real life

Is it cos I’m cool…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

If you believe the right wing press, being disabled or chronically ill is the latest trend. About a month ago Kathleen Stock (notable anti trans activist) wrote a piece for The Times titled ‘Why are so many young women using walking sticks?’. Her complaints about the use of mobility aids clearly chimed with Poppy Coburn, who, this month penned ‘How having a disability became cool’ in The Telegraph. Both pieces rely on the same prejudice and ignorance. Ultimately, they also support the same agenda.

Stock & Coburn both proclaim there to be more disabled people than ever before. They specify that these disabilities are mostly amorphous and hard to prove. Coburn in particular takes aim at PoTS. Both writers conveniently ignore that we have all lived through a global pandemic, which experts have long warned would be a mass disabling event. With this in mind, PoTS is particularly relevant. Covid has resulted in a huge increase in PoTS diagnoses. PoTS is one the acknowledged conditions that Covid19 can induce. I myself, was left with PoTS after contracting Covid. I was intially diagnosed with Long Covid, but Drs quickly noticed that my symptoms mirrored those of PoTS. Far from Coburn’s claim that Pots is hard to quantify and diagnose, there are actually very clear markers and tests. Tachycardia , Dizziness & Syncope, Breathlessness and Air Hunger. There are of course many more symptoms, but these are usually the red flags for PoTS. All of which can and are quantified and recorded with standard medical tests. Media like this supports the notion that chronic illnesses are so indistinct as to be easily faked. This is of course nonsense. Equating many people struggling to get a diagnosis with a condition being difficult to diagnose is absolute bullshit. This narrative increases stigma and ultimately makes accessing appropriate support harder. Which is of course, kind of the point.

The cool factor, they insist, is intrinsic to the rise in chronic illness. Coburn posits that chronic illness & disability are in fact a lifestyle. The appeal of which is fame, fortune and the easy life. Conditions like PoTS, EDS, MCAS & Fibromyalgia are, she says, used as an excuse to avoid adult responsibilities. Thus unencumbered the sick & disabled are free to pursue their chosen lifestyle. Longterm sickness is absolutely a choice to Coburn & her ilk. By her telling, there are no years of debilitating symptoms, no ever increasing medical visits, no fighting for diagnosis nor any battle for relief. Nope; one simply decides that they are chronically ill. Perhaps this is accompanied by sharing one’s experience on social media and voila, a new identity is born. Of course, everyone who has a chronic illness or disability is automatically granted vast amounts of disability benefits. Those Instagram posts always turn into large follower counts and lucrative brand deals. People share their experiences not for catharsis or in an attempt to help others. Their true motivation is profit and clout. Both of which are abundantly available. Disability is of course, very glamorous and society is famously eager to endlessly accommodate. Sickness becomes an entire identity. A victim mentality is encouraged, nay, embraced by the communities that have emerged. Thus, people seek to display their disability with customised mobility aids to up their cache. It is not unnoticed that Coburn and Stock critically align the disabled community with other marginalised groups. Just the latest ridiculous fad among the loony lefties. Life as ‘sickfluencer’ is all health updates on social media, sparkly mobility aids and raking in the PIP.

The reality of chronic illness is a far cry from Poppy’s ‘cool kids club’. Both writers focus on young women, the inference being that this a group that is not to be trusted. The misogyny echoes the bias women often face when seeking medical help. Women routinely receive subpar medical treatment. We are less likely to have our symptoms believed or investigated. Diagnosis takes far longer for women, than men. Conditions that mainly or solely affect AFAB people are not well researched. Even our access to pain relief is severely limited. Medical misogyny has been well established. The activism of women has been a pivotal factor in changing this. These articles ignore the battle that has been fought for the recognition of these conditions. There has been a rise in diagnosis of ‘invisible’ illness. This is not because people are faking, but due to wider recognition of those conditions. These conditions – and the suffering they cause – have always existed. The only difference is they are now officially accepted.

Diagnosis obtained, the next step is not, as suggested, to collect disability limits and live a life leisure. To begin with, the main disability payment PIP (Adp in Scotland) is not an out of work benefit. It designed to cover the extra costs that occur due to being chronically ill and or disabled. Many people in receipt of these benefits are working. Those who do not are unable to. Claiming disability benefit is not easy. Infact, the system is designed to discourage applicants. The intial paperwork is exhaustive. Each condition, treatment, medication and medical professional seen must be detailed. Furthermore, each symptom and how they impact daily life must thoroughly described. Medical evidence is required for every claim. This process is followed by DWP assesment. These are carried out by ‘medically trained’ assesors, but that medical training is rarely relevant to the claimants being assessed. Assessments consist of being questioned about every aspect of life, often being forced to disclose the most private and distressing details to a stranger. That assessor will then decide if/what you are awarded. Unfortunately these assessors rarely accurately represent what occurred in their reports. There have been countless examples of proven lies and cases of severely ill people being denied. From there one must undertaken a stressful appeal process that often seriously impacts the claimants health. The fact the majority of people who appeal will succeed underlines the fact this system is not fit for purpose. Having been through the process, I do not believe it is possible to be falsely awarded disability benefits. The DWP’s own research put fraudulent claims at less than 1%. The people who are awarded these benefits are significantly disabled by their conditions. The hate mongering that these pieces indulge in serves only to goad the public into accepting the withdrawal of support to some of the most vulnerable members of our society.

The truth of chronic illness is much bleaker than Coburn or Stock would have you believe. There’s no choice about the constant pain, fatigue, nausea or passing out. There symptoms cannot be switched off. There’s no magic wand to improve one’s mobility or rework our genetics. It’s a continuous battle to function in a world that refuses to accommodate us. We’re not chilling at home eating lollipops. We’re stuck there, physically unable to take part in our lives. Sharing these stories online isn’t a popularity contest and I can tell you from personal experience, the odd PR product does not a rich girl make. I was actually gifted some of those ‘designer’ compression socks that Coburn mocked (value Aprox £25). They’re just compression socks that aren’t ugly. I need compression socks and if I can offer a genuine review to others I will. Being disabled doesn’t stop people having style or a personality. A pink walking stick is no different to pink glasses. No one accuses people of wearing funky glasses because poor eye sight is the latest trend. Content on this topic is usually about awareness and connection. These articles are evidence of the stigma that abounds. Information is the best tonic for ignorance. We disabled/chronically ill have to advocate for ourselves. We are forced to gather information and insist on second opinions or we suffer in silence. Debunking misinformation is essential to prevent our rights being further eroded. There is also solace to be found in shared understanding. Being too sick to partake in a social life can be very isolating. Even being the person that cancels has an impact on relationships. Finding others who understand your experience is powerful. If a very few people can parle that into a career why should that be problem? Aren’t hard work, entrepreneurship and self sufficiency hallmarks of the right?

The offending socks.

It scares me it that these vile attacks now pass for mainstream journalism. These articles are clear propaganda. They are filled with untruths and snide judgements. The agenda of these pieces is blatant. Yes, they represent another skirmish in the culture wars, but they’re also a signal. A beaming light that directs hate. The disabled and chronically ill community are the latest target of the right’s misdirection. If the populace can be convinced that immigrants, trans and disabled people are the cause of all their woes, they won’t pay attention to the elite who are in charge. Like clockwork, a few days after The Telegraph piece we get details of Reform’s planned cuts to PIP. Politicians who choose to make deeper cuts to the welfare state, sell of you public services and rile up facist thugs are not your in your corner. Neither are the minions who spread their propaganda. Don’t be fooled by it.

And so it goes…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

A woman I follow on social media had a baby. A much longed for child. She had tried unsuccessfully to conceive for many years & had shared this fact with the internet. Finally, her dreams came true. Of course she also shared this joy. I felt genuinely happy for her.

Then a kind of depression hit. I don’t actually know these people. I didn’t even follow her for that content. It was just another part of her life that she chose to be honest about. I saw her occasional posts about infertility and empathised. I hoped things would go well for her. I was happy when she talked about her pregnancy. Her posts about preparing for the baby were lovely. I clicked the heart on all the little outfits and baby paraphernalia. I didn’t give it a lot of thought. When she came up in my feed I thought it was nice that she was getting her happy ending.

I don’t really understand why the shift when her baby arrived. The photos are adorable. I don’t begrudge her having something I cannot. Still, I plunged into a really yucky pool of emotions. I wouldn’t even describe as a fully fledged depression. I feel sort of hollow. Numb isn’t quite right and neither is sad. It’s a little bit like the world is a technicolour picture and I am merely the text. My life lacks dimension. Absolutely nothing has changed. This woman’s story does not impact me at all. I will remain the same. It’s possible that witnessing someone else transform really underlines my stubborn lack of metamorphosis. It’s hardly my first rodeo, though.

My mind‘s ability to fuck with me never fails to catch me off guard. People are having babies everyday. There are films and books and friends and strangers with tales of loss, of waiting and of miracle babies. I can’t enumerate the number times I have been told about someone’s cousin or work colleague who tried for a million years and when they’d given up hope, it just happened. Social media is jam packed with pregnancy announcements and birth stories, they don’t all put me in a tail spin. Why this one? I’ll never know.

There is a hole through the centre of me and periodically something will disturb the wound. That constant background absence becomes a painful cavity. Often without warning or my full comprehension. It’s tiring. I have made strides towards another life. Most of the time, I’m proud of what I have built, but I cannot fill the gap. I’m 45yrs old and I believe I have reached another of those epic life realisations. This is it.

I don’t mean that in a defeatist way. I have been labouring under the illusion that I could find an alternative centre of gravity. Not knowing what was or could be felt sad & awful. I understand now, it doesn’t exist. I will never be a Mother & nothing will fill the role. Acceptance has been a long time coming, but it might be here. It’s painful, but there’s also a large amount of relief in it. The desperate search can cease. As can all the feelings of inadequacy that arise with never being able to find the thing. I have what I have, my efforts are much better spent making the most of that.

Cat Tax

If you like what I do you can support be on Patreon.

Hurting Time…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I have been struggling with really high pain levels for quite some time. I’m trying changes to meds and pain relief strategies. My dr has ordered some tests, but so far I have not found relief. When pain overtakes me like this I seek one thing; comfort. Here are some places I have taken refuge recently.

Alan Bennett

I was delighted to discover that Alan Bennett had released a new volume of diaries and stories. I stumbled upon Bennett in my late teens/early twenties. I saw one of his books on sale and it piqued my interest. I fell in love on the first page and have devoured his work since. His writing feels like sinking into a warm bath. His memoirs paint the picture of a kind, funny and intelligent man. He always seem to be on the write side of important issues and handles life with grace. His plays are genius. So well observed and engaging. Basically I gain a feeling of well being from immersing myself in his words. If I’m too sore to sleep at least I can get into bed with these comforting pages.

An Oldie

This one is random. I saw an advert for a streaming service that included a really old sitcom that I used to love. The sitcom is As Time Goes By, it’s an early nighties show starring Judi Dench & Geoffrey Palmer. The premise is an older couple reuniting after being separated for 30yrs. They were in love in their youth and lost touch via a postal accident. Both thinking the other had rejected them. They are flung back into each other’s lives and fall back in love. It’s a gentle comedy. It’s also really lovely. Second chances, fate, the one who got away all feel romantic to me. Anyway, I of course downloaded the service and binge watched the delightful lot.

Music of The Night

Pain like this is usually accompanied by insomnia & that is currently the case. Sometimes even if I can’t sleep I will try to at least lie down and rest. For this I need a dark, cool room and some soothing music. Weirdly, one of the genres that relax me is musicals. The Lloyd Webber/West End type. I’m talking ‘Music of Night’, ‘Send in The Clowns’ kind of fare. Something about all those soaring emotional notes soothes me. Thus, I may recently have been spending the wee small hours singing show tunes in the dark.

Bru Boy

Finally, there is my boy. Bru is a very snuggly cat. Like most cats he seems to sense when I am having a really hard time. He will come lie with me in bed or climb right up on my chest to comfort me. He also does a very cute head butt thing. If I ask for kiss, he headbutts my mouth. He also grants me a little grace when I’m struggling and offers no complaint when breakfast is a late. I have been extraordinarily lucky with my beautiful cat companions. I am forever grateful.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

62 million…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I imagine if you are interested in what I write that you will by now be aware of the CNN investigation into an online ‘rape academy’. I’m sure we can agree on the abhorrent nature of the site under investigation. Unfortunately the public discourse has not been so unanimous.

The site in question falls under the umbrella term ‘sleep content’. Essentially, this is a porn category that covers touching, filming and/or engaging in sexual activity with a sleeping or unconscious person. The site included 20,000 videos of men drugging & raping their partners. Beyond that the group chats & message boards included hundreds of thousands of posts about procurement & administration drugs to render a person unconscious. Hence, it being dubbed a ‘rape academy’. Visitors to the site were not only consuming the content, but also seeking advice in how to engage in the acts. These enquires were met with many eager to coach them, in detail.

For women, these revelations were not a shock so much as confirmation of what we already know; we are not safe. Don’t get me wrong, it is shocking that men want to engage and/or watch this kind of content. It is repulsive that the site received 62 million views in one month. Further is horrifying that not one man who visited this site (whether they were aware or not of the specific content) thought to contact authorities regarding what they found. Woman have been vocal about the horrors CNN uncovered. Every time something like this is brought to light women express their outrage. We discuss how unsafe we feel. We use these examples to explain how difficult it for us to trust any man when even those who may be considered loving partners turn out to be predators. For us, all men are a threat. There is no way for us to decipher who the ‘good ones’ are. This CNN investigation, the Gisèle Pelicot and Sarah Everard cases perfectly illustrate this point. Men can masquerade as loving partners, hold positions of responsibility and still be exceptionally dangerous. Abusers are often very plausible. Caution is the prudent response for women.

This is especially true when you consider the male response. Predictably, the overriding response is silence. My time line is flooded with women sharing stories, articles and their thoughts related to this investigation. Every woman I know is talking about what CNN uncovered. Meanwhile, our male counterparts in the main, have nothing to say. That silence is significant. It speaks to the fact that men are unaffected by these crimes. They mostly don’t pay much attention to this kind of reporting. These crimes are not a threat to their safety. They also don’t consider them relevant. They aren’t victim or perpetrator, therefore their attention isn’t required. Too many men consider themselves exempt from the conversation. Not being a rapist isn’t enough. Men are uniquely placed to check their peers. Misogynists do not respond to feedback from women. Being corrected, admonished and excluded by friends & colleagues can make a difference. We need men to care enough to act. We can’t put our faith in men who can’t even be relied upon to open their mouths.

The contributions of men who did want to engage on the topic have been dire. Barring a few supportive takes, the men chipping in are doing so to minimise. Oh and of course to blame women. They want to quibble over details,

‘It wasn’t 62 million men, it was 62 million views’.

‘Women view porn too’.

‘They want to be dominated, that’s why 50 shades of grey was so big’.

‘Maybe they wanted to do it’.

Men are not the villains they cry. Female outrage is overblown. None of this is really as bad as it seems. Then comes the personal offence. Men are being demonised. It’s not all men, this narrative is damaging to young men. It makes men angry and not want to be a nice guy anymore. All these men are actually so mad because women made them that way. Plus, they tell us, women lie; poor men live in fear of being accused. We don’t reject them kindly enough. Our standards are too high. We dress too provocatively. We’re sluts. We don’t want to be wives and mothers. It’s all our fault. How dare we refuse to give these men what they want. And on and on and on. Throw in some gross misogyny and that sums up the vocal response from men.

All of which brings me back to where I started. Women don’t feel safe because we aren’t safe. There are supposed loving partners who not only drug & rape the women they share their lives with, but share the abuse online. Millions of men who enjoy watching this abusive content. Hundreds of thousands more who want to learn how to abuse their partners in the same way. Then there’s men willing to loudly defend this behaviour and those who just say nothing at all. Who do we trust? That’s why we say, ALL men. If you’re a man who objects to that statement, I invite you to please do something to change our minds.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

Why do you have to be a heartbreaker…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I have an app that is designed to monitor symptoms of chronic illness. I wear a monitor on my wrist to check my heart rate, oxygen level, quality of sleep etc. It’s helpful. It warns me when my vital stats are out of sink. It records my heart rate variation, which is a big indicator of how well my body is coping. It has also been good to have an accurate idea of how much sleep I am getting (not much). You can rate symptoms every day and compare over time how various issues are affecting you. Overall, would recommend the app.

There’s just one thing that gets me down. The final thing that is recorded daily is ‘crash’. Basically, did I run out steam that day. Sadly, the answer is yes. Sometimes my energy tank is empty before reaching the dat’s destination. Other times pain takes me out. Others, still,I get too dizzy to continue. Lucky me, some days it’s a combination of all three. Of course this means that I rarely accomplish what I wanted (or needed) to. It frustrating and depressing and often really destructive. Constantly saying ‘I can’t’ wreaks havoc with every aspect of life. Be it personal or professional, I’m letting people down and it kills me. The guilt is enormous. As is the disappointment. I’m ambitious; my head is crammed with ideas and I had a very different life planned. Not being able to execute my plans in a grand or minute way is heartbreaking. 

That’s the thing about chronic illness, it breaks your heart and you just have to carry on. I’m continually having to find a different way to operate. My lists of can’ts is forever growing and changing, thus I must be flexible. I’m working with a different set of tools and I try to remember that. However, always ticking that box is a daily downer, which happens to be another intrinsic part of being chronically ill. It’s not often that the big things floor me. The huge issues pull all your focus into jus getting through it. It’s an hour by hour what needs to happen to come out the other side of this. There’s no time for dissecting. It’s the drip drip of daily symptoms that really torture me. The dreaded realisation that this thing is here to stay, that’s what fucks me up.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

New Year, No Bullshit…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

In January I usually write something in answer to all the ‘New Year, New Me’ noise. This year I find myself exhausted that it’s still so loud. I genuinely don’t understand how the diet industry, fitness hacks & self help scammers still have such a hold on people.

I’m pretty sure almost everyone is aware that New Year’s resolutions are ineffective. January 1st is just an arbitrary line in the sand. You aren’t more likely to break a habit or change behaviour because it’s a new year. In fact, given how meh January is we’re probably less likely to manage big changes. That’s before we even start on the things folk are dying for us change. Lose weight, tone it up, don’t eat that, hustle harder, conform! The only thing that changes is the spin the charlatans put on it. I just don’t understand why so many people are still falling for it. Shrinking your body won’t shrink your problems. There are no good or bad foods. Your value is not measured by your productivity. No arsehole in a sports bra or with the a podcast can fix your life.

The frustrating part is, deep down, I believe people know that. Which to me, means that everyone hawking their miracle cure are exploiting the vulnerable. They purposely target this shit at people who are grasping for answers. It’s a scam. The diet industry, the fitness bros & self help gurus don’t have the answer. And they know it.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

Ordinary pain…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Pain is a curious beast. Its purpose is to protect us. Our own built in warning system; something that compels us to take our hand out of the fire or call a doctor. The whole point of pain is to give us a message that we don’t ignore. That is until something goes wrong. Then ignoring pain becomes your life mission. 

Chronic pain is impossible to accurately describe. If you haven’t experienced it, you can never understand. All our lives we’re taught to report pain. The expectation being that you find the problem and there will be a solution. You graze your knee, your mum puts germolene on & kisses it better. You break a bone, you get a cast & it heals. Now with vigilance we can even hope to survive life threatening illness. We are a society awash with information; what foods we should eat, how often & how to move our bodies, how much sleep, water, sunlight are optimal. Our collective consciousness is set to believe that if we do the right things we can prevent illness and if something still goes wrong we can fix it. When that doesn’t happen, you’re stuck in a void. Physically, you are ill, but psychologically you must find a way to override it. 

 I am awoken most mornings by pain. I average about 4hrs sleep and rising from my bed is a fainting hazard. Every step I take hurts. My digestive system is best described as erratic and my autonomic processes are haywire. Thus I spend my days dizzy, sore, nauseated, exhausted and unable to regulate my temperature. That combination would bring most people to a standstill. You’d call the Dr, take the day off and you’d be right. But it’s everyday for me and Drs can’t help. I can’t ‘call in sick’ from life. I’m left with the challenge of learning how to turn off my body’s alarm system. 

Unfortunately, you can’t. It isn’t possible to stop the pain. Chronically ill people just have to do it anyway. The only alternative to missing my entire life is to do as much as I can despite the pain. It takes a lot of work to rewire one’s natural responses. Then even more work to decipher how far you can push. A huge amount of planning is involved. There are calculations required for every single thing I want to do. Firstly the practical: 

I always try to schedule my days. I estimate in advance how much impact each activity will have on my body. Then aportion rest days accordingly. Not just big days, but daily essentials like housework or showering. I attempt to judge how much I can handle and how long a recovery period I will require. 

The next step is planning. Before I go anywhere I check various things. Will there be places I can sit down, do they have disabled toilets, can I access water & food I can eat? Then I figure out my condition that particular day. Is my stomach behaving? Will it be safe to eat when I am out or am I likely to vomit. Am I especially dizzy? How safe is the location if I faint? Can I physically manage the walking distances involved?  And so on and so forth. 

The last stage of practicalities is symptom management. Medication selection, will I require more than meds for pain relief, do I need to take food or water. What clothes will keep me most comfortable? Items that won’t increase pain, will be cool enough if I overheat, but easy to carry layers to guard against the cold if necessary. Maybe I need cooling spray or my tens machine. How many of these things can I actually carry? All must be weighed up before I step foot out of the house.

Preparations complete, now comes the really tricky bit. It’s time to manage my mind. This part is entirely in my hands. There are no guaranteed techniques. One can see pain specialists, psychologists and research til the cows come home, but you can only know what works via trial and error. One of my conditions, Fibromyalgia, impacts the way the central nervous system processes pain. Sometimes my nerves send pain signals to my brain that are way out of proportion. I can have pain anywhere or everywhere for no discernible reason. The only way to function is to override that pain. I can’t stop feeling it, but I can attempt to alter how I react to it. 

My first line of defence is what I call ‘mind over matter’. I focus only on the very next thing to be done. Nothing else exists. For example, I must get to the seat up ahead. I don’t think about which parts of me hurt. No lingering on the sensations I am experiencing. I do not consider what comes after the seat. I keep my eyes on my target, keep moving and tell myself I can rest when the task is complete. This theory can be applied to anything. Brush my teeth, finish the paragraph, get to the end of the driveway. The reward of rest awaits me. 

In bouts of extreme pain I opt for deception. When I have tried every pain relief method at my disposal to no avail, I lie to myself. I close my eyes and repeat ‘I’m ok’. It doesn’t lessen the pain, but it can con my body out of panic. Panic makes pain worse. The body tenses & heart races. Calmly telling myself that I am ok repeatedly can override the fear coursing through my body. The pain may be unbearable, but I won’t stop the repetition. I will bear it. 

Distraction can be of use in various forms. Really loud music is a rudimentary diversion. As is cold water/ice or projected light. Basically I bombard my brain with stimuli in the hope of distracting from the pain. It’s a trick, sometimes it offers temporary relief. My other interruption tactic requires the help of others. I need someone to talk to me. A steady stream of words without my participation. Don’t ask me questions or wait for a response, simply give me a voice & a narrative to focus on. I’m not sure why but it has a calming effect. I don’t take in everything that is being said. I merely zone in on the voice and try not to think about anything else. It doesn’t stop the pain, but it somehow helps me manage it. 

My last ditch effort is comparison. I recall a time when my pain was worse. I remind myself that I got through that. The pain did eventually end. If it passed before, it will pass now. I endeavour to remember all the details. Where I was, what I wore, the smells, sounds, what my eyes rested on, the sensations of needles piercing my skin, the names of medical professionals, were they kind or rude, how long I waited, did I lie down and every other particular. Eventually, reaching the point when the agony began to subside. I strive with all my might to recollect that sensation; the incredible relief of pain beginning to melt. I hold tight to the belief that it will come again.

And there you have it, the tools in my box. Of course none of them actually leave me pain free and they’re all exhausting. It takes enormous energy to pre-empt every move and even more to employ these strategies whilst already in pain. At the worst moments they don’t have any impact at all. There are times when my body is excruciating. The pain so all encompassing that there is no escape. On those days I am beaten. I stay still and hope for it to be over. That’s the real truth of chronic pain; there’s no getting away from it.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

Still…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’m doing well. I really am. When I compare with my previous self there is no doubt that I’m in a much better place. Still, no matter how well I become, the devil on my shoulder remains.

That devil is destruction. Self destruction. Sometimes just flashes; a momentary thought of blood or blades. Other times I experience the deepest longing to ravage my skin. My reaction to pain is still, more often that I would like, the desire for more pain. Not the same kind of pain. A pain I can control. I have worked at working myself out. Learning healthy coping strategies, questioning myself, pinning down what I feel and why have been an ongoing process for decades. I am better. I haven’t self harmed in a very long time. I still want to, though.

Not everyday. Not in the compulsive ‘can’t think about anything else until it is done way’. I don’t berate myself for not cutting or create a mandatory timetable. That is gone. I have conquered that aspect of my demon. My problem is, the underlying urge never really goes away. In times of trouble my mind thinks it knows what will ‘help’. I suppose it’s like being an alcoholic. There will always be days when one really wants a drink, except in my case it’s a scalpel, not a bottle I want to reach for. The weird bit is that these thoughts aren’t reserved for awful days. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, a wave of craving will hit me. Honestly, my toolbox isn’t particularly helpful in those instances. It is very difficult to reason with a nonsensical ghost in your head. I’m left with sheer determination & an awareness of how slippery the slope is.

Strangely, I rarely hear anyone talk about this. There is much discussion about the warning signs for self harm, the damage it causes and how to stop. There is even information on how to treat wounds and hide scars. It’s all very much a before and after narrative. People are sick and then they recover. As I’m sure you’re aware, very few things are ever that simple. We generally understand the complex nature of addiction and mental illness. For example, much work has been done to educate people on eating disorders. Most people know how difficult they are to manage and recover from. It’s generally understood that people are not concretely cured. It is a process that involves relapses and continuous effort. Disordered eating becomes compulsive and corrupts thought patterns. Often nothing is as important as maintaining the disease. Likewise substance abuse takes over a person. The priority becomes obtaining the substance of choice. Whilst no one thinks that’s good or healthy, we do understand that people don’t want to be controlled by an illness. These are topics that are commonly discussed; we have compassion and celebrate those who have worked towards recovery. Not so for self harm.

Self harm is still taboo. There isn’t really any mainstream discourse of its realities. No one is making serious documentaries or accurate media portrayals. Celebrities aren’t telling stories of how they won their battle with self harm in the way they regularly do regarding addiction, eating disorders or issues like anxiety. The latter are viewed as brave and inspiring, self harm is still seen as disturbing. Even talk of relapse or the ongoing nature of recovery are received positively, but discussions like I had above is very much in the ‘crazy’ category for most. Despite the fact that statistics show the prevalence of ED & SH are fairly similar and that they share many commonalities, the public perception is very different. Even years into ‘recovery’ it frustrates me. The stigma sticks. I can carry the weight of other people’s judgement now. That wasn’t always the case and it won’t be for many still in the throes of illness. The fear of the judgement creates an impediment to seeking help. That delay is extremely dangerous. So, yes, I’m still talking about this because hardly anyone else is. I don’t believe people get better in silence and I think it helps to be prepared for what better might actually look like.

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

The Biggest Liar…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

On Saturday I might I watched The Biggest Loser. I didn’t really want to, I knew it would infuriate me and I was correct.

I never watched The Biggest Loser when it was showing. Not because I knew better, at the time I was very much steeped in diet culture & self loathing. It just wasn’t available on whatever tv channels I had at the time. So, for me, this was the first time seeing clips of the show. I felt rage, sadness and an overwhelming urge to intervene. The abuse those people were subjected to is appalling. Sadly I remember how commonplace that was at the time. I completely understand why the contestants signed up for this public humiliation.

For me, the documentary went way too easy on those involved in creating this programme. Right off the bat, Bob Harper (one of the show trainers) claims that he regrets nothing he did on The Biggest Loser. No one takes any real responsibility for the fact that they caused real and lasting harm. The film makers allow the producers, trainers and show Dr to dodge accountability with pathetic excuses. I felt that the documentary ultimately reinforced the message of the show; the ends justify the means.

The creators of The Biggest Loser (BL) admit that they purposely used sensationalist tactics to attract attention. They knew the connotations of the name and played on it. They wanted people to tune in thinking they could judge these ‘fat losers’. They encouraged the trainers to be outrageous, they wanted contestants to throw up, cry etc. They knew the vile ‘challenges’ were cruel and unnecessary, but it made good television. They excused this exploitation by claiming that they were improving people’s health. In other words, all was acceptable in the name of thin. Everyone involved knew they were hurting people. Dr Robert Huizenga, the programme’s medical advisor told them so. He claimed that he regularly met with the trainers to explain his recommendations. He also admitted he was aware that they ignored him; they cut the calorific intake to dangerous levels and over trained people to the point of injury. Dr Huizenga tries to paint himself as caring medical professional who was helpless in his attempts to prevent harm. In reality he had a duty of care, he should have left the show and reported the dangerous practices. He could have stopped taking their money and spoken out at any time. He didn’t, he continued to profit from damaging fat people. Not only the people on the show, but all fat people who were impacted by the message of the BL.

That gist of that message was that fat people are lazy and gross. The ‘temptation’ challenges reinforced the idea that fat people can’t control themselves. The cruelty of those challenges is ignored in the discussion, the participants were forced to choose between gorging on ‘junk food’ or missing visits with their families. The footage included in the documentary shows participants crying whilst eating pizza slices; their suffering was entertainment. The show revelled in degrading the fat competitors. Tasks that made them build food towers with their mouths, trainers screaming, participants set against each other. Placing people on extreme diets, working them past exhaustion daily and then capturing their disputes and meltdowns on camera is repulsive. Worse still is the soul destroying message the trainers rammed home. Once the abuse was concluded they would tell participants that it was for their own good. I only shouted because I care about you, I knew you could do it, I didn’t want you to give up. Then the nail in the coffin, ‘don’t make me have to do that again’. The lesson to the participants and the viewing public? This is your fault. It’s your fault you are fat. It’s your fault you don’t apply yourself. It’s your fault that I had to abuse you.

All of this aside, the BL’s main claim, that they were improving lives, was obviously not true. Even if weight loss was a magic cure all, their process was clearly unsustainable. No one can live on 600-800 calories p/d forever. People with jobs, families and lives cannot train for 8hrs a day, everyday. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that as soon as participants return to their regular life, they will gain weight. I have partaken in enough crash dieting to know how quickly the weight returns. One of the former contestants in the documentary talked of how he asked the BL to set up aftercare and was denied. Other contestants reached out to seek help for injuries sustained on the show and were ignored. Cut to a producer explaining that they didn’t have the budget for aftercare. Plus he didn’t think it was their responsibility. They were making a tv show; what happened after wasn’t their business. Meanwhile we learn the BL franchise earned billions. They licensed their name to every product you can imagine. Further exploiting vulnerable people desperate to lose weight. It was a cash grab and fat people were paying for it.

The only entirely critical voice in the documentary is fat activist, Aubrey Gordon. Her contributions are insightful and impactful. Alas, there was not nearly enough of her. Even the former BL contestants who were critical of the show were still heartbreakingly steeped in fat phobia. They were still seeking weight loss, still blaming themselves and still felt they weren’t good enough. The evidence of the consequence of extreme dieting was somewhat skimmed over. Studies on broken metabolism, life threatening conditions and even Bob Harper’s heart attack are treated as incidental. They place no importance on the fact that a man who adhered to the supposed ideal diet and lifestyle had a massive heart attack at 52. As if that information doesn’t disprove the central argument of The Biggest Loser.

The documentary concluded with more diet culture propaganda. They give obesity stats without ever mentioning that those numbers are based on BMI. A measurement that has been conclusively proven to be inaccurate. It’s a non scientific, racist scale. The documentary makers allow the show creators, trainers and Dr to claim good intent and even positive results. Their hearts were in the right place, they say. They made some people thin. Damn the ramifications. After all, anything is better fat.

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5 things I liked in April…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

April has been a very up & down month. Lots of really lovely time spent with my littles & their people. Also, an equal amount of time despairing at current events & struggling with mood dips.

I have coined the name ‘Depression Light’ for this state. It’s not deepest, darkest agony. More of an ugh that makes everything feel a bit futile. I am generally anxious and really not sleeping well. Sometimes it’s the little things that keep you afloat. These have been my buoyancy aids this month.

Spring Lambs

Taking my niblings to see the newborn lambs at a Farm Park was very life affirming. Watching the kids pet the baby lambs & their Mums was really wonderful. I even got a wee snuggle in myself. We learned that most sheep have twins, some have triplets & even rarely have quads. Imagine having all those little legs inside you? Animals are incredible. They mostly give birth all on their own and their babies are up on their precious little legs within 20mins. All that & they are adorable.

Iron Strawberry

My silly body doesn’t properly digest iron. To combat the resultant anemia I have occasional iron infusions and daily iron supplements. My liquid iron came in a revolting mint chocolate flavour. It did not taste at all like chocolate. The best description I can give of the flavour is a gritty, oily minty nightmare. I did not enjoy swallowing a spoon of it twice a day. The arrival of this month’s prescription brought a partial reprieve; strawberry flavoured iron! Honestly, it doesn’t taste good, but it is not the horror show of the minty choc. Small victories.

Vinyl Bonding

One of the things my niece requested for Xmas was a record player. She’s 15 and very into all things retro. It came as quite a shock that most the retro she’s loving hails from my hey day. Once I got over how old that made me, I have been loving introducing her to classics from my youth. Turns out we have similar musical tastes. I have been loving sending her old albums and the long FaceTimes we have to discuss them. I was worried that I’d lose my cool auntie status once she hit high school. Alanis Morrisette, Jeff Buckley and our joint penchant for saying it how it is might just buy me another few years.

The ‘Beautiful’ Game

A funny thing happened whilst I was doing some research for a piece. The piece was on football culture, I am familiar as an observer. I grew up in the West Of Scotland surrounded by football fanatics. I know a bit about football culture. I don’t however enjoy the game. It bores the life out of me. However, during my research I discovered something I unexpectedly love. Stick to Football, is a podcast (it’s filmed too) where ex footballers talk about football. Except they stray from the topic and it’s hilarious. Especially Roy Keane. I doubt I could have told you who he was a few months ago, I am now a bonafide fan. I do have to fast forward when they get bogged down in tactics and players I’ve never heard of, but I still look forward to a new weekly episode. I even ended up reading both of Keane’s books. Those close to me find it hilarious that I, the vocal hater, am an avid watcher of something with football in the title. Hey, you can’t help what you love.

Comfort Reads

Whenever I’m feeling down I turn to literature for comfort. When my insomnia starts acting up I need a steady stream of familiar favourites. This month I have been re reading some of my most loved novels. Jane Austen is a go to, I love sinking into her world. I started the month with Persuasion & am finishing it off with Mansfield Park. You can’t beat a clever woman getting the happy ending she deserves. Also at the ready was Barbara Trapido. The Travelling Hornplayer holds a special place in my heart. I found it at a difficult time and it has brought me peace on every read. It even partly inspired one of my tattoos. Trapido weaves intricate stories with overlapping characters. A truly beautiful writer. Her only flaw being the focus on middle class/oxbridge set, but the storytelling is so good that I can forgive it. Finally, I sought refuge in Carrie Fisher. Fisher was the first writer whose words expressed my experience of mental illness. She was a genius; no one on the planet ever wrote like her. This month I choose Delusions of Grandma & Surrender the Pink, but I suspect I’ll be diving into her catalogue again in May.

What gets you through?

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