It's been a while.
Time spent away in such a beautiful setting in the Lakes was just what the doctor ordered (and in terms of my leg quite literally). It felt rather odd actually because it was the first time in my 21 years of life that I was to be spending such a long amount of time on my own with people I had never met before. It has worked wonders for my hip- I went in bent and twisted leaning heavily on a crutch (incorrectly used) and two weeks later I walked out straightened out with just a walking stick (on the correct side) and feeling a hell of a lot stronger and replenished. I met some absolutely fantastic people from all different backgrounds and each with their unique story and we shared many many hilarious moments - particularly our group of four being labelled as the rebels, pulling ridiculous practical jokes and inflicting and recieving a wicked amount of teasing (or in my case just being a constant recipient haha).
My original intention was to keep up writing daily whilst spending time in rehabilitation, but almost instantly after I arrived I realised this wasn't really going to be feasible, time was going to be constructed to intensely focused on my health and well being... I felt suddenly well and truly catapulted out of the daily charade that is my usual life and literally left stripped down to just me, myself and I. It didn't sit too well at first.
It felt completely alien to stop life - suddenly I went from being a full time student with a weekend job, busy social life, wardrobe styling/ modelling work, constantly on some creative project, fitting in therapy appointments and enthusiast of my hobbies to just being - Ruby in a room. I spent the first hour I go there not knowing what the hell to do with myself - I unpacked and rearranged my room, hobbled around the grounds, chain smoked and got really rather restless by tea time. It was very difficult to ignore all the things that somewhat had got suppressed in my head by having such a crammed life and throughout the week they did seem to come up to the surface - but the absolute beauty of that was that in there I had the time and space to address things, take time to think things through, cry if I wanted and not have to worry about having to pull myself together because of some commitment I had to attend or address in the very close future. I feel I healed on many levels and although the transformation might not have been so clear to everyone else I have myself felt a massive shift - it is quite amazing what a short vacation from life can do - even if you didn't feel there was anything particularly wrong in the first place.
It gave me a lot of food for thought and I had to look a lot at the way I had been living my life - or rather the conversations I was having in my head that caused me to behave in certain ways. It did make me face up to what I had potentially done to my body as a result of my eating disorder and was the final push I think to believe that it was time to put all that firmly behind me. I had time to process and to forgive myself and coming home that process continued. I've found it difficult to write because my head has been very much in a whirlwind and trying to settle through this transition. I discharged myself fully and finally from the eating disorders service just last week and I feel proud to be closing that chapter on my life.
So here I am - refreshed and revitalised, healed and hopeful, back and blogging :)
Friday, 19 February 2010
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Smile And The World Smiles With You
You know when you're in one of those "lets experiment with the world and people" moods (no? okay .. just me then that gets that haha). Well I was today, it hits me mostly when I'm going somewhere and will be spending a significant amount of time waiting around or on public transport.
Now I know my appearance in itself often generates a reaction when I go out - I'll either be pointed and laughed at or someone will very kindly let me know how I look nice; so those reactions are interesting in themselves when reading people but I like to push the button a little further in sometimes.
I love getting on trains even if it is to bloody Nelson to see my dietician to be lectured about milk decomposition for the 4 millionth time (...rant off). The journey is about an hour long on account of the fact the route is a stopping route calling at every station along the line but rather than be irritated by the lack of fluidity to the journey I like these changes - as it refreshes the calibre of persons to observe nice and frequently. On each ride I like that there are the "regulars"; always students wearing hoodies and thier iPod on texting away, the suits having what appear to be important phone calls and sat with on leg on the opposite knee revealing Simpsons socks that you so know some relative bought him for Christmas, the young harrassed mother with a toddler in a pram with a chocolate smeared mouth and another youngster playing hell running up and down the carriage and then the mixtures.
I have been in a positive mood all day so today's testing of people came very simply in the form of smiling a big warm smile at the people who's eye I managed to catch. I like to connect with people that do look a bit wrapped up in their own worlds or I'm sensing stressed or worried vibes from to see if they react to my bit of warmth. And it does tend to be a very split reaction - people either look away awkwardly like "okay.. I'll just avoid this manic looking ginger chick" *shuffle shuffle* or they do smile back - and that gives me a lovely inner glow. I actually said to one girl at one point (as she had been rather aggressive looking so I felt the need to reinforce that I wasn't some weirdo and therefore she didn't smash my face in) that it was so nice when someone smiled back and after that for the remainder of her time on the train she carried a little half smile and smiled at me fully when we looked at each other.
I also happen to be a fan of knitting on the train and a dear friend of mine and I have a little giggle about me being Nana Ruby, beady eyed watching over people over her knitting haha - and I can't deny it's true. Like I do at work with customers when I am on the checkout I like to make up little stories about them, their names, occupations, where they're going and then try to tune strongly into their auric field to see about their energies and weigh them up generally. I suppose this could be classed as being a bit stalkerish but they never know and I find that it is rather enriching soul food absorbing people.
Now I know my appearance in itself often generates a reaction when I go out - I'll either be pointed and laughed at or someone will very kindly let me know how I look nice; so those reactions are interesting in themselves when reading people but I like to push the button a little further in sometimes.
I love getting on trains even if it is to bloody Nelson to see my dietician to be lectured about milk decomposition for the 4 millionth time (...rant off). The journey is about an hour long on account of the fact the route is a stopping route calling at every station along the line but rather than be irritated by the lack of fluidity to the journey I like these changes - as it refreshes the calibre of persons to observe nice and frequently. On each ride I like that there are the "regulars"; always students wearing hoodies and thier iPod on texting away, the suits having what appear to be important phone calls and sat with on leg on the opposite knee revealing Simpsons socks that you so know some relative bought him for Christmas, the young harrassed mother with a toddler in a pram with a chocolate smeared mouth and another youngster playing hell running up and down the carriage and then the mixtures.
I have been in a positive mood all day so today's testing of people came very simply in the form of smiling a big warm smile at the people who's eye I managed to catch. I like to connect with people that do look a bit wrapped up in their own worlds or I'm sensing stressed or worried vibes from to see if they react to my bit of warmth. And it does tend to be a very split reaction - people either look away awkwardly like "okay.. I'll just avoid this manic looking ginger chick" *shuffle shuffle* or they do smile back - and that gives me a lovely inner glow. I actually said to one girl at one point (as she had been rather aggressive looking so I felt the need to reinforce that I wasn't some weirdo and therefore she didn't smash my face in) that it was so nice when someone smiled back and after that for the remainder of her time on the train she carried a little half smile and smiled at me fully when we looked at each other.
I also happen to be a fan of knitting on the train and a dear friend of mine and I have a little giggle about me being Nana Ruby, beady eyed watching over people over her knitting haha - and I can't deny it's true. Like I do at work with customers when I am on the checkout I like to make up little stories about them, their names, occupations, where they're going and then try to tune strongly into their auric field to see about their energies and weigh them up generally. I suppose this could be classed as being a bit stalkerish but they never know and I find that it is rather enriching soul food absorbing people.
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Implosion
It's been a day of life organising - well it was after 11:30am after I'd spent about 45 minutes deciding which hat to wear just to drop some forms off at the estate agents.
Today has been dedicated to the art of packing - and a bloody art form it is too. I am now currently lead in bed in a room that is absolutely littered with bits of shit and overflowing boxes - the job still is only half done. My half of the flat in my head suddenly merged from being a wonderful fashionista paradise into a giant over clothed jigsaw. Trying to fit the explosion of millions of bits of my life paraphernalia into just a few boxes was a rather more arduous task than I had first anticipated. Still, I got into the swing of things and rather amused myself thinking that not many people when they move house would have an entire box just labelled "hats and feather boas".
The strangest thing now though is going to bed and looking at my empty walls. I do have rather a fetish for postcards and images cut out from everywhere and every bedroom I've had since I was 15 have been covered in this way and my walls now just look naked. I'll go to sleep without the eyes of Vivienne Westwood looking down on me, my pregnant ladies are sleeping, feather boas, fairy lights and baby birds are now stuffed into boxes having been removed from my mirror. Instead I shall drift off tonight surrounded by drawing pin holes and remaining blu-tak stains (the landlord is going to love that...). The room has been stripped void of my personality and it really doesn't feel anything like my home anymore.
I'm enjoying this transition of packing in some ways though because it's making the move feel closer and closer. I've moved many times in the past few years and so it's been difficult to feel settled anywhere but I have good feelings about my new residence and I think I will finally feel at home there so that's made this packing process much less painful (though my joints disagree). I'm so excited about it all, the vibes in the new house are just so wonderful (as I said in my previous blog and as I'm packing the memories of this place up and looking forward to getting the bits of me out of these boxes again and having them dress a much lovelier space.
Today has been dedicated to the art of packing - and a bloody art form it is too. I am now currently lead in bed in a room that is absolutely littered with bits of shit and overflowing boxes - the job still is only half done. My half of the flat in my head suddenly merged from being a wonderful fashionista paradise into a giant over clothed jigsaw. Trying to fit the explosion of millions of bits of my life paraphernalia into just a few boxes was a rather more arduous task than I had first anticipated. Still, I got into the swing of things and rather amused myself thinking that not many people when they move house would have an entire box just labelled "hats and feather boas".
The strangest thing now though is going to bed and looking at my empty walls. I do have rather a fetish for postcards and images cut out from everywhere and every bedroom I've had since I was 15 have been covered in this way and my walls now just look naked. I'll go to sleep without the eyes of Vivienne Westwood looking down on me, my pregnant ladies are sleeping, feather boas, fairy lights and baby birds are now stuffed into boxes having been removed from my mirror. Instead I shall drift off tonight surrounded by drawing pin holes and remaining blu-tak stains (the landlord is going to love that...). The room has been stripped void of my personality and it really doesn't feel anything like my home anymore.
I'm enjoying this transition of packing in some ways though because it's making the move feel closer and closer. I've moved many times in the past few years and so it's been difficult to feel settled anywhere but I have good feelings about my new residence and I think I will finally feel at home there so that's made this packing process much less painful (though my joints disagree). I'm so excited about it all, the vibes in the new house are just so wonderful (as I said in my previous blog and as I'm packing the memories of this place up and looking forward to getting the bits of me out of these boxes again and having them dress a much lovelier space.
Monday, 25 January 2010
Sylvia Says:
"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one... by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet". -Sylvia Plath
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Solitaire Revisited
I don't know whether you would call it chance, co-incidence or possibly even fate but I was reading through my old journals and things earlier and just so happened to come across my Solitaire poem. I have it written on my wall anyway but it was just nice to see it sitting there loosely scrawled in my diary from when I was just 17 and then I noticed date it was written - 24/1/06 - four years ago exactly today.
The ideology of cards and the associated games and gambling symbolise a lot to me. I take their forms as a representation about many of my beliefs in and about life, which is why I had the suits tattooed down my spine. I feel that life is a game and we're all dealt a hand - it's how we choose to play it that determines our destiny. It's all about chance but with a touch of skill.
The Solitaire poem was very much about the internal battle in my head - specifically relating to my relationship with anorexia but I've held on to it because it's true of many of the internal dialogues in my head that have been less than harmonious...
Solitaire from 24/01/06:
Your cards all lie in taunting piles,
So you strike a deal with the joker,
But she only wants to steal your diamonds,
Whilst she claims to teach you poker.
Her magic tricks deceive you,
She knows every rule and cheat,
Her hand will play inside your heart,
But she's the queen - she can't be beat,
She'll take your dreams and shuffle them,
And drive spades into your skin,
So you'll raise your bet and gamble harder,
But it's too late - you'll never win.
She'll bruise and break you with her club,
Then convince you that it's fair,
You can beg and plead for game over,
But you were always playing Solitaire.
The ideology of cards and the associated games and gambling symbolise a lot to me. I take their forms as a representation about many of my beliefs in and about life, which is why I had the suits tattooed down my spine. I feel that life is a game and we're all dealt a hand - it's how we choose to play it that determines our destiny. It's all about chance but with a touch of skill.
The Solitaire poem was very much about the internal battle in my head - specifically relating to my relationship with anorexia but I've held on to it because it's true of many of the internal dialogues in my head that have been less than harmonious...
Solitaire from 24/01/06:
Your cards all lie in taunting piles,
So you strike a deal with the joker,
But she only wants to steal your diamonds,
Whilst she claims to teach you poker.
Her magic tricks deceive you,
She knows every rule and cheat,
Her hand will play inside your heart,
But she's the queen - she can't be beat,
She'll take your dreams and shuffle them,
And drive spades into your skin,
So you'll raise your bet and gamble harder,
But it's too late - you'll never win.
She'll bruise and break you with her club,
Then convince you that it's fair,
You can beg and plead for game over,
But you were always playing Solitaire.
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Beacon
Then every so often I'll hear of something that completely catches my breath, stuns and silences me. Such tragedy that it penetrates right through me, all the way through.
Sometimes life can be so cruel. Naturally I feel we all as human beings are affected more by tales that we can to some extent empathise with - it taps into something very deep. There will always be certain topics that will touch a raw nerve with me and as we all know I am no stranger to that vicious, manipulative disease that is anorexia nervosa.
I didn't even know the girl, I don't even know her name but I was reading mooching around Facebook today of a person a friend of mine knew of who had died of her anorexia. It's such a fucking god awful illness, only profanities seem fit to describe it. It leaves me feeling a real seething burning hatred right to my core when I think about what it steals from young lives.
I feel I lost enough of myself to my own experience, it sapped the life out of a sizable chunk of my teenage years, and I consider myself to be a lucky one - relatively I got off pretty lightly (save a tad of this and that damage) and (regardless of whether I "should") I never spent time in an inpatient unit.
It just eats it's victims from the inside outwards - quite literally, a parasitic leech. It makes me want to weep, I've seen too many truly beautiful people being chewed up by it, watch their soul erode, see once bright eyes fall beyond dull - to just lifeless black pits. Vivacious, gregarious young women become just shadows of their former selves.
I know how it feels to live within it's brutal claws. How impossible it seems to ever get out of it's seemingly impenetrable bubble. Nothing matters but the pursuit of impossible levels of thinness, it makes you believe that your only purpose for living is to starve yourself to absolute nothingness. Such a sickening irony - living to die. I understand how hollowing and harrowing it is to live that way- just being so desperate to be good enough, to be acceptable, to conform a standard - but such standards are impossible - it's a level of delirious perfection that is simply unattainable. You live feeling nothing but worthless. And beneath that deep seated self hatred, at the epicentre of it all is fear - a terrifying fear of being alone, not being loved or being rejected. An immense childlike insecurity, a longing an ache – a need to be loved and looked after.
I was fortunate to find a sense of love and strength from somewhere, I found a light, I had an epiphany and have been able to fight through a build a new life for myself - which isn't to say I don't have off periods but reading today about this poor young person's death just brought everything home to me again - you HAVE to keep fighting, being strong and surviving as a beacon for those lost to this terrible disease. I'm standing tall with my beacon and sharing with you all my fellow fighters and survivors, a light of hope, a light of remembrance and symbolic of a true determination and will to move forward. We can't bring back those who have been lost - but I know I walk and fight everyday to show that to some extent their death hasn't been completely in vain - we live on in their memory - living and breathing where they no longer do - showing that for us the fight wasn't for nothing and we survive carrying their spirit along with us.
Sometimes life can be so cruel. Naturally I feel we all as human beings are affected more by tales that we can to some extent empathise with - it taps into something very deep. There will always be certain topics that will touch a raw nerve with me and as we all know I am no stranger to that vicious, manipulative disease that is anorexia nervosa.
I didn't even know the girl, I don't even know her name but I was reading mooching around Facebook today of a person a friend of mine knew of who had died of her anorexia. It's such a fucking god awful illness, only profanities seem fit to describe it. It leaves me feeling a real seething burning hatred right to my core when I think about what it steals from young lives.
I feel I lost enough of myself to my own experience, it sapped the life out of a sizable chunk of my teenage years, and I consider myself to be a lucky one - relatively I got off pretty lightly (save a tad of this and that damage) and (regardless of whether I "should") I never spent time in an inpatient unit.
It just eats it's victims from the inside outwards - quite literally, a parasitic leech. It makes me want to weep, I've seen too many truly beautiful people being chewed up by it, watch their soul erode, see once bright eyes fall beyond dull - to just lifeless black pits. Vivacious, gregarious young women become just shadows of their former selves.
I know how it feels to live within it's brutal claws. How impossible it seems to ever get out of it's seemingly impenetrable bubble. Nothing matters but the pursuit of impossible levels of thinness, it makes you believe that your only purpose for living is to starve yourself to absolute nothingness. Such a sickening irony - living to die. I understand how hollowing and harrowing it is to live that way- just being so desperate to be good enough, to be acceptable, to conform a standard - but such standards are impossible - it's a level of delirious perfection that is simply unattainable. You live feeling nothing but worthless. And beneath that deep seated self hatred, at the epicentre of it all is fear - a terrifying fear of being alone, not being loved or being rejected. An immense childlike insecurity, a longing an ache – a need to be loved and looked after.
I was fortunate to find a sense of love and strength from somewhere, I found a light, I had an epiphany and have been able to fight through a build a new life for myself - which isn't to say I don't have off periods but reading today about this poor young person's death just brought everything home to me again - you HAVE to keep fighting, being strong and surviving as a beacon for those lost to this terrible disease. I'm standing tall with my beacon and sharing with you all my fellow fighters and survivors, a light of hope, a light of remembrance and symbolic of a true determination and will to move forward. We can't bring back those who have been lost - but I know I walk and fight everyday to show that to some extent their death hasn't been completely in vain - we live on in their memory - living and breathing where they no longer do - showing that for us the fight wasn't for nothing and we survive carrying their spirit along with us.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
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