What They Don't Tell You About Recovery From An Eating Disorder

I sit here, stroking my bloated belly, flies undone, wondering how I ended up going from a malnourished skeleton to a six month pregnant fraudster.

All those months, years, I spent in hospital being stuffed with food, vaguely told about the importance of food. Food is fuel. Your organs need to repair themselves. Balance is important. 

I look back at the past two years and in retrospect, I have come so far. I look back six years ago, where I was weighing cucumber. I wasn't sleeping because I was convinced my mum was pouring oil onto the cabbage I was going to boil for dinner the next day.

Now? Now I eat nachos (without cheese because anorexia made me bloody lactose intolerant). Now I eat out at restaurants where I don't know (or care) about the calorie content. Now I eat popcorn like there's no tomorrow. Sure, I still am fearful of some foods, and still feel guilt, but my oh my, long gone are the days of screaming at my family to get out the kitchen as I cook my 'dinner.' 

I am so much freer now, but what has come with freedom is a KFC bucket size full of issues. Issues that nobody seems to talk about, the doctors don't warn you about, the psychiatrists don't prepare you for, and those in recovery seem to shy away from talking about. 

When I was 'ill' (underweight), I rarely got ill and genuinely felt fine. Of course I wasn't and was just about surviving with little to no energy to enjoy life, but I felt ok. I was alright. Fine. Not bad. 

But now? Now I am fine! I'm awful! I want to die! I'm living my best life. I'm in love! I'm hungry. I'm stuffed. I'm in pain. I'm hyper! I'm hopeful. I'm resentful. I'm grateful. I'm tired! SO TIRED. You get the gist. 

With weight gain comes hormones and inevitably with hormones come an influx of emotion. I am essentially going through puberty again (my boobs still haven't grown though) and it is pretty difficult, something I wasn't quite prepared for. I've gained this weight and all of a sudden I've got 360 vision of my entire being. I developed osteoporosis a few years ago, so why now, when I've got a bit more squish, are they aching more? But trying to explain to somebody this pain when I don't look ill anymore is so hard. 

One of the hardest things is the bloating. It sounds minor; sure we all get bloated after a roast dinner, but recovering from an eating disorder, bloating for many is 24/7. Your stomach is expanding, getting used to consuming more. It's been two years since I've properly been in recovery, and for two years I have had intense bloating. I now have IBS*** (not sure if it is eating disorder related, but most likely to be). I've fucked my tummy up somehow and often end up bailing on a night out or not even leave the house because the bloating is so painful. The pain is debilitating and it inevitably has an affect on my mental state. These hormones are flying around like flies around dog shit, and topped off with your belly being the size of a watermelon, it's hard not to curl up in a ball all week until it's deflated to cantaloupe size. 

This leads me to clothes. Damn clothes, why do we have to wear them!!! 

Last week I had an almighty breakdown because I had no suitable clothes to wear for work the following day because my stomach was so bloated. Too hot for jeans, skirt too tight, dress accentuates the belly, look like I'm pregnant in dungarees. It's really not fun. 

- Side note: I've recently cut half my Pepsi Max intake so hopefully bloated belly will shrink...

Next up on the agenda for recovery being an arsehole burn: binging. 

If you're reading this, are in recovery from anorexia and have found yourself binging... please know this is incredibly normal. 

The docs won't tell you, and your psychiatrist won't warn you of it, but babe, it's so normal. All the years you have spent malnourishing your body of tasty food, a taster of what it can have and it's going to be excited. It deserves this food. It's easy to say this stuff but that doesn't take away the feeling of guilt and of being out of control.

You may find yourself at midnight, in the kitchen, shoving cheesecake down your throat, grabbing handfuls of biscuits, slabs of chocolate, whatever is on the side, it's yours. You will probably be doing it in secret. Once you start, you won't stop. [You will don't worry - it just feels like that]. It's momentary. Your body is playing catch up. The thoughts that proceed however and horrific, the guilt, the shame and the immense loathing of yourself consumes you. You're anorexic!!! You can't eat all that food! How dare you?! Girl. It's just chemicals. Your body is starving, it needs this food and this is just a period of recovery - it won't last forever. And I will say it again: binge eating during recovery is normal. One thing I will add, is the importance opening up to somebody about it. I told my boyfriend about it and it was the biggest relief, and if anything, the shovelling of cereal eased and soon stopped. I had control. A good amount of control. 

Finally, I want to talk about those icky things... emotions. 
Recovery is probably the hardest, toughest, life-changing (brave) things you will ever go through. You are inundated with daily battles that 'normal' adults find so easy. From overcoming fear foods, to gaining weight, receiving comments about your appearance, to getting your period back - it's a heavy load (literally and metophorically). 

Why does nobody prepare you for the depression? Or the anxiety? I never had these illnesses before anorexia, so why now that I choose to get better, do I get worse? 
I don't know the science but I assume it's a chemical thing and when you think about it, it's not surprising to be experience all these scary emotions. 

At times I want to die because I am so disgusted at myself. I thought recovery is meant to be worth it? 

But it is!

It's not a quick fix. It's probably going to take years. Now that these emotions have bubbled up, I've began to become more aware of reasons that my anorexia developed and why I began to use starvation as a coping mechanism. The hormones that have returned years later with vengeance, are a bloody whirlwind - good and bad. You're going to be angry. You're going to cry (a lot); years of numbness and dry eyes, you've stored a lot of tears up that need to come out. 

You're going to start fancying people again. You'll eventually get a sex drive - weirdest thing ever for me, having not really ever had one (soz mum hope you're not reading this). 

So yeah, the good, the bad and the BEAUTIFUL come with recovery. I just wish I hadn't felt these feelings alone. Now, I've got a couple of close friends who are in recovery who I can share my feelings and pregnant belly pics with. 

But deary me, recovery beats any Olympic gold medal (apart from synchronise swimming.)


Now.. if you get a big ol bloat like me, I wanna see your #ImWithBloat photos! 

*** I'm currently being seen by a doctor regarding my bloating and tummy aches. Lot's of people recommending me peppermint tea/cutting out foods but don't worry - it's all being seen to :) 

18 Things That Will Definitely Cure My Mental Illness

1. Inspirational quotes
2. John Green books
   
3. A good nights sleep
4. A food diary
5. Educational leaflets about your illness
6. A bubble bath
7. Self-Help books
8. Anti-depressants 
9. Sex
10. A colouring book
    
11. Thinking about
     how fortunate I am 
12. Fake it until you make it.
13. Just eat
14. Just talk about it. 
15. Just ignore it.
16. Just fight it.
17. Just.. just just just get over it.
18. SMILE!!!!

While these things can momentarily provide respite or distract you from the farty thoughts being sloshed around in your poobrain, this wishy-washy approach to caring for your mental health can only do so much. And there is oh so much pulling yourself together one can do; we're not curtains.

Just because people can't see inside your skull, (thank goodness - that'd be quite gross), does not mean that you are not worthy enough to receive proper professional help. Without your brain, you're rather scuppered aren't you? Your head needs to be looked after. Mental illnesses are as equally detrimental as any physical illness. You may have to stand up and be your own advocate at times, but help is out there. Don't think that because you couldn't finish a colouring-in book, that you can't get better. 

Way too many people close to me have suffered long and hard without either seeking or receiving help from professionals, and this is where the big conflict comes in. Unfortunately due to our (rather rubbish) government, who are probably equally or if not more unstable than our mental states, over the years we have seen budget cuts and lack of funding to not just the NHS but particularly to mental health treatment. Many people are either turned away or not treated properly for their mental illness. This, unsurprisingly, deters people from pushing for the proper help that they both need and deserve and can result in their mental health deteriorating. Whether it be, not having a dangerously low enough BMI to be taken seriously, or not being convincingly suicidal, too often are those struggling battling with receiving diagnoses and treatment. This is why writing this blog post is difficult; matter of fact is that mental health in the NHS needs to be taken more seriously. 


Somebody very close to me, who had been struggling with severe anxiety, was sent away from the doctors and told to 'go read these books at the library.' Somebody else very close to me has been shuffled around different departments redoing the same assessment over and over again for the past year, still waiting to receive any form of help. And the other day when he was due an assessment (after waiting six months for it) was told he couldn't receive the assessment as he has moved house, meaning he has to go through the entire process again. If this was somebody with cancer, there would be an uproar. 

We cannot blame the doctors within the NHS, no, they are wonderful and work tirelessly. Yet we cannot ignore the fact that so many people are being failed by this wonderful institution. If I turned up to A&E with a broken arm, would they turn me away and say 'come back when it's fallen off?' If I went to my doctors and discovered that I had cancer, would they turn me away and tell me to 'wait until it had spread further?' 

Beds are full, and waiting lists are longer than a queue in Lidl at 6pm.

HOWEVER,

Whilst this is the reality, this is not to say you shouldn't reach out for help. Now, from experience, I know that sometimes you simply cannot talk about it. You cannot put into words the mush that your brain is producing. How are you meant to 'just talk about it' if you don't understand it yourself?!

I am no expert but I can say, is seek somebody close to you that you trust and whether writing down or speaking to them just say the basic things. Even if it's just 'I am not okay.' Don't let it fester underneath until it burst from the seams because, well.. that would be messy.

Once you have done this, have a little google (think of it as procrastination) of some charities or organisations. If you really don't know what is going on in your brain, there are general mental health charities that cover all spectrums and can offer you the best guidance and support - much better than this lame arse blog post. (I'll link some websites at the end of the post!)

Push your GP. (Not literally). But keep making appointments. I know I know I know, it can be so difficult even just leaving the house, but do not give up. Stamp your foot down if they do not offer anything. Bring somebody close with you to the appointment and if helpful, write things down before you go, because if you're anything like me, then 'cat got ya tongue' is a common occurrence at doctor appointments. 

I know it is easier said than done, and I really am so sorry for that. Yet whilst, yes, there are many stories of people being failed by the NHS, there are people who have come out the other side from receiving the right help for them - and this is something so key. Not all therapies work for everything, which is why speaking to organisations about what is available can work wonders in both offering hope and making this fight for treatment or support worthwhile.

I did not intend this blog post going in this direction, it was initially just going to be a piss take of those bull shit mantras that can supposedly teach you to 'live laugh love' or realise that 'not every day is good day but there is good in every day.'

Pass us the sick bucket. 

I could have been a lot more brutal in this post, as I have so much anger at the way people are being, or not being, treated. There is so much that needs doing, I can't help but think that perhaps we need the Fabulous Five to come over and give the NHS a glow up? 

On reflection of writing this post, it has really sparked (a firework up my bum) an eagerness inside of me to offer hope and accessibility for people struggling or recovering. Or even if you don't have a mental health issue but find some things simply too overwhelming, I want to explore/scrutinise/praise actual things that can work wonders in putting that sexy AF smile on your sexy AF face on your sexy AF body, even if it is momentary.

But yes, maybe (?) keep your eyes peeled! (Yuck, please don't peel off your eye lids?!). 

• If you need somebody to talk to, call the Samaritans on 116 123
• A great charity that covers all areas of mental health is Rethink: https://www.rethink.org/
• Another one is Mind:  https://www.mind.org.uk/
• To look for a therapist (this is where I found mine!) go to BACP: https://www.bacp.co.uk/search/Therapists
• A really good one for men struggling is CALM: https://www.thecalmzone.net/
• If you are struggling with an eating disorder or perhaps a loved one is, I would always recommend B-eat: https://www.beateatingdisorders.org.uk/
• No Panic is a voluntary charity offering support for sufferers of panic attacks and OCD. They also offer a course to help overcome your phobia/OCD. https://www.nopanic.org.uk/0844 967 4848

Copyright of Self Help cartoon: Mark Anderton - https://www.andertoons.com/ 

Je Suis un Party Pooper

I'm writing this blog a bit worse for wear (hungover) as I went to a fancy AF event last night.. (mum, 'af' means 'as fuck') which is perhaps a bit strange seeing as this is going to be about me being a number one party pooper. That's me, I am the flake on top of an overpriced, melting Mr Whippy. 

I have been 'out' twice in less than a week, which by my standards is a bloody miracle, seeing as I am an emotional wreck at the moment. I am the titanic of 23 year old women. For a solid six years I have seriously struggled with 'going out' and wow, as I write this I am aware that this is going to be a very first world, privileged rant but in this day and age, getting drunk and being sociable is very much the expectation of 20 somethings. 

Anxiety is a barst..ool and is, for many, something which can come in waves or can be a permanent gnat buzzing around your brain. For me, I try so hard for it to be more of a 'wave' and find myself forcing excitement and even arranging nights out and parties. However as the date of said event draws closer, I find myself scanning my brain for all possible outcomes and awkward situations that could arise and before I know it, I am conjuring up some feeble excuse for cancelling (it's getting more difficult to not recycle old excuses). 

Prime example of anxiety getting the better of me, being my birthday, whereby I had made an event on facebook for a meal and night out in London. I'd invited about 30 people, I had spent ages googling venues and restaurant, and then before I knew it I had deleted the event because I was anxious that nobody would turn up and I would look like a lemon. Or that people WOULD turn up and it would be boring and awkward and everybody would be whispering about how terrible the night was going. IT'S IRRATIONAL. There are no facts for me to feel like this, there is no proof that this may happen. But anyway, I ended up having my best friends come up for the weekend which probably suited me a lot better (seeing as I have only just moved to London).  

Anxiety is not solely a mental illness but can have physical symptoms, I have developed some sort of crippling stomach ache that tends to arise in social situations and events, even ones that I have been excited about for ages and haven't had much anxiety about. But hey, that's mental illness for you, it can creep up like Jack the Ripper when you least expect it. 

I get so frustrated at myself for not being 'normal' enough or a competent human being to simply go out and enjoy myself like so many of my friends. I see my friends on Instagram always busy, doing fun things, and it baffles me that they can do this. What sparked my eagerness to write this post was a situation recently whereby on a Friday night, my boyfriend and I had been to see some comedy (I had already been thinking of reasons why I should stay at home and not go) and afterwards, he wanted to go out.

"It's Friday night!" So? Love Island is on? "Just one drink at the pub, go on." No. No. No. Please, no. I just want to go home. So we compromised, and came home. Ha ha ha. We ultimately spent the rest of the night, on the sofa, bored out my minds (not that that made me want to go out any more) but I was ridden with guilt.

I do this SO often. Whether it be refusing to go out at all or leaving somewhere early, I find it so hardy to fully enjoy myself. I spend the night with eyes at the back of my head, itching to get home, worried what people around me think. Fair play to Lewis, my boyfriend who is more than understanding and will down his beer in a second to come home with me.

I feel the need to write about this to, mainly vent, but also because when I speak about this to many people, they too have felt the same in the past. We want to be in the photos, posting boomerangs on Instagram and getting a candid photo in the bar for our new Facebook photo, but so many of us are out of our depth. There is such a pressure for people to 'let off steam' by drinking. And sure, that can be fun... sometimes. Like, last night I was at an event which had an open bar serving gin cocktails, and I had SUCH a good time. But this was a rare occurrence and more often than not at other social gatherings, parties, festivals etc. I have this nagging thought at the back of my head telling me to go home. 

WHY???? 

Why can't I just enjoy myself like everybody else? 

Many people who meet me are surprised when I talk about my anxiety, as I am generally quite a confident person. I'm chatty, not too bad at small talk, and like meeting new people. But that's the important thing here, mental illness does not discriminate - it's the candy grabber of illnesses and will pick on whoever, no matter if they are sweet, sour, big, small, hard, chewy..... (This candy grabber metaphor was really shit). 

It is easy to put yourself down when you decline an invite, bail at last minute, or jump out the escape door. Part of you wants to stay, you don't want to let your friends down, you don't want to be 'that person.' Worse of all, well for me at least, it has a knock on effect and people end up not inviting you to things.

I cannot emphasise the importance of continuing to invite people to things who usually will not go. Much of anxiety derives from lack of self-worth and when your friends begin to drop you or not invite you, any self-worth left will slowly but surely manifest into some arsehole shitty thoughts. Sure, we may continue to not go for brunch, or pretend we are busy on your auntie's boyfriends birthday, but that doesn't necessarily mean we didn't want to be there. It especially doesn't mean that we want to be forgotten about. 

And finally, if you feel like this resonates with you, fear not. We are all different and not all designed to love the sesh. However, if you do feel that the anxiety around any sort of social situation or gathering is simply too overwhelming and damaging your quality of life, not only do I urge you to seek help but know that you are not alone. Remember that it is OKAY to sometimes bail, or leave early. Be open with your friends about it, ease in to social things from just having a friend round for coffee or inviting some close friends round to watch Love Island with you. (Even small things like this can cause me great anxiety). Sometimes you need to really kick that anxiety out and force yourself to go through with these less imposing circumstance. Give yourself credit for those small (bloody huge) achievements! I've learned that just a couple of hours spent with my best friends can leave me on such a high. Sure, I may pretend I am tired so that they leave earlier (sorry gals) but I did it, I had a great time, and I achieved something that day.

And who knows, maybe now I will be that girl who goes 'out out' 4 nights a week?!?! (Kidding. I could not think of anything worse). 




Check out @introvertdoodles who does great cartoons about anxiety! 

I FUCKING WEIGH

The next Prime Minster of Great Britain

"You're looking so well!"

"You're so much healthier now!"
"You're glowing."
"You look so much better."
"You don't look ill anymore."
"It's such a relief to see you looking healthy."



To any 'normal' person these things sound like perfectly reasonable compliments. If you've been ill and people begin to tell you that you no longer look like the back end of a cat, surely that would be nice to hear?

But what about if not only do you completely disagree with these comments, but they make you feel worse? It is so frustrating and such a secretive feeling because I KNOW that these people mean well, but little do they know is that by making note of my weight gain (albeit phrased differently) can actually make me feel shite.

I've been at a much healthier weight for about 18 months now. The longest period of time I've sustained a 'healthier' weight since I developed anorexia. My life has improved drastically, as I have pushed myself further into recovery, and it no longer hurts to sit on my bony arse (which I do pretty much all day) but little did I know is that a perhaps more crippling and tougher challenge was awaiting me: body image.

At the worst of my anorexia, I genuinely did not give two hoots about my body image. I often despised the way my skeletal body looked, wishing I could wear nicer clothes, but the majority of the time, my body image was not an issue. It was all about the food. Gaining weight in hospital was a  bloody nightmare, essentially being force-fed and being constantly bloated to look like I was 8 months pregnant. Leaving hospital on my own terms to kick that bony anorexic arse was my opportunity to gain weight on my own terms, which I did. However, getting into a relationship and going on the pill (even though I didn't have periods) essentially pumped me with hormones and I can't help but feel that the pill was a big factor in my weight gain. I hate typing that because I wish I could be an inspirational eating disorder recovery advocate, telling you about me challenging myself step by step, but it was not like that - and being on the pill DID make me gain weight (it doesn't for everyone). However, I did perservere with my recovery and began to develop a much healthier relationship with food, all thanks to my therapist and boyfriend (not the same person, believe it or not).

Yet when I got to this point of appearing much healthier, I felt like a lost lamb. (Particularly living in Cardiff).

I've never been here before. I've only known skinny. Skinny jeans haven't been tight on me since I was sixteen. I now have to actually buy adult clothes. (Oh no, more excuses to go shopping...)

This is all so strange and so alien to me. 

^ ew.

Now the reason I write this is because there is so little out there about this step within recovery. Sure, there are a heap load of mantras and inspirational quotes out there online to make you 'love yourself' (excruciatingly cringe worthy example on the right) but if you are a sarcastic fuckwit like myself, then they will go through you like dairy goes through my bowels. 

I was not prepared for this overwhelming feeling of hating myself so much. Sure, things in my life were going well, but I could not avoid my reflection or my body. I'm bloody attached to it for goodness sake. Hours spent scrolling through old photos of my malnourished body, evenings spent wiggling my bingo wings around or analysing my jiggly thighs, wanting to tuck them away.

I can't live with this mentality forever. I appear so happy and confident on the outside, and yet inside I feel so lost. (Deep shit, apologies). The only way I have been used to coping with this feeling is by losing weight....
But fuck doing that again, I am never stepping foot in an eating disorder ward for as long as I live. Unless it's to set fire to it (after rescuing the patients of course).

Losing weight is for failures, and skeletons are for Halloween.


I, like millions of girls, follow too many instagram accounts of other girls from Made In Chelsea, Love Island, and general social media influencers who have 'body goals.' They live the life of luxury where they get to go to the gym for free (in fact, many are even paid to go to the gym for 'exposure'), they get free blowdrys, fake tans, holidays, manicures, fanny waxes, eyelash extensions, botox etc. etc. We follow these girls, for goodness knows the reasons why, - most of them are as bland as Ryvita, yet we still do. As I unbutton my jeans, and stroke my bloated belly, I scroll through Instgram and look at their bikini shots exhibiting their thigh gaps, their immaculate armpits, their stretch-mark-free thighs, their defined abs, and we ultimately set this as our expectation.

You may disagree with me and feel that you consciously know that these images are edited, are unattainable, and unrealistic. But I bet you do occasionally compare your body to theirs, wishing your collar bones stuck out like hers does, even though she eats all this free fucking Michelin starred fucking food. 
It's all bull shit. Their lives, these images, and the products they are promoting.

As I write this, I am crying into my coffee. Today has been a bad day - seeing images of me on holiday has gotten me feeling rather poop. Getting a mediocre grade back from an essay that I worked hard on has made me feel like a failure. And to top it all off, I am packing to move flats to start a new bloomin chapter of my Pulitzer prize winning life story, in London town... which involves throwing out the clothes that no longer fit me... 

This is where Jameela Jamil comes in, and praise be to the Lord for this woman.

Many of you may have seen the #IFuckingWeigh movement on Instagram, where girls (and guys!) take a mirror selfie and list all the things that they weigh... minus the meaningless number of kilograms that their body weighs on scales. 

I have forced myself (or more so found myself...) reading through all the recent articles about the work that this woman is doing. From campaigning to ban airbrushing, to her Instagram movement, I felt rather inspired. (Very rare, I usually just feel jealousy towards successful women, the bitter sod that I am). 

Albeit a different degree for me and other eating disorder sufferers/fighters, as body dysmorphia stems from our illness, society in general bases so much self worth based on two things: our failures, and what we see in the mirror. 

Each day, or even each hour, my mood is based on what I see in the mirror. The occasional time I feel like I look 'thin' or 'toned,' I feel better about myself, yet the majority of the time, I am too well aware of my bigger body I now live in and from this my self worth is diminished and I end up being a miserable, crusty arse hole from then on. THIS IS SO WRONG! From being a perfectionist in everything (my grades, my appearance, my relationship, my fucking tweets) I ultimately disregard all the other rather fabulous things that make me, me! 

I can't wash away the distorted reflection I see in the mirror, but I can walk away from that and think 'fuck off muffin top, I actually have some pretty swell things in my life.' At a time where I so despise my body, to have the I Weigh movement storming into the public gaze, is a blessing in an obvious disguise. 

If I die, do I really want to be described as 'Molly Wyatt, an anorexia sufferer, tragically died of being eaten by a ______'

OR do I want to be described as 'Molly Wyatt, who lived for comedy and globe trotting, one of five children, who was fucking hilarious despite having a potty mouth and completed university despite going into hospital twice, oh and also bakes a cracking batch of brownies, AND occasionally wrote a half-decent blog post,  has tragically died after being eaten by a ________'

I think you know the answer. 

Weigh up what you value your self worth at. 

The more we spread the message of our accomplishments, our strengths, the more that we will encourage one another to measure ourselves this way. Of course it's not as straight forward as that, and the media industry needs to take a step up their fucking ladder to see the impact that airbrushing Megan's scars off her arms, or airbrushing Frankie's cellulite off, is having. Seeing stretch marks, scars, or God forbid it, AN UN-FLAT BELLY, as flaws is so damaging to ourselves and each other.


More importantly though, all that shit needs to be taken with a pinch of salt... (and tequila and lime). This cannot just be about body positivity, because we are more than mere objects (sooooooo 1954).

This is about LIFE positivity, and it sounds as cringey as Eyal from Love Island, but it really is true. Measuring yourself in more than your appearance, seeing you for all the little successes and characteristics that make you the bloody marvellous human being that you are. 

I am trying so hard not to sound like an attempt of being inspirational or whatnot, but HEY. Maybe, I am just trying to drill this into my tumble dryer of a brain, in attempt of getting myself out of this rut and realising that actually...

Make sure you follow the I Weigh movement, set up my Jameela Jamil, on instagram. It'll add a bit of positivity to your Instagram feed. Promise.

Follow it at: @i_weigh