by Lydia Davies
Tradition. You have to be happy and smile at ALL times.
Small talk. ‘Merry Christmas’, ‘Have an amazing Christmas’ … Nah, it’s just another day really, isn’t it?
I could go on but I won’t. Have an amazing Christmas anyway.
30 December 2012
My blog post
2012 has been an intense year. For a lot of people. I don’t think I have learned much. I’m also not sure I’ve achieved much. Those closest to me may argue that I am in a much better place; however, I beg to differ as I’ve not got a clue! Instead of learning new information it feels more like I’ve forgotten lots this year. It’s gone by so fast yet I’ve done fuck all, which is somewhat depressing to think about. I think I would rather forget 2012 ever happened …
By this time next year I hope to be writing a blog saying how fucking amazing the year has been, how much I’ve achieved, learned, seen, done, given. This will be a proactive one. I can feel it in my bones. Best wishes for the new year; make it what you want.
2013
3 January 2013
A letter from me to my parents
Dear ‘parents’,
I am so sorry I am like I am. I am a fat, ugly beast and I know it. I just can’t control myself any more. I don’t know why I’m here. I pray every night that when I finally fall asleep I might not wake up. I know this may upset you, but it’s the only thing that excites me.
I’m miserable. I’m living for nothing. I’m just existing. And fucking up things for other people. Especially all of you. I don’t know how I got to be so sad, bored and lonely. But I am. I’m SO lonely. The only thing that makes me feel less alone is eating too much. And that’s not me. It makes me more unhappy. And it makes you unhappy. I can’t sleep in my room. I don’t belong here. I sleep in the spare room because I’m a guest in this house. I’m not one of you. I don’t belong here. I’ve never fitted in and never will. I feel constantly judged. I hate it. I hate being me. I hate ‘Lydia Davies’, whoever the fuck she is. I’m so ashamed of myself. I just don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see or speak to anyone any more. I’m so sorry you had me. That’s the only thing I think you have ever done wrong. If you hadn’t had me, imagine how great everything would be. I’m so sorry for burdening you. I’m fine and please put all your time into your other two great children. I’ve wasted enough of your time and energy already. I’m sick of my life. I’m sick of remembering all the things I’ve lost and worrying that I won’t find them again. I hate all the food in this house. How much all of you eat. How I sit all day with nothing to think about but all the Waitrose stuff in the kitchen. About how I’ve failed. About how I lost the person I loved this time last year. I do NOT want to talk about it.
I do not know why I wrote all this (apart from to apologise for being here – again).
Fat. Hideous. Lydia hippo.
I strongly believe in NOT talking about people behind their back. Yes, I am extremely guilty of having done this, and probably unintentionally still am, as it is difficult to avoid (even in this book I am doing exactly that); it has become a part of our culture unfortunately. However, if this illness has taught me anything, it is that honesty most definitely is the best policy. I had every tiny bit of privacy confiscated from me, and had to readjust to being watched constantly, and violated physically and mentally. The prodding of needles into my every vein to extract my blood which I did not offer, the digging around my head for answers and give-aways, the weekly documentation of my weight, heartbeat, feelings, thoughts and mood. When put in such a position there comes a point where there is no point in trying to keep everything a secret. You become so exposed that you may as well walk around naked shouting your most private secrets through a megaphone. It’s strange to think about really. I used to be the most secretive person I know. I kept things to myself; I was embarrassed extremely easily, and loved the element of mystery that my character portrayed. To go from that to an open book of big blatant letters and words projecting out of me for all to see and read, is such a contradiction. It is as if through my self-destructive illness I lost all self-respect, self-control and morals towards myself. I used to care so much what people thought about me, and though I am still very self-conscious, it is more my own opinion of myself that matters, as I know everyone else who loves me excuses my barbaric behaviours, and puts them down to the fact that I am ill, rather than the fact that I am horribly out of control. Sometimes I find words spilling out of my mouth regarding very personal occurrences, ones that I would wish to keep to myself, but I cannot help but spew out this information before I realise that in fact it is pretty private. Once said I cannot take these things back, and the more I let out, the less privacy I have, and the less shame I feel.
10 January 2013
My blog post
I have no secrets.
I really don’t. I seem not to care as much what people think any more, which causes me to say more than I mean to.
Back in the day I was a dark horse. Now I’m an open book.
This probably made no sense to anyone. Or it shared far too much, again.
11 January 2013
My blog post
‘Everything’s an illusion and nothing is real’ is my favourite quote. It is from the Van Morrison song ‘Enlightenment’. I don’t think I am enlightened as such, far from it, in fact … I do, however, think I see things differently to the norm. My personality type is auditory digital. People of this type often have a constant conversation going on with themselves, attempting to find meaning and reason within things. (Save that for another blog.)
Walking down a short dark hallway (drunk and high) to the toilet, I suddenly have absolutely no idea who I am, and I feel really sad and lonely. When I get into the light I look at my face in the mirror and do not recognise myself. The person staring back at me could be anyone, someone I have never seen or met before. I don’t know what I want or why I am me. Walking back down the dark hallway, the sudden wave of loss, insecurity and confusion hits me again. I am lost, I don’t recognise anything. Someone bring me back, please. Help me. And I feel sick. There is a tangled knot in my stomach; a combination of emotion and food, my abdomen is swollen with both. The sadness wells up inside of me, and my eyes prick as they brim with tears of frustration, the realisation of the loss of my identity. I see this kitchen not as a place of family, feeding and nurture, but as cupboards packed with ingredients for recipes of disaster. The items stare me in the face, before leaping down my throat, brushing past my taste buds, and then spreading their evil across my body. My stomach is like a cauldron, swilling and brimming with a mix of rancid food and toxic emotions, creating a strong potion of self-hate. Where the fuck am I? If I close my eyes will I wake up in the middle of the ocean? I have wandered miles now, searching for myself. Ambling down dark and twisted pathways in the cold silence, hoping that I may bump into myself and we will be able to reconnect, become one again. I will get to be myself again and finally remember who I was; who I am. I can only remember sections of myself, things that upset me, things that made me laugh, things that I feared and things that I liked. But the cement that holds these bricks of memory together has worn away, disintegrated. Without this cement the foundations of myself and the structure of who I am are lost, and I am just a pile of rubble. A mixture of emotions and memories scattered across the floor, some cracked, some strong, but missing the vital framework which seals them together.
18 January 2013
My blog post
Convinced I will go to sleep and wake up in a different time, place or world. Spiralling thoughts.
No idea where I am in life! Focusing on the future. Cannot forget the past. Trapped! Wrong place.
29 January 2013
My blog post
Feel like the bag of ski clothes in the attic. Just sitting there with no purpose all year. Hmmmmm.
11 February 2013
My blog post
I got accepted back to uni in Newcastle today. It will have b
een two tough years since I suspended my studies. It’s proof to myself and everyone else just how far I’ve come. On my own. By myself. After refusing all that help. I achieved this.
17 February 2013
My blog post
The people I love are the only reason I kept going in very black times. They are the reason I bother to get up every day. They are the reason I’ve put up with a lot when all I’ve wanted to do is give up. As much as I want to be with these people for every moment possible, I want to go and be far away from them too. I think they need their time. I’m tired of causing sadness. I want them to be as happy as can be because they deserve nothing less.
22 February 2013
My blog post
Things I hate …
Being told what to do. I have always hated this. If I am going to do something I will do it for myself. There is no point in trying to instruct me, as it will only encourage me to do the complete opposite, unfortunately.
Since my diagnosis I had fantasised about going away, getting out of England, and more importantly getting out of my head. I strongly believed that I needed to see and experience other parts of the world in order to want to truly recover. I needed to see something other than my dull bedroom, the shop I worked in, or the bowl of the toilet. ‘Inspiration and influence are key words’ is from something I wrote in my phone at the start of my illness; ‘creativity and drive will save me’. It was a bit of a Catch-22 situation. I needed to get better to go away, but I thought I needed to go away to get better. I saved up some money and booked a flight out to Hawaii in February 2013. Hawaii is an extremely spiritual island, situated miles away from other lands. I was invited to stay with my dad’s friend, Rachel. Rachel and I had only met twice before I flew out to meet her; but she invited me and meant it, and I jumped at the chance as I felt deep down that it was something I needed to do.
27 February 2013
My blog post
Hawaii
I can tell you at home I spend the day craving the night so I can be asleep again.
It’s so neat how being surrounded with such positive energy and genuinely happy people who love life changes your perspective and just lifts your spirit.
28 March 2013
My blog post
I am getting lots of great inspirational words from anonymous people. I like getting them and reading them, and what has been said is all very true and does make me think and remember how lucky I am. I used my blog to complain a lot. In real life I don’t complain as much as I could – though I know I complain more than I should. So I’m liking all these positive comments. I am grateful for what I have …
… (but getting new shoes still does make me really happy).
18 April 2013
My blog post
This week in general has been pretty fucking shit. Apart from a bird taking a shit on my head (which I found extremely distressing), I have dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of bright yellow (genuinely cannot look in the mirror) and forgotten tablets on numerous occasions, which has made me anxious as fuck! And I have absolutely no money. I also had to return my beautiful Dalmatian shoes due to lack of funds, which was very upsetting. I have injured my knees from attempting to run cross-country in Reebok high-tops on a daily basis (idiot). WHAT ELSE? I feel like I’ve just been pissing everyone off because I mess so much stuff up. AND I’M SO GODDAMN FRUSTRATED AT MYSELF MORE THAN ANYTHING (APART FROM LIFE IN GENERAL).
25 April 2013
My blog post
Some people view depression as selfishness. I can completely understand how someone who has not experienced severe depression might see it like this. The victim cannot help but think of much else other than themselves and how hard and horrendous everything is for them at that stage in time. HOWEVER, depression is ACTUALLY a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is NOT selfish. NO ONE should feel guilty for feeling depressed, no matter who they are.
Statistics show that one in three people experience some form of depression during their life. This is not surprising with the current economy, lack of jobs, media pressure … everyday struggles building up. YES, there are people far worse off with incurable illnesses, in poverty, who have been through the most horrific things. But even though there is always someone worse off, ANYONE can have depression, bar none. It is the chemicals that cause it and no one should feel ashamed to speak to someone about it.
Perhaps I should (again) take some of my own advice. I KNOW how lucky I am. I know I am surrounded with love and have everything I need and more! I have written about it often and am always as grateful as ever for it. I am writing this because I am ashamed of myself for regularly experiencing the thought and feeling that it is easier to hide away and not face the world, or yourself. And often it is embarrassing admitting that you feel so low when you have so much. I think it is important for people to know that they are not alone. It always feels like you are, but you aren’t. If one in three people experience it at some point then you would be surprised how many other people can relate to you.
29 April 2013
My blog post
I still have absolutely no clue what I want to do or who I’d like to be. I feel really stuck. I’m tired of being let down, and more so of letting myself down, in a big way.
29 April 2013
My blog post
I would give ALL of my limbs …
To go back three years, right now. No exaggeration.
5 May 2013
My blog post
Where the fuck is this light that’s supposed to be at the end of this never-ending tunnel?
26 May 2013
My blog post
I feel like I never get anything to show for the hard work I DO put in. All the effort goes unnoticed. All the negatives are highlighted, as with anything really. But it’s really annoying because I am doing as much as I can to get somewhere. It’s exhausting and disappointing and I hate people thinking I don’t try. BECAUSE I DO.
Yeah, rant over.
10 March 2014
This collection of information demonstrates just how far I have come, through my own strength, and with the unconditional love and support of my family and close friends.
After a summer spent writing and gaining some motivation through that, I managed to secure a job in Brighton. I moved out of my parents’ home, and into a flat by the sea with my best friend. I got a cat named Mixie, who has helped me more than she will ever know!
Moving out was a massive step for me, as it gave me back my independence, and gave me the opportunity to be a normal 22-year-old girl. My parents’ house was, and always will be, a very difficult place for me to be. I am haunted by painful memories, and see clear visions of myself brutally self-destructing in every room of the house.
In some ways life after an eating disorder, or during recovery from one, can be just as traumatic, scary and difficult as living with the disorder itself. I have had to grow up all over again, physically and mentally, which in some ways I have found humiliating. I have had to rediscover who I was before the illness, and attempt to work out who I am now. I was not confident with my body before, and neither am I now, so trying to reconnect with the world, and trying to be myself – whoever that may be – has been extremely challenging.
Most people I know, know what happened to me; which in turn created a difficult label for me to be able to shake off. I am constantly aware of what people’s opinions may be of my current weight – whether people think I have gained too much – and how people consider me as a person. I have had to change my life and start over because of what happened, and sometimes I worry that people think I use this illness as an excuse for certain behaviours of things that I do even now. I want to take this opportunity to explain that that could not be further from the truth. It has been pure trial and error, leaps and falls, good intentions and mistakes, in order to get to where I am now. I still don’t know myself completely, but I know that I am compassionate towards other people, and would never ever mean to cause harm
or pain to another person. I did all that to myself instead!
When reading some of the brutally disturbing letters and messages that I wrote to my family, I feel physically sick, because at the time, that was how I thought. I was deadly serious in what I wrote. I put them through agony, and can only tell them how sorry I am, and dedicate this to them. Mum, Dad, brother and sister, I love you all and am eternally sorry for all the pain I caused you.
Although I lost almost everything through this cruel disease, I did not lose the people who matter the most: my family … and I did not lose my life. Looking back to that first letter from my mum, I cannot believe that I am here today, how far I have come, and how much I have been through that I will never be able to explain. In the darkest of times I believed recovery was utterly pointless, and I did not mind the thought of death, I would rather be dead than get fat/lose control/be in this world. I remember looking in the mirror when I was very ill and being completely mesmerized by my body, tracing my bones with my eyes, my head filled with sparkles and mist; I was in another realm, another world, dizzy with ideas and completely absorbed in thoughts. I am shocked to this day that recovery is possible, and that I got myself out from that black hole I was magnetically sucked into.
To look back and remember the feeling of falling will be with me forever, but luckily the human mind has a clever way of disguising and blanking out painful memories, and replacing them with the positivity that life has to offer. Time really is a healer.
I hope so much that this collection of thoughts, letters and messages can help others to see just how tangled emotions can become when this cruel disease overtakes the brain. I also hope that it can show the family and friends of sufferers how important their support is, even if they don’t feel appreciated, or if they feel helpless.
To those who are suffering from anorexia, bulimia or ednos, or are currently trying to recover, the first steps genuinely are the hardest, and it is some journey … However, when you start to rediscover the beauty of life, and what it has to offer, you will be amazed, and it is so worth it. It is not easy to get better, but it is possible, trust me. This is something I never thought I would type, but I am better, and I believe it.
