Inside & Out of My Mind

Kirstie’s Story...

 

Eat, sleep and breathe. That's all you really have to do to live. As an anorexic insomniac with asthma I feel like I fail at life. My eating is disordered, by breathing is exhausting and my sleep, is more or less non-existent.

 

Anorexia caused the literal starvation of my brain and prevented me from functioning normally. I spent my teens in a bubble of numbness. Leading a life controlled by unfathomable consequences, many of which even I didn’t understand.

 

In the midst of my eating disorder the notion of recovery terrified me; in fact I didn’t believe it was possible. The thought of putting food in my body terrified me, I needed to be empty. My attempts at recovery often lead to bouts of bulimia or fits of self-injury. I couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, nor a way to unravel the detachment that surpassed me I could barely handle my own thoughts, let alone make sense of those made by others. Rationality went wandering and the insignificance of my problems was not being met by perspective.

 

My body housed pandemonium; I was leaning too far from reality. I began to lose my footings, and didn’t have the energy to locate them. I co-existed between two minds, flitting madly between the two. Exhausted, yet wide awake, an inertness that couldn’t be verbalised.

 

Years of torment, riding on an emotional roller coaster, so much seemed to happen, but nothing was changing. I was constantly drained despite the caffeine pumping through my veins. I am still an implausible mess of misunderstandings. Simplicity can be beautiful, but I lack it so terribly. Why am I so complex? I cause myself pain and seem to welcome hopelessness. Instability is leading me into overdrive. Within me a chaotic calmness is lurking. Contradiction is once again becoming normality.

 

Yet my own mentality is only half of the struggle. Society is riddled by ignorance and fiction, full of people who fear the mentally ill, deeming them dangerous, avoiding you like you are carrying a contagious illness. The truth is I am tired, emotionally exposed, and wanting nothing more than to disappear. I am not malicious, I am not dangerous, and I certainly wouldn’t harm you.

 

I’m a reasonably sensible person. I’m no great intellectual, but I have a string of qualifications behind me. However, thanks to anorexia, I am also one of the most irrational, anxiety stricken people you are likely to meet. I can’t eat off of a dinner plate and can only face one flavour of yogurt and if you even think about touching my food then I will have to give it to you or the dog. It is a cruel and destructive illness, which spins so fast that you soon become entrenched. I am yet to discover whether such an illness can be left behind without a string of life shattering consequences.

 

If I trace my family back only one generation I can see that I was somewhat predisposed to all of this. In other words, I had it coming; daughter of a schizo-affective alcoholic, niece of a depressive and cousin of an anxiety sufferer. Anorexia and self-harm didn't have to knock too many times before I let them in. I wish I wasn't an only child; I'd love to see what life would hold for a sibling of mine. Am I too much of a perfectionist, or was I simply child with a strong desire to please?, I wouldn't change any of it though. I am my mother's daughter and proud of it. Love is a strange thing, blood is an odd bond, but it keeps my feet on the ground. I hope the things I have experienced will make me a better person, help me to help others. I have been given the gift not of sympathy, but of empathy.