from me. Left me screaming and rocking as I claw at my hair and sob. Left me standing, wheezing and trembling with anxiety attacks as my entire life crumbled around me. And all for what? 

This app has done nothing but damage me, and in turn so so many other people out there who I know use it for the wrong reasons. 

I tried to kid myself that I was using it to make sure I had the right amount when I was “recovering”. I wasn’t recovering at all. I was barely getting by on the minimum. Tracking every single thing. Checking. Tracking. Obsessing. Tracking. 

Before I knew it I was exercise obsessed again, falling back into compulsions, skipping one thing and another and colliding and collapsing into a full relapse. 

Now in my second hospital admission I am truly flourishing and it’s something I never ever believed I would be able to do. Anorexia has been, what I so definitely believed, my identity for so long that I physically cannot remember a time without it and that’s agonising. 

I do not want my entire future to be based on this torture. I do not want to shorten my life for the sake of a goal I will never ever achieve. I do not want to miss out on the truly beautiful parts of life, like carrying my own children in my working womb, for the sake of a monstrous mental illness, constantly thinking about how others perceive me. 

I tried constantly to prove to others just how much I was struggling for so long. 2 years out of hospital, putting on a show and lying to myself. Well; not anymore. 

I have tears in my eyes because I really thought that this would never be possible. I have spent hundreds of hours, likely months in total in therapy. I have spent every waking moment in a confused daze, or screaming having full breakdowns, or feeling completely numb for so long that I never believed I’d feel happiness again. I feel happy now. Truly happy. I’m beaming. 

I embrace gaining weight now. 

I am excited for these next few kilos that will allow me to get back to yoga and nourishing my body the way it deserves. 

I can never allow myself to fall back into exercise addiction. I can never allow myself to hurt myself again. 

I am worth so much more. 

Recovery is possible. 

I really honestly believed it never would be, and I even allowed myself to tell myself that I didn’t even want to get better. 

It is possible. 

I’m crying. 

30 Day Mental Illness Awareness Challenge

I’ve been in a blogging slump for months now. I’ve either had nothing to post, no ideas, no motivation or absolutely no concentration thanks to this fabulous relapse into the illnesses I’ll mention later in these posts.
But now, here I am in inpatient again, fuelling my body whether I want to or not (because the latter would inevitably lead to sectioning under the Mental Health Act and feeding through an NG tube. ((I feel weird and blunt writing that out but this blog is about raising awareness as much as I can as well. I’ll likely do a post on what it’s like in an eating disorder inpatient). I’m slowly getting my concentration back, I’m slowly gaining my LIFE back as well as of course the weight finally (it was rocky in my first few weeks I must say and I was at a lower weight than my admission weight in the wheelchair for a long time).

Sooooo, after that tangent, I’ll come to the reason why I started this blog post:

Towards the start of beginning this blog I found a “30 Day Mental Illness Awareness Challenge” here and have always wanted to do it. In fact, I’m sure I’ve started it before but gave up.

Well, I think it’s time to start again! I may not post every single day, but it’s certainly a good goal and a good prompt.

Soooo be prepared for the challenge and some regular, open and honest posts from me in the coming weeks.

I’d love it if you could do the challenge with me, or even do a little post or comment relating to one of the prompts. I’d genuinely love to hear from you and find new blogs.

Please let me know if you think it’s a good idea or a good post?? I’m so worried that you’ll all get so bored and not care.