Beating Ana by Shannon Cutts

The Grief Monster

I was sitting with a friend at dinner last week when she suddenly confided, "I woke up this morning and my heart just HURT".

I didn't have to ask her what she was describing. I know that feeling all too well - we all do - which is why not a one of us has to ask who is at the door when the Grief Monster comes to call.

Normally the call doesn't come at a convenient moment, either. In my friend's case, she had had to plow through a packed schedule of appointments that day, which she did by keeping her head down and keeping busy until the evening when she knew she would have a bit of space and the safety of a friend's company in which to unwind.

The anxiety bully

I woke up to it again this morning. There I am, all soft and relaxed in my peaceful warm blankets, my bird Pearl sleeping soundly (as opposed to her usual ill-advised attempts to imitate a small grey rooster) and there it is. Again. Its ugly tone and condemning words cut through my post-sleep fog and jolt me awake.

Happy Monday, Shannon. Say hi to your old friend, the anxiety bully.

After two courses of neurotherapy and several years' training in anxiety-management techniques, I have become pretty well-versed in anxiety bully-avoidance. Like the proverbial overly-talkative neighbor or ex-boyfriend, I have learned to see it coming and duck down a nearby corridor or behind a calming affirmation.

But anxiety bullies are persistent, and it never stops trying.

Functionally schizophrenic

As far as my landlord is concerned, I am a single person, living in a single occupancy unit. Have been for quite some years now. And nothing is looking likely to change on that front anytime soon.

But nevertheless, as the months and years go by, I am starting to get the sneaking suspicion that I am not alone.

And I am not talking about my bird, Pearl, or her two pet finches, Tweety and Taz. I am not even talking about my red and blue betta fish, Gill and Bob, or about the fact that Gill is feeling rather poorly at the moment and Bob may soon be getting a new red fish friend.

Rather, I am talking about the continual internal left vs. right brain dialogue that I am a sometimes amused but often simply irritated party to - a phenomenon neuroscientists frequently call "brain chatter" - that is taking place inside my own head.

There, I said it. My brain talks to itself. Constantly.

Five-year-old in a business suit

For fifteen years of my life, I suffered from anorexia and bulimia. I also struggled with depression and chronic anxiety. Life was hard. I often doubted whether I would ever manage to get far enough ahead of all my problems to make a dent in them, let alone leave them behind.

Today, I have been in strong, sustained recovery for over a decade. The impossible has become a reality in my life. In fact, looking back now, it doesn’t even seem as hard as I thought it was at the time.

Maybe that is because there is a new challenge on my horizon. For almost one year now, I have headed up an international online eating disorders mentoring community called MentorCONNECT. Our sole purpose for being is to help individuals in recovery from eating disorders begin to replace their “relationship” with eating disordered thoughts and coping behaviors with real supportive human relationships.