I am an addict

Here I am, on my own wights loss journey, once again. I have a goal, to lost enough weight to safely horse-ride again, on a trip I’m hoping to take next year with my dad. As a self identifying fat chick, fat girl, fat woman, fat person, whatever, but fat (which is an okay word for me, it’s accurate), I am learning about myself and about my food problems. I managed to watch ‘Addicted to Food’ on Netflix (well worth a watch) and, as a result, I have words I can finally say.

I am an addict.

Not words I ever thought I’d say, I’ll be honest. Coming off a prescription drug habit was nothing in comparison to the montumental task facing me around food addiction. As I get further into my own recovery however I will, this time, armed with more knowledge, self acceptance, self love and a cracking therapist, be able to have more longterm success.

This weight loss endeavour is not about being thin. This is the honest to goodness lifestyle change people laud, the quest for health. My body may be a temple to Dyonisus, but it is a temple none the less – I already love it. I suspect nearly dying twice last year made me realise quite how much I have to be greatful for.

Anyway, a fellow fat – though now decidedly less so – friend and I were chatting. She has been on an amazing journey, she has worked her socks off and she is my inspiration. As much as I have a medical staff keeping both eyes firmly on me, she is my peer support and rock – so I thought I’d give her a guest spot in my blog. Weightloss is going to figure in my blog, as part of my relating to myself and the world, so you may very well be hearing from Jade again! I’m certainly not done talking on the subject. Without further ado, here is the lady herself!!!

“Loosing weight sucks. It really does. Its fucking hard. Sometimes every minute is a battle. This past few days I’ve been battling each minute and earlier on today I lost that battle. I ate foods that are off plan knowing exactly what I was doing and hating myself for doing it even as each tasty morsel passed my lips. And loosing makes me feel weak, and feeling weak makes me want to eat. I just want to eat and eat untill these feelings go away. It feels like a weight is crushing my chest and the only way to fight it is to expand myself out like filling up a baloon. But every baloon can only fill so far…and since I’ve been eating less my stomach has shrunk so much. The last time I had an off plan day I felt so sick that a barely slept. My stomach just couldnt cope. I wanted to throw up to make the pain go away but bullemia has never been my beast to fight. I retain food because food manages my feelings better than I can…better than anyone else can either. People let me down. If you want get deep, my parents weren’t there for me as a child. Now I’ve come to terms with the fact it simultaneously is and isnt their fault. They did what they could with what they had and keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table trumped being there for every emotional situation. But still…the little girl inside me learned that food would always be there. For every celebration, every commiseration, every anxiety and every tear there was food. I don’t know what emotion I’ve been fighting this past few days…thats the problem really…how do you fight something you cant see? But whatever it is i gave in and ate on it. Im not going to win every battle…no one wins them all. But as my dad likes to quote Rocky “Its not about how hard you can hit, its about how hard you can get hit and keep fighting”. Every new minute a new fight begins. Every minute, every meal I dont eat off plan, every time I fight past my emotions I win and its been 13 months with more victories than losses. Approximately 70lbs worth of victories to be fair! Thats no mean feat…I could have lost more in that time. I dont like to dwell on “ifs” but if I didnt suffer with binge eating, if I hadnt had 2 months off recovering from a cervical operation and 2 months off with a seriously stubborn flu/cold/cough thing, if I focussed on cardio instead if weight training… Theres alot of ifs but the one that really gets me is “if I took my weight loss seriously” because in spite of all the genuine reasons I didn’t do as well as I’d like, I can hold my hands up and say there were too many times I just couldnt be bothered to try harder. At least now that isn’t the case, I’m trying my damned hardest. I’m working out 5 times a week and eating healthy 99% of the time. In fact I’ve had only 2 really unhealthy days in the past 5 weeks, and 2 not ideal days including today. I’m pretty hard on myself sometimes but thats impressive! I preach to anyone who will listen that the most important thing to loosing this weight has been learning to forgive myself when i do slip up. Doesn’t matter if its one meal, one day, a weekend, a week…just pick up, dust off and get back on with it. Sometimes I need to be better at listening to my own advice.”

Jade, I love you. You’re an inspiration and an unwavering supporter on this crazy journey. ❤

More to follow soon!

Why do I protest and problems pertaining to prejudice Pt.1

I had several interesting experience upon a recent visit to London. The first was joining a mass protest outside the Houses of Parliament during the debate on whether the State visit invitation should be revoked.

We knew it had already been decided that this would not happen, the government had declared this a week or so earlier, but still, they were duty bound to debate, and as such, I felt duty bound to protest.

People say it’s pointless and laugh and jeer at the protestors, but I don’t think so. I’m not usually the protesting type, I don’t like crowds and (this is where my white priviledge shows) I’ve never really had a reason to protest until now. I very nearly joined the #saveourNHS ones but I was, genuinely ill.

So, this was my second protest. I took a good long look at myself during the train ride and wondered, why do we do it? Why do I do it, when it seems pointless?

The answer I think is a rather more complex one, as anything worthwhile usually is. I protest to exercise my democratic right to make my voice heard, I protest to show I am not okay with what is going on, I protest to show solidarity with those being victimised, I protest so I can look back and say with certainty ‘I tried’. ‘I was not silent’.

Even if it changes nothing, even if they ignore us, they still hears us in the chamber, they KNEW that we were not happy. That we were not taking this lying down, and perhaps, parhaps they might in future remember that their people stand for tolerance, respect and the dignity of (wo)mankind, unimpeachable. It might change the minds of one or two, which might eventually swing a vote, have an impact on policy. We tried. We cannot control the outcome, we cannot force or bend people to our will, take direct action, but we will not stay quiet and we will not stay away.

More in part two, where I discuss both being on the receiving end of prejudice and my own attempts to combat it at about 0400 with no sleep. Stay tuned!


The following has to be one of the most amazing, intense and real narrative about those of us who ‘pass’ that I have ever seen, HUGE kudos to the original author:


You don’t look autistic. Yes I do. You don’t act autistic though. Yes I do. Yeah, but you’re not like “properly” autistic. Yes I am. You can make eye contact. Yes I ca…

Source: Autscriptic

“Show me what democracy looks like!” – “This is what democracy looks like!!”

It’s taken a while for me to regroup and work out what I want to say – in fact I’m still not entirely sure. These past few weeks have been trying, both geopolitically and in my own life. I was spending a lot of time worrying about my cat, who is dying inch by inch as he is in chronic renal failure. He even spent a night in the animal hospital with it, he’s now back to his ‘normal’ but it was touch and go for a week. 

He was a poorly boy. Then of course, we have the gargantuan cockup that is the US of A, or rather their vitriolic president. I’m half German and obsessed with WW2 and the social constructs that led to the rise of the Nazis (thank you autism) and BOOM. It’s pretty much set and match. 
I went and protested, I went and stood up for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, something I believe in so very passionately. I went to protest the silent acceptance of Theresa May, shame on her. And I went to show solidarity to my fellow citizens of the planet. 

They laugh about the protest on the alt right. There is a great deal of cynicism. They seem to think we are trying to influence Trump – that’s clearly not the point. We are bringing together and uniting, showing our own political leaders we do not agree and are literally standing up to be counted – we are not silenced. Maybe it will effect something or maybe it won’t, but it’s better than cold cynicism on the internet and trolling. We were loud and peaceful and we made ourselves heard. We were butifully vibrant and diverse in our number and we celebrated humanity. It was quite lovely.

So, where to go from here? It’s all well and good, having a nice evening with friends and like minded people in our little liberal bubble, and yes, I should cynical, but I’m not. It was lovely and people were great and we all represented something together – but we need to keep that momentum going. What can I, as one woman do? What can anyone do?

  1. Write your local MP, they are there to represent you. If they don’t know, we’ll then, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
  2. Call out xenophobia when you see it, call out racism, even jokes – especially in your own community.
  3. Check yourself for prejudice and privilege – those of us who are white, we ARE priviledged by our skin colour – and make sure your brand of activism is intersectional. 
  5. But do have hard, ideally in person conversations. Facts and figures seem to mean little these days, so we need to change our tactics too – humanise refugees. Connect with the people you’re talking with, find common ground. 
  6. THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY HARD. Especially if you really don’t agree with the other person’s stance. But we need to break through the barriers to learning, in this case usually extremes of emotion, if we want change. Remember, most of this comes from a place of fear.
  7. Don’t be an idiot. Keep yourself safe. Make sure you change passwords and the like regularly. Lock down your social network profiles, make sure your privacy settings are on high. Don’t lose your temper.
  8. Don’t become complacent. We will be anaesthetised by outrage after outrage. We will become numb. Keep reminding yourself of what is at stake. This is a long, hard slog, dealing with Brexit, dealing with Trump, dealing with the rise of the right. This won’t be done by Christmas. The consequences will be vast. We will get tired, but, if we don’t keep standing up, who then?

I’m going to try so much harder to be active, within the limitations of my health. I do not want this to turn into a dystopian society, it’s up to us to make sure it doesn’t.

The new dawn.

I’ll put it out there, I like the Obamas, intelligent people of great dignity. I will miss. Them, miss the calm, reassuring voice they provided. I wish America luck, I really do – I hope that, somehow, the words of the outgoing president at having to work hard to keep America working will be heeded. 

In Europe, we are the piggy in the middle between two large military powers. We can have about as much effect as a castle built on sand can. I for one, have decided to no longer be worried about things beyond my control. What will happen will happen, I can only hope that cool calm heads, working for the good of all the people’s of this earth will prevail. It might just be the way we survive. 

(I do not know the owner of this image if anyone can tell me I will gladly copyright!)

My First Time… posting

I was going to start off this blog with something light and airy, vaguely humourous about my attempts at setting up websites or blogs and the like. Instead, I find myself posting about Borderline Personality Disorder (the one everyone thinks they know about) or Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (the one no one knows quite what it means and sounds relatively harmless. Emotions. Who needs those, right?) as it is now correctly known.

I have EUPD. As much as it sounds like nothing, and as much as I get a reaction of ‘oh, right, that’ when I mention BPD – I’m kind of starting to think there is an advantage to the new name. Consider this: you are finally diagnosed (wether you wanted to be or not) and the medical community suddenly starts treating you that bit more… differently? I’d like to say seriously, but that’s not the experience of the contributor to this article in The Mighty. Her mental health team now simply thought they knew all about her, all from three little letters. B. P. D.

Does she like cats? No idea. Is she more of a dog person? Who knows. Does she prefer classical music over jazz and does she prefer a latte over a cappuccino? And these are only the simplistic (if occasionally significant) things that make up the person with whom the medical community sees fit to deal with, all and only through the lense of three little letters. B. P. D.

They feel like a chain around my neck. I’m ‘lucky’ I have aspergers, it is written in my file in neon (well, it’s typed there anyway) that I am meticulously honest and tell people how I feel/what I am doing (assuming I know myself). That… takes a little of the pressure off but I now understand why my mental health worker was at such great pains to point this out to anyone new seeing me. She knew me before and after I became ‘official’ you see.

In fairness to my mental health team, I have been treated exceptionally well and with great kindness, the medical staff at the local medical hospital and my GP surgery have all been brilliant (and all on the wonderful NHS!). I’ve not suffered much from the stigma amongst HCPs and it is nice to know in a way, what it is, that this thing that makes my Crazy act out has a name. It’s why I prefer the new name though, I prefer having to explain it to strangers rather have them think they know me because of an eposide of Criminal Minds or something.

Still, I’d rather give the whole thing back, but then, I wouldn’t be me, would I.