Hello…

It seems very strange for me to write this column- to be honest I don’t where to begin, even what I should write. What does one write in their very first column? So I shall begin simply introducing myself. My name is Mel, but to be completely honest it means very little to me. A foreign and distant word that is somehow attached to this body I inhabit. Basically, I have very little concept of me existing as a person. I am to put bluntly… an anorexic. Anyone, who has battled or known someone who has fought the &#lsquo;beast’ of an eating disorder, knows that life, personality and spirit are consumed by the disorder. A person instead becomes a &#lsquo;being’ driven by absurd yet utterly overwhelming needs and desires instead. A pawn pushed to and fro across a chess board with no control of their own. Forced to sacrifice their wellbeing; even their very existence at the whim of the illness that controls them.

This is the place where I write from. I write from a clouded and darkened world, a broken and shattered life. I am a puppet. My tangled strings ensnared in the grasping fingers of an utterly destructive illness; those manipulating fingers contorting my mind and body to perform at its will. The greatest cruelty of anorexia for me is that you become unable to trust yourself and your mind. Your mind becomes a thorny maze of hidden traps; a minefield that you become unable to trust yourself and your mind. Your mind becomes a thorny maze of hidden traps; a minefield that threatens your safety, every step you take. Your eyes cannot be trusted to send you a truthful picture of the world. What I see, perceive and think, don’t add up. It’s like being able to see, but at the same time being blind. Like somehow, all those axons have got tangled up, like they haven’t crossed over properly in the optic chiasm or something and thus action potentials are firing randomly. I think that is the hardest part of it all, to be misled and impaled on thoughts that whisper words of safety. Utter treachery, in the disguise of sweet seduction.

I have battled this illness for so many years now, it has become my existence. The thoughts consume my every waking hour; even haunt my sleep with my dreams touched by anorexia’s hand. Through anorexia I live, though often I wonder why. My mind and soul is just a tangled mess, thorned branches catch me as I stumble along trying to avoid the barbed arrows of thoughts that are fired at me from every direction. I just get so confused. Every action is a double-edged sword, I cannot win whatever choice I make, whatever I see and do, it will be wrong, while at the same time being right.

The hopelessness of my situation consumes me much of the time. It comes crashing over me in remorseless waves if despair, guilt and self-loathing each day. The waves knock me into the water, twisting and somersaulting my body about like a limp rag doll. Immersing me in a swirling mass of darkness and pure force that I am helpless against. I feel the suffocation and a part of me longs for the air above, but I cannot find the surface in that roaring, raging mass. While another part of me, just longs to stay there in the void of blackness, feeling the release it offers against the torturous life above. Despite the agonising pressure for air, the need for survival. I long so much just to have the bravery to die. But I know I cannot give in, but it seems impossible to the path to life instead. So instead I struggle up to the surface, struggle onto my feet and turn to face the next onslaught. Let my body get battered and knocked into the sharp and abrading sand. Its roughened surface grazing my skin, as the salt water burns against the open wounds. I cannot seem to walk towards the shoreline away from the onslaught. Instead I am caught, paralysed. Circling around and around in my mind, confused. Reaching for something, yet drawing away at the same time.

But deep down I know I am reaching for HOPE. That is why the butterfly means so much to me. I have been a &#lsquo;very hungry caterpillar’ for so long and now I am imprisoned in a woven cocoon of barbed wire. But every cocoon breaks, and the desperate struggle for the butterfly to emerge is necessary for it to open its wings and fly free. I cling to that thought, though it seems impossible to me that I will ever break free and fly to embrace life again. However, the butterfly is a constant reminder to me to believe and hold onto hope. For I know the journey to become a beautiful butterfly takes time, effort and patience. It is struggle for so many women to emerge from their own private cocoons, but this journey I have to believe is achievable and necessary to fully embrace identity, beauty and life.

Anorexia has burnt through my life much like a wildfire, reducing my life to world of ashes and burnt remanets. I am chained to the stake yet oblivious to the flames that have been encasing my body, scorching my flesh and bone, slowly cremating me. I am staring at the ashes and charred debris of a broken life. But nature reminds us constantly that life can emerge from the destruction-new life can unfurl from the blackened world. I write this a difficult point of my battle with this illness; the sense and knowledge of the pinnacle of the cliff’s edge I am presently standing reminding me of the reason why I have to attempt to struggle towards reclaiming health and life. I feel I have walked so many miles already, tripping and stumbling along trying to find my own life path; trying to avoiding the seduction of anorexia- pulling me down paths that lead ultimately to death. Recently, I haven’t been very successful in out-stepping anorexia in what is ultimately a dance of death. I have fallen into its suffocating yet comforting embrace, my feet barely touching the ground as I am swept about the dance-floor in a dizzying whirl. Yet, my feet are desperate to take my own steps, even though it is difficult to get my footing on the waxed floor.

I am determined to take this next step on my journey of reclaiming, recreating and relearning the meaning of existence and sense of self. I have shared very personal thoughts and emotions, but I hope that through my writing and sharing that I can touch others in their own personal journeys. Encourage and support each other as we take the steps forwards, help each other as we stumble and fall, tend to each other’s wounds as we each journey on our own twisting path of discovery.