The Impossible Dream

Dear Mam,
Im sorry for getting on your nerves last night, for answering back when you criticised me, and then going off to cry afterwards. I'm sorry that I can't take criticism better, that I didn't manage to do what Matt did last weekend. I'm sorry for letting you down again. I promise I'll try better the next time.

Im also sorry for getting so stressed about the job situation and for not having a job by now in the first place. I'm sorry Im no longer going in April. Im sorry you're going to have to put up with me for this bit longer. I'm -

Stop, Em, a scornful voice raps out, and my hands ceases to write upon the little slip of card wedged into the soil of the plant pot.You can't just write....all that. A siimple I'm sorry will suffice, then. Oh but Em, you've bought her flowers countless times before. Don't you think she's going to get sick of it? That it'll be a source of irritation in itself??

But. But I'm upset because she's angry with me and I don't want that.

I want to make amends. Amends for what?? For just - everything. Everything I've ever done and keep on doing. I want - to be - the "perfect" daughter. I don't want her to be angry with me. I can't bear it! Why do I always have to be the inadequate one??...

Without warning, an image passes across my minds eye, a vision of mam and dad discussing my brother's progress in college, and what a "sound lad" he was. I felt like crying. I want them to talk about me like that, I thought, in agony. But no. I bet all they talk about when they discuss me is the fact I leave alot to be desired. No job, no career aspirations, and still moody and weird about her food and goes around with her head stuck firmly in the clouds.

Yes. That was what I wanted all along, I realise now. All along I, in the words of Moana, wished that I could be the perfect daughter. But like Moana was drawn back to the water's edge, time and time again I always drifted back to Ed, or depression, or something that wasn't compatible with my beautiful, perfect ideal.

I wanted everything to be perfect,

as immaculate as a cornflower-blue sky...

They say anorexia is often caused by something embedded within one's darker experiences of childhood. But the point is I had no dark experiences. All I knew, as that flaxen haired little girl, was kindness and affection; of constant expressions of love. Yet despite all that I created a crevice for myself. Come my early teens, I had latched onto this idea that I had to be perfect to be loved. That I had to be immaculate in every way in order to deserve respect, to earn affection, even friendship. So as well as harnessing ED as a way of bringing about what I back then saw as being the perfect body, I rooted out all the possible ways which I believed would enable me to achieve this golden goal of perfection. I was going to study non stop and get the best grades. I was going to go to Trinity College. I was going to be so demure, so polite, so flawless in every aspect of my character. I'd never lose my patience or make a mistake in any area of my life, whether that be personal, academic or social, as to do so would result in the dreaded and most loathsome thing of all: criticism.

But no. Now I realise I have to, that I must let go of that. I'm not perfect. And I never, ever will be. I see myself as infintely flawed, and at the same time , I realise that there's nothing I can do about that. But then why does my parents disapproval affect me so much? Do I need to develop a thicker skin and not let it get to me to such a great extent when we have these stupid, petty, insignificant little rows?

But yet I say this to myself all the time. Stop trying to please them. You're never going to be able to live up to their expectations. You've tried in the past to make them proud and it never worked, really. So stop. Just stop! Can't you see how pointless this is?

But there's this innate and very much childish desire deep inside me to please others, particularly when it comes to my parents. And I know all too well nothing quite feels as good as that feeling of knowing that I have succeeded in pleasing someone. It's like a sweet rush of warmth and serenity, a security. I feel secure and fulfilled having brought a smile to one's face or an approving, satisfied word. But on the opposite extreme, knowing that another person is displeased with me is equatable to having a mountain collapse on my head. Heavy rocks, tumbling down; bearing me down with them to lie broken and bleeding upon the floor. And last night was just one of those instances. Afterward I went upstairs alone and sat crying upon the floor of my room, trying to gather up the scraps of what was left of a perfect, beautiful day which had now been torn ruthlessly apart like a pretty dress ripped apart by jagged thorns. It felt like it was the end of everything.

Now then morning is here; the night has fled. Im sitting in the exact same place as I was yesterday, though the room now looks subtly different. Golden shafts of sunlight pour through the window, illuminating the tiny dust motes floating in the air; these circulate, like miniscule planets in orbit, in lazy circles before my eyes, performing a slow and and graceful dance to which there is no beginning, and no end. The sunlight advances further, touching and irradiating, outlining the frames of the dusty ornaments dispersed across the bookshelf, amplifying the bright colours of the little duvet strewn across my little bed. The room is different, but I still feel the same. I feel bitter and sad. I look at my bed and wish that I just could climb right back into it, pull the snug covers over my head, escape reality by leaping into the infinite oblivion of dreams.

But I realise now that I am essentially trying to live an impossible dream. It's no good trying to be the perfect daughter. I tried that in the past and it never got me anywhere. In fact, it only served to cause me more pain, and others too. I need to let go. Let go of the impossible dream. But to do so is as hard as fighting off sleep when you're already drained and exhausted. It's as tough as going against an instinctive drive or impulse, or urge; because that is what this feels like to me. And like ED I've been this way for as long as I can remember.To let go of the impossible dream seems, in itself, impossible. And Im afraid to do so, primarily more than anything, because I believe deep down that if I stop trying to please other people as much as I currently do, than they will lose all affection for me, will turn away with hardened faces. And there is nothing I fear more, that that. Of losing the people that I love. That is the nightmare from which I cower before and plead to not touch me. I could not bear to lose them. But am I not losing them, anyway? How do I walk the fine line between making others happy, but not in a way which causes me pain and unhappiness?

The perfect illusions...of perfectionism...

In my post from yesterday, I talked a little about how last week I temporarily lost both the motivation and desire to blog, due to the vice-like grip of perfectionism which has, just like Ed, been overshadowing my life and world for years, taking away joy and pride and enjoyment and satisfaction; replacing them with self-doubt, frustration, and self-loathing. It crushed every little segment of pleasure, crushing them into minuscule little fragments, scattering them upon the wind. To quote a close friend of mine: perfectionism is a b****. I couldn't agree more. Ed and perfectionism : the two are almost like malign sisters, hand in hand with one another, spoiling, taking and destroying wherever they go.

I thought alot today, about how I am going to tackle this problem of self-imposed perfectionism. To  bbriefly explain to anyone who might not be quite so familiar with this concept, this is how I would define perfectionism itself. It's like a sense within yourself, that everything you do, everything about yourself, ever single little thing in your life, your world, the person that is you...should be perfect, flawless, impeccable. And for me, it extended to thoughts about my body and personality too.

And so I formulated a little PLAN of sorts, and of course I just had to put it in LIST format (sorryyyyy!!! :o ): and I hope through sharing my advice and thoughts on this, I might help anyone else out there who is struggling with perfectionism - for I know all too well just how intrusive, how harmful it really can be; and how it can essentially infiltrate and contaminate all areas and branches of one's life - and I hope that together, we can all kick this thing's ass. Remember: NOBODY is perfect: no one single person on this earth is without fault or flaw, if you want to call them that. We are not inanimate robots: this is what makes us human. And what of the greatest accomplishments you could ever possibly make would be to recognise your own flaws and imperfections, and learn accept them, and love yourself for who you truly are, as well as recognising the flaws and imperfections of others, too. One of my favourite songs for recovery has to be Natasha Beddingfield's Freckles. It's a moving, heartwarming and beautiful song with a very true and important message.

'Cause a face without freckles is like the sky without the stars...

Why waste a second not loving who you are?

Those little imperfections

Make you beautiful, valuable, lovable,

Reflecting who you are

 Inside your heart.

• Acknowledge the existence, the presence of perfectionism in your life...but then end it there. Just because it is there, doesn't mean it has to affect you in such a harmful and damaging way. Oh here I just have to quote a line from Morokia that I wrote the other week!! Writing this it just fits in so perfectly to what I am trying to talk about...

He held his mind in a oneness; he was one with his mind, his mind was part of him. His thoughts, his feelings and emotions, were not in control of him: rather, he was the one in control of his thoughts. He saw the regret, the sorrow, the loss and the grief of the past. He saw them clearly, not attempting to push them away, felt their touch upon his skin. But then, he…released them, let them pass by, as if he were a rocky outcrop upon which a gentle wave breaks itself over, cleansing, touching, but not leaving him broken. Leaving him stronger, and ready. With renewed vigour he approached the final stair.

Remember that...YOU are in charge of your thoughts. INCLUDING those implanted in your mind by perfectionism!!!

• So yes, it is there...but the other important thing to remember is, you have to be patient and compassionate with yourself. You do not have to complete the mammoth and nigh on impossible task, of erasing our perfectionism from your life, entirely and wholly, in a matter of days, weeks or even months. These things take time. Be kind and patient with yourself. baby steps is the best way to go here.
• Learn to embrace yourself, for the person that you are. And I know that this is so so hard, but. It is possible!! get a recovery or self-motivation journal. Here is my own one!! ;) (I have many journals... ;) And in it, try writing a few simple little things on a very regular basis, once a day if you can. Such as 2.) three positive things a day. 2.) three good things that you did/achieved today. 3.) three things you are looking forward to, and they can be as simple or as elaborate as you like. 
• And in the journal write down the things that you like about yourself, your gifts, your talents, the things you like about personality. And as you write them, it is very likely that you will hear a voice screaming furiously in your head, telling you that everything you write is false and that there is nothing good or positive about yourself...but you just have to tell that voice to F*** off, basically, and continue writing them anyway. Remember: that voice might be there, you can hear it, but that does not mean that you should let it hurt you, control you. influence you. Continue to resist that voice, and it WILL get weaker, and you, stronger. 
• And then focus on the things which you enjoy doing or did once enjoy doing, bit now the pleasure you once derived from them has evaporated, because of perfectionism's heartless lies. ut what you just need to do here, is to start doing them, anyway, regardless. Again, start slowly. For me, getting back into Morokia / blogging again was all about taking things slowly and carefully. I told myself: ok, I am NOT going to rush ack into it, and expect myself to get pages upon pages of Morokia written in a day, or a whole long and 100 % perfectly written log post. No...it does NOT work like that. I am going to focus on getting a paragraph written, I am going to sit and blog for half an hour. And to write from my heart, and to enjoy it, and to recognise this, that this is my writing, my blog, and that I do not need to dedicate all my time and energy into making it flawless. It is unique and it is important to me.
• And something which I know might be of some help, is to purposely leave things uncompleted or imperfect. You might find (as I do) that you might spend hours doing something which most people might complete in less then half that time. I did this with Morokia the other week...instead of deliberating for ages about how best to write a sentence, I just let it flow out of me and let the words transcribe themselves in the page, telling myself that I would have time to edit later if I so desired, but for now, perfection did NOT matter. 

And now I am going to stick two fingers up at perfectionism and NOT spend ages editing my blog post!!!! Okay not something I would recommend doing for your thesis or essay etc but I think this action is very befitting on this occasion... ;)

My hair is all over the place, my shoes do NOT match my dress, I am wearing absolutely no make up and my glasses are Penney's finest, of course. :p But do I care? No! Because I realise now that perfection does NOT equal to perfect happiness!!

My little snuffed out candles...

Almost a week, since I last wrote a blog post...ever since I started blogging, well over a year ago now, I don't think I have ever left such a large gap between two posts in My Cocoa Stained Apron. I could never leave off blogging for that long - a couple of days, at the most - before I found myself eagerly opening up Blogger again to compose a post, of varying length, purpose or meaning. And it didn't matter how deep my despair was, how heavy my melancholy, how bitter and choking my anger. My blog was there, a space where I could be me. Where I could reach out and touch the lives of others, simply through my words, my voice, my thoughts. Blogging became part of an everyday routine: I incorporated it into my day as you would set aside time for a shower or doing your laundry or reading before going to bed. My blog meant the world to me, and I invested into it the necessary time and dedication and energy that it needed to grow and evolve into something more than a little girl's ramblings.

But then, that hard-faced, merciless thing which is known by many as perfectionism - a thing which has held me in a snare not unlike that of Ed's: tight and cruel and binding; and seemingly, inescapable - fingered its way into my consciousness once again, touching and tainting yet another thing which, formerly, gave me so much pleasure, so much joy, so much happiness.

Because over the past few months, it has sort of hung over me...a hulking, ugly, grotesque shape which has cast its shadow upon the enjoyment, taking away the light, throwing everything into darkness.

But anyway, for months on end, I managed to keep it at bay. But this weekend, I let things get on top of me; like a snuffed out candle, my desire to blog was just...gone.

The flickering light which perfectionism had slowly but surely beginning to dim and block out, it was now extinguished entirely.

But can I relight all those candles..those bright little twinkling lights, which ED, perfectionism, depression, all snuffed out and took away.

Blogging...
writing...
cooking..
baking...
walking...
cycling..
speech and drama..
music...

And they are just a few of many. :(

everything which I love could be taken away, if I don't fight back against perfectionism and ED. I won't have any little candles left.

Day 5: Your Proudest Moment..

If you had asked me this question a few years ago, before May 2014, I would most likely have said that my proudest moment in life would be either the day I received my Leaving Cert Results back in August 2012, or when I won the Student of the Year Cup on the last day of primary school. Back then, both of those things meant more than the world to me: there was nothing more than I wanted, than to achieve that particular reward at the present time.

But now, my outlook has changed, significantly. And though they still do represent proud moments for me, they do seem, in a way, immaterial, after all that has happened. I was always a high achiever in my school days: any less than an A, was not good enough for me, as far as my grades and results were concerned. And I suppose this was reflected in my Leaving Cert; I had enough points to get me into any college course that I wanted. I was ecstatic, on top of the world. And there are not many occasions in the past which I can say with certainty that I felt proud...but that sunny summer day all those years ago was just one of the rare instances that I did.

But I think now I have a deeper understanding of what is the most important, in life. Exams and education and high-flying careers are all very well, of course, and to be able to achieve in these areas of your life is an accomplishment which you should be immensely proud of yourself for. But I guess, for me, I have a different perspective then I did three or four years ago. I, being the girl who always got the top marks, back in my school years: when study became my life; textbooks, my bible; exams, my sole focus. But then, that very same girl was forced to abandon her education, due to an old flame which threatened to burn and consume everything that she held dear.

And in a way, it - it, being my eating disorder, of course - had already destroyed so much that was important to me. I used to pride myself on my ability to study: sit me down with a book, any time and any place, and I would easily have absorbed the contents of said book, regardless of interruptions or noise or tiredness. But that has gone, now. ED took that away, and I don't know if I will ever be able to reclaim it, and this one single fact almost breaks my heart every single day.

Almost. I don't want it to break me, to eat away at me until there is truly nothing left. And looking back now, I have a new proudest moment. Maybe there will be more to come; I hope so. I hope that one day I will be able to stand up and say that I am proud of the fact that I reached recovery, despite the seemingly endless struggles and battles and rivers of tears. But for now, my proudest moment has to be the day I chose to fight for my recovery. It was the month just before I started to blog; when I finally, after so many years, acknowledged the reality and the truth of one of my deepest, darkest, and most well-kept of secrets; that I had an eating disorder, anorexia, to be specific, and that that same eating disorder was going to kill me, if I did not take action and fight. And since that day, nothing has ever been quite the same, between me and that Voice in my Head. I now recognise that Voice as my enemy, my greatest ever nemesis, a malign demon which has already taken so, so much from me, and which I know, will continue to do so, unless I persevere and defy it, with every last bit of courage and strength in my body.

And I still do struggle, I struggle every single day, and I have fallen so many times, and shed so many tears. But the one thing that remains with me, is the will to kill this thing and tread it to the dust: this demon which has stolen so much from me, has made me hurt my loved ones, has made me into a shadow of the girl that I once was, which makes me detest my very own body and want to abuse and misuse it again, as I once did. And I know that it is this which will drive me on through the wind and the rain and the storms. I know that I must not give up. <3 xxx

The perfect dream...and the perfect fall...

And so, my holiday to Mallorca came, and went, like a fleeting image of a kingfisher gliding over the still, crystal-clear waters of a reed-shrouded pond, the reflection of its turquoise blue plumage sparkling in the moonlight. A moment of beauty and transcendance: but so fleeting, so short-lived. Beads of moisture catch the light on the kingfisher's feathers, twinkling like diamonds scattered upon a nest of blue velvet. But amongst the light and the beauty there is darkness, too. The silvery fish held tightly between the two needle-like projections of the predator's beak, its lifeless eyes staring up at the heavens . The milk-white disc of the full moon, ghostly and sisnister as it hangs like a bpale, silvery coin dropped down a well, suspended forever in interpenetrable darkness. Altogether, all of these things make a beautiful, haunting image. Almost perfect, I suppose one could say. Almost.

But you know, one thing I was thinking, as I stood in the porch of my home yesterday evening, that there is no such thing as perfection. The search for perfection is one which is inevitably both fruitless and futile. If anything, as I have learnt to my cost, the strive for perfection is just setting you up, for the most perfect, perfect fall...

You see, at the beginning of it all, when that thirteen year old girl who was me, all those years ago, suddenly and without any apparent reason, developed an eating disorder...that was what that girl wanted, really; she wanted every single aspect of her life, and herself, to be perfect.

I didn't suddenly wake up one day, and decide to go on a diet, to drive my loved ones sick with worry and concern, to restrict what I ate and forbid myself to eat many of the foods which I loved. No; the reasons behind my eating disorder lay much, much deeper than that, and this, I recognise now, was probably one of the most fundamental of them all.

I believed that I would only ever be truly happy, if I had that perfection; if I created a perfect world for myself...if I moulded my own body, into a form which I saw as being perfect. And hence began, at the age of thirteen, this relentless striving for everything to be what I saw as being unarguably flawless, corerect, perfect. I became obessessed about getting perfect grades; I would weep my heart out if I got anything less than a B in a class test, or did less favouraly than my peers. I wanted to be the perfect student; I wanted to be the Trinity graduate with the perfect degree, who went onto get the perfect career. I wanted everything in my life to be perfect: lots of friends, a spectacular social life, knowing that I was liked and respected by everyone;the security that noone would look down on me, judge me, think negatively of me. And so it was with my body, too. I believed with all my heart that if I did not change myself and the way I looked, and alter my body into an image of what I regarded as nearest to perfect as I ever would be, that noone would ever like me; noone would ever want to be my friend. Why would they, I thought, want to be friends with a short, slow-witted, dumpy girl with the round face and stubby legs? All I have to do, is reach that perfect weight, that perfect shape, have a perfect body, in the eyes of society. And then, everything will be perfect. everything will be as I want it to be.

Today, as I sit here writing to you, I clearly see just how distorted, how wrong, how destructive this mindset really is.And looking back now...do I see what this relentless striving for "perfection" really rought me? Did it bring me contentment or satisfaction, a sense of fulfilment, purpose...complete and unbroken happiness?

No, of course it did not. My strive for perfection was, inevitably, the thing that so, so close to nearly destroying me..it made me depressed, isolated, obsessive, bitter, anxious, extremely self-critical, lonely, and very, very unhappy. I became almost devoid of all hope.

So please, when you find yourself restricitng, or overexercising, or purging or whatever, or even if you aren;t physically engaging in any behaviours, but are just making yourself feel down or depressed with your negative thoughts, wishing that you were at a size x or that you could have a body shape like y...that you were at the shape or weight that you see or regard as perfect...just stop and take a deep breath, and think...what exactly will you achieve by doing just that? Will it bring you everything you have ever dreamed of, everything you ever really wanted, in life?

I still realy struggle with applying my own advice to myself, as the holiday really did testify. More than anything else in the world, I wanted it to be absolutely, flawlessly perfect - in every single possible way.But of course, it was unrealistic of me to feel this way - in reality, things never work out quite as perfectly as we would like them to be; and thinking like this can be problematical. Setting my hopes so high meant that I was bound to be disappointed. Hence why as I snuggled under the duvet in my own bed at home, my body still but my mind anything but, as thoughts and memories circulating around the holiday chased eachother round and around in my head - hence why I felt a sharp, bittersweet sensation tug at my heart right then. because it had been a lovely, lovely holiday; but, unsurprisingly, it was't absolutely prefect in every way. And is the often case with me, all the negative things, all the imperfections, I allow to swallow and submerge everything else which is bbeauitul, I hope that, in the future, I will learn how to see my world, and my life, in a more positive and healthy way; and accept that both I, and my life as a whole, do not have to be perfect to be happy. <3 xxxx

A reflective moment for me by the sea yesterday, before we headed for the airport to go home.