I had the most wonderful Psychologist/Psychiatrist (I still fail to understand the difference between them both, but I prefer to use ologyst, because it has a nicer ring to it) when I was in hospital, Dr. Prinz.
I came to understand that what makes a great psychologist is his ability to not make you feel like a person with an "issue". A great psych is a person who sees you, the person, before it, the problem. Prinz never treated Anorexia, he treated me, to strengthen me and help me gain a better understanding of me, Belle, in that way giving me the tools to beat anorexia. He taught me that I have my own identity, that anorexia wasn't it, that I could do better than it.
In hospital I learnt to enjoy art and creativity, a concept that, in earlier days, had been far removed from my sphere of interest. As I had nothing else or no other occupation in hospital, I started to take art and craft classes. The beginnings were a struggle, because what I had created was never good enough, never perfect enough in my eyes and I always took great pleasure in destroying what I had created just so I could let out my anger and frustrations of not having the ability to create perfect things which, in essence, would have made me feel that bit more perfect.
Maybe anorexia is a physical manifestation of your whole being attempting to reach its perfect state and balance, may I even use the word homeostasis...? If you are perfect on the outside it would obviously reflect a perfect internal life resulting in a perfect person. By losing weight, by altering our shape, our exterior appearance, we adhere (and I use `we`as a general term, which can also include numerous other addictions and obsessions) to perfect ourselves as a person. Ironically we remove ourselves from that homeostatic state the more we torture ourselves chasing that ideal image.
Anorexia reflects an insecurity of self. It becomes a force that brings out the worst, not the best in you. It becomes a quest for physical perfection that seems to be marked by a body that is bare, that has no form or shape, let alone life. It becomes a bare/blank canvas.
I was sitting in Dr Prinz's office. We were discussing my inability to complete an artwork and my great ability at destructing and destroying the artwork.
"I just don't understand why I can't do it well enough... I can never make the picture on that canvas look beautiful... I'm just not good enough." Prinz sat there for a while, with a victorious smile invading his face, quietly glancing at me. This irritated me quite a bit. What was he thinking? Was he mocking me? Was he thinking 'finally she realizes that she's hopeless at art'? No. Instead, after what seemed to be an eternity, he got up, walked accross the room and high fived me. SMACK (it was a good high five that was deserving of another high five to celebrate the greatness of the previous one).
My frustrations about finding my perfect self, about creating the perfect body had translated into the way I viewed the art I was creating. The key word is canvas. Prinz went on to say 'The thing is you as a person, you as a body are a blank canvas. You can do anything you want with it until you've created the artwork that you like. Your whole life you can alter its look. You can add or change color, you can expand it, make it smaller, you can do anything you like, just stop destroying it or else there will be nothing left in the end.'
Now it was my turn to look at him blankly, speechless. it took me a while to comprehend what Prinz was getting at, it even challenges my thoughts at times now, but it has also become a comforting thought.
From then on I tried to see myself as that blank canvas, because I couldn't strip myself anymore bare than I already had. I was ready to add life to my lifeless self. Knowing that I had the control to alter the look of the artwork I was creating, gave me a sense of security, it also posed as a challenge.
I'm still working on my artwork. At times I like what I see, at times I don't. But from that session with Prinz, I learnt not to destroy what I didn't like, but simply to change the color, shading or form, until it felt right for that moment in time.
We are an ever evolving artwork, all beautiful and perfect in our own right.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The butterfly
Do you like butterflies? I am fascinated by them; by their beauty, elegance and individuality. No butterfly is identical to the other, they differ in coloring, shape and size, much like us people, we are all unique.
We don't see a butterflies true beauty until it has completed all stages of metamorphisis of which there are four - Egg, Lava, Pupa (chrysalis) and Adult stages, until it finally emerges in it's full glory.
A butterfly was always what I wanted to turn into when I had anorexia. I felt like a trapped caterpillar or lava, unable to move, unable to breathe. I wanted to believe that I could form myself into a pupa or chrysalis, and then emerge freely as a butterfly ready to fly.
Ironically the process anorexics go through to recover from anorexia is similar to the metamorphisis of a butterfly.
The first step of the metamorphisis is simple - an egg is laid upon a leaf, which the mother fly expects its offspring to be feeding off the most after it hatches. When it hatches a butterfly doesn't instantly emerge, rather the Larve aka caterpillar. For it's survival it must eat to grow so it can develope to its full capacitiy before it goes into its final stage of transformation - Pupa/chrysalis where the butterfly developes all the parts that distinguish it and turn it into a beautiful butterfly.
So... what does this have in common with anorexia? To some extent anorexia is mostly associated with an attempt to achieve perfect beauty, which in reality simply does NOT exist. Anorexics try and achieve this state by starving themselves, going through what you could choose to call a 'reverse metamorphisis', turning themselves from already beautiful in their own right, into a caterpillar trapped within its cocoon.
Anorexia engulfs you so much that you, as the person, have no other choice than to retract into a cocoon, because it feels safe and non-threatening, you are trapped within your own little world. The only way for a butterfly to break out of its cocoon is all tied up with how strong they are before entering their final transformation. If they haven't built the strength they need to break free while they are a caterpillar, the battle to emerge out of the cocoon will be all the more challenging.
The only way for me to get better was to go back yet another step in the metamorphisis process and let myself become a caterpillar, feeding on the things that would make me stronger, physically and emotionally, until I knew I had built the capacity to begin the positive process of my own metamorphisis, form myself back into the pupa to eventually breakfree as a butterfly would.
That process started in hospital, where my focus was on nothing other than to get better. For too long I stayed hidden in my 'safe' cocoon, letting anorexia feed me and continue to control me. Over time I grew weaker and I knew if I didn't change now I would never break out of the cocoon anorexia was trapping me in.
I was on a 'normal' ward in the Insel Spital in Bern, surrounded by children who could not alter the outcome of their illnesses, who didn't even have a choice about being sick. I could alter the outcome of my illness, I had a choice about being sick, and after too long it was time to poke my head out of the cocoon, even if not as a butterfly rather as a caterpillar, and actively begin to get stronger, even if that meant gaining weight.
The lighter you get, the more weight you lose through anorexia, the weaker your will to fight becomes. But in reverse, the more weight you gain the stronger you get and with that your will to fight strengthens too.
If you think about it, the more you starve yourself the harder it is to think on a rational level. I haven't done any detailed reasearch as yet, but malnourishment has been shown to lead to chemical imbalences, which is then also a trigger for depression. Once you start fueling properly again you start progressing to a state of equilibrium, when your body gets stronger your mind gets stronger and you can start thinking clearly again, you can start thinking as you not as anorexia.
With an incredible support network around me I began to form a new cocoon, one that I would enter with strength so I could emerge as that butterfly I had always invisaged. I stayed in that cocoon for a while, maybe too long, but I needed that time to continue to develope as a person, to let my body recover from the ordeal I had put it through.
Sometimes I feel like retracting back into that cocoon, but then I look around me and see the beauty of life. I can feel myself fluttering around freely, the way I had always dreamed of when I was trapped in the cocoon of anorexia.
A butterflies metamorphisis has four stages, which I have renamed to reflect what that process represents to me - GROWTH, CHANGE, LIBERY, BEAUTY.
We don't see a butterflies true beauty until it has completed all stages of metamorphisis of which there are four - Egg, Lava, Pupa (chrysalis) and Adult stages, until it finally emerges in it's full glory.
A butterfly was always what I wanted to turn into when I had anorexia. I felt like a trapped caterpillar or lava, unable to move, unable to breathe. I wanted to believe that I could form myself into a pupa or chrysalis, and then emerge freely as a butterfly ready to fly.
Ironically the process anorexics go through to recover from anorexia is similar to the metamorphisis of a butterfly.
The first step of the metamorphisis is simple - an egg is laid upon a leaf, which the mother fly expects its offspring to be feeding off the most after it hatches. When it hatches a butterfly doesn't instantly emerge, rather the Larve aka caterpillar. For it's survival it must eat to grow so it can develope to its full capacitiy before it goes into its final stage of transformation - Pupa/chrysalis where the butterfly developes all the parts that distinguish it and turn it into a beautiful butterfly.
So... what does this have in common with anorexia? To some extent anorexia is mostly associated with an attempt to achieve perfect beauty, which in reality simply does NOT exist. Anorexics try and achieve this state by starving themselves, going through what you could choose to call a 'reverse metamorphisis', turning themselves from already beautiful in their own right, into a caterpillar trapped within its cocoon.
Anorexia engulfs you so much that you, as the person, have no other choice than to retract into a cocoon, because it feels safe and non-threatening, you are trapped within your own little world. The only way for a butterfly to break out of its cocoon is all tied up with how strong they are before entering their final transformation. If they haven't built the strength they need to break free while they are a caterpillar, the battle to emerge out of the cocoon will be all the more challenging.
The only way for me to get better was to go back yet another step in the metamorphisis process and let myself become a caterpillar, feeding on the things that would make me stronger, physically and emotionally, until I knew I had built the capacity to begin the positive process of my own metamorphisis, form myself back into the pupa to eventually breakfree as a butterfly would.
That process started in hospital, where my focus was on nothing other than to get better. For too long I stayed hidden in my 'safe' cocoon, letting anorexia feed me and continue to control me. Over time I grew weaker and I knew if I didn't change now I would never break out of the cocoon anorexia was trapping me in.
I was on a 'normal' ward in the Insel Spital in Bern, surrounded by children who could not alter the outcome of their illnesses, who didn't even have a choice about being sick. I could alter the outcome of my illness, I had a choice about being sick, and after too long it was time to poke my head out of the cocoon, even if not as a butterfly rather as a caterpillar, and actively begin to get stronger, even if that meant gaining weight.
The lighter you get, the more weight you lose through anorexia, the weaker your will to fight becomes. But in reverse, the more weight you gain the stronger you get and with that your will to fight strengthens too.
If you think about it, the more you starve yourself the harder it is to think on a rational level. I haven't done any detailed reasearch as yet, but malnourishment has been shown to lead to chemical imbalences, which is then also a trigger for depression. Once you start fueling properly again you start progressing to a state of equilibrium, when your body gets stronger your mind gets stronger and you can start thinking clearly again, you can start thinking as you not as anorexia.
With an incredible support network around me I began to form a new cocoon, one that I would enter with strength so I could emerge as that butterfly I had always invisaged. I stayed in that cocoon for a while, maybe too long, but I needed that time to continue to develope as a person, to let my body recover from the ordeal I had put it through.
Sometimes I feel like retracting back into that cocoon, but then I look around me and see the beauty of life. I can feel myself fluttering around freely, the way I had always dreamed of when I was trapped in the cocoon of anorexia.
A butterflies metamorphisis has four stages, which I have renamed to reflect what that process represents to me - GROWTH, CHANGE, LIBERY, BEAUTY.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
The Puzzle
When it feels like all pieces of the puzzle are coming together, it creates an incredible feeling of confidence and excitement. That's how I felt about this years Jungfrau Marathon (JM), confident and excited because my puzzle pieces were finding their spot. Physically I have never felt better. Mentally I felt confident. Running wise I felt strong. On the day that all these pieces were meant to fall into place, they seemed not to fit.
The JM is dubbed one of the Worlds "most beautiful Marathons". Starting in Interlaken, it then winds up a 25km valley to Lauterbrunnen before the beginning of the ruthless 17km ascent all the way to the base of the Eiger (maybe not quite that far, but it sounds impressive all the same) before descending the last km to the finish line - Kleine Scheidegg.
This Marathon is literally in my backyard. I had trained on the course numerous times, with each run feeling stronger and more confident, making friends with the mountain instead of seeing it as an enemy. So really, what could possibly go wrong if everything was falling into place? This marathon taught me that a piece of the puzzle can be a misfit on that particular day, and that one misfit can change the whole picture.
Race morning arrived and I was filled with excitement, especially because my friend Shayne would be out there on course with me. There was an edge of apprehension however, because I had been given an elite startnumber, something I felt I couldn't live up to just yet, something I didn't feel deserving of, especially because it was the world long distance mountain running championships. I was determined to run my own race, and not be influenced by that red two digit number. As the startgun blasted I quickly realized that the number had sucked me in and I was running at a pace much faster thatn I was comfortable with. "I've got to stick with the front if I've already got this number", I kept hearing myself say. The initial stride that I found wasn't all that uncomfortable. I felt like my legs were working with me and I wasn't too strained aerobically. "Relax, Breathe, Focus" I told myself, but after 10km, only 10km (!!!) my legs started to come off. It felt like they no longer responded to the cues my brain was sendint them. I dropped pace. I dropped confidence. I dropped enjoyment. My legs didn't feel tired, not did I feel aerobically challenged, but the Tank was empty. I felt like I had no control over my body. Frustration engulfed my initial feeling of excitement and the run that was meant to set me apart from my previous achievements turned into agony.
As I was being reeled in by dozens of fellow runners, and I felt hopeless about doing anything about it, my morale plumeted. All I could think about was seeing my mum at the half way mark, making it there and then reassesing.
The thing is, the Puzzle isn't just made up of pieces of your own, the puzzle is also made up of pieces other people bring into it, their encouragement, belief and support. Once you feel like the picture isn't coming together on that day, you not only feel like you're letting yourself down, but you feel you're letting those people down who attribute a piece of the puzzle to complete the picture. Reality is that you're not letting those people down. They believe in you as a person primarily, then your athletic abilities. They are the people who define us as a person, not as an athlete or runner. We, as the person keep searching for something to be defined by, yet we fail to realize that we are already defined by the person we are.
Giving up seemed like such a tangible option, to simply drop out of the race, not to have to answer any questions and go and hide under a rock until all the disappointment disapated. What reason did I have to give up? Nothing hurt, I wasn't sick, I just simply couldn't get my body to move. There was no reason I couldn't reach the finish line, except for reasoning with my pride, even if it meant not breaking even with my expectation. A DNF beside my name though, would be worse, would be longer lasting and nothing more than an easy out. So on those grounds, dropping out quickly got dropped as an option. I decided to take a different approach, sit back and have fun, run with other people, chat to the volunteers and cheer people on who were having a better day than I was. I needed to turn that misfitting piece of the puzzle into on that would fit, to just slightly change the end product of the picture.
That is how I met Phillip, a guy that was hard to miss, with his tall, lean physique and the most attention drawing aspect of him was that he was running in sandals, Tarahumara style, shirtless and watchess. I pulled up beside him and first of all high fived for both running watchless. His words were "your heart sets the pace". Phillip wasn't having a good day either, and as me, resigned to the fact that making it to the finish line would be the goal of the day. Still fighting feelings of anger and disappointment, Phillip and I started talking about the essence of running, which isn't the racing, but the joy it brings and how the good days along with the not so good days create the fundamentals for a long lasting love story. We were partaking in a race, but we were doing what we love, that is winning in itself.
15km can pass quickly when your sharing passion and agony. 2km from the finishline Phillip cramped and I was left to make the final descent to the finishline solo. A whirlwind of emotions inveded me and I didn't know if I was happy, sad, angry or disappointed. Maybe just a little of everything.
The picture was complete. I made it to the finishline, althought the picture didn't quite reflect the desired image I had painted in my mind, it was still complete. The puzzle piece fit in the end, now its up to me how I look at that picture.
The JM is dubbed one of the Worlds "most beautiful Marathons". Starting in Interlaken, it then winds up a 25km valley to Lauterbrunnen before the beginning of the ruthless 17km ascent all the way to the base of the Eiger (maybe not quite that far, but it sounds impressive all the same) before descending the last km to the finish line - Kleine Scheidegg.
This Marathon is literally in my backyard. I had trained on the course numerous times, with each run feeling stronger and more confident, making friends with the mountain instead of seeing it as an enemy. So really, what could possibly go wrong if everything was falling into place? This marathon taught me that a piece of the puzzle can be a misfit on that particular day, and that one misfit can change the whole picture.
Race morning arrived and I was filled with excitement, especially because my friend Shayne would be out there on course with me. There was an edge of apprehension however, because I had been given an elite startnumber, something I felt I couldn't live up to just yet, something I didn't feel deserving of, especially because it was the world long distance mountain running championships. I was determined to run my own race, and not be influenced by that red two digit number. As the startgun blasted I quickly realized that the number had sucked me in and I was running at a pace much faster thatn I was comfortable with. "I've got to stick with the front if I've already got this number", I kept hearing myself say. The initial stride that I found wasn't all that uncomfortable. I felt like my legs were working with me and I wasn't too strained aerobically. "Relax, Breathe, Focus" I told myself, but after 10km, only 10km (!!!) my legs started to come off. It felt like they no longer responded to the cues my brain was sendint them. I dropped pace. I dropped confidence. I dropped enjoyment. My legs didn't feel tired, not did I feel aerobically challenged, but the Tank was empty. I felt like I had no control over my body. Frustration engulfed my initial feeling of excitement and the run that was meant to set me apart from my previous achievements turned into agony.
As I was being reeled in by dozens of fellow runners, and I felt hopeless about doing anything about it, my morale plumeted. All I could think about was seeing my mum at the half way mark, making it there and then reassesing.
The thing is, the Puzzle isn't just made up of pieces of your own, the puzzle is also made up of pieces other people bring into it, their encouragement, belief and support. Once you feel like the picture isn't coming together on that day, you not only feel like you're letting yourself down, but you feel you're letting those people down who attribute a piece of the puzzle to complete the picture. Reality is that you're not letting those people down. They believe in you as a person primarily, then your athletic abilities. They are the people who define us as a person, not as an athlete or runner. We, as the person keep searching for something to be defined by, yet we fail to realize that we are already defined by the person we are.
Giving up seemed like such a tangible option, to simply drop out of the race, not to have to answer any questions and go and hide under a rock until all the disappointment disapated. What reason did I have to give up? Nothing hurt, I wasn't sick, I just simply couldn't get my body to move. There was no reason I couldn't reach the finish line, except for reasoning with my pride, even if it meant not breaking even with my expectation. A DNF beside my name though, would be worse, would be longer lasting and nothing more than an easy out. So on those grounds, dropping out quickly got dropped as an option. I decided to take a different approach, sit back and have fun, run with other people, chat to the volunteers and cheer people on who were having a better day than I was. I needed to turn that misfitting piece of the puzzle into on that would fit, to just slightly change the end product of the picture.
That is how I met Phillip, a guy that was hard to miss, with his tall, lean physique and the most attention drawing aspect of him was that he was running in sandals, Tarahumara style, shirtless and watchess. I pulled up beside him and first of all high fived for both running watchless. His words were "your heart sets the pace". Phillip wasn't having a good day either, and as me, resigned to the fact that making it to the finish line would be the goal of the day. Still fighting feelings of anger and disappointment, Phillip and I started talking about the essence of running, which isn't the racing, but the joy it brings and how the good days along with the not so good days create the fundamentals for a long lasting love story. We were partaking in a race, but we were doing what we love, that is winning in itself.
15km can pass quickly when your sharing passion and agony. 2km from the finishline Phillip cramped and I was left to make the final descent to the finishline solo. A whirlwind of emotions inveded me and I didn't know if I was happy, sad, angry or disappointed. Maybe just a little of everything.
The picture was complete. I made it to the finishline, althought the picture didn't quite reflect the desired image I had painted in my mind, it was still complete. The puzzle piece fit in the end, now its up to me how I look at that picture.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Signs
Apart from the many other things I love about running, I love that it can serve as a great tool of exploration. I spent the past week in Nottwil Switzerland, situated perfectly on the shores of the Sempachersee, which also offers itself as a perfect 20km running loop around the lake. Instead of doing the usual loop around the edge of the lake, I ventured up into the hills with farms sitting so invitingly at it's crest.
The fantastic thing about Switzerland is that everything is so well sign posted, so eventhough I wasn't exactly sure which sign to follow, I randomly picked one and followed its lead.
The first 5km took me along the usual loop until I veered off that path and entered the forest and a steeper than expected hill stared me in the eyes. I wasn't unhappy about that because I had been growing board of flat runs. As I trotted my way up the incline the forest grew darker and more dense. I began having flashbacks to the movie "Snow white and the huntsmen", which I had recently seen, and began convincing myself that the branches of the trees would reach out for me at any moment, or some abstract creature would jump out of the scrub and see me as the perfect breakfast... Oh the mind games that can be created never fail to amaze me. At that thought though, my pace certainly increased to more of a gallop than a trott.
Out of nowhere I hit an intersection. The forest was still so dense that I couldn't see any of the farms I was headed towards and I'd lost my orientation a bit. The path that I was to follow was marked with its sign (a yellow diamond shaped logo) painted onto a tree. The sign was there, staring me in the eye, yet I didn't quite trust it. I became hesitant and with a hint of mistrust I eventually followed the marked path.
This pause in the path lead to the start of a question brewing in my mind. How often do we see signs but don't trust them, or choose not to see them, because a sign seems like something outside of our control. And the human species love control.
There were so many signs that attempted to highlight the beginning of my battle with "The Bitch". Initially I would do subtle things like eat a bit less, exercise a bit more. I grew overly interested with the appearance of my stomach, continually asking for reassurance, from family and friends, if I looked fat. Now, these things can appear normal (to a degree) and innocent, but in my case they were the initial signs of which would turn into a long hike.
Here are some signs that should be looked out for when confronted with anorexia, especially for family and friends. There are Behavioural signs and Physical signs.
Initial Behavioural: (initially its mostly behavioural signs)
Intermediate Behavioural:
Advanced Behavioural:
I finally exited the forest and was now surrounded by open farmland and cowshit accross the whole path. The sun had risen above the lake and I had found a farmhouse that was selling fresh berries. Always prepared, I had 10 bucks in my pocket, so I feasted on a breakfast of blueberries, rasperries and strawberries, perched at the top of the fields, overlooking the misty lake.
Although my family pointed out and were aware of signs of my abnormal behaviour, I could always find a way to justify those signs. And eventhough my family could see the signs, they also chose to ignore them. Surely their daughter wouldn't follow that path... we are all victims of denial sometimes.
Descending was a much easier affair. I had the lake in view the whole way down and could also see Nottwil over the other side of the lake. It was hot, I'd been running for a good few hours, the end was in sight. I plunged into the lake where a group of friends were already enjoying the welcome ice bath the lake offered to be and glared over at the forest, thankful that I'd chosen to follow the sign.
Even if you get lost and go down the wrong path, there's always going to be another sign to help you find the right path, or prevent you from going further down the wrong path. I got rewarded for trusting in the signs (when I eventually chose to), physically and mentally.
The fantastic thing about Switzerland is that everything is so well sign posted, so eventhough I wasn't exactly sure which sign to follow, I randomly picked one and followed its lead.
The first 5km took me along the usual loop until I veered off that path and entered the forest and a steeper than expected hill stared me in the eyes. I wasn't unhappy about that because I had been growing board of flat runs. As I trotted my way up the incline the forest grew darker and more dense. I began having flashbacks to the movie "Snow white and the huntsmen", which I had recently seen, and began convincing myself that the branches of the trees would reach out for me at any moment, or some abstract creature would jump out of the scrub and see me as the perfect breakfast... Oh the mind games that can be created never fail to amaze me. At that thought though, my pace certainly increased to more of a gallop than a trott.
Out of nowhere I hit an intersection. The forest was still so dense that I couldn't see any of the farms I was headed towards and I'd lost my orientation a bit. The path that I was to follow was marked with its sign (a yellow diamond shaped logo) painted onto a tree. The sign was there, staring me in the eye, yet I didn't quite trust it. I became hesitant and with a hint of mistrust I eventually followed the marked path.
This pause in the path lead to the start of a question brewing in my mind. How often do we see signs but don't trust them, or choose not to see them, because a sign seems like something outside of our control. And the human species love control.
There were so many signs that attempted to highlight the beginning of my battle with "The Bitch". Initially I would do subtle things like eat a bit less, exercise a bit more. I grew overly interested with the appearance of my stomach, continually asking for reassurance, from family and friends, if I looked fat. Now, these things can appear normal (to a degree) and innocent, but in my case they were the initial signs of which would turn into a long hike.
Here are some signs that should be looked out for when confronted with anorexia, especially for family and friends. There are Behavioural signs and Physical signs.
- Obsession with weight and focused attention on one body part
- Decreased portions/food intake
- Elimination of food groups
- Sudden dislike for previously enjoyed food - especially sweets and meat
- Sudden increase in exercise
- Subtle weightloss
Intermediate Behavioural:
- Refusal to eat at the table
- Excuse that "I ate earlier... or at a friends place"
- Mood swings
- Urge to eat at set times
- Routines - such as weighing food, time routines... these routines can then stretch further than just food related.
- Noticeable weightloss
Advanced Behavioural:
- Increased obsession about food, food preparation and food consumption (including liquids and anything with caloric value)
- Self isolation - becoming increased anti-social and not attending family or public outings
- Increased interest in feeding and cooking for others, yet not eating anything themselves
- Extreme Mood swings
- Panic attacks
- Exclusion of people
- Living in a routine
- Hair loss
- Bad breath
- Dry Skin
- Loss of Menstruation
- Severe fatigue
- Decreased concentration
- Insomnia
- Self abuse/Bruises
- Constantly cold
- Akne
- Bone protrusion due to severe weightloss
- Bloating due to malnourishment
I finally exited the forest and was now surrounded by open farmland and cowshit accross the whole path. The sun had risen above the lake and I had found a farmhouse that was selling fresh berries. Always prepared, I had 10 bucks in my pocket, so I feasted on a breakfast of blueberries, rasperries and strawberries, perched at the top of the fields, overlooking the misty lake.
Although my family pointed out and were aware of signs of my abnormal behaviour, I could always find a way to justify those signs. And eventhough my family could see the signs, they also chose to ignore them. Surely their daughter wouldn't follow that path... we are all victims of denial sometimes.
Descending was a much easier affair. I had the lake in view the whole way down and could also see Nottwil over the other side of the lake. It was hot, I'd been running for a good few hours, the end was in sight. I plunged into the lake where a group of friends were already enjoying the welcome ice bath the lake offered to be and glared over at the forest, thankful that I'd chosen to follow the sign.
Even if you get lost and go down the wrong path, there's always going to be another sign to help you find the right path, or prevent you from going further down the wrong path. I got rewarded for trusting in the signs (when I eventually chose to), physically and mentally.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Footprints
"There are loads of footprints... there are lots of different paths you can take. Which set of footprints to you take, or do you make your own pathway? That's the same as life." Ryan Sandes
I love seeing footprints on the ground yet, at the same time, I love seeing none on the ground. Footprints give you a sense of comfort, someone else has walked this path, it seems less daunting, even less lonely. When you go a path where you are the first person to imprint on the path with your footsteps it's an incredibly liberating feeling, a feeling of achievement, adventure and discovery.
I spent the last winter in the ski resort Mürren. It was one of the best snow season we have had in a long time, with frequent fresh powder - snowfall at night, clear blue skies durin the days. I enjoy skiing incredibly, but since I've been taking running more seriously I have grown alot more respectful towards it, out of fear of injuring myself and compromising my running. Which, when you rationalize it, is a stupid way to think because there is a certain risk to everything in life, even running in the snow. I suppose we prefer to take on a risk that we feel in control of. I feel more in control when running than when skiing.
I was concerned about how I could keep up my mileage throughout the winter season, and the idea of running on a treadmil wasn't all that inviting. Running, to me, is not just about the action of running, but also about the interaction with nature and testing myself against the elements. Mürren posed the perfect challenge for testing myself against the elements and leaving the first footprints in freshly fallen snow.
On the morning of my 23rd Birthday I wanted to literally run into the next year of my life (and when I say morning I'm talking about the first minutes that are classed as A.M), so at precisely 11:59pm I set off on a 23km run to mark the age I was turning. The conditions could not have been any more perfect. During that day and into the evening a good 30cm of snow had fallen and dusted the paths and ski slopes with a lucious fluff. As I set off ro run, the sky was showing off its beauty with stars glittering accross the sky and a full moon lighting my way. i wanted to make this a challenging but fun run, a run to last, a run to remember. I followed the path to Gimmeln, a small mountain restaurant, where I then jumped on the freshly groomed ski slopes (I am never again going to take the work of those guys for granted!!), creating a perfect grip for a long uphill slog. My target was to get to the top of the Schiltgrat, and at times the incline was so steep I could only crest (the sometimes minor) hills by going up on all fours. If the opportunity arrose I veered off-piste to dance around (I do mean run, but dancing adds an element of fun) in the thigh-high snow.
There was nothing but the sparkling sky, the snow and myself. I felt free. I felt worryless. I felt happy. After a good hour I made it to the top of the Schiltgrat chairlift station looking back (as far as my eyes could see in the dark) on my footprints in the otherwise untouched snow. A speedy descent followed before I began the next climb. This pattern continued for quite some time - ascent followed by descent... A bit like life, it goes up, it goes down... it gets hard, it gets easy and sometimes, like it was the case that night, you can find a good side in both aspects.
There's something inviting, mystical and scary about forests. As I approached the last 10km of my Birthday run I ran towards it with caution. The forest is where I realized that my footprints weren't the first to hit the ground, there were already some paths made from rabits and one that seemed to be that of a fox. Oh panic tickled me for the first time. It was time for the headlamp to come out for duty and with that my terrible singing skills, as I was convinced my singing would scare any pradetor away. That panic was only temporary however, as I began to focus on the trail ahead and the paw prints in the snow, which followed no consistent pattern and zig-zagged from one side of the path to the other. The fox paw prints disappeared. I relaxed.
I didn't want that run to end, but I was starting to get cold and only had 1km left until I hit my target. My footprints ended infront of my house.
There are footprints everywhere... some are visible, some invisible. Sometimes you walk alone, sometimes you walk in company. Your path and footprints are unique.
I love seeing footprints on the ground yet, at the same time, I love seeing none on the ground. Footprints give you a sense of comfort, someone else has walked this path, it seems less daunting, even less lonely. When you go a path where you are the first person to imprint on the path with your footsteps it's an incredibly liberating feeling, a feeling of achievement, adventure and discovery.
I spent the last winter in the ski resort Mürren. It was one of the best snow season we have had in a long time, with frequent fresh powder - snowfall at night, clear blue skies durin the days. I enjoy skiing incredibly, but since I've been taking running more seriously I have grown alot more respectful towards it, out of fear of injuring myself and compromising my running. Which, when you rationalize it, is a stupid way to think because there is a certain risk to everything in life, even running in the snow. I suppose we prefer to take on a risk that we feel in control of. I feel more in control when running than when skiing.
I was concerned about how I could keep up my mileage throughout the winter season, and the idea of running on a treadmil wasn't all that inviting. Running, to me, is not just about the action of running, but also about the interaction with nature and testing myself against the elements. Mürren posed the perfect challenge for testing myself against the elements and leaving the first footprints in freshly fallen snow.
On the morning of my 23rd Birthday I wanted to literally run into the next year of my life (and when I say morning I'm talking about the first minutes that are classed as A.M), so at precisely 11:59pm I set off on a 23km run to mark the age I was turning. The conditions could not have been any more perfect. During that day and into the evening a good 30cm of snow had fallen and dusted the paths and ski slopes with a lucious fluff. As I set off ro run, the sky was showing off its beauty with stars glittering accross the sky and a full moon lighting my way. i wanted to make this a challenging but fun run, a run to last, a run to remember. I followed the path to Gimmeln, a small mountain restaurant, where I then jumped on the freshly groomed ski slopes (I am never again going to take the work of those guys for granted!!), creating a perfect grip for a long uphill slog. My target was to get to the top of the Schiltgrat, and at times the incline was so steep I could only crest (the sometimes minor) hills by going up on all fours. If the opportunity arrose I veered off-piste to dance around (I do mean run, but dancing adds an element of fun) in the thigh-high snow.
There was nothing but the sparkling sky, the snow and myself. I felt free. I felt worryless. I felt happy. After a good hour I made it to the top of the Schiltgrat chairlift station looking back (as far as my eyes could see in the dark) on my footprints in the otherwise untouched snow. A speedy descent followed before I began the next climb. This pattern continued for quite some time - ascent followed by descent... A bit like life, it goes up, it goes down... it gets hard, it gets easy and sometimes, like it was the case that night, you can find a good side in both aspects.
There's something inviting, mystical and scary about forests. As I approached the last 10km of my Birthday run I ran towards it with caution. The forest is where I realized that my footprints weren't the first to hit the ground, there were already some paths made from rabits and one that seemed to be that of a fox. Oh panic tickled me for the first time. It was time for the headlamp to come out for duty and with that my terrible singing skills, as I was convinced my singing would scare any pradetor away. That panic was only temporary however, as I began to focus on the trail ahead and the paw prints in the snow, which followed no consistent pattern and zig-zagged from one side of the path to the other. The fox paw prints disappeared. I relaxed.
I didn't want that run to end, but I was starting to get cold and only had 1km left until I hit my target. My footprints ended infront of my house.
There are footprints everywhere... some are visible, some invisible. Sometimes you walk alone, sometimes you walk in company. Your path and footprints are unique.
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One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach
with the Lord.
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Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
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In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
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Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
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other times there were one set of footprints.
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This bothered me because I noticed
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that during the low periods of my life,
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when I was suffering from
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anguish, sorrow or defeat,
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I could see only one set of footprints.
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So I said to the Lord,
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"You promised me Lord,
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that if I followed you,
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you would walk with me always.
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But I have noticed that during
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the most trying periods of my life
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there have only been one
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set of footprints in the sand.
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Why, when I needed you most,
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you have not been there for me?"
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The Lord replied,
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"The times when you have
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seen only one set of footprints,
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is when I carried you." - Mary Stevenson
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Sunday, August 12, 2012
Panoramic memories
For the first time in a long time I went running in Mürren again, the fairytale - like village I grew up in. It's located in the Jungfrau region and situated perfectly on the mountain edge or as the locals like to call it the "Mürrenfluh". Mürren is such an amazing place to grow up, as the whole town and it's surroundings become your playground; in winter with skiing, tobogganing, snowball fights, ice skating and more... In summer the vast trails and lush forests make the perfect setting for fun and adventures. From an early age we got set free. It's not unusual to see a 3year old roaming the village streets, or older kids staying out until after dark playing and having fun on the village streets. We had to use our imagination, always coming up with new games to play and all kids, of all ages, would engage in games together. It was a bit like a big family, everyone looking out for one another. Parents were never overly concerned over their kids whereabouts, because they knew that somebody would always have seen them and there was no stranger danger. It was a really liberating place to grow up.
Our school was tiny. I only ever had three kids in my year, which meant that years 1-4 and 5-9 were merged and still those merged classes would only ever reach a max of 20 each. I have always said that we didn't learn much on the academic side of things (not implying we had bad teachers, but they just had a different focus), we did however learn a lot about life - about manners, personal ability, discipline and the appreciation for nature.
That's where my love for the outdoors started, in my upbringing and schooling. School sport, in winter, was either skiing or ski touring. We did breathtaking things like ski down a glacier (behind the Jungfraujoch aka Top of Europe) to then apply a type of fur or carpet to the bottom of our skis, with a hingeable binding, which then allowed us to walk up the ice valley and eventually summit an over 3'000m mountain. Summers were the time fir cross country running and outdoor sport, and although it seemed like a chore at the time, we all (well most of us) enjoyed the weekly challenge of attempting to improve our 2km running time.
As I was sitting above the village, peering down at all the familiar sights, I had finally found my appreciation for the place again. It's amazing how you can come to take a place and people for granted. When I left mürren, with mum, to move to Australia I was sick of the place and sick in the place. I could no longer handle feeling like I was trapped on this mountain, as you can only get on and off it by cable car and only at specified times. So as a teenager it is no longer the paradise it was as a child, it becomes more of a prison. That prison resembled my internal prison at the time.
I hit the panorama trail, a place I use to always walk my dog Sydney to, a place I came to escape to, a place that gave me clarity yet also a place that gave me an excuse to exercise.
After running for a decent hour I took a moment to sit on one of the benches with a beautiful mountain canvas infront of me and memories flooding back into my mind.
From a young age I always ate lunch at my aunty Trudy's house. I could smell her cooking from far down the street as I approached the house. Always a keen eater I use to scoff down my food before heading back to school. But as "the Bitch" started creeping into my life, the excitement about Trudy's food started to fade and panic about the prospect of ingesting calories started to invade me. I didn't want it to be obvious that I was beginning to struggle with food, my physical appearance and personal identity, so I'd eat reduced portions, weighed myself pre and post meals so I could gage how much weight I'd gained in that sitting (I was convinced that all food was turning into rolls of fat on my body as I ate it) and I forced myself to walk to school over the panorama trail a 45min walk instead of a 10min walk so I could burn extra calories. It was great to have a dog to use as an excuse to go for walks and chase after, covering up the true drive behind this sudden interest and regiment of walking Sydney.
A major part of the problem with anorexia is that you begin to convince yourself, and eventually others around you, that your actions are normal and justified. The reality tells a different story though.
Sitting on the panorama trail overlooking Mürren, I realized that occasionally you need to remove yourself from a situation or place, only to later let it unveil and you appreciate it's true beauty. Sometimes we need to lose ourself to find ourself. I was once lost... I am now finding.
Our school was tiny. I only ever had three kids in my year, which meant that years 1-4 and 5-9 were merged and still those merged classes would only ever reach a max of 20 each. I have always said that we didn't learn much on the academic side of things (not implying we had bad teachers, but they just had a different focus), we did however learn a lot about life - about manners, personal ability, discipline and the appreciation for nature.
That's where my love for the outdoors started, in my upbringing and schooling. School sport, in winter, was either skiing or ski touring. We did breathtaking things like ski down a glacier (behind the Jungfraujoch aka Top of Europe) to then apply a type of fur or carpet to the bottom of our skis, with a hingeable binding, which then allowed us to walk up the ice valley and eventually summit an over 3'000m mountain. Summers were the time fir cross country running and outdoor sport, and although it seemed like a chore at the time, we all (well most of us) enjoyed the weekly challenge of attempting to improve our 2km running time.
As I was sitting above the village, peering down at all the familiar sights, I had finally found my appreciation for the place again. It's amazing how you can come to take a place and people for granted. When I left mürren, with mum, to move to Australia I was sick of the place and sick in the place. I could no longer handle feeling like I was trapped on this mountain, as you can only get on and off it by cable car and only at specified times. So as a teenager it is no longer the paradise it was as a child, it becomes more of a prison. That prison resembled my internal prison at the time.
I hit the panorama trail, a place I use to always walk my dog Sydney to, a place I came to escape to, a place that gave me clarity yet also a place that gave me an excuse to exercise.
After running for a decent hour I took a moment to sit on one of the benches with a beautiful mountain canvas infront of me and memories flooding back into my mind.
From a young age I always ate lunch at my aunty Trudy's house. I could smell her cooking from far down the street as I approached the house. Always a keen eater I use to scoff down my food before heading back to school. But as "the Bitch" started creeping into my life, the excitement about Trudy's food started to fade and panic about the prospect of ingesting calories started to invade me. I didn't want it to be obvious that I was beginning to struggle with food, my physical appearance and personal identity, so I'd eat reduced portions, weighed myself pre and post meals so I could gage how much weight I'd gained in that sitting (I was convinced that all food was turning into rolls of fat on my body as I ate it) and I forced myself to walk to school over the panorama trail a 45min walk instead of a 10min walk so I could burn extra calories. It was great to have a dog to use as an excuse to go for walks and chase after, covering up the true drive behind this sudden interest and regiment of walking Sydney.
A major part of the problem with anorexia is that you begin to convince yourself, and eventually others around you, that your actions are normal and justified. The reality tells a different story though.
Sitting on the panorama trail overlooking Mürren, I realized that occasionally you need to remove yourself from a situation or place, only to later let it unveil and you appreciate it's true beauty. Sometimes we need to lose ourself to find ourself. I was once lost... I am now finding.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Crossing paths... sharing paths
I've been in Switzerland for four months now and I haven't found anyone to run with, until two days ago. A young guy stuck his head into the shop, sweaty and glowing with that running vibe, when I realized who he was, I know this guy. A guy who went to school down in the valley, a few years younger than me, but we knew
one another from going on school trips together. Turns out he is an avid runner (which I already knew from facebook) but I had failed to realize that he is just as in love with the sport as myself. We promptly made an arrangement to hit the trails the next morning, which did worry me slightly, knowing what an excellent trail and mountain runner he is.
This run was more than just about sharing a trail and sharing time running. As it turned out, and I had known about, my mates sister is in hospital being treated for anorexia and has had a long struggle with "The Bitch".
A 15km climb lay ahead of us, as we decided to attempt the ascent section of the Jungfrau Marathon (which we are both running in 4 weeks time) stretching from Lauterbrunnen to the Kleine Scheidegg. We hit a comfortable trott, enjoying the marvulous view as the mountains, specifically Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau began to reveal themselves as we wound out of the forest. My running buddy is 2 years younger than me, 21 only, but has already had some amazing running experience and success. He told me that he doesn't run to race and compete, he runs because he loves it, he loves what it gives him. He went on to tell me that he went to a psychiatrist (work related) and he had told him that he has an "issue" because its not normal to love running up mountains so much. Well, theres a lesson - just because it seems abnormal to one person doesn't mean it is. We're individals. And what is normal anyway? If you love something then thats your normal, no justification needed.
The beauty of running is that you can cover distance, do what you enjoy and still engage in conversation (although at times laborous conversation).
So we'd been going straight up for the best part of 10km and the serious part was still awaiting us, as was the serious topic. Oxygen debt and attempting to talk is not the easiest thing, but not responding instantly gives you time to think about your response.
My mate is incredible, all he wants is for his little sister to get better (as would most brothers, I'm sure) and for his parents not to blame themselves. I'd go as far and say that he wants to carry their pain. He asked me what it was like for me when I had anorexia and how I got better. I began to reminisce.
My legs started to burn in memory and reality. The incline was getting steeper, the 1'000s of squats I use to make myself do were getting harder and more exhausting.
It all started with an innocent thought - "if I lose a kilo before christmas that means it won't matter if I eat too much at christmas time..." That was the start of a vicious cycle. "Thats what my sister said" he told me, "that she just wanted to lose a little weight".
Food became a game, a tool. It started with little things like timing how long it took me to eat certain foods, but it grew alot more complex until numbers, food, weight and calories were all that occupied my mind.
Every 100gm that I lost was equal to one point on the score board, or even a win. I got hungry for more success and the only way I could measure success was by losing the kilos and making that number on the scales sink.
Usually I'd stop and walk at this point, but my mate urged me to keep trotting, so I did. I watched as he leapt up the boulders, seemingly effortless, like a mountain goat. When we regrouped he asked me what he can do to help his sister.
I had alot of help and support around me, but whenever someone offered me a hand I'd see it as a threat, although inside I was crying out for help. I was trapped. I didn't feel like I was me. I felt like a prisoner within myself. I had moments of being the "old" carefree, happy Belle, but then "The Bitch" would take over because she felt threatened that she could be exposed and kicked off her throne. "Show unconditional love" I told him "no matter how long it takes, but realize, that in her eyes, pretty much anything you do will be wrong." Even when I asked for help or simple everyday things, it would be wrong, even if it met my specifications. If I didn't do it, if I wasn't in control it was wrong. If I asked a question "does my stomach look fat?" and the answer was "No" (the response I craved to hear) it would still be the wrong response, because I was convinced that it wasn't the truth, that the world and all people had conspired against me.
We parted for a good 20min at a section that I decided to hike (my legs were still feeling the 80km from the previous weekend) and my mate decided to run up. He then backtracked and picked me up before we began the 1km descent to the Kleine Scheidegg where we were met with a cute man made lake and exsquisite view of the Eiger towering overhead and a mini avalanche dusting the mountain face as it forcefully made its way into the valley. "Why pay for a train ticket when we can run down...?" So after 2.5hrs of continuous uphill we began to descend into the valley.
As my weight continued to descend my world began to shrink. "I excluded people from my world because I felt ashamed yet threatened at the same time." I explained to my mate, "The Bitch" became the only voice I trusted, the only voice I thought was telling me the truth. In order to avoid further confusion in my head I started to push people away. There were a select few I kept close, but they had to walk on eggshells around me because I could chuck a psycho with any wrong move.
The trail we chose was slippery and rocky. I backed down a few gears, cautiously navigating my way over rocks and boulders, while my mate was descending like Bambi, perfect footing, fearless and thoroughly enjoying it.
"How did you get better?" Well, the thing is I always wanted to get better, I just didn't know how. I chose life. The more I realized and got a taste for what life was like outside the clutch of "The Bitch", I wanted more of it. I started running, and that after many years, became my new addiction, the only thing was that this addiction wasn't killing me, it was reviving me.
"I didn't want to let my family down, and all the people who believed in me." I told him. I detested gaining weight, eating, seeing my body change, but I knew it would become a life or death matter, so I gritted my teeth and kept striving for life.
"I don't know what the exact turning point was, just as I can't pinpoint the point that caused me to spiral down into the traps of "The Bitch".
We passed a gushing waterfall, the volume of water crushing, even just the sight of it. We reached the bottom with 2km of flat left. Now I had my chance to get my mate to chase me. We sprinted to the fountain that was 500m up the road, and I managed to take victory on that section. As we hydrated with the cool glacier water my mate asked me how he can best help his sister. "Be there for her, but realize that only she alone can make the decision to get better, no one can force or bribe her."
After 5hrs on the trails I was thoroughly exhausted but at the same time felt revived.
Trails are gorgeous and uniting. You may cross the path with other people, realizing that you are actually on the same path, just navigating your way differently and at a different pace, thats the path of life.
one another from going on school trips together. Turns out he is an avid runner (which I already knew from facebook) but I had failed to realize that he is just as in love with the sport as myself. We promptly made an arrangement to hit the trails the next morning, which did worry me slightly, knowing what an excellent trail and mountain runner he is.
This run was more than just about sharing a trail and sharing time running. As it turned out, and I had known about, my mates sister is in hospital being treated for anorexia and has had a long struggle with "The Bitch".
A 15km climb lay ahead of us, as we decided to attempt the ascent section of the Jungfrau Marathon (which we are both running in 4 weeks time) stretching from Lauterbrunnen to the Kleine Scheidegg. We hit a comfortable trott, enjoying the marvulous view as the mountains, specifically Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau began to reveal themselves as we wound out of the forest. My running buddy is 2 years younger than me, 21 only, but has already had some amazing running experience and success. He told me that he doesn't run to race and compete, he runs because he loves it, he loves what it gives him. He went on to tell me that he went to a psychiatrist (work related) and he had told him that he has an "issue" because its not normal to love running up mountains so much. Well, theres a lesson - just because it seems abnormal to one person doesn't mean it is. We're individals. And what is normal anyway? If you love something then thats your normal, no justification needed.
The beauty of running is that you can cover distance, do what you enjoy and still engage in conversation (although at times laborous conversation).
So we'd been going straight up for the best part of 10km and the serious part was still awaiting us, as was the serious topic. Oxygen debt and attempting to talk is not the easiest thing, but not responding instantly gives you time to think about your response.
My mate is incredible, all he wants is for his little sister to get better (as would most brothers, I'm sure) and for his parents not to blame themselves. I'd go as far and say that he wants to carry their pain. He asked me what it was like for me when I had anorexia and how I got better. I began to reminisce.
My legs started to burn in memory and reality. The incline was getting steeper, the 1'000s of squats I use to make myself do were getting harder and more exhausting.
It all started with an innocent thought - "if I lose a kilo before christmas that means it won't matter if I eat too much at christmas time..." That was the start of a vicious cycle. "Thats what my sister said" he told me, "that she just wanted to lose a little weight".
Food became a game, a tool. It started with little things like timing how long it took me to eat certain foods, but it grew alot more complex until numbers, food, weight and calories were all that occupied my mind.
Every 100gm that I lost was equal to one point on the score board, or even a win. I got hungry for more success and the only way I could measure success was by losing the kilos and making that number on the scales sink.
Usually I'd stop and walk at this point, but my mate urged me to keep trotting, so I did. I watched as he leapt up the boulders, seemingly effortless, like a mountain goat. When we regrouped he asked me what he can do to help his sister.
I had alot of help and support around me, but whenever someone offered me a hand I'd see it as a threat, although inside I was crying out for help. I was trapped. I didn't feel like I was me. I felt like a prisoner within myself. I had moments of being the "old" carefree, happy Belle, but then "The Bitch" would take over because she felt threatened that she could be exposed and kicked off her throne. "Show unconditional love" I told him "no matter how long it takes, but realize, that in her eyes, pretty much anything you do will be wrong." Even when I asked for help or simple everyday things, it would be wrong, even if it met my specifications. If I didn't do it, if I wasn't in control it was wrong. If I asked a question "does my stomach look fat?" and the answer was "No" (the response I craved to hear) it would still be the wrong response, because I was convinced that it wasn't the truth, that the world and all people had conspired against me.
We parted for a good 20min at a section that I decided to hike (my legs were still feeling the 80km from the previous weekend) and my mate decided to run up. He then backtracked and picked me up before we began the 1km descent to the Kleine Scheidegg where we were met with a cute man made lake and exsquisite view of the Eiger towering overhead and a mini avalanche dusting the mountain face as it forcefully made its way into the valley. "Why pay for a train ticket when we can run down...?" So after 2.5hrs of continuous uphill we began to descend into the valley.
As my weight continued to descend my world began to shrink. "I excluded people from my world because I felt ashamed yet threatened at the same time." I explained to my mate, "The Bitch" became the only voice I trusted, the only voice I thought was telling me the truth. In order to avoid further confusion in my head I started to push people away. There were a select few I kept close, but they had to walk on eggshells around me because I could chuck a psycho with any wrong move.
The trail we chose was slippery and rocky. I backed down a few gears, cautiously navigating my way over rocks and boulders, while my mate was descending like Bambi, perfect footing, fearless and thoroughly enjoying it.
"How did you get better?" Well, the thing is I always wanted to get better, I just didn't know how. I chose life. The more I realized and got a taste for what life was like outside the clutch of "The Bitch", I wanted more of it. I started running, and that after many years, became my new addiction, the only thing was that this addiction wasn't killing me, it was reviving me.
"I didn't want to let my family down, and all the people who believed in me." I told him. I detested gaining weight, eating, seeing my body change, but I knew it would become a life or death matter, so I gritted my teeth and kept striving for life.
"I don't know what the exact turning point was, just as I can't pinpoint the point that caused me to spiral down into the traps of "The Bitch".
We passed a gushing waterfall, the volume of water crushing, even just the sight of it. We reached the bottom with 2km of flat left. Now I had my chance to get my mate to chase me. We sprinted to the fountain that was 500m up the road, and I managed to take victory on that section. As we hydrated with the cool glacier water my mate asked me how he can best help his sister. "Be there for her, but realize that only she alone can make the decision to get better, no one can force or bribe her."
After 5hrs on the trails I was thoroughly exhausted but at the same time felt revived.
Trails are gorgeous and uniting. You may cross the path with other people, realizing that you are actually on the same path, just navigating your way differently and at a different pace, thats the path of life.
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