A Letter Straight From The Heart

Dear Pro-Ana Seeker,

I’m not writing this letter to try and fix you or change the way you are. I’m not writing it as a disclaimer in case someone tries to sue me for “inciting anorexic tendencies” or some nonsense. I’m writing this letter from the heart, to tell you things that you probably won’t believe right now, but that might help you one day.

I used to be just like you, as you can see by reading my blogs. I used to starve myself and fast for days on end. I used to cry and hate myself when I ate. I alienated my friends and family who couldn’t understand why I was “doing this to them”. I lost everything, all to lose weight because I was so convinced that if I could just be perfect, then I would be happy.

I know you came here looking for pro-ana stuff. I used to spend hours and hours online on pro-ana sites and blogs and searching diets and thinspo too. I know you don’t want to read a lecture about recovery. I know you’re probably not interested in that at the moment. But I want you to bookmark this page, or print out this post and keep it. Keep it for as long as it takes. And when you decide that it is time for you to try and get better, read it again. Because I want to tell you something.

Getting better is worth it. It’s worth the fighting and the exhaustion and the set-backs. It’s worth the tears and the horrible feeling of being too full. It’s worth sitting there for two hours to finish a child-size meal, because the next time, you’ll do it in an hour and forty-five. It gets better. Slowly but surely, it really does get better.

I used to sit in my group therapy sessions and barely listen to the recovered people who told me it was worth it, who told me it would be better if I recovered. I used to ignore my friends and family telling me that there was so much more to life than this. I thought they didn’t understand, that I was doing things a better, superior, special way. I knew I was doing things right. But now I’ve got much better, I realise what they meant. Things really are better.

I know this letter isn’t going to make you recover. But I just want you to know, that you can do it one day. One day you’ll be able to be happy without having to starve yourself. You’ll smile and actually mean it. You’ll have the energy to run around with your friends. You’ll be able to wear what you want, not just clothes that hide your bones, and you won’t have to wear a million layers to keep warm.

Recovery is so possible. And so worth it.

I know you’re probably thinking you wouldn’t mind being able to eat if it didn’t make you fat. I know that’s what you’re afraid of. Well, I’m not going to say I don’t feel fat sometimes. I do. But it’s still early days at the moment. Yes, you’ll have to gain weight, but honestly, it’s not as much as you imagine. You’ll feel fatter, yes, but you’ll feel healthier too. You don’t realise it at the moment, but the cold, the tiredness, the distant feeling, getting worn out after the smallest bit of exercise or movement, the heart palpitations, the constant feeling of being under the weather… those are all feelings you’ve got used to. You hardly notice them anymore. But once you’re a bit better, and weigh a little tiny bit more, you’ll realise that it’s not normal to feel that ill all the time. And it’s much better not to!

Part of me feels a bit bad for writing this, because I know if I were in your shoes right now, reading this, I would be angry at someone trying to tell me to get better. Especially on a pro-ana blog, which I came to looking for proper pro-ana stuff, not things telling me to try and recover. You’re obviously free to look around the rest of my blog, honestly, this is the only thing that’s going to tell you to get better. My blogs document three years of my life, most of which I’ve spent in the grips of anorexia, so there’s plenty of eating disorder stuff here. I just hope that one day, you’ll remember this post. One day, you’ll look back at it and it’ll feel right, and you’ll feel ready to seek help.

You deserve better than anorexia or bulimia. And you can have better. One day, it’ll all be better for you, I promise.

I understand you’re probably hurting at the moment and that you need support. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I’m not going to lecture you about recovery, I know you have to decide for yourself to do that. I’ll just listen, be a shoulder to cry on – whatever you want. Anytime, about anything.

You can send me an email: georgie.wood@hotmail.co.uk

I hope things get better for you.

Best wishes & much love,

Georgie

xoxo

 

Oh Wow

So I just dropped by here to check the dashboard and things as I do from time to time… I didn’t realise people still actively searched for this particular blog. I’m sorry to disappoint by not having written anything here. The fact is, I don’t write here anymore because it had become kind of… outdated.

Friends who had disappeared into my past could keep up with my present without actually keeping in touch with me, and that bothered me a bit. I mean, that’s what you get for keeping a blog. Anyway, I write on a new blog now. I’m happy for you to read it if you really really want to, but you’ll have to drop me an email here georgie.wood@hotmail.co.uk for me to consider letting you have the url. It’s not private, but it is blocked from searches so you won’t find it.

Hope you’re all well,

Love

Georgie.

XO

P.S. Jess & Kryssy, if you read this please please please drop me an email, I miss you!! <3

Riz, I really need to talk to you. Something bad has happened.

Love. x

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I had a very shit week last week. I’m not sure why, but I reached some peak of destructiveness. I missed a lot of classes, drank loads and loads all week to forget all the bad things that seemed to be happening. I tried so hard not to eat, and succeeded. Walked so much I eventually had to just stay in bed for hours and hours during the day to rest. When I eventually did eat, I threw it all up. On purpose. But I didn’t seem to be losing any weight, and I couldn’t explain what was wrong, I didn’t know why I felt like that. So I hacked away at my wrists. It’s okay, it sounds a lot worse than it is. I went to my friend, D, and talked to him all night and he stayed with me and sorted my arms out and made me feel a little less afraid and angry and fucked up.

I don’t know why I felt like that. I have no idea why. I think perhaps it was just a build up of bad feeling, sadness and anger from so many months of pretending everything is beautiful. I’m the happy one, the one that’s always smiling. I’m the one that helps everyone else with their problems, and never talks about her own. D saw through that as soon as he met me. Once I told him one thing, my house of cards fell down. It might be hard for you to believe, because I spent so much time talking about how I felt at RLS, but here… no one knows a thing. I’m always so so happy. Or seem to be.

Things are a little better now. My feelings still completely confuse me. I don’t know why I feel or act how I feel and act. But I’m trying to put things right. I’m trying to fill my days with useful things, work and reading and looking after myself instead of being so destructive. I hope that these feelings go away soon. I feel better this week, so I hope that continues. I just feel like I should… write… write what happened last week. To keep a note, y’know?

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Last Night

Last night I went out with my new flatmate and her friends. They’ve just arrived here from America. They’ve never been clubbing before because you can’t drink till you’re 21 in America, so last night was their first time. We had such a totally awesome time. Like so good. At about half past two in the morning Emily and her friends decided to head home, but I stayed out with my other flatmate, Mo and his friends. We went to another club, where we danced for a few more hours and some guys got in a fight and the bouncers got covered in blood but we had a nice time. It was good. Then they wanted to get some food before we went back home. While we were sat in this little fast food place, Mo came over and said.

“Hey Georgie, you look a bit bigger than you did last term… must have eaten loads and had a good christmas, huh?”

I want to die.

Like, actually, worst thing EVER. Why why why would you say that?? To anyone. I mean he doesn’t know about my past ED stuff, but even so, who says that to people?

And last night I was talking to James and saying how I really do want to get back to eating healthily and keep getting better. Now I’m not so sure. I know I shouldn’t let one comment knock me, but like, that’s a BAD one comment. I just feel like I want to lose a little bit of weight. Just a tiny bit. To get back to how I was last semester.

One week ago I fell very very ill with flu. When that poorly, food isn’t top of your list of things to do. I barely ate anything at all for four days, and so, by Monday, when I was feeling a little better – it was quite apparent I’d lost weight. So I thought I’d find out how much.

That was a silly thing to do. Now I’ve weighed myself everyday since Monday. My weight is 117 which is such a lot. =(

I’m not really sure how I feel about it or what to do about it or anything. Hm.

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I really hate being ill.

And I’m always fricking ill for new year; what’s with that?

If I feel like this tomorrow, there is no hope in hell of me going to my new year’s party. Bad times. I wouldn’t mind if it was any other meet-up, but this is the one everyone’s making the effort to get to – people I haven’t seen in like, forever. If I’m feeling a little better, I thought maybe I’d go for a few hours but then come home and sleep. Idk though, taxis are expensive on NYE and I don’t want to pass on my hideous germs to all my friends…

I feel shit in every way. Something that’s been prying on my mind though – I know I’ve lost weight. I can tell. Which makes me anxious. Because it makes me want to weigh myself just to check… just to see… and I know that’s not going to do anything – because I never knew what my weight was before I came home for Christmas. I haven’t known my weight for like… six weeks or so. So I know that if I weigh myself, it’ll be more than I’m used to it being, but less than it has been, if that makes sense.

Urgh, I don’t even know what I mean. I just…. I know I’ve lost weight and it’s freaking me out…

My Life Is Feeling Like a Little Bit of a Disaster Zone Right Now

I really feel like I want to get back to uni ASAP. I have two pieces of coursework to do and an exam to revise for – but at home I’m struggling to motivate myself. I’m not sure why.

I feel tired all the time and I have no concentration. Being home is just kind of, getting me down I guess. I don’t think it helps that I accidentally left my prescription supplements and stuff in Norwich, so I haven’t been able to take them the past two weeks. Which is shit. I think they were genuinely making me feel much brighter and more healthy. Now my skin is all dry and I’ve got lots of spots and my teeth are sensitive and shit. All of those things are because of vitamin deficiency. It sucks.

I’m not feeling so comfortable in myself at the moment. Being home… I don’t know, I feel all not good enough and inadequate and stuff. And because I get no network on my phone, I feel really isolated and lonely. I can’t call or text anyone, so if they’re not online then I can’t talk to them. And some people have genuinely thought I hated them and stopped texting – thinking my silence was me ignoring them, when really, I never even got their messages. Which is sad.

Eating’s been kind of iffy. Like, I’m not consciously not eating. But I haven’t eaten properly or evenly. I’ve kind of just snacked and missed lots of meals because I’ve been eating cakes or crisps or something instead. After getting really drunk the last few times I went out because I didn’t eat, I resolved that I ought to eat proper dinners before I go out. I have every intention of doing this. But haven’t done so because both times I’ve planned to go out at say, half 8 and ended up having to hurry to get ready to leave by much earlier due to other people giving me lifts and stuff. Which means I’ve skipped dinner. And got super drunk.

Last night, I wasn’t very drunk, which is good. Because going out and coming back wasted was getting to me, I don’t like it, I don’t make a habit of it and I don’t want people to think that’s just what I’m like. Because I’m not. But I was very upset. I came home and this guy who I’m sort of close friends with… we don’t talk very often, but when we do we get on well… we went out about four years ago. Anyway, he had a massive go at me last night. He said everytime he talks to me I seem to have been out drinking or be leaving to go out drinking. He said I’ve turned into someone he doesn’t know. He said really horrid things to me, like:

“What’s that to do with the fact you’re becoming a drunken whore though?”
“The Georgie I know wouldn’t have let herself get into this state in the first place”
“You’ll just catch something, get pregnant or get alcohol poisoning”
“You can keep acting like a spoilt angsty child if you want or you can actually make the effort”
“But you seem to have your heart set on being a bitchy, drunken trollope and a skanky little whore because it’s what all your friend’s do ”
“I’ve honestly given up trying to help now, you can do it yourself. Every time I do try you seem to go crazy in a different way. So hell maybe it is my fault for trying”
“I thought you were better than that, guess I was wrong and you are just another free ride”

Charming, huh?

I don’t even see what he’s ranting on about. There is literally no substance to any of that rubbish. I am not a whore. Or a trollop. Or an angsty teenager. Or whatever crap he was talking.

 

I’m struggling a little bit at the moment, only instead of not eating I’ve relinquished all that extreme control and replaced it with rather a lack of control.  Perhaps he’s right, perhaps I did “go crazy” in another way. I think I’ll level out eventually. I need to get back to uni, which I consider to be a more stable and safe environment… where I’m happier, and can work harder and eat before I go out and shit. It sounds so easy… blahhh. I really suck.

Today, some cups and things fell out of a cupboard in the kitchen. And behind them, I noticed the really beautiful teapot Tony brought back for me from China.

I still think of him sometimes.

It makes me really sad.

 

I hear songs and things, or someone says something and it reminds me of him… sometimes I start telling a story and realise that memory happened with him, and then I stop, because I’m not supposed to remember. It’s better to forget when it hurts too much to think about.

 

Better to forget.

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The Ghosts of Christmases Past

I keep a blog mainly for my own benefit, as an outlet for my thoughts and to express things that I don’t otherwise know how to say. I have kept a blog for as long as I have been ill with anorexia and as such, it provides a pretty good record of my illness – with a few gaps here and there of course. Just to say – it hasn’t always been this particular blog, there was another which came before this one.

Reading back through my blog archives gives an interesting insight into how things have changed, and indeed, how things have stayed the same. It shows me how much better I have got, but also points out recurring patterns and warning signs – things that I might want to look out for so as not to relapse.

I thought this Christmas that I would look back over the last two Christmases recorded in my blogs and see how things have changed from year to year.

Winter 2008, three months into a new school, two months into anorexia – already wanting out. It was that first stage where you’re really very very good at not eating, where it’s very easy indeed. Where it seems like you just make up your mind and do it without question. No bingeing, no cheating, no nothing. You just waste away, beautifully. There isn’t an entry for Christmas day 2008 itself, but I did write on Christmas eve.

24th December 2008 – I wrote about an argument I had with my sister, how she hated me and I didn’t feel a part of my own family. I also, worryingly, wrote this:

Maybe, when I’m in hospital being fed through a fucking tube I’ll be worth someone’s time.
Even if it’s just some fat nurse.

I hope I do get anorexia.
I hope I get anorexia, and I hope it kills me.

Maybe they’d start caring then

I think by that stage I already had anorexia in all honesty, but if I had known the torment that this illness would cause me there is no way in hell I would ever have wished for it. In fact, I was quite surprised to read that I had written that.

One year later, Christmas 2009. Just had a major fall out with Liz & Rowena, who had been my closest friends throughout my first year of that new school. They’d gone to a teacher and reported that I wasn’t eating and that they feared I was suicidal. For my own good, I realise, but it caused a lot of arguments between us, some very very horrible things indeed were said and we haven’t spoken since. I remember feeling very alone that Christmas. I didn’t really have anyone else except Riz, who was rather caught up in some of his own stuff, although he was there for me a lot. Having completely cut ties with my only very close friends I was suddenly free to do my own thing again. I didn’t have to pretend at recovery because no one was watching. Surprisingly, the consequences weren’t too bad.

Christmas day 2009 Interestingly I did the same thing last year – found out how I had felt the year before. It would seem that at that time I still had my black book, my ana journal. The most horrendous and abusive book I’ve ever constructed, full of really very horrible things indeed. It was the way my mother found out about my illness – she read a letter I wrote in it, to her, which sounded very much like a suicide note. It was.

That afternoon I somehow experienced an epiphany (another one of those “I really need to get better” moments you get a lot when you’re anorexic but never really do that much about) and I started from the day after, trying to eat again.

So what about Christmas 2010?
Well the progression has continued. I don’t feel the need to wish deadly illnesses upon myself, to hope for horrific suffering… because I’ve already put myself through enough. I don’t think I’ll be writing any suicide notes either. I also won’t be getting a pro-recovery epiphany, because I’m already well on my way to getting better. In fact, here’s hoping this is the best damn Christmas I’ve had in six years, when no one’s dead and no one’s in hospital and no one’s anorexic, when finally the suffering of my family is over and life can begin.

That photo was taken three years ago in December. Before I got ill. And about a week before my mum was rushed to hospital, where she spent that Christmas. Sad times.