Life is Fragile

Life is precious.

Every day, life could just slip away. It really could.

I don’t know the exact figures, but there’s probably a 0.0001% chance that somebody you love, pick someone, could be in some sort of terrible accident. Would your last words have been enough to do justice to how much you care?

It’s an awful comprehension to realize how truly fragile life is, how breakable. Maybe it’s fate; maybe it is all pre-determined, I don’t know. Either way, every day we teeter on the balance between living and dying, of loving and losing, of succeeding and of failing. 

No goodbyes, no preparation, someone could just disappear from your life. They could just be.. gone. GONE.

You wouldn’t know the last words you’d ever speak to them would be the last words. You wouldn’t know, until it was too late.

I don’t want to be cliche, and prat on about live every day like your last, and life is short, and dole out all those quotes. But beneath the pathetic cheesiness, they actually contain a very poignant message, which I believe needs to be communicated.

Thoughts?

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"Cry For Help"

This phrase is banded about a lot in the world of self harm and eating disorders. I actually think this phrase perfectly sums up a huge part of their very workings, but for some reason, it has become a term of dismission.

"She's just doing it as a cry for help, it's no big deal"

Uh.. what? A cry for help means there is a need for help in the first place, the sheer desperation of people who turn to self harm starvation aren't  just crying for help, they're screaming. Why on earth does this strike somebody as a reason to disregard their struggles? Surely, if anything, they should realise how truly awful somebody must be feeling to search for some kind of deliverance, of salvation even, through such self destructive means?

Honestly, it drives me up the wall. If people hurt themselves as a "cry for help", give them fucking help, they clearly need it!

Now, don't get me wrong, I think "doing it for attention" and "crying out for help" are very different things. Somebody who shouts about how they love cutting themselves, or posts pictures on crazy ass erotic forums, or who broadcasts pro-ana messages of "bones are beautiful", they need a whole different kind of help. They need help to stop being such a dick and get to the bottom of why they're choosing to promote something so blatantly harmful as a good lifestyle choice.

Nobody ever acknowledges they're doing something as a cry for help. I never did, but with the benefit of hindsight, there were times when I just wanted someone to take me aside and say;

"I've noticed. I've seen the scars. I've noticed the weight loss, the disappearance to the bathrooms. And it's okay, I'm here for you, and I'm going to help you get through this"

I once read a very good description of selfharm;

"You scream, in a room full of people, but nobody, not a single person, hears you. So you scream in blood." 

Sometimes, you need to LET STUFF OUT, and you want other people to hear you.

Regardless, in keeping with everything else I used to destroy myself, I never opened up really, not until after a long long time of it anyway. I still wore long sleeves all through the summer, or smeared foundation on my arms. I still laughed off anybody who asked why I hadn't eating, and I still lied about my weight, and how much I ate. But right at the back of my mind, in the deepest, darkest corner of it, lay a desperate me. The rational me. The scared, hopeless, lost me, who wanted somebody to find me. Part of me wonders if that part of me is my inner child, the happy little girl who at times feels miles away, crying out for help.

The other day, I saw a yahoo answers post which broke my heart. A girl had posted this (or something very similar): 

"I am 12 years old, and I have taken 12 paracetemols. I'm 5ft3 and quite a small build, will this be enough to kill me?"

No, there weren't concerned messages urging her to go to hospital. In fact, the highest rated comment was;
"If you really wanted to kill yourself, you would have taken the whole pack sweetie. I think somebody's done this as a little cry for help, so why don't you run along down to A&E to get an ickle stomach pump."

Not sure if I've truly communicated the evident sarcasm of the comment, but it was dripping with it, and many of the other comments followed the same theme.

That little girl could be dead.

She was crying out for help, because she needed it. 

The Incomparability of Anorexia and Bulemia

When people say that they believe one is worse than the other, it pisses me off hugely, particularly if that person has only suffered from one of the two. I've heard bulemia specifically called "the weak person's anorexia", and is generally seen as less dramatic, even though its effects are just as devastating as severe anorexia. My experiences with both have been different, and in their different ways hard to combat. this is in no way a comparison in the two, I'm just going to relay my personal experiences of each, and explain how they are devastating in their own ways.

Bulemia became an issue in my life aged 12, and lasted for just under 2 years, then turned into the occasional purge over 5 or 6 months, before I began starving myself. Bulemia is far easier to hide; there is no sudden weight loss, you still eat with family, you aren't tired and fainting all the time... and although that might sound like "advantages", it actually can be what makes it so dangerous. Bullemics can continue for years without ever being found out or receiving help. During the years I would make myself sick 5 or 6 times a day, I wouldn't necessarily feel like it was affecting my health; I generally felt, fine. Sick, yes. Tired, yes. Sad, definitely. But ill? No, it was just something I did. 

Anorexia was a very different story, and it all began shortly after my 14th birthday. Anorexia is immediate. It's sudden. After just one week of starvation, of the anorexic mindset, my entire life was controlled, thrown into turmoil. I couldn't focus on anything, I felt faint and dizzy and unbearably hungry all the time. It really was horrible. My family noticed after just 4 months of rapid weight loss and a sudden lack of eating, and immediately got me psychiatric help. So it was discovered almost immediately, and my thoughts definitely felt disordered, although to this day I refuse to accept I had an eating disorder, despite having been diagnosed.

So to compare these two experiences is absolutely impossible. Bulemia has been a harder set of habits to break. Even as I type, I can still feel the acid burning in my throat from purging up dinner; the habits are so inviting to fall back into. Anorexia was far harder as I was going through it, starvation is directly proportional to how much you eat: I felt depressed all the time, and I felt very very ill. I think the thing is with habits regarding bulemia is that even if you manage to force yourself through the anorexic heartwrenching before a meal, you still have the guilt there. Bulemia enables you to act on that guilt.

Most people go through these two the other way round for that very reason; in fact, it is very rare to go through these illnesses in the order that I did. I am still fighting my demons, and they both pose challenges for me as I move through my recovery. Never belittle either, for they are unbelievably challenging and traumatic experiences, each in their own way.