Never have I felt more excited about a bowl of Fruit and Fibre and a glass of orange juice. I’m so looking forward to breakfast it’s ridiculous. I have not gone to bed hungry in weeks and yet last night I did. And this morning I woke up and the scales (really great, high-tech, complex, stand-upon electrical ones) were broken – full of condensation water from the air conditioning and totally defunct!
Oh yeah – but I woke up this morning…after the most luxurious nights’ sleep I have experienced in months. I slept so well, without my evening dose of Oromorph even – but with the space of my own aura and my own room. I’m (blissfully) next to the clinic and the lift – removed from anyone else’s aura and influence whilst the nights touch me. And it’s sensational. I can’t write for long this morning because I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to fathom the shower, the dressing and the routine. I was, after all the hassle, taken along to Chrysalis to be weighed (the children’s ward). However I did contact one of the girls on our way – she came with the night nurse and myself – who’s comment was, “It’s stressful enough being weighed without all this performance.”
What? And she’s one of the downstairs girls – who’s supposedly on the way out. Um…stressful? What? It’s not even as if we get to know what we weigh…umm…there’s something seriously wrong with these people – and not with me. I’m horrified and shocked. It just isn’t my headspace or my life at all – and I had still imagined somewhere it might be. Christ if anything were there to prove me wrong it was this. Anyhow, must shower now and get ready – sense the blogging times etc. will change but I’ll keep you informed as best I can…
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
July 30th - blog 2 - welcome home...not here but to myself...
I’m here guys. And I’m fine. In so many more ways than one. I have been sitting in my little isolation for four years imagining myself to be suffering from an eating disorder. I have been horrified inside my own life to witness the potential that my mental space was capable of restricting or withholding nutrition from itself and from my body. I’m heartbroken that I’ve wasted that space with questioning my sanity because today – in one meal alone – I have witnessed the true demonstration of eating disorders. And it’s horrendous. These women are going through purgatory, through a very strange sort of hell. And the bizarrest thing is that it is nothing like the hell I have experienced over the last four years of illness. My illness has been lostness and confusion. My weakness has been internally inside my head from my doubt, my self-doubt, my worried-ness about whatever any specific thought, action, behaviour or word meant or signified. In such rarefied and isolated environments such as hospitals, Darlington and travelling the worlds with Mum there has been no comparative factors, no comparison applicable except with Mum – who couldn’t give a fuck about food and uses it as how to survive in her life.
That’s not the way I’m supposed to be in my space and I had a most amazing insight in the ambulance. Even if some part of the way I perceived food was still somehow abnormal or not ‘regular’ it was OK…because the way I saw it now guaranteed my survival. And so even if there are certain foods I may want to avoid for the rest of my life then that’s OK. Because any weirdness around food now is experiential memory, not disorder and beyond that I can live with it – because I can literally survive through and despite – and with it.
And then I arrived. And felt totally at ease with putting the doctors and nurses at ease with me. I think I presented the most admirable side of me – honest and totally enthusiastic. Accepting of rules, regulations, willing to play along and go wherever they decided they needed me. It was beautiful, actually, to feel quite comfortable at being quizzed around what I was eating and to feel totally embracing of whatever the dietician wanted to do with me…put me on Standard Menu straight away – eating ‘upstairs’ for now.
I was to find out that this meant with the ‘difficult patients’. These are the people who find eating traumatic and difficult. I sat for 45 minutes with 5 other girls – patients. They range in age from 18 to 31 – most averaging 21-24. They’re all haunted, fucked up and depressed. They never smile. Not once has one of them simply smiled. They’ve laughed hysterically at some unfunny comment but not once has one shown genuine kindness or placidity. (I think that’s my favourite word of today). Nevertheless…the 31 year old concealed salts and peppers which were found and confiscated. It turns out that salt is restricted (along with water, coffee, access to food and fridges etc….but I’ll detail the boring rules later…tomorrow even.)
Tonight I want to explain to you what I’ve just seen. I want to reflect, to reveal and to share my story…the horrendous observation of two nurses tucking into a delicious looking lasagne bake with vegetables followed by strawberries and cream whilst the 31 year-old (Annabel) had a side salad of lettuce and beetroot which took her half an hour to cut up smaller and smaller and then eat before she played with a jacket potato and baked beans – eating one bean with a fork at a time and struggling so hard she didn’t finish it. Then she warmed a Muller Rice in the microwave and played with it with her spoon.
The girl next to me (about 22, name Chantelle) spent 40 minutes playing with a blackcurrant yoghurt then was given one banana Fortisip which she finished. Then another came out of the fridge and she left a few mouthfuls in the bottom which she was told to drink by the nurse. When she refused there was a massive argument, Chantelle tried to storm out…it was horrible.
A Cypriot new arrival had two fish fingers and a pathetically small helping of mashed potato. She hated every mouthful but finished quickly and was excused to go and wave her husband goodbye. Fiona (21) had a ham and lettuce sandwich – stupidly small and cut into triangles. She, head down and with her eyes covered and head in hands permanently, cut the sandwich smaller and smaller and nibbled tiny bites until she had, after 40 minutes, finished it. Then her afters was 2 scoops of Strawberry ice cream and strawberries – the same performance ensued with her head in her hands permanently.
An Irish girl of 18 sitting next to me had two pieces of toast and baked beans and played with that non-stop until her plate was clean. Then we all have to leave for the lounge, write our time on the board of when we finished next to our name and stay in there for an hour to ‘rest’ after eating. This happens every meal – 8.30am breakfast, 45 minutes rest. 10.30am is a 20 minute morning snack, 20 mins rest. Lunch at 12.45, 45 minute meal then 1 hour’s rest. Mid-afternoon snack 3.30pm 20 mins with 20 mins rest. Evening meal at 5.45pm – takes 45 mins then rest for an hour. We’re perpetually resting!!!
Still – they’re investigating a physio three times a week, a bone denseometry test, a pain specialist to identify better ways of treating my pain and then I have to attend mandatory art therapy and group support once a week. Anything else is planned tomorrow with the therapy co-ordinator. I have a delightful room, delightful view, delightful privacy and am really quite happy…I’ll find the way with the meals tomorrow…
Oh yeah – me…I tucked into a bland jacket potato (no butter or marg provided, though I ordered it) with a tin of tuna (separate plate, I think from a large tin but in brine not oil). It was OK, if bland and dressing-less with a side salad of two lettuce leaves, 3 cucumber slices and a tomato…ummm…not calorifically astounding I don’t think. This was followed by 2 scoops of quite tasty vanilla ice cream which I thoroughly enjoyed…and I wolfed it down, no playing, no qualms and no hesitation…
…if ever oh ever I thought I was in any way challenged by food all I have to do is look at these girls and reel back in horror. Whilst physically we may bear a resemblance to one another, inside we are worlds apart. And all I feel is a swiftness of progression necessary to move through dining room eating to being allowed downstairs to eat in the restaurant, allowed outside alone and be freed from 10 minute observations and daily watching – with 2 walks and lots of rest built in – to more freedom, more trust, more recognition and belief. And hopefully I’ll gain weight soon and be building up to building a life out of here. For now, guys, I’m safe and fine – and I’ll let you know more tomorrow when I know more myself.
That’s not the way I’m supposed to be in my space and I had a most amazing insight in the ambulance. Even if some part of the way I perceived food was still somehow abnormal or not ‘regular’ it was OK…because the way I saw it now guaranteed my survival. And so even if there are certain foods I may want to avoid for the rest of my life then that’s OK. Because any weirdness around food now is experiential memory, not disorder and beyond that I can live with it – because I can literally survive through and despite – and with it.
And then I arrived. And felt totally at ease with putting the doctors and nurses at ease with me. I think I presented the most admirable side of me – honest and totally enthusiastic. Accepting of rules, regulations, willing to play along and go wherever they decided they needed me. It was beautiful, actually, to feel quite comfortable at being quizzed around what I was eating and to feel totally embracing of whatever the dietician wanted to do with me…put me on Standard Menu straight away – eating ‘upstairs’ for now.
I was to find out that this meant with the ‘difficult patients’. These are the people who find eating traumatic and difficult. I sat for 45 minutes with 5 other girls – patients. They range in age from 18 to 31 – most averaging 21-24. They’re all haunted, fucked up and depressed. They never smile. Not once has one of them simply smiled. They’ve laughed hysterically at some unfunny comment but not once has one shown genuine kindness or placidity. (I think that’s my favourite word of today). Nevertheless…the 31 year old concealed salts and peppers which were found and confiscated. It turns out that salt is restricted (along with water, coffee, access to food and fridges etc….but I’ll detail the boring rules later…tomorrow even.)
Tonight I want to explain to you what I’ve just seen. I want to reflect, to reveal and to share my story…the horrendous observation of two nurses tucking into a delicious looking lasagne bake with vegetables followed by strawberries and cream whilst the 31 year-old (Annabel) had a side salad of lettuce and beetroot which took her half an hour to cut up smaller and smaller and then eat before she played with a jacket potato and baked beans – eating one bean with a fork at a time and struggling so hard she didn’t finish it. Then she warmed a Muller Rice in the microwave and played with it with her spoon.
The girl next to me (about 22, name Chantelle) spent 40 minutes playing with a blackcurrant yoghurt then was given one banana Fortisip which she finished. Then another came out of the fridge and she left a few mouthfuls in the bottom which she was told to drink by the nurse. When she refused there was a massive argument, Chantelle tried to storm out…it was horrible.
A Cypriot new arrival had two fish fingers and a pathetically small helping of mashed potato. She hated every mouthful but finished quickly and was excused to go and wave her husband goodbye. Fiona (21) had a ham and lettuce sandwich – stupidly small and cut into triangles. She, head down and with her eyes covered and head in hands permanently, cut the sandwich smaller and smaller and nibbled tiny bites until she had, after 40 minutes, finished it. Then her afters was 2 scoops of Strawberry ice cream and strawberries – the same performance ensued with her head in her hands permanently.
An Irish girl of 18 sitting next to me had two pieces of toast and baked beans and played with that non-stop until her plate was clean. Then we all have to leave for the lounge, write our time on the board of when we finished next to our name and stay in there for an hour to ‘rest’ after eating. This happens every meal – 8.30am breakfast, 45 minutes rest. 10.30am is a 20 minute morning snack, 20 mins rest. Lunch at 12.45, 45 minute meal then 1 hour’s rest. Mid-afternoon snack 3.30pm 20 mins with 20 mins rest. Evening meal at 5.45pm – takes 45 mins then rest for an hour. We’re perpetually resting!!!
Still – they’re investigating a physio three times a week, a bone denseometry test, a pain specialist to identify better ways of treating my pain and then I have to attend mandatory art therapy and group support once a week. Anything else is planned tomorrow with the therapy co-ordinator. I have a delightful room, delightful view, delightful privacy and am really quite happy…I’ll find the way with the meals tomorrow…
Oh yeah – me…I tucked into a bland jacket potato (no butter or marg provided, though I ordered it) with a tin of tuna (separate plate, I think from a large tin but in brine not oil). It was OK, if bland and dressing-less with a side salad of two lettuce leaves, 3 cucumber slices and a tomato…ummm…not calorifically astounding I don’t think. This was followed by 2 scoops of quite tasty vanilla ice cream which I thoroughly enjoyed…and I wolfed it down, no playing, no qualms and no hesitation…
…if ever oh ever I thought I was in any way challenged by food all I have to do is look at these girls and reel back in horror. Whilst physically we may bear a resemblance to one another, inside we are worlds apart. And all I feel is a swiftness of progression necessary to move through dining room eating to being allowed downstairs to eat in the restaurant, allowed outside alone and be freed from 10 minute observations and daily watching – with 2 walks and lots of rest built in – to more freedom, more trust, more recognition and belief. And hopefully I’ll gain weight soon and be building up to building a life out of here. For now, guys, I’m safe and fine – and I’ll let you know more tomorrow when I know more myself.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
July 30th - blog 1 - the end of hospital and into my life...
I am very much in practical mode this morning and in the phase of preparations to leave this place. It’s funny because I’ve been leaving since Saturday really, when I knew that Dr Sinha was either not going to ask the relevant questions of the relevant people or that we were undoubtedly going to get the response that there was not enough specialist help. It was a pathetic performance really where the answers depended upon the questions that were asked and the decisions depended entirely upon the judgement of how much specialism was required. They couldn’t have come back with any other answer than to go to Hayes Grove, even if (and I strongly doubt) conversations were had in the first place.
I also doubt that the physiotherapists have ever been consulted – I don’t actually have one since Janey left – I have been left in the hands of physio techs who are neither qualified nor recognised enough to give official verdicts apparently, but I know for a fact that they have not been asked.
Anyway – after a whole rigmarole yesterday where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was going to be transport problems (and indeed there are…surprise, surprise, thanks Dr Gordon for your exceedingly excellent co-ordination once again…!) I am in preparations to go. I am taking my own medications to last me at least for the first week or so, have my bowel stuff prescribed so it’s official and have asked that Claudia speak to Hayes Grove and express the need for physio, ask questions about pressure mattresses etc. etc….it’s all sort of in place.
The only thing that remains is to get there – and yes I am nervous today. I am anxious largely about the mental un-known-ness of it all, the space that they are going to force me into (and that’s what came to me to write, not something I’ve been thinking) and the practicalities of how the routines will take shape there on a daily basis – that is what concerns me right now. Beyond that, the assessments etc. are unavoidable and necessary and just par for the course. What they make of me and their judgements I have long since learnt are largely their issue or perspective and not mine. All that is required from me in those circumstances is navigation and placidity. I hope that that is what I will bring.
In terms of the day-to-day structure, the dietary intake and the food/meals and the restrictions that I am going to be under I know it will take a while to get used to the system but once that has happened then I will work within it to the best of my ability. I will always, because of the kind of person that I am, feel the need to flout some rule, somewhere…but I hope this will only be a minor one and I hope beyond anything that nothing I do, no action I perform or behaviour I exhibit in innocence will be misinterpreted and over-analysed into seeming to portray something that was not there. That has been the problem here. Perpetually fighting the diagnosis lends itself to being perpetually under examination and hyper-monitoring for it, ‘just in case’. The denial leads to extra wariness where everything – innocent or not – is seen through questioning, examining eyes. Perhaps going to a place where they are expecting and already imagining me to have difficulty they will approach it differently – attempt to ‘help’ with anything seen as subterfuge instead of use it as evidence. As such, I may surprise them. Or I may surprise myself.
I was speaking yesterday and the problem I have left with food is that it’s still around. It’s the 24/7 ness of focussing on putting on weight in a hospitalised medicalised environment where I have been largely on my own that has leant itself to forming a small obsession with trying to calorie control my life. Food went from something I didn’t have to something I had in measured controlled and judged quantities etc. Now I want to relax and allow it to do its job whilst giving me a little bit of a life…of course it is a focus but it doesn’t need to be the only one.
And mostly I want the whole background of others’ doubts to disappear within my life. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, or fight anyone, or assert my sanity or accuracy, my past, my beliefs etc. in order to do that – I just have to get beyond the point where their help may be perceived necessary. And I hope that that will happen soon. I was weighed today – after a glass of lemonade as per usual – as 34.65 kilos. I do not know the accuracy of all of this – my imagination would lead me to believe I am somewhere around 34.5 kilos…but 34.65 is a bloody good thing to show when I get there – and I knew it was there inside me…I couldn’t believe I had not put on weight…
Nevertheless, working on 34.65, this sends me there at a BMI of 13.5 and is (in English!) 5 stone 6 lbs, 6 ounces. (5 and a half stone). This is good. This is shit…what am I doing at 5 stone something? Christ almighty – still. Only 2 and half to go, and perhaps only some of those at Hayes Grove.
Anyway – must go and be practical now. There was more but I cannot quite get my head and self in gear enough to write it all down. It’s to do with not being anything perfected about going there – no anger, no vulnerability, no gracious acceptance is there in a perfected entirety. It is all there somewhere and it is an allowance of myself to feel disconcerted and de-constructed throughout it all that facilitates me feeling better adult and better self than ever. I’m not cultivating one or other side, one or other feeling, one or other behaviour as ‘desirable’. I’m all of them and none of them – and everything in between and that’s fine.
I also doubt that the physiotherapists have ever been consulted – I don’t actually have one since Janey left – I have been left in the hands of physio techs who are neither qualified nor recognised enough to give official verdicts apparently, but I know for a fact that they have not been asked.
Anyway – after a whole rigmarole yesterday where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was going to be transport problems (and indeed there are…surprise, surprise, thanks Dr Gordon for your exceedingly excellent co-ordination once again…!) I am in preparations to go. I am taking my own medications to last me at least for the first week or so, have my bowel stuff prescribed so it’s official and have asked that Claudia speak to Hayes Grove and express the need for physio, ask questions about pressure mattresses etc. etc….it’s all sort of in place.
The only thing that remains is to get there – and yes I am nervous today. I am anxious largely about the mental un-known-ness of it all, the space that they are going to force me into (and that’s what came to me to write, not something I’ve been thinking) and the practicalities of how the routines will take shape there on a daily basis – that is what concerns me right now. Beyond that, the assessments etc. are unavoidable and necessary and just par for the course. What they make of me and their judgements I have long since learnt are largely their issue or perspective and not mine. All that is required from me in those circumstances is navigation and placidity. I hope that that is what I will bring.
In terms of the day-to-day structure, the dietary intake and the food/meals and the restrictions that I am going to be under I know it will take a while to get used to the system but once that has happened then I will work within it to the best of my ability. I will always, because of the kind of person that I am, feel the need to flout some rule, somewhere…but I hope this will only be a minor one and I hope beyond anything that nothing I do, no action I perform or behaviour I exhibit in innocence will be misinterpreted and over-analysed into seeming to portray something that was not there. That has been the problem here. Perpetually fighting the diagnosis lends itself to being perpetually under examination and hyper-monitoring for it, ‘just in case’. The denial leads to extra wariness where everything – innocent or not – is seen through questioning, examining eyes. Perhaps going to a place where they are expecting and already imagining me to have difficulty they will approach it differently – attempt to ‘help’ with anything seen as subterfuge instead of use it as evidence. As such, I may surprise them. Or I may surprise myself.
I was speaking yesterday and the problem I have left with food is that it’s still around. It’s the 24/7 ness of focussing on putting on weight in a hospitalised medicalised environment where I have been largely on my own that has leant itself to forming a small obsession with trying to calorie control my life. Food went from something I didn’t have to something I had in measured controlled and judged quantities etc. Now I want to relax and allow it to do its job whilst giving me a little bit of a life…of course it is a focus but it doesn’t need to be the only one.
And mostly I want the whole background of others’ doubts to disappear within my life. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, or fight anyone, or assert my sanity or accuracy, my past, my beliefs etc. in order to do that – I just have to get beyond the point where their help may be perceived necessary. And I hope that that will happen soon. I was weighed today – after a glass of lemonade as per usual – as 34.65 kilos. I do not know the accuracy of all of this – my imagination would lead me to believe I am somewhere around 34.5 kilos…but 34.65 is a bloody good thing to show when I get there – and I knew it was there inside me…I couldn’t believe I had not put on weight…
Nevertheless, working on 34.65, this sends me there at a BMI of 13.5 and is (in English!) 5 stone 6 lbs, 6 ounces. (5 and a half stone). This is good. This is shit…what am I doing at 5 stone something? Christ almighty – still. Only 2 and half to go, and perhaps only some of those at Hayes Grove.
Anyway – must go and be practical now. There was more but I cannot quite get my head and self in gear enough to write it all down. It’s to do with not being anything perfected about going there – no anger, no vulnerability, no gracious acceptance is there in a perfected entirety. It is all there somewhere and it is an allowance of myself to feel disconcerted and de-constructed throughout it all that facilitates me feeling better adult and better self than ever. I’m not cultivating one or other side, one or other feeling, one or other behaviour as ‘desirable’. I’m all of them and none of them – and everything in between and that’s fine.
July 29th - no weight, but serious progress (see end)...
I’m sort of tired of rehearsing things to say and personas to adopt when I arrive at Hayes Grove. There is an awareness not that I can’t be ‘me’ but that I am simply not going to be the recognisable me who objects openly to the diagnosis of ‘eating disorder’ because of my beliefs over where, when and how my illness developed. The sense that I am not going to be able to maintain the strength of belief that I fought so hard to find is not daunting – what is affecting me is the searching for the behaviour and the personality traits/mental stances which are going to replace it. I know I can never know them until I get there but sometimes it helps me to feel I have an ‘in’, an ‘approach’ in mind which will ease my passage through the time I spend there.
And I’ve been meaning to write since yesterday about a comment from one of the nurses about her life in an Arab country where she moved with her husband and stayed years ago. She was remarking that there was the potential of a coup at any time and the first to be thrown into camps or murdered were going to be white Europeans. Determined for it not to be her she was under constant strain to watch what she said, what she did and be perpetually aware of how it may be perceived or interpreted. There was immense stress that she was placed under and it made her ill and very underweight (along with an active, unhappy lifestyle). I suddenly knew that my next blog would have to contain the phrase:
“I’ve been living in another country.”
I don’t quite know whether ‘another country’ was pre-hospital – although it was because it feels like for four years, the duration of my illnesses, that I have had to constantly observe my actions to guarantee they elicited the ‘right’ response and the ‘best’ out of the situation and those others within it. Constantly not trying to rock any boats or be disbelieved I have made it a 24/7 occupation to watch and observe just in case I was though of or judged in a certain way. I don’t know if it was different when I came into hospital – probably it just magnified the whole dilemma and focussed attention from everyone on the physicality and the ‘obvious’ problem of eating which must go along with it. Psychologically, there is no resistance to eating whatever. I know that but nobody else has any guarantees. If the guarantee is to continue eating then that I can do – and I also hope I can do weight gain although upsettingly I cannot trumpet from the rooftops today and I am actually heartbroken at having not put on any weight. I remain 34.25kilos
That is upsetting, and I can justify it in many ways, explain it in many ways and attempt to understand it in many ways. Essentially what I was doing before has ceased to work – whether that is because I am heavier and now need even more to gain weight, whether the stress of the last few days has taken it’s toll not on the amount I have eaten but with what the body has had to do with it in order to keep itself together and OK…and I genuinely haven’t lessened the amount I’ve put in. In actual fact according to my calculations if anything I’ve done a little more. But it hasn’t been relaxed and responsive – I’ve been anxious and simply couldn’t fit it all in…it’s been a difficult time trying to mentalise the food intake. Which in some ways makes it an enormous relief that I can forget about engineering my meals now and simply go to a dining room and let them give me options and I’ll take a choice. I can guarantee I won’t always like it but it’ll be a damn sight better than this hospital food and I’ll be a damn site more aware of what I like/don’t, can cope with best and do not want to touch…it truly will be in response there and fingers crossed that response will be to continued and increasing weight gain.
On the positive side my weekly weight gain is 0.7 kilos – only 100 under the target. This means I need to up things slightly – but then fuck slightly – I need to up things even more than slightly and that’s totally OK with me…and I mean that…
And I need to remark for you all how different that is. Usually I put ‘slightly’ and ‘slowly’ and ‘gradually’ in sentences simply to give myself a breathing space I sense I am going to need. My body is very attuned to its willingness, readiness and preparedness to do what is being asked of it and in the past I have been aware of moments when I am saying the right words (that 24/7 ensuring I am not persecuted or judged) but not feeling totally on board with some element of what was being asked of me – usually the time scales and the pressure they imply. Somewhere in the previous paragraph I computed all the minutiae of grams and logically could see that I ‘only’ needed to up it 100 grams worth of calories over a week – that’s about 75-100 calories more per day. Easily do-able actually and probably something I would have appreciated from a calculated point of view. But in actual fact observing that ‘only 100grams’ would be ‘what is required’ I felt a genuine surge of resentment from deep within at sticking to that limitation. Yes I could do an extra glass of milk/juice – a bigger dollop of mayonnaise at both meals, more salsa, more something…somewhere…at each individual intake of food…but it is a focussed restriction. If the goal is simply weight gain – without a limit of 2000 calories per day, 0.8 kilos per week and a focus on amounts to meet and obtain (therefore structures which limit and bind) perhaps (and I sense this is the case) I will over-come that, overdo things…up things and supersede the ‘requirements’ in a total embrace of the larger picture, not the refined, restrictive and limited goals…
And this morning that not only felt possible, but positive, desirable and dare I say the point. This hospital has been a limitation – a foreign country where they’ve spoken a foreign language and hated me for being here and through not understanding what right I had to be here…
And in turn I’ve hated their limited perspective, their rules, their limits, the fact that I have had to respect their quantitive, qualitative mentalities. I am already seeing Hayes Grove as a semi-liberation. Perhaps I can lose the ‘2000 calories, 800 grams’ thing there and overcome it, transcend it and ensure that I am both responding (and therefore eating more than they may prescribe) but responding and eating as much as I need to put on the weight in the timescale that my body wants. In previous ‘countries’ that’s always been slower than they may have prescribed. Now I sense, I know, I can feel within that it may just – given a menu, a liberated place and perhaps a liberated and less tired, stressed me – be a little bit quicker, faster and more easily done.
And I’ve been meaning to write since yesterday about a comment from one of the nurses about her life in an Arab country where she moved with her husband and stayed years ago. She was remarking that there was the potential of a coup at any time and the first to be thrown into camps or murdered were going to be white Europeans. Determined for it not to be her she was under constant strain to watch what she said, what she did and be perpetually aware of how it may be perceived or interpreted. There was immense stress that she was placed under and it made her ill and very underweight (along with an active, unhappy lifestyle). I suddenly knew that my next blog would have to contain the phrase:
“I’ve been living in another country.”
I don’t quite know whether ‘another country’ was pre-hospital – although it was because it feels like for four years, the duration of my illnesses, that I have had to constantly observe my actions to guarantee they elicited the ‘right’ response and the ‘best’ out of the situation and those others within it. Constantly not trying to rock any boats or be disbelieved I have made it a 24/7 occupation to watch and observe just in case I was though of or judged in a certain way. I don’t know if it was different when I came into hospital – probably it just magnified the whole dilemma and focussed attention from everyone on the physicality and the ‘obvious’ problem of eating which must go along with it. Psychologically, there is no resistance to eating whatever. I know that but nobody else has any guarantees. If the guarantee is to continue eating then that I can do – and I also hope I can do weight gain although upsettingly I cannot trumpet from the rooftops today and I am actually heartbroken at having not put on any weight. I remain 34.25kilos
That is upsetting, and I can justify it in many ways, explain it in many ways and attempt to understand it in many ways. Essentially what I was doing before has ceased to work – whether that is because I am heavier and now need even more to gain weight, whether the stress of the last few days has taken it’s toll not on the amount I have eaten but with what the body has had to do with it in order to keep itself together and OK…and I genuinely haven’t lessened the amount I’ve put in. In actual fact according to my calculations if anything I’ve done a little more. But it hasn’t been relaxed and responsive – I’ve been anxious and simply couldn’t fit it all in…it’s been a difficult time trying to mentalise the food intake. Which in some ways makes it an enormous relief that I can forget about engineering my meals now and simply go to a dining room and let them give me options and I’ll take a choice. I can guarantee I won’t always like it but it’ll be a damn sight better than this hospital food and I’ll be a damn site more aware of what I like/don’t, can cope with best and do not want to touch…it truly will be in response there and fingers crossed that response will be to continued and increasing weight gain.
On the positive side my weekly weight gain is 0.7 kilos – only 100 under the target. This means I need to up things slightly – but then fuck slightly – I need to up things even more than slightly and that’s totally OK with me…and I mean that…
And I need to remark for you all how different that is. Usually I put ‘slightly’ and ‘slowly’ and ‘gradually’ in sentences simply to give myself a breathing space I sense I am going to need. My body is very attuned to its willingness, readiness and preparedness to do what is being asked of it and in the past I have been aware of moments when I am saying the right words (that 24/7 ensuring I am not persecuted or judged) but not feeling totally on board with some element of what was being asked of me – usually the time scales and the pressure they imply. Somewhere in the previous paragraph I computed all the minutiae of grams and logically could see that I ‘only’ needed to up it 100 grams worth of calories over a week – that’s about 75-100 calories more per day. Easily do-able actually and probably something I would have appreciated from a calculated point of view. But in actual fact observing that ‘only 100grams’ would be ‘what is required’ I felt a genuine surge of resentment from deep within at sticking to that limitation. Yes I could do an extra glass of milk/juice – a bigger dollop of mayonnaise at both meals, more salsa, more something…somewhere…at each individual intake of food…but it is a focussed restriction. If the goal is simply weight gain – without a limit of 2000 calories per day, 0.8 kilos per week and a focus on amounts to meet and obtain (therefore structures which limit and bind) perhaps (and I sense this is the case) I will over-come that, overdo things…up things and supersede the ‘requirements’ in a total embrace of the larger picture, not the refined, restrictive and limited goals…
And this morning that not only felt possible, but positive, desirable and dare I say the point. This hospital has been a limitation – a foreign country where they’ve spoken a foreign language and hated me for being here and through not understanding what right I had to be here…
And in turn I’ve hated their limited perspective, their rules, their limits, the fact that I have had to respect their quantitive, qualitative mentalities. I am already seeing Hayes Grove as a semi-liberation. Perhaps I can lose the ‘2000 calories, 800 grams’ thing there and overcome it, transcend it and ensure that I am both responding (and therefore eating more than they may prescribe) but responding and eating as much as I need to put on the weight in the timescale that my body wants. In previous ‘countries’ that’s always been slower than they may have prescribed. Now I sense, I know, I can feel within that it may just – given a menu, a liberated place and perhaps a liberated and less tired, stressed me – be a little bit quicker, faster and more easily done.
Sunday, 27 July 2008
July 28th - blog 1 - my concerns and my conclusions...my openness arrives
Oh my God what an atrocious night…
It was an unsettled evening actually which turned out to be the precursor to an horrific night where it was so, so loud. Two patients were having a full blown conversation at maximum volume for about ½ hour at 4am. I woke up hundreds of times needing the toilet, Albert (a wandering, confused, insane patient) was wailing and screaming for a large part of the night. Doctors visited somebody opposite me and it’s not something that ever occurs subtly, quietly or with compassion for any sleeping patients.
At 2.30am I was making lists and on the internet researching this. But nothing major. As I was so tired (having not slept very well for the last couple of nights) I kept dropping off…it made waking up harder and harder every time and staying awake became nearly impossible so it turned into a vicious and repetitive cycle of sleeping and not. And it’s unusual for me to be so aware of not sleeping correctly. Often I am just aware that I wasn’t rested utterly and truly restored. Tonight (this morning) I can distinctly remember awakening only an hour after I’d gone to sleep and feeling as if this was going to be a long one.
Beyond my sleeplessness I have an anxiety which came to me yesterday about Hayes Grove Priory. I can feel myself rehearsing the ‘silent acceptance’ stuff with the nurses here each time I am asked whether I am OK about going, or how I feel about my transfer. In explanations of the reasons behind transferral I am tempted to lie and say that they want to move me to a play that can keep a closer eye on the diet alone so that they can consistently guarantee continued weight gain and dietary benefit. This would not be true though, and when questioned yesterday by Adele and Sammy (the male night nurse who has worked a couple of times and knows me a bit) for the reasons behind the sending me away it is hard not to comment that in their perspective there was the view that I would benefit from being in a location where there was specialist help on hand to deal with any fall-out or potential relapse that may occur as I continue to put on weight. It was impossible for me to say this without adding that I did not feel 100% on board with the necessity of moving. Whilst I appreciated openly their concerns I very much stated how I had no qualms with going there to demonstrate in their terms what wellness meant and proving to them that there would be no fallout whatever.
And bless Adele…Mum left in the middle of my dinner in a moment when Adele had to leave in response to a crash bell. I apologised and said I didn’t want her to think that she had left so I could be alone and start playing silly buggers with the meal. And she looked at me quizzically and said she would never ever think that. She then said, “Victoria…?” and beckoned me closer with her hand so she could whisper her following comment, “look…you’re eating fine to me. I’d get on with my obs and leave you to it but if I get caught it’s my job on the line and me that gets criticised. As far as I’m concerned though you’re fine.”
That was a beautiful endorsement, from the youngest member of staff who’s opinion counts for nothing and who would never have the confidence to say it to anyone that matters. It was an endorsement for me from someone who has watched me often, been with me regularly and knows me more thoroughly than most people. She would not presume to a) judge whether I had a psychological problem or not, or b) criticise any Doctoral recommendations etc. And yet although it was taking me a while to eat my dinner last night because it was quite heavy, in the moments I was alone there was no temptation to begin avoiding mouthfuls or parts of it…which made me see that there is no fears of foods when they’re correct for me. Under pressure to create the illusion that I’m doing it in here I’ve added in stuff to build things up which I don’t always get on with – pitta breads to bulk out a Splendip and Babybel to build up the calories of a meal with Brunchetta. Whilst these work, they’re the bits I long to play with and avoid – I see now that that’s because they’re the bits that I don’t get on with well and only have out of necessity, not desire. I am looking forward to being in a place where there are just meals, whole entities that must be eaten. Then even if it’s not nice its just a battle once, it’s not a ‘played with’ food…if you see what I mean…
…but there is an anxiety, both around my capacity to remain silent about my sense that I do not require the help and therapeutic assistance of the Priory and also about the place itself. It is very easy to present a rosy picture to the patients’ parents about the flexibility and the relaxed nature of anywhere. It is also very easy to portray a picture of a place when you are part of the team in charge of it which may bear no resemblance whatever to what it is like to experience the life underneath those teams and within the structures enforced by them…
There are elements that will be easier – a dietician’s assistance with familiarity with the foods available will help me eat considerable amounts of calories without the need to have ‘extras’(the snacks that I have at supper time, the munching in between, the sweets etc.) and without leaving me feeling as if I want to play with bits that I’ve added because I’m only having them when I have to calorie wise and not because they are a pleasure to eat. It’ll help me feel comfortable consistently that I am sensibly consuming the correct amount of calories and not feel, instead, consistently aware that I must keep conscientiously consuming a little more than I would naturally choose/respond to/desire.
But there are elements that will be uncomfortable – the precise nature of what we eat may be one of them. But I am more focussed on the enforced communality and interaction. I am hoping we get the opportunity for response in this interaction and can be committed and contributory and silent, removed and isolated in equal measure as and when it is applicable to ourselves. There are also the question marks over the ‘therapy’ and whilst the grounds, the approach, the attitude, the care and the observation may all come from a place of care and helpfulness I am slightly disconcerted and jangled around and about the way this will take shape and the slap-dash assessment, presumptions and judgements that will come with my attendance there.
And perhaps that’s it. There are so many ‘2 plus 2 must equal’ equations that can occur when anyone hears that I am going to a psychiatric hospital on the recommendation of doctors. It is assumed that there are eating disorder reasons for me being there and that is what I have resisted all along. And so my turning up in a place where everyone is there because they believe, have been told and want help with the fact that they have an eating disorder will be disconcerting. I cannot and will not and must not turn up there believing and asserting that I don’t. And I’m getting out the last dregs of asserting that in these last few days here. I almost have to volunteer to analysis – plead almost ignorance and willingness to discover as opposed to presenting my fait accompli, as they did theirs.
And now you have to read what I wrote last night:
This woman in the end bed used to weigh 40 stone. She now weighs 36 stone – and blames her mother’s controlling attitude for her depression which caused her over-eating…she can now walk 150 yards without sticks, of which she is mighty proud. She is also on a healthy diet to lose weight so she can have a tummy tuck operation in order to remove her skin and decrease her appetite. She apparently eats ‘really healthily’ at home but in here is forced to eat biscuit because her sugars are going crazy and dropping shockingly. Um…I cannot believe the depravity of some people, the naivety and blindness with which they sit in denial. She constantly references the vulgarity of her weight with a disparaging attitude – and it is this that causes it to perpetuate within her life. That she cannot see that her own lack of self respect is the reason for he lack of health is depressing in and of itself. But you cannot say anything when she is so convinced of her own wellness/illness and its place.
This worries me for me. Am I so ‘certain’ that it is to my detriment and to my blindness? I hope to God it’s not…
And now I laugh. Despite my disturbed sleep I obviously processed something. It is not about my ‘truth’ being a ‘deceit’ or a ‘self-delusion’. Nor is it that it plays the same role in my life as the above woman’s assertion that it is her inactivity, not her diet and her mother, not her own lack of self-respect that is responsible for her overweight-ness. But there is a fundamental lesson I have absorbed and can now appreciate. Presenting a certainty will only invite someone picking holes in it. Within my certainty this is all to easy when there is lack of records to support my words and oodles of them to support the judgement of me and my situation along the line. If Dr McKlusky is as keen as she says to start from her ‘blank slate’ of assessment then I have to try not ‘knowing’ anything. I am prepared to go there presenting the fact that I don’t know and will be led by their better judgement, then say as little as possible, prove amenable and not ever counter their perspective that I am there because I need to be. I need to be for dietary build-up, it’s going to save me a fortune in M&S, a lot of stressing about how to get the calories in and a lot of anxiety about being judged for the way in which I do that.
I hope it will diminish the need to prat, I pray it will diminish the need to keep topping up late at night and I hope it will diminish the need to stay strong. Perhaps I have never been truly open to assessment and have always gone trying to hold my truth in order to demonstrate it and, I have hoped, be treated accordingly. Perhaps it is time to surrender my truth, even I superficially, and let everyone there think I am there under the same auspices as everyone else – to heal what could be a problem eating. If I volunteer that I do not know whether they will find anything, as opposed to continue to bang my head up against a brick wall by maintaining that they won’t…perhaps that will smoothen the ride for me and us all. Because if I continue to say there is nothing wrong, I am there to prove them wrong, prove to them that I was right…that’s just inviting trouble, portraying anger and begging a diagnosis of denial. I want to be, instead, meeker and more humbled by their ‘seniority’, ‘wisdom’ and ‘expertise’ and let them, if they wish, find an issue. I am so practised at issue-dealing with that any issue they find I can ‘do’, ‘sort’ and ‘handle’ almost immediately. And whether the issue itself is real or not there will always be the illusion of having been helped by them, being amenable and willing to listen to them and not so opposing and objectionable to their perspective and diagnosis. Essentially I am not there to prove them wrong, I am there to answer the questions and once and for all, regardless of the starting point, leave there without an issue in anyone’s eyes.
It was an unsettled evening actually which turned out to be the precursor to an horrific night where it was so, so loud. Two patients were having a full blown conversation at maximum volume for about ½ hour at 4am. I woke up hundreds of times needing the toilet, Albert (a wandering, confused, insane patient) was wailing and screaming for a large part of the night. Doctors visited somebody opposite me and it’s not something that ever occurs subtly, quietly or with compassion for any sleeping patients.
At 2.30am I was making lists and on the internet researching this. But nothing major. As I was so tired (having not slept very well for the last couple of nights) I kept dropping off…it made waking up harder and harder every time and staying awake became nearly impossible so it turned into a vicious and repetitive cycle of sleeping and not. And it’s unusual for me to be so aware of not sleeping correctly. Often I am just aware that I wasn’t rested utterly and truly restored. Tonight (this morning) I can distinctly remember awakening only an hour after I’d gone to sleep and feeling as if this was going to be a long one.
Beyond my sleeplessness I have an anxiety which came to me yesterday about Hayes Grove Priory. I can feel myself rehearsing the ‘silent acceptance’ stuff with the nurses here each time I am asked whether I am OK about going, or how I feel about my transfer. In explanations of the reasons behind transferral I am tempted to lie and say that they want to move me to a play that can keep a closer eye on the diet alone so that they can consistently guarantee continued weight gain and dietary benefit. This would not be true though, and when questioned yesterday by Adele and Sammy (the male night nurse who has worked a couple of times and knows me a bit) for the reasons behind the sending me away it is hard not to comment that in their perspective there was the view that I would benefit from being in a location where there was specialist help on hand to deal with any fall-out or potential relapse that may occur as I continue to put on weight. It was impossible for me to say this without adding that I did not feel 100% on board with the necessity of moving. Whilst I appreciated openly their concerns I very much stated how I had no qualms with going there to demonstrate in their terms what wellness meant and proving to them that there would be no fallout whatever.
And bless Adele…Mum left in the middle of my dinner in a moment when Adele had to leave in response to a crash bell. I apologised and said I didn’t want her to think that she had left so I could be alone and start playing silly buggers with the meal. And she looked at me quizzically and said she would never ever think that. She then said, “Victoria…?” and beckoned me closer with her hand so she could whisper her following comment, “look…you’re eating fine to me. I’d get on with my obs and leave you to it but if I get caught it’s my job on the line and me that gets criticised. As far as I’m concerned though you’re fine.”
That was a beautiful endorsement, from the youngest member of staff who’s opinion counts for nothing and who would never have the confidence to say it to anyone that matters. It was an endorsement for me from someone who has watched me often, been with me regularly and knows me more thoroughly than most people. She would not presume to a) judge whether I had a psychological problem or not, or b) criticise any Doctoral recommendations etc. And yet although it was taking me a while to eat my dinner last night because it was quite heavy, in the moments I was alone there was no temptation to begin avoiding mouthfuls or parts of it…which made me see that there is no fears of foods when they’re correct for me. Under pressure to create the illusion that I’m doing it in here I’ve added in stuff to build things up which I don’t always get on with – pitta breads to bulk out a Splendip and Babybel to build up the calories of a meal with Brunchetta. Whilst these work, they’re the bits I long to play with and avoid – I see now that that’s because they’re the bits that I don’t get on with well and only have out of necessity, not desire. I am looking forward to being in a place where there are just meals, whole entities that must be eaten. Then even if it’s not nice its just a battle once, it’s not a ‘played with’ food…if you see what I mean…
…but there is an anxiety, both around my capacity to remain silent about my sense that I do not require the help and therapeutic assistance of the Priory and also about the place itself. It is very easy to present a rosy picture to the patients’ parents about the flexibility and the relaxed nature of anywhere. It is also very easy to portray a picture of a place when you are part of the team in charge of it which may bear no resemblance whatever to what it is like to experience the life underneath those teams and within the structures enforced by them…
There are elements that will be easier – a dietician’s assistance with familiarity with the foods available will help me eat considerable amounts of calories without the need to have ‘extras’(the snacks that I have at supper time, the munching in between, the sweets etc.) and without leaving me feeling as if I want to play with bits that I’ve added because I’m only having them when I have to calorie wise and not because they are a pleasure to eat. It’ll help me feel comfortable consistently that I am sensibly consuming the correct amount of calories and not feel, instead, consistently aware that I must keep conscientiously consuming a little more than I would naturally choose/respond to/desire.
But there are elements that will be uncomfortable – the precise nature of what we eat may be one of them. But I am more focussed on the enforced communality and interaction. I am hoping we get the opportunity for response in this interaction and can be committed and contributory and silent, removed and isolated in equal measure as and when it is applicable to ourselves. There are also the question marks over the ‘therapy’ and whilst the grounds, the approach, the attitude, the care and the observation may all come from a place of care and helpfulness I am slightly disconcerted and jangled around and about the way this will take shape and the slap-dash assessment, presumptions and judgements that will come with my attendance there.
And perhaps that’s it. There are so many ‘2 plus 2 must equal’ equations that can occur when anyone hears that I am going to a psychiatric hospital on the recommendation of doctors. It is assumed that there are eating disorder reasons for me being there and that is what I have resisted all along. And so my turning up in a place where everyone is there because they believe, have been told and want help with the fact that they have an eating disorder will be disconcerting. I cannot and will not and must not turn up there believing and asserting that I don’t. And I’m getting out the last dregs of asserting that in these last few days here. I almost have to volunteer to analysis – plead almost ignorance and willingness to discover as opposed to presenting my fait accompli, as they did theirs.
And now you have to read what I wrote last night:
This woman in the end bed used to weigh 40 stone. She now weighs 36 stone – and blames her mother’s controlling attitude for her depression which caused her over-eating…she can now walk 150 yards without sticks, of which she is mighty proud. She is also on a healthy diet to lose weight so she can have a tummy tuck operation in order to remove her skin and decrease her appetite. She apparently eats ‘really healthily’ at home but in here is forced to eat biscuit because her sugars are going crazy and dropping shockingly. Um…I cannot believe the depravity of some people, the naivety and blindness with which they sit in denial. She constantly references the vulgarity of her weight with a disparaging attitude – and it is this that causes it to perpetuate within her life. That she cannot see that her own lack of self respect is the reason for he lack of health is depressing in and of itself. But you cannot say anything when she is so convinced of her own wellness/illness and its place.
This worries me for me. Am I so ‘certain’ that it is to my detriment and to my blindness? I hope to God it’s not…
And now I laugh. Despite my disturbed sleep I obviously processed something. It is not about my ‘truth’ being a ‘deceit’ or a ‘self-delusion’. Nor is it that it plays the same role in my life as the above woman’s assertion that it is her inactivity, not her diet and her mother, not her own lack of self-respect that is responsible for her overweight-ness. But there is a fundamental lesson I have absorbed and can now appreciate. Presenting a certainty will only invite someone picking holes in it. Within my certainty this is all to easy when there is lack of records to support my words and oodles of them to support the judgement of me and my situation along the line. If Dr McKlusky is as keen as she says to start from her ‘blank slate’ of assessment then I have to try not ‘knowing’ anything. I am prepared to go there presenting the fact that I don’t know and will be led by their better judgement, then say as little as possible, prove amenable and not ever counter their perspective that I am there because I need to be. I need to be for dietary build-up, it’s going to save me a fortune in M&S, a lot of stressing about how to get the calories in and a lot of anxiety about being judged for the way in which I do that.
I hope it will diminish the need to prat, I pray it will diminish the need to keep topping up late at night and I hope it will diminish the need to stay strong. Perhaps I have never been truly open to assessment and have always gone trying to hold my truth in order to demonstrate it and, I have hoped, be treated accordingly. Perhaps it is time to surrender my truth, even I superficially, and let everyone there think I am there under the same auspices as everyone else – to heal what could be a problem eating. If I volunteer that I do not know whether they will find anything, as opposed to continue to bang my head up against a brick wall by maintaining that they won’t…perhaps that will smoothen the ride for me and us all. Because if I continue to say there is nothing wrong, I am there to prove them wrong, prove to them that I was right…that’s just inviting trouble, portraying anger and begging a diagnosis of denial. I want to be, instead, meeker and more humbled by their ‘seniority’, ‘wisdom’ and ‘expertise’ and let them, if they wish, find an issue. I am so practised at issue-dealing with that any issue they find I can ‘do’, ‘sort’ and ‘handle’ almost immediately. And whether the issue itself is real or not there will always be the illusion of having been helped by them, being amenable and willing to listen to them and not so opposing and objectionable to their perspective and diagnosis. Essentially I am not there to prove them wrong, I am there to answer the questions and once and for all, regardless of the starting point, leave there without an issue in anyone’s eyes.
Saturday, 26 July 2008
July 27th - blog 1 - hayes grove may just be OK
I am delighted to say I was perfectly wrong. I can not only have my laptop and mobile phone at Hayes Grove but in actual fact it seems that there will be a good deal more ‘freedom’ than within the hospital there. Whilst I am under no illusion that this will be anything other than artificial ‘freedom’, immensely structured around routines which are largely focussed on mealtimes, I actually feel that perhaps this place will lend itself to the very behaviour I was aspiring to yesterday. This would feel incredibly beneficial. I am being careful not to become too over-excited by the liberation chances that are seemingly in place for my potential there – the rescinding of the sectioning will be possible at any time by Dr McKlusky, I will have a private room and shower overlooking the garden and meals will be in an ‘a la carte restaurant’ (whatever that means). Most important for me will be the reliability of the scheduling and the structured days which are largely down to others. Within these I may not feel entirely comfortable with all of the experiences all of the time but I learnt yesterday that a lack of comfort does not have to beckon rejection. Instead it can require silence and active non-comment as its response.
It is strange how I feel that the making of the me I have found within and along this journey has been the precise person which now I am forsaking or sacrificing. However, it does not feel that arbitrary, judgemental or harsh at all. In fact, it in itself feels like a liberation. I can always be and maintain me, but don’t always have to press me on a situation. It’s fascinating how in order to find a person worth preserving and fighting for I had to lose all of my strength and level of health. Then I found a person worth fighting for and standing up for and began to really assert that beauty within my life. Opposing forces and things that didn’t fit had no place within my aura and within my life. I had to specify what I wanted in order to establish my own identity and lack of willingness to compromise that, or its truth and the truth of its history, for anyone.
Now…well now the individuality is there. It is strongly there, beautifully there and wisely there. I don’t need to move other forces away in order to retain it, nor do I need to openly object when things are wrong in order to have made a point, presented my case or expressed my ‘self’. I really will hope that I choose silence and, like a duck, let the bits that are not preferable merely glance off me as I walk through life (and the grounds of Hayes Grove Priory). And, despite Mum’s conversation with Emmy (the Mental Health Administrator there) I am not naïve enough to believe that I will feel totally comfortable or amenable to this place. There will be teething troubles, starting difficulties and moments of stickiness along the way – the first lunch is threatening me at the moment because I do not know what will be expected of me and what will be demanded of me…which feels a bit destabilising and worrying. I do know there will be assessments, questions, medicals, and organisations etc. the moment I get there and that is fine. I will be shown around, shown my room I suppose and made to feel as ‘welcome’ as possible. And then, I imagine, told how things work. And I’m sure they work well – but I don’t think these places are without their strictures and their limitations and limiting factors…I just don’t know how I am going to feel within them.
And so there is a part of me that today that can enter genuinely into the wholehearted excitement of my own bedroom and bathroom, flexibility and alone-time, freedom to walk and read, explore and be and flexibility to choose from three (albeit hot) meals at each sitting. I will have the opportunity to re-align my needs with a dietician, discover my ‘therapies’, establish my medications and continue my physio to a degree there. And I would be a fool not to see the dramatic benefits of there vs. being under section in this ward – a place where I doubt there would be any chance of either rescinding, lifting, challenging or appealing the decision to section me…and the strict treatment and dramatic lack of empathy will continue through the ignorance of those that see salad and assume that’s all I’m eating because there’s something wrong with me.
It occurs to me now that the woman that made that judgement was someone overweight, addicted to both baking and eating cakes and whose husband is a diabetic. Hearing her meal plans I am not surprised that with her view of normal portions and foods there was a dramatic disparity in what she eats and what I chose. No wonder her opinion was of over-health. But then when you are over-unhealthy what else is there left to perceive my diet as?
Perhaps there I’ll try different things, lose the twice daily 100 calorie yoghurt requirement and feel happier within it. To a great degree I don’t care provided I’m comfortably gaining weight continually without stressing me head about the food I’m eating. And perhaps there there will be the facility not just to rescind the section but also challenge and object to the placement in the first instance, a time to amass evidence of Dr Gordon’s negligence and incompetence and perhaps challenge her treatment of patients and have her struck off…? Usually it is Mum who opposes so strongly and vituperatively to the behaviour of others. This is entirely from me, however. Whilst we will actually use her practical errors and erroneous non-consultation with me, non-assessment of me, non-revising visions of me to attack her and her levels of power within this organisation, it is actually her attitude and vibration that I detest most. It is the practical things she has done wrong which is our weaponry for objection and our case for dismissal – of both her and the sectioning based on her recommendation. However, the reason I would pursue any kind of focussed attack on her role of power and her status etc. would be the lack of listening that she is capable of and the danger that that places on everyone under her remit of responsibility and care. Her tone is inappropriate, her style disastrous and her manner incredibly patronising and neither beneficial, responsive or pleasant. For these reasons I object very strongly to her aura – but she has done enough practically ‘wrong’ and without appropriate professional and legal conduct that there is enough to challenge her professional opinions and expertise – and thus challenge the auspices under which I became initially sectioned…
…but this is all a long, long way in the future. Perhaps I am going to a place which will facilitate my exposure to the correct influences that will help me challenge the records of the past, perhaps I am going somewhere to learn that such challenges are unnecessary because the auras of my past will be no longer an impact upon me and I could just forget about them. But I am certainly going to a place where there will be sufficient liberalness combined with structure that will allow me to feel healthy, get healthier and prove that – for their terms – I am healthy too. Group therapy, I can do. One on one sessions may be hard and challenging but I can do. Eating may be different and strange but I can do it – and I’ll perhaps and possibly thrive in my opportunity to experience and express this non-vocal, non-confrontational and simply serene side of myself. And it is all about identifying the right influences for this peacefulness to emerge. They are undoubtedly better placed there than here…
It is strange how I feel that the making of the me I have found within and along this journey has been the precise person which now I am forsaking or sacrificing. However, it does not feel that arbitrary, judgemental or harsh at all. In fact, it in itself feels like a liberation. I can always be and maintain me, but don’t always have to press me on a situation. It’s fascinating how in order to find a person worth preserving and fighting for I had to lose all of my strength and level of health. Then I found a person worth fighting for and standing up for and began to really assert that beauty within my life. Opposing forces and things that didn’t fit had no place within my aura and within my life. I had to specify what I wanted in order to establish my own identity and lack of willingness to compromise that, or its truth and the truth of its history, for anyone.
Now…well now the individuality is there. It is strongly there, beautifully there and wisely there. I don’t need to move other forces away in order to retain it, nor do I need to openly object when things are wrong in order to have made a point, presented my case or expressed my ‘self’. I really will hope that I choose silence and, like a duck, let the bits that are not preferable merely glance off me as I walk through life (and the grounds of Hayes Grove Priory). And, despite Mum’s conversation with Emmy (the Mental Health Administrator there) I am not naïve enough to believe that I will feel totally comfortable or amenable to this place. There will be teething troubles, starting difficulties and moments of stickiness along the way – the first lunch is threatening me at the moment because I do not know what will be expected of me and what will be demanded of me…which feels a bit destabilising and worrying. I do know there will be assessments, questions, medicals, and organisations etc. the moment I get there and that is fine. I will be shown around, shown my room I suppose and made to feel as ‘welcome’ as possible. And then, I imagine, told how things work. And I’m sure they work well – but I don’t think these places are without their strictures and their limitations and limiting factors…I just don’t know how I am going to feel within them.
And so there is a part of me that today that can enter genuinely into the wholehearted excitement of my own bedroom and bathroom, flexibility and alone-time, freedom to walk and read, explore and be and flexibility to choose from three (albeit hot) meals at each sitting. I will have the opportunity to re-align my needs with a dietician, discover my ‘therapies’, establish my medications and continue my physio to a degree there. And I would be a fool not to see the dramatic benefits of there vs. being under section in this ward – a place where I doubt there would be any chance of either rescinding, lifting, challenging or appealing the decision to section me…and the strict treatment and dramatic lack of empathy will continue through the ignorance of those that see salad and assume that’s all I’m eating because there’s something wrong with me.
It occurs to me now that the woman that made that judgement was someone overweight, addicted to both baking and eating cakes and whose husband is a diabetic. Hearing her meal plans I am not surprised that with her view of normal portions and foods there was a dramatic disparity in what she eats and what I chose. No wonder her opinion was of over-health. But then when you are over-unhealthy what else is there left to perceive my diet as?
Perhaps there I’ll try different things, lose the twice daily 100 calorie yoghurt requirement and feel happier within it. To a great degree I don’t care provided I’m comfortably gaining weight continually without stressing me head about the food I’m eating. And perhaps there there will be the facility not just to rescind the section but also challenge and object to the placement in the first instance, a time to amass evidence of Dr Gordon’s negligence and incompetence and perhaps challenge her treatment of patients and have her struck off…? Usually it is Mum who opposes so strongly and vituperatively to the behaviour of others. This is entirely from me, however. Whilst we will actually use her practical errors and erroneous non-consultation with me, non-assessment of me, non-revising visions of me to attack her and her levels of power within this organisation, it is actually her attitude and vibration that I detest most. It is the practical things she has done wrong which is our weaponry for objection and our case for dismissal – of both her and the sectioning based on her recommendation. However, the reason I would pursue any kind of focussed attack on her role of power and her status etc. would be the lack of listening that she is capable of and the danger that that places on everyone under her remit of responsibility and care. Her tone is inappropriate, her style disastrous and her manner incredibly patronising and neither beneficial, responsive or pleasant. For these reasons I object very strongly to her aura – but she has done enough practically ‘wrong’ and without appropriate professional and legal conduct that there is enough to challenge her professional opinions and expertise – and thus challenge the auspices under which I became initially sectioned…
…but this is all a long, long way in the future. Perhaps I am going to a place which will facilitate my exposure to the correct influences that will help me challenge the records of the past, perhaps I am going somewhere to learn that such challenges are unnecessary because the auras of my past will be no longer an impact upon me and I could just forget about them. But I am certainly going to a place where there will be sufficient liberalness combined with structure that will allow me to feel healthy, get healthier and prove that – for their terms – I am healthy too. Group therapy, I can do. One on one sessions may be hard and challenging but I can do. Eating may be different and strange but I can do it – and I’ll perhaps and possibly thrive in my opportunity to experience and express this non-vocal, non-confrontational and simply serene side of myself. And it is all about identifying the right influences for this peacefulness to emerge. They are undoubtedly better placed there than here…
July 26th - blog 2 - more...well...stuff...
Apologies for this morning everyone. There was a minor crisis with running out of airtime credit on my mobile internet dongle. Unfortunately there was no way I could charge up any more until Mum had got a new voucher. This actually spun me into such a whirlwind of crisis that it illuminated something very, very important about my transferral to Hayes Grove...although I think it highly unlikely that I will be allowed internet access, I have to recognise that it is going to impact on me greatly. I genuinely have no expectation that I will be allowed either my laptop or my dongle. I just sense it somehow, and have to prepare myself for that eventuality. Although it was a major struggle this morning that was largely due to the inability to practically organise anything, email anyone or update anyone. It the routine here to wake up un-Godly early, write blog, post it, check emails and then email Mum her daily list. Luckily the daily list won't be so necessary, but the early rising writing-ness will be taken away from me. There is a reason beyond safety that I have asked to buy notepads etc. and I suspect it's because I am going to begin diarising/morning writing by hand as opposed to blogging. When I know more I promise I will inform you about the precise way in which news will be got to you all...
...but I wanted to write because I have just realised something humongous. I have been always post-meal having the odd regurgitation. Sometimes its larger, longer and more pronounced than others but it got to the stage where I perhaps didn't even notice. Until this lunchtime. I suddenly realised that this habitual operation of my insides has to stop - I cannot go to an eating disorder unit and have a burping thing. It is, I know, a physical hangover from my past and I also realised it's precise unnecessariness today. It is only a lack of training. So my beautiful inner self has simply decided to work on stopping it. I have four days to train myself out of such reflexes. There is a muscular training and change of process occurring within my stomach. I must have shifted something immensely psychologically and emotionally. This is phenomenal, and I'm sorry to have to go a little backwards to leap and bound forwards and grow within their environment...
...I think it's got something to do with the peace of the morning and in that space feeling totally accepting of the perspective with which I am going to be looked at. I can't sort of remember how I was in that moment but I was perfectly comfortable with allowing their opinion and simply satisfying them whilst already having been satisfied myself. It's the acceptance and allowance of the other whilst serenely holding my own space, but holding my tongue and my patience simultaneously. It is that holding which has to happen internally in my stomach muscles - not so reactive but responsive instead, allowing myself to be a body whilst allowing food to need to be melded to become cells...
...And by stopping the habits. It's simple. I feel as if I am giving myself up unto greater powers - and allowing them themselves whilst not submerging my own self in interaction with that. And it is entirely to do with the softness, the placid lake which does not go outwards but just takes things in, silently and without judgement. I can know what is relevant for me and/or not - but take everything in equally regardless and let it be within me regardless. I didn't realise until these moments that opposition and it not gelling/fitting within myself does not automatically have to beg rejection. It can just beg silence, and an acceptance, and then a moving through...
and that has so, so much to do with the digestion of food. It can all move through now, whether it totally gels with me or not. And this will make it even easier to eat someone else's dietary plans...
...but I wanted to write because I have just realised something humongous. I have been always post-meal having the odd regurgitation. Sometimes its larger, longer and more pronounced than others but it got to the stage where I perhaps didn't even notice. Until this lunchtime. I suddenly realised that this habitual operation of my insides has to stop - I cannot go to an eating disorder unit and have a burping thing. It is, I know, a physical hangover from my past and I also realised it's precise unnecessariness today. It is only a lack of training. So my beautiful inner self has simply decided to work on stopping it. I have four days to train myself out of such reflexes. There is a muscular training and change of process occurring within my stomach. I must have shifted something immensely psychologically and emotionally. This is phenomenal, and I'm sorry to have to go a little backwards to leap and bound forwards and grow within their environment...
...I think it's got something to do with the peace of the morning and in that space feeling totally accepting of the perspective with which I am going to be looked at. I can't sort of remember how I was in that moment but I was perfectly comfortable with allowing their opinion and simply satisfying them whilst already having been satisfied myself. It's the acceptance and allowance of the other whilst serenely holding my own space, but holding my tongue and my patience simultaneously. It is that holding which has to happen internally in my stomach muscles - not so reactive but responsive instead, allowing myself to be a body whilst allowing food to need to be melded to become cells...
...And by stopping the habits. It's simple. I feel as if I am giving myself up unto greater powers - and allowing them themselves whilst not submerging my own self in interaction with that. And it is entirely to do with the softness, the placid lake which does not go outwards but just takes things in, silently and without judgement. I can know what is relevant for me and/or not - but take everything in equally regardless and let it be within me regardless. I didn't realise until these moments that opposition and it not gelling/fitting within myself does not automatically have to beg rejection. It can just beg silence, and an acceptance, and then a moving through...
and that has so, so much to do with the digestion of food. It can all move through now, whether it totally gels with me or not. And this will make it even easier to eat someone else's dietary plans...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)