A time to rest...

This week, I returned from a visit to my parents that was incredibly restorative, yet still challenging at times. As I stated in my previous post, I set myself the challenge of not working out at all during my stay and I'm amazed that I actually managed to achieve it, except for one, gentle, untimed run - felt more like a stroll round, compared with the hills of Sheffield! I managed to snatch a bit of much-needed rest and we did some wonderfully unexciting, wonderfully normal things together. An amble along the canal to a café. A trip to the cinema to see "Dad's Army". Even a meal at Nandos - which I enjoyed immensely, despite overdoing it on the spicy sauces and giving my weak stomach grief that night...

But it was sad how often the conversation turned to "my problem". My parents have been in this situation too many times before - watching me talk defiantly about "when I go back to do my PhD" but not seeing me make any real progress towards that aim. My Dad especially has given up on me. It fills me with shame that they cannot trust my word anymore. If your solemn promises have no integrity to them, I feel I can't be much of a person. If I can't even give them my word....what can I give them to appease their worries at this point in time?

So far, they have been right to doubt me. I was prepared to see my weight go up after my  "holiday of excessive laziness" but it didn't budge. So I still have over a stone to put on. Was I unconsciously compensating for the lack of activity by eating a little less, trimming down the higher-calorie snacks and treats? Or did my metabolism just ride the change in activity?

It's time to get moving. I have 98 days left to reach the target weight.

Fortunately, just before I went away, one of the instructors at the gym got in touch to say that she had been reading my blog and just happened to be a qualified dietician. I seized on her offer to give my diet an MOT and have been pouring over her advice ever since. Although I don't think I can implement all her recommendations all at once, I have come up with a plan to start:

1. Reintroduce TWO complete rest days a week (a rest day does NOT involve "lifting a few weights")
2. Increase breakfast by ~ 200 calories.
3. Have a milky recovery drink on the days I work out ~ 200 kcal. I tried my first home-made version today: coconut milk with a sachet of hot chocolate and a dollop of peanut butter dissolved in it...First thought: Oh WOW this tastes like REAL food! Second thought: Maybe I should use smooth, not crunchy, peanut butter next time...
4. Weigh myself each week and REVIEW THE PLAN AS NEEDED

Bunny goes for the vegetarian menu at Nandos

Seeing my parents again has reminded me that I am not just doing this for me. I have every reason to change and none to stay like this. Whilst at home, I read a fascinating article about the Japanese adventurer Yuichiro Miura, who climbed Everest aged 80 after enduring five heart operations. I think it is fitting to end this post with a few of his words:

"You need a target - however big or small - and to build your health and fitness towards it. It is not necessary to climb a mountain. It can be anything. I climbed Mount Everest three times and each time experienced a health problem for elderly people. But I could cure them because I had a goal. That gave me motivation to fight and beat my illnesses and injuries."

From The Telegraph Magazine, Saturday 2nd January 2016.

From one obsession to another...

Many people warn me that my "recovery strategy" is focused too much on covering up the symptoms of anorexia, rather than addressing the root cause. For myself, I feel that I have so little time to achieve the target to stop me losing my PhD, that weight gain HAS to be the prime focus. However, I do accept that this leaves me at the risk of my insecurities latching on to different obsessive behaviour to become the 'latest' coping mechanism.

It's easy to feel that your recovery is uniquely personal, and that your mind is a whirling tempest of emotions that others cannot possibly imagine. One of the sobering things about the internet is that it forces you to realise that there is a whole community of people out there who have experienced exactly the same feelings as you are and have trod  exactly the same path. I thought I could beat anorexia by channeling my restrictive willpower into a quest for physical prowess - I will respect my body from now on! Through hard workouts and conscious nutrition, I will turn it into a machine that can do anything! I now realise that this is a classic case of anorexia turned into orthorexia- an obsession with exercise and healthy eating. In fact, there is a very good account of the stereotypical 'phases of recovery' described here: http://letsrecover.tumblr.com/post/80466146533/recovery-levels

At the moment, I would put myself at level 5 or 6 . What's truly scary to me is that, as the author says of many levels "you can move up from here, or move down or stay here until you die". That is the choice I am facing - I know if I do not act, I can become locked into this new restrictive life with its own fears for ever.

Besides orthorexia, many recovering anorexics fall into the other extreme trap of binge- purging (bulimia). It is the fear of this happening to me which is the main reason why i cannot relax around high calorie foods: although I do allow myself my scheduled treats of chocolate and cake, I rigorously keep these within controlled calorie limits. It's also why I cannot bulk- buy such 'scary' foods, for example, a whole tub of ice cream. Who knows - I might lose control and turn into an ugly pig, stuffing myself until I was sick...

Even apparently good intentions and behaviours can become dangerous obsessions. I'd like to think I have a green conscience, and recently started reading 'The Ethical Food Bible'. This has forced me to confront a lot of issues which I do believe we should be more aware of - food miles, carbon footprints of different foods, animal welfare, fair trade... But I have noticed that it has triggered feelings which could easily spark a new obsession. I should be vegetarian - the carbon footprint of meat is unjustifiable! I must not eat foods containing Palm Oil - it's destroying the rainforest! Shame on me for not buying FairTrade bananas! And yet there are so many dilemmas - is it better to be a carnivore but eat British-only meat, rather than a vegetarian that dines on vegetables flow in from halfway across the world? Does it matter if something is not FairTrade if I buy it from a small independent rather than a supermarket? In the end, I had to conclude that the only truly 'ethical diet' would be to live on what I could grow in my back garden!

When I described these feelings to a good friend in a similar position in their recovery, she wisely advised me that I must pick my own battles. Recovery, after all should be about learning how to embrace previously restricted foods again.  When I am fully better, then I can make more refinements, based on my ethics and values.

So for now, I will concentrate on the issues that I feel most strongly about:

- I don't eat cows and rarely eat pigs.

- I try to buy my fruit and vegetables from Sheffield Indoor Market, rather than supermarkets, to support independent ( and extremely hard working!) traders

- I try to buy 'sustainable fish' ( with the MSC label if possible ) and avoid anything caught in a net - I can't bear the thought that my dinner was caught in a device which snares so much bycatch which is then discarded. Unfortunately, this means giving up mackerel ( seems you have to live on the coast to find anything line-caught) so I have stated to have pole and line caught tuna instead. 

- I will try and buy more FairTrade products, including bananas, and avoid products with Palm Oil where this is not too impossible. 

I hope my greener friends will not think these attempts too pitiful but for now, food is too much enough of an issue as it is!

Meltdown

It's been a trying week where I have felt blessed at times, but at others in the utter pits of despair.

I was fortunate to see several good friends this week (some completely unexpectedly!) and received great encouragement . Although they (and probably you too) must be frustrated at how helpless I am, I believe that their words of sense and reason are finally beginning to sink in on some level. It's as though every word of support that has been given to me is beginning to mass together, like an army mustering its forces. I have had moments of such clarity where I see the futility of my life- how sick and shallow it has become- and I feel deep shame at myself. At those times, I feel that I could be so close to being able to use that disgust and willpower to finally break free.

It happened on Wednesday, coming back from work on the tram. Cold, tired and fed up after a lonely day mostly by myself (it's half term so its quiet at the college), I suddenly felt so resentful of having to go to the gym that evening. And then it came out of the blue- why bother? Most people go home in the evening to unwind and that is perfectly acceptable. And I have to gain weight after all - with no time to lose! I am perfectly within my rights to "have a night off".

The "voice" was taken aback at this, but quickly recovered. Ah...yes, ok...it said. So you won't go to the gym tonight....then how are you going to feel when you come to eat your meal? How will I make you feel? Guilty, lazy, gross, disgusting FAT FAT FAT..."

Forty-five minutes later, I was plugging away at the Sci-fit machine before moving on to the rowing machine. But then - disaster! I strained something in my calf. It was time to move on to my treadmill hill intervals, but my calf was screaming in agony. I physically couldn't move any more. I stopped the treadmill, unable to continue and the screen swam as my eyes filled with tears.

Nonono this can't be happening, this CAN'T ...I've still got another twenty minutes to do, I can't stop, I can't go home until I've done this, I can't, can't, can't...

I started the conveyor again, but had to pull up after less than a minute. What have I done? What if I've really blown it and can't exercise tomorrow? Or for the rest of this week?!!!

I couldn't possibly continue. The best thing to do would be to stop and hope I recovered by tomorrow. But I just...couldn't...move. The voice was holding me there, urging me that I had to continue, that to stop off now would be surrender. And then I just broke down completely, falling onto the console, sobbing uncontrollably. Oh what have I become, that my life is reduced to the gym, eating and being constantly exhausted through never having enough sleep?! There are people right now fleeing persecution and wars, and THIS is what I am concerned about?!

I stood there sobbing for about ten minutes until a concerned onlooker went to get help. Not wanting to cause a fuss, I finally slipped off, did a few arm weights to "console myself" and shamefacedly crept home.

Fortunately the leg healed. I decided not to do my planned routine on the treadmill on Friday and to instead use one of the spin bikes. I had checked the timetable - there wasn't a class on so the bikes should be free. I was just finishing my weights when a group of chatting students marched up the stairs and headed for the bikes.

Oh. No.

I rushed over to the bikes but could hardly get my words out.

"What's going on - I thought there wasn't a class...?"

"It's a private session - they've been booked for a training squad. "

My chest started to close in and I began to hyperventilate. I broke down and wept, pleading with them - surely, surely, there must just be one bike free, please one little bike that's all I ask, then I can do my wretched workout and finally go home, oh please I'm so tired, I just want to go home, to sleep, please..."

No chance - they were fully booked. I was getting more and more desperate, working myself up into a panic. But I was saved - one of the girls couldn't make it. So whilst the chatting group had their class, I crouched in the midst of them, hunched over my bike, going through the routine I have drawn up for myself.

Two utter lows. Two occasions I am very ashamed of. If only I had the courage to say "You know what? My leg hurts, why not give it a rest tonight?" Or even to not go to the gym in the first place after a miserable day at work...

Things need to change. I am going home this coming week for a few days to see my parents. I want to set myself the challenge of not "working out" during that time. It would be a gift to my parents, to show them that I am truly committed to regaining my PhD, as I know my latest posts would suggest otherwise. Maybe I might try a little run or cycle to "clear my head" but no gym, no cardio, no torture machines. Just rest, and quality time together.

I've written it now so the challenge is on!

I will let you know how I get on. Wish me luck...

Drawing Battlelines

I was a bit taken aback by some of the strong reactions I received from my last post. I hope you do not think that I am trying to dramatize my life, that I get some cheap 'thrill' out of making my situation sound shocking. That is not why I write this blog. In fact, I'm always surprised to realise that people are actually reading it! Often the hurt or confusion in my mind feels so hopeless, like a solid mass pressing down on the part of me that tries to be rational, that I have to write it out to feel any release from it. .

Several people have expressed doubts that I will recover because I am "doing it for my PhD" and not for me. I realise that it does look as though I am obsessed with getting back onto my course against all costs, and not focused on becoming 'truly well'. But I would like to clarify a few things here. I KNOW that there is EVERY reason to get better and none to stay like this! For health, for vitality, for life! To get better would be to have the energy to do the things I want to do, to travel, to walk in the mountains, to love and care for my family and friends with a furious vigour! To get better would mean that I wasn't a burden and a source of worry for others, especially my mother - a thought which kills me inside. To get better is to be able to give glory to and serve the God I believe in. No one wants me to stay like this. Not even me.

But on my own, thinking only of myself, I can't act. I can't "do it for me" because I don't know what "me" is. I don't feel like a "young woman" - I always struggle to remember (and really believe!) how old I am. In my mind, I place myself in a vague miasma between my childhood and teenage years; in many respects, that is what my body is. But more than that, I don't even feel like a proper person, an entity with valid thoughts and ambitions that can be counted among others. I feel like a void, a dead space of selfish, black, self-consumed thoughts. I feel like the scum under a person's shoe. To think of all the opportunities I have which are denied to so many and look how ungrateful I am...I am nothing.

But I must have a stubborn streak, to exercise the negative self-will day by day that keeps me here. However, I can use it if I feel that something I hold dear will be taken from me. I suppose part of me takes the love of my family for granted - I know they would support me even if I fail again, though it would disappoint them naturally. If I don't make my targets though, I will lose the PhD. End of. And I can't live with myself, in any job, if I knew I had the chance to earn a doctorate, to dedicate part of my life to my own research project, but threw it all away because of an illness in my head! So in a sense, "doing it for my PhD", IS to do it for myself. This illness has taken so much from me - I need to draw a line where it cannot cross. And that line will be my PhD because the ultimatum has been set - meet the grade or lose it forever. It seems that stark choices like this are the only thing that can shock me into action. Whether I see the extra food I eat and the rest days from the gym as being the ticket back to university, the source of health and nourishment or a means to stop people worrying...what does it matter as long as I DO it? True happiness can come later, I have to get physically better first!

Yesterday, I met a wise friend who is in a similar situation to me who kindly listened to my  disjointed outpourings with great patience. We talked figures, looked over diet plans, compared tactics. I realised that I have only four months left to do what took me the best part of a year when I had to put on weight to get back to my undergraduate degree. I really don't know if I can do it. So many times in the past I have underestimated just HOW MUCH food it takes to gain weight at this level! And yet I am in aguish at the thought of even having an extra quarter of an avocado for lunch.

Because that is where I am going to start - bulking up my lunches a little. At the moment, I tend to have a big salad with a fillet of white fish or a bit of avocado. Plenty of vitamins and nutrients but not many calories! So, I am going for some "bigger hitters" - oily fish, a WHOLE avocado, maybe a bit of cheese...But I am sure it will take more than this.

I will go back to University. And when I graduate, there's going to be one epic party - and you're invited!

Is there any hope?

"Now don't be surprised when you see that you've put on weight - remember that's OK, it's part of the plan, and we have been eating TO put on weight, all those extra calories per day - you've been eating like a pig, so brace yourself, don't get upset when you see it's gone up...remember, it's for your PhD..."

This was the conversation I had with myself when I stepped on the scales this morning. It's been over two weeks since I last checked my weight and since then I have carried on eating an extra 300 calories a day on top of my normal diet. Unfortunately, I haven't been so good at managing the 'two complete rest days each week from the gym', often popping over to 'do a few weights' or a bit of cardio. It doesn't help that I live so close - I can see it from my window, after all! But I honestly had no idea what was going on with my weight in the meantime. I had quite a few episodes of stomach bloating - which made me feel enormous and convinced me that I have gained a tonne of weight. The worst day was sparked off by a packet of spicy fermented mushrooms, which I used to love to stir into spinach with a bit of ricotta cheese. Sadly, it looks as though my stomach just simply cannot handle any level of spice these days, so this meal ( along with most curries ) is off the cards now. And then on several days I was paranoid that my legs were grossly swollen - elephantine even -compared with the svelte figures around me in the gym. Possibly this was caused by a touch of oedema ( water retention ) as this has been quite a problem in the past. So, there was a strong case in my mind that I had gained a little at least.

And yet there were also subtle signs that my weight might have dropped. My skin has taken a turn for the worse - my hands are permanently cracked and bleeding, despite me carrying moisturiser everywhere. Sitting on hard surfaces has become noticeably more painful ...and I woke this morning with my hips aching just from lying in bed. I haven't experienced that since my very 'dark days' and it was a worrying sign. But nothing could have prepared me for the result.

I have lost even more weight.

And the worst part......

......a secret, shameful, hateful part of me was pleased.

So, I am now even further away from getting back to my PhD.

And what did I do today?

I went to town to do my weekly big shop, staggering back with bags of fruit, vegetables, fish - in short, very healthy but very low calorie foods for the week ahead. And later...well I had booked a place on the evening spin cycle class so I had to go didn't I? Had to go and slog it out for over an hour on the bike doing hills, sprints, power surges....

I feel trapped. If I go under six stone, I know part of me will give up. It will just seem an impossible task in too short a time. I have got nothing to lose now and EVERYTHING to fight for but I still can't seem to break the cycle! Whywywhywhy???!!!

In Touching the Void, mountaineer Joe Simpson recounts how, after breaking his leg then falling into a crevasse, he crawled down the mountainside of Siula Grande in agony over several days to return to camp. He describes how, even in the midst of unimaginable pain, an inner voice compelled him, forbidding him to rest and driving him on. I can relate to that exactly - only my voice is turned against my happiness, even my own survival. Each day it compels me to exercise, to not eat more than my allotted portion, to distract myself from the fact that things have to change.  It can't see past the short term of each day, convincing me that it is better to obey the voice and to avoid the guilt that would otherwise ensue. It deceives me in thinking that getting through this day is the only thing that matters, hiding over the fact that there is a longer term plan which I need to keep.

And I know that the short-term guilt of missing the gym one day would not AT ALL COMPARE with how I would hate myself when I am thrown out of the University for good.

I had better get to bed. It's cardio tomorrow morning....and maybe a few weights at the end of the session.

Help.