Can Holidays ever by Happy-Days?

Italy can be a hard place to be if you're a (recovering) anorexic. Especially if you don't eat the 3 Ps: Pizza, Pasta and Polenta...

I have just returned from nine days in Venice, alone. It is a trip I have been looking forward to since I returned from my visit last year. It's a cliché, but there really is nowhere else like it. The light on the water is simply magical and I will never tire of watching the gondolas slip quietly along the canals.

But it's impossible to only see the scenery. Everywhere you look, there are temples of worship to the Italian cuisine. Endless gelato counters, patisseries groaning with delicate treats, enough pizza to feed an army... Venice (or at least the San Marco district) must surely have one of the highest densities of cafes and trattorias in the world. I really do struggle with it - especially as I am separated from my beloved gym, so fret about not burning off the calories I consume. I hate being confronted on every corner by gorgeous-looking food, so calorific that it is 'off limits' for me. But I knew it would be like this, so I made a plan before I departed.

I know that it is not good for me to be 'on the edge' all the time, hovering over the minimum weight I need to be to be allowed back onto my PhD. What if I caught the flu or had a bad case of diarrhoea?
What I really need is a 'safety net' - a few extra pounds that can keep me over the minimum level if anything crops up. So, just for once, I was going to relax and enjoy my holiday - and not worry about doing enough exercise and even try and treat myself. Just for once, I was going to break out of my shallow life constrained by rules and restrictions and 'forbidden foods'. And if I put on any weight - good!

At first, things went well. It was hot and sunny - perfect weather for enjoying a gelato. I went in churches, museums, monasteries...and even some of the patisseries recommended by native locals. I did actually manage to treat myself and enjoyed the best tiramisu I had ever tasted. When it came to the restaurants though, most of the menus weren't an option for me- try asking for anything without spaghetti when you don't speak Italian. As one waiter put it "If you don't eat pasta or pizza ...it's difficult in Italy". Fortunately, the deli counters in the Coop supermarkets were a cut above their British counterparts - sea food salads, fish, cheese, olives, marinated vegetables...I had many happy picnics watching the sun set over the lagoon.

Beats the local Tesco!

But I couldn't stop fretting. Every time I saw an early-morning jogger, I cursed my decision to leave my running shoes behind. I couldn't stop counting the days until I could start working out again. Even though I was spending nearly all day on my feet, crossing endless streets and bridges, I felt so lazy and the guilt began to creep up. One morning, I just felt that I couldn't eat any more. Whether it was sickness from something I ate or 'Anna' getting into me, I can't tell. I didn't eat much for the next two days. By the time my appetite returned, the weather had changed - cold, grey and rainy. I never got to Nicco's after all - supposedly the best ice cream parlour in Venice. By then, I was so cold that a gelato was the last thing on my mind!

I feel so sad that I cannot even visit the place most dear to my heart without bringing all these senseless worries with me. Who, on their deathbed, wishes that they had spent more time worrying? It puts me off from going anywhere at all. Will I become a complete hermit, never venturing forth to see the world, kept a prisoner by these fears?

It rained...

But it wasn't all misery. I did catch some of the 'Italian spirit' of living life to the full - the bursting flavours of the food, their devotion to family, the monumental artworks. I hope it can inspire me to introduce more colour and light into my own life, whether it is in my paintings or in the kitchen.

The best place I ate at in Venice was Cocaeta - a tiny creperie off the main tourist drag. It really is an Aladdin's cave filled with sweet and savoury ingredients, enough to make over 100 different combinations. On my first visit, I (eventually!) chose courgette, aubergine, cream cheese and walnut cream. The first bite was sensational - rich and sensual, everything bouncing off each other. Now this was real food.

I felt a shadow watching me mournfully from a distance. Stuff you Anna I thought. You would never have let me enjoy this.

Here's hope for the future.

At the cross roads again: will I have a half-life or finally find freedom?

"And life goes on..."

Such a true phrase.  I spend nine months preparing for my Walk of Witness but now that the challenge is done, life goes on. As the world turns and puts even more days between the walk's completion and the present, its significance seems to pale and it becomes harder and harder to reconnect to those moments of true peace that I felt on the journey.

Life goes on. And as I take my eye off the ball, Anna starts to worm her way back in.

I have just spent a few days with my parents in the house I grew up in. It has been a tense time, for reasons not entirely down to myself (including my father having sprained his ankle) but I do feel mostly responsible. When you live alone, it is easy to kid yourself that you are 'managing fine', and keeping your illness under control, like a high-maintenance pet. But when you are living at close quarters with others, it is more difficult to keep up obsessive behaviours and compulsive food rules. 

I know that my parents concern stems from their love for me. But it doesn't stop me from getting frustrated when my actions upset them, even if I can predict it in advance. I should have known that taking advantage of a half price sale on 10 calorie jellies would upset my mum ("I thought you had stopped counting calories..."). And that wearing a slightly tighter T shirt would prompt a lecture from my dad on how important it is for me to maintain my weight. I can't hide anything from them, even as I slip back into restrictive habits. My mum soon noticed that I hadn't been having my usual dried fruit and nuts with my breakfast, or that I often skipped my lunchtime treat and after-noon snacks. Whereas my dad picked up that I have been trying to do longer runs than on my last visit home, to make up for not being able to go to the gym.

And of course it makes them anxious. They can see, all too easily, that they are losing their daughter again to anoreixa. I can't bear to upset them, but the guilt is becoming insurmountable again. I long to enjoy a slice of cake or a nice dessert (that wasn't from the weight watchers range) but as soon as I put it in my mouth I would detest myself for being so greedy and fat,fat,fat... My life is shrinking again into a cycle of compulsive exercise, calorie counting and becoming increasingly preoccupied with food: a half-life. A selfish life that hurts others. A life where one of my favourite pastimes is to prowl the aisles of supermarkets, lingering by the sugary goods, but without buying anything. I have been rotten company these past few days - tired, irritable and distant. When my poor mum has tried to encourage me, pointing out the different foods we have in the house, I have just snapped or turned away, not wanting to be tempted by it all.

This can't go on. 

But I have a chance to get back on the right path. Tomorrow I depart for my proper 'holiday' - over a week in the place most dear to my heart: Venice. The place where I am happiest and feel closest to God. I won't be able to run, let alone gym, and all I can do is be open to receive whatever blessings God will give me as I spend time in the holy places there. The light on the water is magical and in it I can hope to be reborn. 

For once, maybe, I can be nearly normal...or at least find some happiness. Hopefully it will give me space to think and draw strength....if only it could be enough to finally throw off this demon. 

We will see. I wish you a good week.