Monday morning. Alone again in the bunker. As I sit at my desk with the blinds drawn shut, deleting Spam messages urging me to 'Forget about erectile dysfunction problems!', 'Enjoy sexual rebirth!', 'Make women want to sleep with you immediately!' I contemplate how far away from here I will be in just a few weeks.
A weekend of sleep, being at home and a few inspired meetings with friends, one of whom has nearly finished her first novel(!) has motivated me further and as it often is at this time of day after the adrenaline rush and muscle burn of cycling to work, my resolve to be positive, healthy and effective is strong. I wonder what factors, what faulty brain wiring, cause me to fold as the day wears on. I am no fool surely? I am aware of how fortunate I am and how much I have to look forward to but bulimic beats have a logic of their own and it is a constant struggle to overcome them.
I also consider how narrow my world view has become, how everything that comprises my daily routine, my cushy job, my cycle journeys (on which I know every pot hole in the road and every traffic light timing), my visits to the shops, my skimming of the easy read leftie newspapers, my evenings at home, has made me feel safe, meant that I have behaved 'as a responsible adult should' even, but has also held me back and actually exacerbated the self-destructive traits and behaviours I have tried for so long now shake off.
A weekend of sleep, being at home and a few inspired meetings with friends, one of whom has nearly finished her first novel(!) has motivated me further and as it often is at this time of day after the adrenaline rush and muscle burn of cycling to work, my resolve to be positive, healthy and effective is strong. I wonder what factors, what faulty brain wiring, cause me to fold as the day wears on. I am no fool surely? I am aware of how fortunate I am and how much I have to look forward to but bulimic beats have a logic of their own and it is a constant struggle to overcome them.
I also consider how narrow my world view has become, how everything that comprises my daily routine, my cushy job, my cycle journeys (on which I know every pot hole in the road and every traffic light timing), my visits to the shops, my skimming of the easy read leftie newspapers, my evenings at home, has made me feel safe, meant that I have behaved 'as a responsible adult should' even, but has also held me back and actually exacerbated the self-destructive traits and behaviours I have tried for so long now shake off.
I see a picture of a smiling fairy and feel pangs of sadness for the troubled little girl she was yet to become.
And so I find that my anticipation of going away and fear of what the future holds is enforcing my desire to leave. My job has now been advertised, so there'll be no coming back. This is a very good thing.
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