an invisible disaster.

I can feel it everywhere. All over me, weighing me down and pinning me to the ground.

I'm drowning in it, the enormity of the mass of fat that is holding me to this earth is so intense that I can't breathe. I'm enormous, I'm disgusting, I'm huge and I sicken myself.

I want to eat purely so I can purge it all and feel some form of control. I want to not eat so I can remind myself that I have the power to shrink myself back down to thin.

Every thought is food, every thought is fat. Food is the enemy. Enemies can be conquered. Do I simply starve myself, or do I restrict so much that I can feel the relief in every ounce of fat on me that I did it, I succeeded in preventing this poison from entering my body. Do I talk to someone? Do I just do this? Do I even publish this post?

Do I let it take me down again? Do I open the very loose gates that are being opened bit by bit every single second, and let anorexia flood back into my life? Is it worth it? Is it the only way to survive? Is it the only way to feel again? Is it the only way to feel accomplished again? I don't feel worthy. I feel like a failure of human being, I feel like an enormous mass of obesity.

I can't look in the mirror, I can't catch my reflection, I'm hiding from myself and from my mind's perception of me.

The medication that caused so much weight gain has officially stopped, I'm free of it. The control is now down to me. The reigns are in my hands. I can shrink myself back down to nothing again, I have that power, I want that power. Nothing else matters. I just want to be thin. When I was thin I could visibly see love even though I couldn't feel it. Maybe that's the answer. Maybe that's it. I'm huge and unloveable. I'm starting to think the smaller I am, the more invisible I can be, the more unnoticeable I am, the less shameful I will be. The less all of my wrong doings will seem to matter because I am just this small mass of nothingness.

The bigger I am the more enormous my disastrous nature is, it's more obvious. The drama that orbits me is more profound because there is more of me to orbit. If I can disappear into nothingness then surely everything that comes with it will disappear into nothingness too?

I just want to vanish. I want to break myself down to thin and bones. I want to lose all of this fat, I want to shed it and shed everything I've done wrong with it. I want a rebirth. I want to cleanse myself of this enormous layer that has enveloped me and start over, with my very shell exposed and ready to start again.

you lock me out and knock me down

I feel out of synch. Like my world is rotating on a different axis to usual. Everything is off balance and I feel I'm grasping for something solid to hold onto but I just get air. Empty. I feel empty. There is nothing left inside of me and I've got nothing else to give. Everything is moving too fast, it's all moving around me and I cannot hold onto any of it.

I'm trying to find some semblance of order to my thoughts. Rapid cycling moods are something I thought I'd gotten used to, and then they come along and sweep me off my feet, I can't catch my breath, I can't still myself enough to catch my breath.

Did you ever do that thing when you were a kid, where you put your arms out and just spun around in circles until you got dizzy and just fell to the floor? Then you'd giggle and get back up, and everything around you was swirling all over the place, but it gave you a high, so you'd put your arms back out and spin again, faster and faster. Bang. You'd hit the floor again. There was a dizzy adrenaline rush that made you feel so warm inside that anything felt possible. I could lie there for what felt like forever, dizzy, breathless, but I felt like I'd been flying, and my landing heightened every single one of my senses.

Now imagine that again, you're an adult, the setting has changed; instead of holding your arms out by your sides, they are rigid and stuck, you are moving, walking through a menial every day task. But then out of nowhere, you start spinning, that dizzy adrenaline rushing through your blood stream, everything is swirling around you and no matter how hard you try, you cannot find a point of stillness amongst all of the dizzy chaos. Everything is just moving and moving and you're going faster and faster, but there's no landing, there's no stopping. That is what rapid cycling moods feel like.

I cannot find a still point amongst the chaos. I can't slow down. I can't control anything, my moods are moving so quickly that I can't concentrate, I can't focus on anything, it's near enough impossible. It's like I'm on a carousel, but I can't get off. I want to, but I can't. That same adrenaline rush is sweeping through my system and I'm flying high, so high. I want everything to stop, I want to get off, I want to find a still point to focus on a slow it all down, to bring me down, but before I can even think about how much I want to find that still point, my mind is already bringing up a hundred other things.

Those are the highs. When you're flying so high, at some point, you have to land. The carousel eventually has to stop and you eventually have to get off. The lows are bleak, black, an infinite abyss. Emptiness overwhelms me. I feel the absence of everything I've lost in each and every one of my pores. Sadness seeps out of me, from every little crevice, every little part of me. It evaporates out of my skin, it pours out of me every time I exhale.

I try. I try so hard to battle it, I try so hard to fight it and not let it paralyse me. I try so hard. But I'm not tough, I'm not a warrior. So sometimes I fail. Sometimes I give into it. I let it consume me, inch by inch, muscle by muscle, thought by thought.

I cry. I cry until my head hurts and my eyes ache. Sometimes I just want those tears to drown me, to take me under and hold me underneath them until I'm lost completely in their power. I pick at my skin, at my lips, at any part of me that I can grasp onto. I pick at them to break myself apart. To strip pieces of me off, bit by bit. To break myself to my very core, so that I can start again. Self loathing doesn't come with a care manual, it doesn't tell you to stop, it doesn't tell you that you don't deserve to be broken apart; that you are already whole enough to live through a day, a minute, an hour without pain. I lose all sight of hope, I'm trapped in my own little purgatory of bleakness, I'm wading through misery and I can't see an end in sight. I'm drowning in it. I let it into my lungs, I breathe it into my system. It's filling me up from the inside out and nothing can stop it. I can see the sand of an hourglass moving slowly, as I try and scream and fight my way out of this glass case of despair that has trapped me inside myself.

People try and break me out, they tell me nice things, they give me pretty words of hope and promise and encouragement. But they don't reach their intended target, they never do. I absorb them as much as the despair allows me to, I try to inhale them deeply enough to reach my core, to reach the nucleus of the self loathing, to break it apart and shatter it into so many pieces that it will never be able to form itself again. But they can never reach deep enough.

Criticism, on the other hand, reaches right inside of the central nervous system of the misery and self loathing, and gives it life, it gives it energy and fuels it to carry on; to keep feasting on my spirit.

"At 24, I would have hoped you would have grown out of staying in bed all day"

Simple words of disgust, veiled with self righteousness, thrown my way, directing themselves at the very heart and soul of the depression, fuelling it with enough energy to consume me further and further.

You are a failure. You couldn't fight me today and she judged you for that. She thinks you are a failure because in that moment you weren't stronger than me. You were a failure, you are a failure. You're fat and you're pathetic and you're never going to be free of me.

Depression has been feasting on me, I can feel it taking me back under it's sweeping tide, swallowing me whole.

I hope I'm strong enough to fight it.

shadow won't let it in.

"Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night."


Suicide. Depression. It has been all over the news for over a week now. We lost a legend, he took his own life and the world is undoubtedly less of a place without him. Whilst I was incredibly sad to see the actor that I grew up watching had taken his life, I was equally as upset by the comments people were making in regards to his actions, most of them I wont even waste the energy to type, but so much of what I saw on the internet was that people perceived his actions as selfish.

I am not naive enough to assume that everybody is educated on mental illness. I am not naive enough to assume that there is a universal opinion opinion on depression and other mental illnesses. I understand that to a lot of people, the concept that somebody who had a family that loved them and seemingly everything to live for could take their own life is incomprehensible, I understand that, I do. It is only through educating and discussion that the understanding of what could lead a person to take their own life, despite having external factors that, on paper, should be adding to their life. The last ten days have been incredibly triggering for me, I have been having some incredibly dark thoughts about my own failed suicide attempts, and I feel like discussing it a little more may help my mind let go some of what has been consuming me so fiercely.

I am not supporting suicide at all. I have myself seen people I have cared about take their own lives. The feeling that you are left with is indescribable. To think you could have picked up on a sign or even said something differently, you replay every single conversation that you had with them and with a fine tooth comb, search for something, anything, that could have signalled it; a misplaced sigh, a tone of voice, anything. The people who are left behind, if any, are as much a victim as the person who has gone, and I do not at all discount their pain or suffering.

Depression is a horrible, horrible disease. It creeps into your mind and steals the very essence of you. It obliterates the parts of you that feel joy, that is able to comprehend any emotion or reality outside of what you are currently feeling. It is as though someone has turned the brightness down on the world; everything is bleak, feeling becomes a thing of the past, and if you have moments where you can feel; it's extreme sadness and the pure and utter self loathing and hatred. You are noting. You are worthless. You are a waste of space. You do not deserve to be breathing in the air that you are breathing in. You are redundant. You are a disgrace to humanity.

Love unfortunately is not enough. It doesn't matter if there are people who love you, and it doesn't matter if you have 'things to live for' there is a disease inside your brain that is distorting your reality and causing an inherent lack of rational understanding or decision making. Your mind could be telling you that the sky is green, and when you glance at the sky to check; it's blue, but that doesn't matter, because the more your mind tells you that it's green, the more it becomes green when you look at it.

The mind is a weapon of destruction. Depression is cruel, and callous and takes no prisoners. It doesn't care how much money you have or how many people love you, if it wants you, it will get you. For some it's relatively minor and for some it is crippling and soul destroying.

When you are floating in oblivion, robbed of all of your senses, all of the parts that make you who you were, numbed of anything but insurmountable pain, it is hard to lift your head off your pillow each morning. There are silent warriors amongst us, who despite all of that, can put one foot in front of the other and function enough to get through a day. Some are able to fight it, some are able to reach out and ask for help, some are lucky enough to have people that are able to see their suffering and get help.

But for some people, in one moment, taking their life is an option that is put on the table in front of them, and it only takes that one moment that that option crosses their mind for them to take it.

For myself, I was in an extreme amount of pain and I couldn't take it anymore, I was flicking between pain and numbness and both of them felt too hard for me to be able to endure any longer, and my mind told me over and over again that there was a way for me to relieve myself of all of that and to be unburdened, and I tried. Twice. Thankfully for me, I failed and have been in treatment since, but some people aren't given the help that I was lucky enough to receive and still be receiving now. 

So please, the next time that you call someone selfish for taking their own life, just remember that depression is all consuming, it takes you from the inside out, there is very little that the mind is able to grasp outside of the internal suffering. It's a very selfish illness in terms of the fact that it focuses on the person and only that person, it's not a choice. It tells you how much you have failed as human being, how much you deserve to be suffering, how awful you are... With every single second of the day, there is very little time when a person isn't suffering, whether it is with feelings of nothingness, or feelings of despair. There is no future; just now, just what you are feeling. You are in a bubble whilst life carries on around you and without you. 

Being loved and loving other people doesn't make you immune from it. It doesn't make you a failure as parent/child/spouse/friend/whatever, you can be so loved, yet so deeply aching inside. Just because the person has children, doesn't mean that the love they have for their kids isn't there, absolutely not. 

Depression extinguishes the human spirit, but it can be overcome. There is help available out there, and there are people who want to listen and help you. Even if it's just me, through my blog posts, I care that you are alive. 

I recently watched a video made by Matt Ganley (which actually inspired this post) in which he says that we are in an era where by we are able to have the insight for compassion, and be concerned with human flourishing and human well being, understanding and empathy. And he is so right, our generation is a lot more willing to try to understand others. We can use technology to say whatever we want, and people are becoming more in tune to mental illness and we can use social media to help talk about it and eradicate the stigmas and misconceptions that generations before us created. All it takes is one conversation with one other person, it may make all the difference in the world for another human being. 

(US) National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1–800–273-TALK (8255)

• (UK)  Samaritans - 08457 90 90 90 
• International Association for Suicide Prevention

To Write Love On Her Arms

Love is Louder

Half of Us

beat (for eating disorders)

Matt Ganley's video that inspired this post is here at  http://youtu.be/ySg6nnxZdqE 

all my resistance will never be distance enough

bod·y im·age

noun

1.     the subjective picture or mental image of one's own body.

Two words that put the fear of god into me. I will do anything within my power to avoid any kind of question or discussion of any kind about body image. It fills me with fear, anxiety, and overwhelming sadness.

What has prompted this post, was a small breakdown in a changing room. I stood looking at my body and the fluorescent lighting was illuminating every single flaw of mine, like miniature spotlights drawing attention to what I don't like, presenting my body to me as though I was in some morphed fun house mirror. But no, it was just me. 

I am fat. I am ugly. I am disgusting. I am an embarrassment. I'm hideous. I make myself feel sick.

This is a monologue that goes around my head for pretty much the entire day, when it's quiet in my head, that's when it becomes the loudest. It joins forces with the "drill sergeant" voice of the anorexia in my head that berates me for what I eat and how much weight I have put on. It punishes me for taking medication that caused such weight gain. It tells me that being thin is more important than being emotionally stable. It tells me I'm wrong for fighting. 

There are moments. like earlier, when I was stood staring at this enormous, disgusting image in the mirror, that I want to just listen to that voice and believe it is right. 

Fighting it every single day is so, so exhausting. I honestly don't think people understand just how hard people in recovery are fighting every single day.

Today I'm questioning that fight. 

It would be so easy to just submit to the drill sergeant inside my head. But what would it gain? At my lowest weight, I couldn't see how dangerously underweight I was, I saw myself as the size I was now. I wasn't happy. I wasn't gaining anything from starving myself to death. I wasn't achieving anything substantial. I was damaging my organs and I was killing myself.

I wish I could be thin and happy, but I don't think that I can be both. This is my dilemma. 

I set impossible standards for myself and I am so judgemental of everything that I do. I do not judge other people, and I do not care about the shape or size of others, yet the last ten years of my life have been defined by my size. So why do I do this to myself when it's not something I judge others for? 

I want people to know that anorexia and bulimia doesn't mean that you judge other people, just yourself, constantly. I compare myself to every other woman, it doesn't matter what size you are, I will find ways that I am bigger than you. It used to happen every single time I encountered another woman, causing me to isolate myself constantly. However, now it's fleeting. It still happens every day, it just isn't as overwhelming and consuming. 

After an entire day of making myself sick on Saturday, to the point of vomiting blood and collapsing, I'm trying to keep the end goal in sight; to learn to be happy and to love myself. I am enough, and I have to keep repeating that over and over again; I am enough. You are enough. 

I wish I could find some sort of peace with myself. It's becoming such an effort to try to hold back all of my devastation and anger with myself every time that I see my reflection and see how hideously huge that I am.

I know I'm supposed to be reminding myself over and over again that I am worth more than this, but right now I just don't care. I am so uncomfortable with the huge amount of weight that all of these drugs have made me put on, I feel like beached whale, I have never been this big in my entire life.

I feel like a failure to my eating disorder. I let it take so many years of my life and now here I am, helpless and huge. Was it all for nothing?

I just want to not see this grotesque, hideous creature whenever I catch a glimpse of myself. There isn't one good thing I like about any part of me, I wish I could be attractive, I wish I could change every part of myself. I hate what I look like. It's just completely disgusting, I'm an incredibly ugly person, if I could accept it, I'm sure my life would be a lot easier, but instead all I'm doing is crying because of it.

My meds have totally screwed my body over and it's in complete revolt, the weight gain, the severe bloating, the temperature increase, the nausea... There's so much that is making this body pretty impossible to live in right now, but I have to slowly be weaned off the extremely high levels of medication that I'm on now, and then have everything replaced and have a fresh start of new meds and new side effects.

Is any of this worth it?  It's just bad thing after bad thing, and then things start to look better and then just plummet again.

I am exhausted mentally and physically, and I just want to alter every single physical piece of myself because I'm so unhappy with how disgusting I look. 

raise your hopeful voice.

Every once in a while, the universe conspires to bring something into your life that will evidently alter your very state of being.

You are in the right place at the right time, with the right combination of people and something just happens that suddenly loosens the pain in your chest and gives your soul a moment of pure relief and release. You can feel it replenish the broken parts of you.

To put it simply, theatre nourishes my soul. Throughout my entire life; as an audience member and as an actor, theatre has sparked a flame inside of me that has never burnt out, and has been one part of my identity that was not erased by depression or anorexia. 

Sometimes, the right combination of cast and creatives come along and do not just create a piece of theatre, they create magic. 

At the lowest moment of my relapse, on one terrible night, I knew that I had to do something to quiet the darkness that was consuming me, so I purchased a ticket to see a show that I had seen before and very much enjoyed. What I wasn't anticipating, however, was a combination of incredible talent and energy that penetrated through every destructive layer of my mind and made me feel for the first time in months.

It was a catalyst for a myriad of inspirational and positive forces into my life. 

Since that night, I have been making weekly trips to see that same show and having exactly the same visceral reaction to what stoked something within me on that absolutely horrendous "rock bottom" night before I was readmitted back into hospital. 

Excessive? Yes. I have an extremely addictive personality, a trait that played a great part in anorexia gaining full control over my entire existence. I was addicted to losing weight. I was addicted to destroying myself. My addictive personality was instrumental in the self destruction that caused me to attempt to take my own life. However, it is also my addictive personality that drives my determination towards recovery. If I can find something that invokes such strong feelings within me that aren't destructive, be it theatre, art, books, music... I will indulge myself, I will allow myself to be exposed to something hopeful and positive time and time again, because I know of what the alternatives to not feeling them are. 

For me right now, a musical is one of many, many things that are aiding my recovery and allowing me to rediscover parts of myself that have remained buried under years of depression and self loathing.

I have never underestimated the ability a text, a piece of music, or a group of people, can have on helping people rebuild themselves. Art has the ability to transcend whatever boundaries or walls we build within ourselves, and connect our souls to something.

I have been introduced to not just some incredibly talented, but also some incredibly kind people through this particular piece of theatre. People who have given me hope that there is a "light at the end of the tunnel" and also that there are some remarkable acts of compassion out there, and also people who emit a tremendous amount of kindness into the world. Acts of which I was certain didn't exist in my world and that I had no hope for and no belief that I deserved them. 

I didn't ask or search for the adjustments to my core beliefs that have occurred over the last few months, but they came along at the perfect time and helped get me through something that I didn't ever see there being a way out of. 

We can just stumble across fortunate accidents, little serendipitous acts can come from nowhere, change the course of our lives and irrevocably alter us for the better.

I need to keep remembering that I can allow myself to hope. I can allow myself to believe that things can and will get better, because they can, and they will.