Age: 19 Year: 2013

• 

• 

I wake up to a different kind of light today. Where the hell am I? Right. I'm sleeping on the floor of the lounge room. We moved my mattress here yesterday after I couldn't make it up the stairs to my bedroom without needing a rest halfway. Stupid me failing again.

I slowly become more aware of my current situation. I have large electrodes stuck to my chest and a little box recorder next to me. A Halter Monitor that is tracking my heart rhythm. As I try to roll over in bed I also become acutely aware of just how much I ache all over. From the dull pain in my hips from digging into the mattress all night, to the new bruises I can feel on my knees, to the fresh scratches on my hands from what must have been another nightmare. I feel like death. Good.I deserve that after everything I am putting my family and friends through. I don't know how or when it got this bad, but I feel like a horrendous human being for causing them all this pain. The pain I am in is deserved, theirs isn't.

Mum comes in and opens the curtains, cheery as always but I can see she too is tired. She has quit her job to look after me full time, especially now that I am on 'Hospital in the Home' protocol. I'm still too fat to be forced into an eating disorder bed, which means I'm clearly not worthy of one. There aren't enough for failures like me.

Mum helps me up and together we follow the usual routine. Carefully we measure out my one safe breakfast, which we both know is not enough, but long ago gave up the battle to get me to eat more. That just ended in tears, fights, and me eating nothing. As I take my time eating, chewing each mouthful a careful ten times before my mind finally lets me swallow, mum prepares my clothes for the day. This thing inside me that dictates my every move has now progressed to also dictating hers, and neither of us know what to do to fight it.

It's Monday, which means weigh day. I head to the bathroom to get dressed, having to carefully detangle my pyjamas from the wires snaking from my body to do so. I find the weights I have hidden in the bottom corner of the cupboard, wrapped in a bath mat we never use, and carefully arrange them in my bra. More than last week but less than I have available, I need to save some for next week. I measure out 1L of water and skull. That should do it. If they at least think I am maintaining, I'll be left in peace for another week.

Driving to my doctors I no longer have the energy to care or be nervous. My brain has the space for three things; Calculations, counting, and reminding me just how much of a waste of space I am. Beyond that I stare into nothing, oblivious to the world around me.

Arriving at my doctors, thankfully an eating disorder specialist that actually knows what she is dealing with, I am met with the look of worry and pity I have become accustomed to. As she tells me my blood test results are again worse, she takes my blood pressure, first lying, then sitting, then standing. Next comes weigh in, and I step onto the scales backwards. She writes down the number on her chart and now for the fun part. Talking.

The doctor sits me down and in her usual caring manner relays that I'm heading downhill fast, am now well into the weight criteria for Anorexia Nervosa, and should be in hospital. Even sitting here in the state I am in, I marvel and the stupidity of that. My internal world and behaviors have not changed for months, but all of a sudden my diagnosis changes because I lost another X amount to get below the hallowed threshold? Who even decided where that line that I have been chains gall this time is?

In the two months since I was discharged from Monash I have managed to get myself to a point where they would have admitted me. At hearing I am finally not so much of a joke, the voice in my mind becomes excited, elated even, and promises me that this is a good thing and I am doing well. That if I keep this up, I'll be worthy and happy. I just need to go a little further. I know they can't actually force me into hospital because as much as my weight is low, its still not low enough to meet that criteria, so I'm not overly worried by the doctors statement. I'm still too fat to need that kind of help, so clearly I'm not that bad.

Then comes the shock. Doc tells me she has 'good' news. After two months on the waiting list I have been offered a place at the Butterfly Day Program starting next week. Two months ago I would have been somewhat happy at hearing that, desperate for help as I was. Now I don't have the energy to care much, but the anxiety in me rises as I realise what that means. That means fighting back again. But I'm not worthy of help yet, I'm not that sick, I'll just take up someone else's place that needs it more. There are other people worse off than me, surely the position should go to them? I get dizzy and need to lie down to calm myself. What does this mean? I can't let go of Ana yet, we haven't finished what we started. This thing inside me, the one that rules my world, it has helped me so much. I no longer feel the things I did, I am in control. I can't lose control again. I'll go back to the failure I was before.

And yet, I can't keep putting mu through this. I am 19, and require her help to bloody shower, plus many nights now she sleeps in my bed with me, trying to calm my raging mind. At least if I'm at the treatment house she can get a break. So I find myself saying I'll try. I'll accept the place. For her.

Immediately my mind starts screaming. The barrage of insults being thrown about in my skull are hardly decipherable but all amounted to one thing. Failure.

On the journey home mum can sense that my internal battle has become overwhelming, but thanks me for accepting the place and tells me she is proud of me. I tell her not to be, that I'm a failure for doing so.

The rest of the day passes the same as the last two months. I lie on the couch, mum puts a movie on and covers me in blankets and heat packs, and I stare at the screen taking nothing in. Movie after movie, with short naps between because I am tired. So Tired. The rest of my family come and go, tip toeing around me like I have the plague, unsure when the next outburst will come if they say the wrong thing. Food is too much to think about, so mum leaves me be, content that I have done everything I can to fight for today and that at least help is on its way. Maybe. If I gather the courage to actually go. I'm not sure yet. I don't know if I can handle the chaos. I'm too tired to fight.

I want to stay here. Resting. Peaceful. As long as I don't have to eat, my mind is oh so peaceful. Up until Ana came into my life I didn't know peace like this existed.

Is it wrong to just want to stay in peace?

"The barrage of insults being thrown about in my skull are hardly decipherable but all amounted to one thing. Failure."

What helped me push through?

In one word, family. In this time I wasn't the one that suffered most, my family was. I was numb, and had essentially given up, but it was the fact that my family, especially mum, was always there and refused to give up on me that I was able to continue on and eventually fight back. It's easy to surrender to the world of an eating disorder if there aren't knowledgeable and caring people around to remind fighters that they are more. The empty promises and false security are enticing and very convincing to a malnourished mind.

Also, having access to specialist doctors and psychologists made all the difference, as they worked with me to essentially keep me alive until more services were available. Wait lists are long, and my doctor became a source of support for not only me but for mum and dad as we all tried to navigate this new world. These doctors are somewhat rare, although becoming more available, and the best thing for recovery looking back was having professionals that knew the intricacies of treating eating disorders. They weren't clouded my the myths and misconceptions that are abundant and saw me beneath the mask. For resources and lists of specialised services, head to https://www.eatingdisorders.org.au/find-support/ or https://thebutterflyfoundation.org.au/our-services/ or https://www.nedc.com.au/support-and-services/get-help/. There is something out there for everyone.

Headspace as always are a great place to start for help and services for all mental health issues, including eating disorders. There is plenty of good information at https://headspace.org.au/young-people/understanding-and-dealing-with-eating-disorders-for-young-people/. We have so far raised about $3000 for Headspace and it is only day 5 of the challenge, which is amazing. 16 days of pushing though discomfort to help those in pain, and $7000 more to reach our target. You can donate at https://www.thepushupchallenge.com.au/team/the-power-to-push-on.

We all get beaten down at times, but with help and understanding, everyone can rise above their struggles and experience the life they deserve. That includes those lost in the misunderstood world of eating disorders.

Still We Rise.