This is it.

It's been about a year since I posted on this blog. In my last post I promised to write more, a promise which, evidently, I have failed to keep. Yet a lot has changed for me since I last wrote and I have, of late, found my fingers itching to begin again. So here I am, with my tail between my legs, tentatively asking you to give me another chance. 

I find myself somewhat incapable of producing words to describe how this last year has been for me; if I were to use a cliché, it could be described as a roller-coaster, except roller-coasters tend to suggest an element of fun and excitement, of which my year has had very little. I have been in and out of various hospitals, putting a huge strain on my friendships, my family and perhaps also on myself. Aside from the day patient unit I am currently attending, my most recent stay in hospital was five months on an adult eating disorders ward. I suppose now would be the time to also tell you that I have Anorexia Nervosa. Although not a recent development, my eating disorder is something that I have always tried to keep on the down low; for a long time I was able to do that, perhaps because I didn't 'look ill' (I hasten to highlight the fact that weight, inpatient admissions and so on have no bearing whatsoever on the severity of the illness- it is first and foremost a sickness of the mind) or perhaps because I was so deep into deception that I actually deceived myself. But of course, these things have a tendency to find their way out of the woodwork eventually, and come out it did. My illnesses(or was it just me?) caused me to lose my treatment at the specialist personality disorder unit, lose touch with many of my friends, with reality and with myself. I was in a haze of starvation and for a long while I felt invincible, superhuman. I could do everything everybody else could but I didn't need to eat. But slowly, that energy was drawn out of me and I found myself almost incapable of climbing the stairs to my bedroom. I lay in bed at night, scared to sleep because I could feel my heart slowing down, and scared to wake up because what was there to live for? I was so numb, and that worked for me. I was free from the torture of misery and self hatred that used to consume my mind. But it was not sustainable, and I was caught before I faded completely, or at least my body was caught. I went as an inpatient to a specialist eating disorders ward, and I was fed. I gained weight. But in my mind the storm was brewing once more, for the feelings that I had for so long dampened with starvation began to creep up on me again. I went through the motions, meals and snacks, rest, medication et cetera, but while my body changed, my mind most certainly did not. That is, until recently. After being an inpatient, I moved downstairs to the day unit where I have been for just over four months now, and it has been immeasurably helpful, a world away from the impersonal, clinical, acute environment of the ward. I am surrounded by people with the same goal- to improve, to get better, as opposed to being immersed in a competition as to who is the sickest, the thinnest, the most distressed. While every meal, every bite is a struggle, I am starting to come to the realisation that being debilitated by this abhorrent illness is no life. It's not the life I want, who would want it? Just the other day, I walked past a middle aged woman in a wheelchair, emaciated, unable even to stand. At first, I felt ashamed of myself, my size, my weakness. But then I realised: I don't want to be in a wheelchair in 40 years time. This realisation, of course, bears no judgement on that poor woman, for she did not choose to be ill, she cannot just decide to be better, nobody can. But seeing her suffering made me even more determined to fight for my recovery. It will undoubtedly take time, and hard work. But if I can avoid spending my life in hospital, starved and isolated, I will do everything in my power to do so. I have a deep longing, that has been growing for some time now, to be free. Not just from my wretched eating disorder, but from depression, from self harm, from anxiety disorders, from BPD (although I strongly question that diagnosis). I want to be able to sleep at night. I want my mother to be able to fall asleep without worrying if she will find me dead the next morning. I want to be able to smile without being disingenuous. I want to go to the pub and order something more than a diet coke (I don't even like coke!). I want to travel, to learn, to help other people, to love. I want to have normal ups and downs, joys and sorrows. I want to live. Not a half life, a life. I can't do this any more, being desperately ill. I've had enough of the struggle, of the turmoil within. And no, I'm under no illusions that this will be easy. Hell, it will be the most difficult thing I have ever done, but it must be done, if not for myself then for everyone around me.

Hope.

Day of distraction number 4. Having ended with CAMHS and the outreach team I've been attempting to stay very busy indeed, with some success. It is now the end of the week and, as predicted, I am stronger than I was last Sunday evening. I have my wonderful friends to thank for this, although I can't really remember much of the week at all. They have, this week, been so brilliant and supportive and for that I am eternally grateful. I know that I am loved. Despite this, however, I am completely heartbroken. I have had to say goodbye to two people who are, and will continue to be, incredibly important to me and who have helped keep me alive. My world feels desolately empty without them and although I am currently somewhat inebriated, I still find the thought of never being able to confide in them again agonising. They have been the fuel for my fire for months on end and without them my flames are dwindling. Even as I write this, tears are blurring my vision and my heart feels as though it is being ripped from my chest. But they have given me something far greater than comfort. Though I never thought it possible, they have given me hope. I spent so many hours sat in their presence utterly broken, scarred and wretched, yet not once did they doubt that I could have a life worth living. I can no longer see them, yet their hope lives on in my heart. I often believed their hope to be unfounded and yet, now I can no longer know them, I must hold hope for myself. This hope will tussle with my will to self destruct for years to come. They have planted a seed in my heart and they hope that, in time, the seed will flourish and bloom into a magnificent flower. It is now my greatest desire to make them proud of me. The video below, which I spent today making with my amazing friend, describes a little of how I am attempting to cling to this hope of a better life in these dark and difficult hours. I will never cease to be thankful that I met my two incredible therapists, just as I will never cease to miss them. I will take a part of them into every relationship I build for as long as I live. Hope is the stuff of life and we all thrive on it. I hope this video provides those in terrible pain with some hope; my thoughts are with you. Just as they have held hope for me, I hold it for you. I struggle so furiously to survive and I hope that I do not let these people who mean so much to me down. As I conclude this drunken but completely heartfelt soliloquy, I will leave you with an acronym, that despite being somewhat clichéd, is entirely appropriate:

Hope: Hold On, Pain Ends

So I'm back...

Although I'm pretty sure that nobody will have missed my writing, I'm back. I've been away for a while, staying on a psychiatric ward for acutely mentally ill adolescents. It's a little odd- despite being someone who has always been able to express their experiences well, I find it almost impossible to talk or write in detail about the ward. I was there for nearly three months and although I met some of my best friends there, and it stopped me from killing myself, it was really horrible. These last few months have been utterly unbearable. Again, oddly, I'm lost for words. My blog is generally written with intent to provoke thought in the reader, or to encourage others, but I don't seem to be able to think of anything to say. All I can say is: I'm still alive, despite everything, despite all of my attempts to end my life. And if you're reading this then you, too, are alive. And that is something. Currently, you are winning the frantic battle that rages on in your body and mind. Even if your life is as you want it to be, it is still an achievement that you are alive. So well done. Keep going.

Let down.

Everyone has been let down. We let the people we love down. They let us down. Institutions let us down: Schools let us down. The government lets us down. The people we trust most let us down. Some people have been let down their entire life. There isn't much we can do about it, as failure is in our nature; regardless of how hard one tries not to fail themselves or others.

Humans do, however, have an innate ability that has the power to override the pain of being failed: we are able to love. Love, as clichéd as it sounds, has the ability to heal some really deep wounds. And if we can't help but fail the ones we love, then at least we have the resources within ourselves to fill the hole that failure leaves. I have seen people who have been failed time and time again and although I cannot remove the burden of the damage that has been done, I can ensure that the person knows they are loved, cared for, valued and cherished. It may not make everything better again, but it might help them keep their heads above water, which is really important.