Hey, You.

Here is how I feel today.



*smiles sweetly*

You have a good day, now.

I Am So Proud Of Me

Today is Sunday, mes amis, and I haven't done a thing.

I didn't wake up until one o'clock, so even though it's eight thirty, I've only been awake for seven and a half hours. I haven't brushed my hair. (I have, however, brushed my teeth.) I haven't gotten dressed. I haven't gone outside. I haven't washed my dishes, haven't done my laundry, haven't gone to see a movie, haven't gone to the coffee shop to write.

I have done literally nothing but watch crap on hulu since I woke up at 1:00PM today.

A couple of hours ago, I realised that I was feeling vaguely bad about something. The kind of vague bad feeling that quickly spirals down into the Pit of Cyclical Self-Hate if you don't watch out. Incomplete, unfinished, guilty--all of those old friends, you know the ones. So I stopped what I was doing. I paused the video, slowed my breathing, and had a little heart-to-heart with myself.

This is what I discovered:

I was feeling guilty for having done nothing much today. I was mad at myself for not doing more, not trying harder. I was beating up on myself for it.

It was that damn Harsh Inner Monologue again, the one that stuns even trained therapists.

Flannery! Do we need to have that talk about self-compassion again? Apparently, we do.

Let's review:

This time three years ago, I was starting my first really hard-core downward slide, cycle dieting with breathtaking speed--down ten pounds one week, up fifteen the next, lather, rinse, repeat. This time two years ago, I was so depressed that even the level of activity I have exhibited today would have been out of my reach. This time last year, I was in denial about my ability to handle both school and recovery, and was very close to failing out.

But every day, I worked on my recovery.

Every day, I woke up. Sometimes it was only for an hour, somewhere in the afternoon, but I got up. I ate when I wanted to starve, and forgave myself when I wanted to binge. I kept going. When I couldn't, I worked to forgive myself, so that I could try again. I learned to interrupt my Harsh Inner Monologue, to stop it before it could get on a roll. I learned to trust the opinion of my treatment team, and to have faith in the recovery process. I learned that just because it's something I've always thought, that doesn't mean it's something that is true.

A lot of the people in my life will never truly understand the depth of the pit out of which I have dragged myself. I've lost some friends to it--but I've gained others, who I hope will be in my life a long time. You know who you are.

Looking back on it now, I cannot believe what I have pushed myself through.

And look at me now!

Now, I work 36 hours over six days each week, sometimes more. Five of those days I work the opening shift, which means I have to be there by 8:30AM. I spend several nights each week with other people. In fact, I spent Friday night with friends. I spent Wednesday night with friends! I write poetry again. I write fiction (albeit very slowly) again.

This week alone I've written three poems, two chapters, and a few blog posts. I've gone to work every day except today--and will be going back tomorrow--and dealt with all its petty drama with aplomb. I hung out with my friends twice.

Two years ago, I would not have been able to do one of those things. A year ago, I would not have been able to do half of those things. Six months ago, I would not have been able to do all those things together.

But, while I'm so much better, I do still suffer from depression. I do still have a tendency to push myself too far too quickly and thereby run the risk of relapse. I do still have a limited amount of motivation to work with, and I do still have to work daily at forgiving myself for that lack of perfection.


So, Flannery, as for today--

MAYBE YOU JUST NEEDED A BREAK.

Can't You Just Try Harder?

No, and I'll tell you why.

It's a commonly held and consistently wrong opinion that people who are depressed only need to try a little harder and then they'd be better.

The problem (ok, one of the problems) with that is that it assumes that the person isn't already trying as hard as they possibly can. Here's the thing: trying harder when you are depressed looks very, very different from trying harder when you are not.

Telling someone with depression that they would be able to do something if they just tried a little harder is like telling someone with a broken leg that they would be able to run a marathon tomorrow, if they just tried a little harder.

No. No, they wouldn't. They simply do not have the capacity at that moment in time to do that! No matter what, that person with the broken leg would not be able to run that marathon the next day. No matter what. They wouldn't even be able to walk it.

With the caveat that depression is slightly different for everyone, here are the most common symptoms of depression*:

"- difficulty concentrating, remembering details, and making decisions
- fatigue and decreased energy
- feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and/or helplessness
- feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism
- insomnia, early-morning wakefulness, or excessive sleeping
- irritability, restlessness
- loss of interest in activities or hobbies once pleasurable, including sex
- overeating or appetite loss
- persistent aches or pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems that do not ease even with treatment
- persistent sad, anxious, or "empty" feelings
- thoughts of suicide, suicide attempts"

DEPRESSION IS NOT JUST FEELING SAD. IT IS NOT EVEN JUST FEELING SUPER-DUPER-EXTRA SAD. Depression is losing the motivation to the things you love, no matter how much you love them. No matter how hard you try to do them, you CANNOT.

People with serious depression simply do. not. have. the capacity to the things they want to do. Or, indeed, the things you want them to do. A lot of time they don't have the capacity to even remember to want to do them.

I am always, always trying my hardest.

When waking up--simply being conscious--is the most difficult thing you can bring yourself to do all day, getting out of bed at all is trying harder.

When getting up is the most difficult thing you can bring yourself to do all day, getting dressing is trying harder.

When getting dressed is the most difficult thing you can bring yourself to do all day, going outside is trying harder.


The idea that someone would be able to do something more than what they're already doing in spite of their depression because you've given them this amazing and totally original advice and that it will then somehow fix them faster is LAUGHABLE.

It's hurful, too. Imagine: you already feel like fried shit, because, hey, YOU'RE DEPRESSED, and then someone--who is not depressed--tells you that it's your fault and that you're just being lazy and that if you just tried a little harder they bet you'd get better in no time! You know that it's not true, but you don't know how to argue that getting out of bed for you is comprable to sky-diving for them. You do know that it doesn't matter what you say, they will not believe you, because, hey, you're depressed, so what do you know?


Just something to think about.


*webmd

Over-Identifying With Depression

Ah, mes amis! This week's therapy session was awesome.

I've been having this vague feeling for a few weeks that maybe this horribly depressed, constantly terrified, unbelievably self-conscious person I am right now is not my actual True Self, as I had previously thought. This concept was very difficult for me to articulate. I kept feeling like I wasn't getting it across. The only way I could think to convey it was to keep listing examples:

I used to audition for everything.

I used to be in all kinds of performance--choirs, a cappella groups, bands, jazz bands, plays, musicals--and not only that, I'd fight to have as big a part as possible. I'd try to be subtle about it...sometimes...but I definitely wanted to have MORE LINES THAN ANYONE.

I used to write poetry all the time. I was constantly scribbling things down.

Now, auditioning is something that is completely out of my reach, as is any kind of performance. No way could I do those things right now without severe consequences to my recovery. On the plus side, I recently started writing poetry again, which I haven't done in roughly 4 years. And that right there is a real indication of how bad I was, and how much better I am now.

But I digress. (Much as I did trying to explain this to Y.)


Eventually, I ran out of examples.

"So what you're saying," Y replied, "is that you have over-identified with your depression. Is that what you're saying? That you've had it for so long that you have confused yourself with it."

BAM!

Super-Therapist strikes again, mes amis.

Always happy to believe the worst of myself, when the depression supplied such a tasty buffet of horrible things to believe about myself--lazy, slow, stupid, scared--I just lapped it up. This is how you are. This is how I am. This is how you will always be. This is how I will always be. This is how you have always been. This is how I've always been. This is who you really are. This is who I really am.

But it's not.

I was brainwashed. By my own brain! My poor brain, trying so hard to cope with all the overwhelming life changes I was hurling at it. Don't worry, smart little brain. I will fix you.

It must be very strange to be friends with someone whose appearance has changed as drastically as mine has these last few years.

It must be very strange to watch your friend gain 60 pounds in the space of three months. To watch her not-bad skin become bad skin. To watch her clothing sizes bounce around like a stray rubber ball.

But then, it must also be very strange to watch her go from being The Fearless One, whom you would always get to order for you, to being the one who could not get out of bed and go to school if her life depended on it, the very idea of professors and other students shooting her into spirals of fear and depression.

Right? It must be very weird indeed to watch that happen from the outside.

I spent yesterday with my oldest college friends, and I kept remembering how similar we all used to be. I think the main difference was that I looked the same as they did--pretty, small if not exactly thin, outgoing, etc--and so they assumed that I was the same as they were, and treated me as if I were the same as they were. But I always felt I was fooling them a little. Making them think I was cooler than I actually was.

Maybe I was just that cool. Maybe I am just that cool.

I recently read Harriet Brown's book Brave Girl Eating (and you should, too*), and what struck me was her absolute certainty that her daughter had not always been like the disease made her. That the happy child she had been was the truth, and the sad and withdrawn and angry child was the lie. Throughout the book, she maintains an almost super-human belief that the disease is temporary and has nothing to do with who her daughter actually is.

I've talked before about how I felt when I started to get fat. Instead of horrifying me, it was oddly victorious. I knew that this was how I 'really' looked; the rest of the time I had just been lying to people. That's a theme in my life: feeling like I was fooling anyone who thought positively of me. When people liked me it was because I had tricked them. When people thought I was pretty it was because they liked me as a person--which, you'll recall, was me tricking them--and that was blinding them to how I really looked.

Once it started happening, it felt like my depression had always been waiting to happen. Lurking inside all these years, waiting to get out. Much in same way that the fat had--see a connection there?

Here is what Harriet Brown's book said to me about that:

Bullshit.

Bullshit this is how you always were, Flannery.

This all sounds so disordered when it's all stacked together like this. It made so much sense to me at the time... Even now, it's whispering at me don't fool yourself, Flannery, you know this is true, you know people only like you because you're tricking them, why would anybody ever like you...

So which you is the real you? The person the disorder tells you you are, or the person your friends tell you are?

I think I've proven that I'm a pretty poor judge of myself. Maybe it's time to listen to people who actually like me instead. Easier said than done, as always, but no harm in trying.



*although it comes with the same warning all AN memoirs do--there are some triggering things, and some things the disorder would take and run with, so I would say definitely don't read it if you're anorexic and still in the process of regaining.

Being Yourself

Last night I watched Billy Elliot for the first time.

This is surprising in itself, because Billy Elliot is precisely My Kind Of Movie, that by rights I should have already seen 20 times and know off by heart--but for whatever reason, that hadn't happened, and so I saw it for the first time last night.

There is a scene where Billy stands, petrified, before his father, having been discovered dancing in secret, once again. The moment stretches on and on, Billy's face filled with terror and defiance and anger, his father's with anger and confusion and fear. And then Billy's face hardens, and he begins to dance.

The bravery, the determination in his little face as he fights to be himself--it was a sledgehammer to my heart. I remember thinking over and over, He is so brave to simply be himself.

And the I realized that, when I was Billy's age, that expression was the stupidest thing ever. Be yourself? Be yourself? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? How could I be somebody else? I'm always me. It's not like I suddenly transform into Amy or Tiffany or Jack if I'm not paying attention. I'm Flannery, and I'm always Flannery, and there's fuck all I can do about it, I'd think to myself.

But that's just a patent misunderstanding, isn't it?

I don't know when the shift happened, when I began to understand just how hard it is to be exactly who you are, at all times. All I know is that I understand it now, because watching that scene made me cry, both with pride of Billy and with jealousy of him. It's hard to be yourself, even when you're not a little boy from north England trying to dance ballet.

And I don't know who I am, to be myself! I feel like I have five puzzle pieces missing, and so I have to make me up a lot of the time. Being yourself is not so simple, nor so easy, as the two-word phrase would lead you to believe. It is an art as difficult and delicate as ballet, and takes just about as much practice.

When FA and ED Collide, Then Explode

[TW for images of ED behavior and trivializing]

So Joy Nash's new video has gone down in a storm--a shit storm, that is.



Honestly, it's not hard to see why. (If you can't watch it, or if she's taken it down, it's a satiric ad for a 'weight-loss' product--sticks to make you vomit!)

I'm a fan of facing the dark parts of oneself by mocking them, but this is not that, and here's why:

It's not so much that Joy is making fun of BN*, it’s that she’s making BN seem like an extension of vanity. It’s not funny because it’s been done a million times. Like, seriously. A million times. I think that it’s getting strong reactions from those who, like I, deal with an ED, because this common-public-opinion-but-totally-WRONG idea that ED's are just about appearance is the number one thing that gets thrown in the faces of people with ED’s.

”You’re just doing this to be thin! If you just got over yourself, you would be able to stop!”

It's just because you want to be prettier, not because you have a serious mental disorder!

Supremely unhelpful.

Eating Disorders are mental disorders. They are OCD in a different form. They are not a weight-loss plan, nor a diet, nor a Totes-Not-A-Diet-Weight-Watchers-Totally-Not-A-Diet diet. And, in the same way that OCD is not about how many times I turn the light on and off, Eating Disorders are not about the weight, loss or gain thereof. I.e., they are the symptoms, not the actual problem.

This was disappointing to me because I feel that Joy is more original than this, and has no need to rely on old, un-true, and hurtful tropes to destabilize the Diet-Is-Best Establishment.

And that's where FA comes into this: Joy is a proponent of the Fat Acceptance movement. She is not a spokesperson for ED Recovery in any way. And she tells us exactly what her intent is:

PLEASE NOTE: My intention was definitely not to offend or hurt anyone suffering from an eating disorder. I was attempting to satirize the cavalier way that the weight loss industry will push disturbing and harmful "products" under the guise of promoting health.

I really apologize if I've missed the mark and offended you.
I'm definitely considering removing this.

The thing about intent, though, is that it's not an eraser. Just because you didn't mean it that way doesn't mean that it isn't, actually, that way.

The point she was making was that the diet industry does not give one tiny little mouse poop about the long-lasting physical damage its products do to people. And that's a great point! It's a super-valid, super-important point that needs to be made, over and over, louder and louder, until the FDA start actually giving a shit about fat people.

But this video showed BN behavior, not a ridiculous diet product. And that's where it falls down, for me.


On the plus side, Joy is actually listening to this response, instead of telling us to suck it up and get over ourselves. (Because she is AWESOME, as I've told you.) She is considering taking the video down.

*For the record, I don't think she ever would make of an ED on purpose. But it is possible to do these things without meaning to.