4,49 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Wydawnictwo Psychoskok
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Polnisch
ENG: "It takes time to find yourself"
Borderline personality disorders, eating disorders and schizophrenia are diseases that the author has struggled with during the twelve years of her life. It describes the hard and long way out of these diseases, the ups and downs associated with them and the great racing of thoughts accompanying these ailments. What methods did she use in order not to eat and lose weight, and how she hid it perfectly for years. While in hospital, she found out that she suffers from borderline disorder, or "borderline personality"- a disorder on the border of neurosis and psychosis. He talks about his adventures with men, great love and numerous friendships. It also shows a moment of great faith in God, as well as relations with the family, its disbelief, rebellion, and finally great love and support.
POL: "Trzeba długo iść, żeby dojść do siebie"
Zaburzenia osobowości typu borderline, zaburzenia odżywiania i schizofrenii, to choroby z jakimi zmagała się autorka w ciągu dwunastu lat swojego życia. Opisuje ciężką i długą drogę wychodzenia z tych chorób, wzloty i upadki z nimi związane oraz wielką gonitwę myśli towarzyszącą tym przypadłościom. Do jakich metod dopuszczała się, by nie jeść lub schudnąć i jak przez lata doskonale to ukrywała. Przebywając w szpitalu dowiedziała się, że cierpi na zaburzenia borderline czyli „osobowość z pogranicza” - zaburzenie na granicy nerwicy i psychozy. Opowiada o swoich przygodach z mężczyznami, ogromnej miłości i licznych przyjaźniach. Ukazany jest też moment wielkiej wiary w Boga, a także relacje z rodziną, jej niedowierzanie, buntowanie, aż w końcu ogromną miłość i wsparcie.
Polska wersja dostępna w osobnym e-booku.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Ähnliche
Annabelle Copenhay „It takes time to find yourself”
Copyright © by Annabelle Copenhay, 2022
Copyright © by Wydawnictwo Psychoskok Sp. z o.o. 2022
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, or transmittedin any form or by any meanswithout the written consent of the publisher.
Editor in Chief: Renata Grześkowiak
Cover design: Robert Rumak
Editing and proofreading: Marlena Rumak
Setting: Jacek Antoniewski
Cover pictures: © olly – Fotolia.com
Pdf, epub and mobi editing: Adam Brychcy
ISBN: 978-83-8119-933-9
Wydawnictwo Psychoskok Sp. z o.o.
ul. Spółdzielców 3, pok. 325, 62-510 Konin
tel. (63) 242 02 02, kom. 695-943-706
http://www.psychoskok.pl/http://wydawnictwo.psychoskok.pl/ e-mail:[email protected]
Special thanks to: E.S-R for showing me my way to myself.
Introduction
On September 1, 2009, after talking to a psychiatrist, I decided to go to a psychiatric hospital in the neurotic disorders ward of my own free will. After many years of treatment, which still didn’t bring the expected results, I came to the conclusion that the hospital was my last hope. I went there because I suffered from eating disorders - bulimia nervosa and anorexia. Then it turned out that it was not my only, nor the most important problem... Probably if I hadn’t found out about it and then hadn’t started to deal with it, I would still be ill or worse – I wouldn’t be here anymore.
Today I know that if you really want to, you really believe that you can be healthy, then it’s possible. Faith, the true, sincere faith works miracles. I’m not talking about curing the disease and its relapses. I am writing about understanding myself, getting back on my feet, causes of falling ill and complete, irreversible recovery, curing.
I am addressing the book to everyone. To people who consider this disease to be a whim, an invention of girls who want to get attention. To insecure women and teenagers, to parents, and especially to the same girls and adult women as me. To women who have fallen into the nightmare of this disease and are either undergoing treatment and it does not bring such effects as they wanted to, or to those who do not want to be treated, because they feel comfortable with the disease, or are ashamed to go to a psychologist/psychiatrist. Please don’t lose hope, don’t say “I can’t stop”, but finally say “I can”, although the road is long, hard and painful, it is worth going through. It is worth being at its end, because that is where the desired happiness awaits.
Chapter I
From the outside looking in, my life might seem almost perfect. A child from a wealthy, well-educated family. From an early age, my parents provided for me and cared for everything. I grew up in great conditions to play, learn, getting to know the world with holidays abroad. Many people don’t understand how it’s possible that children, who have everything they want, or even more, and who were never denied anything, can fall ill with such a disease. Many people say it’s not real and is only borne out of boredom or on a whim, to be the centre of attention and be talked about... All the excesses are simply caused by “having too much” and being spoiled. However, I didn’t like to be in the centre of attention and even when it did happen, it was never intended by me. On the contrary, in such moments, I often felt foolish and ashamed of myself.
The story of my illness started when I was 16. I had just come from a great holiday in Greece, but earlier on I had been working in a pub in my father’s hometown (I was not of legal age but was allowed to work there because the establishment where the pub was belonged to my family). It was very sad for me when I had to come back home because I had made some amazing friends and had such a wonderful time living and working there. I was happy until the moment when I weighed myself and I saw that I had gained 2 kilos. I thought I was looking good; I didn’t weigh myself often and all was good. I rode a bike because I knew that doing some sport is good for my health. I tried to maintain a proper weight of 55 kg and hadn’t had problems with that so far, so when I gained those 2 kilos, I decided not to worry about it, because I was tired of maintaining my correct weight, being careful about what I eat. I started to eat more, while not exercising and doing nothing but learning and going out from time to time and it happened - I put on weight. I weighed 65 kg with a height of 165 cm. I did not feel good about the new weight, but I also did not feel bad enough to do something about it. However, my dad had a problem with that, he even hit me once, when I ate a bun in my room, because he was worried that my brothers and I would grow fat and become ill, but I didn’t care then. There aren’t many thin people in my family, most of them, if not all of them, love to eat; my dad included but he was afraid that we would become as fat as our neighbour’s children and with the obesity would come the many diseases associated with it as we got older. I could feel his eyes on me when I was eating, but it didn’t bother me enough to do anything about it.
Dad was of the opinion that I must do some sport, so he signed my brother, Jurek and I up to play tennis with a friend of his. At first I didn’t want to. I wasn’t interested in the sport at all. My dad liked it and he still does today, but I didn’t, but at his urging I started to build an interest in it. I came to like my coach very much; I could talk to him about practically everything. I didn’t mind also that sometimes he said inappropriate things to me. I did mention it to my cousin, who said that my trainer was molesting me, but I didn’t care about her assessment of the situation, and I did nothing about it.
A whole year passed and the holidays were coming again. I was very happy because I was supposed to go to work in the same pub as last year, but my dad said one day that if I didn’t lose weight, I could not go to work. When he said that, I realised that I had only a month to lose at least 10 kilograms and get to my old weight. I started to exercise. At the beginning I ate normally; breakfast, lunch and dinner and rode a stationary bike every day. Yet every time I climbed on a scale, the pointer stood still. I realised I was only burning what I ate, so even though I was not gaining more, I also was not losing any weight. I started to eat less; I gave up sweets. For the first three days it was hard, I was really craving them, but thanks to my willpower, I mastered the urge to eat them. Weight began to slowly decrease, unfortunately not as fast as I thought it should. I thought then, “I can’t stop eating - every man eats, food is necessary.” And then one day I accidentally caught part of a movie on tv where a girl would eat, then go to the toilet to throw up the meal she had just eaten. It seemed like a good way to avoid gaining weight, so I decided to use this method myself.
At first it was not easy because our bodies are not used to vomiting, especially when it is done deliberately. I made a pot of bitter tea because I heard it helps to induce vomit when you are trying to for the first time. I succeeded - I threw up.
It was at this point that the fasting started. I told my parents that I was on a diet, and because I had a few kilograms too many in my hips - no one minded. No one thought it was wrong, because many people choose to be thin. I rarely ate, and if I did, because I had to (e.g., dinner with my parents) everything eventually ended up in the toilet. I would go to the bathroom, saying that I was going to take a bath, turned on the water so that no one could hear what I was doing and vomited. When I started to feel hungry, I was happy, because I knew that I had thrown everything up and had nothing to worry about anymore. I then went on a bike and rode for two hours.
The weight was dropping faster and faster and I was feeling better and better, mentally and physically. Unfortunately, the hunger was getting stronger, sometimes even unbearable. I would very slowly look through the cookbooks at home, “planning” what I was going to cook and in the future when I lost the weight. I found that after looking through the entire book, I felt satisfied and the hunger drained away.
However, there were times when the food simply appeared in front of me, I came home from school, and it was lying on the table prepared for me and it was tempting. One day I came back from school, was home alone, and snatched at the dinner, not thinking about what I was doing. I did not think about the fact that my stomach was contracted and so I cannot eat much, I simply ate, at a horrifyingly fast pace. While eating, I felt nauseous and felt terrible remorse that I had not restrained myself, that I was tempted and ate. After vomiting I felt good again, I felt happy. I came to the conclusion that I had to allow myself a bit of food to prevent such a gluttony. My choice was a cube of chocolate daily, because I loved chocolate and besides, I read that it contains a lot of magnesium, and it supplements the daily requirement. I let myself have that because it was only a cube - I checked precisely how many calories it has.
I still had a problem with weekend dinners, which I had to eat because I was eating them with my family. Fortunately, I was able to find a way out of this seemingly difficult situation. I realized that I should start cooking, because if I cooked, I could always tell them “I was eating when I was preparing the meal and I’m not hungry anymore”. And so it started. My mum was glad that I wanted to cook because it made her life easier. The dinners I cooked were very sophisticated; I had a collection of sorts of cookbooks and cooking magazines. When I found out that looking at and watching food being made was enough for me to, in a sense, cheat my hunger, I started buying cooking magazines with calories and other nutritional values counted. Therefore, the meals I prepared were not calorically dense/ high in calories.
I was delighted at how the plan worked out because my family believed that I ate while cooking and that I was full. To be honest, it wasn’t difficult, because many housewives know that while preparing meals it’s necessary to try it and decide whether it needs seasoning. An additional advantage was that everyone in the family knew about my diet, I ate less, I was exercising, therefore my stomach contracted, and I couldn’t eat too much. Sometimes I got rid of my portion of dinner in a different way -I just threw it into the rubbish bin. Occasionally, when I was cooking on weekends, I would put a little bit of food on my plate out of convenience and then I would say, “I’m not hungry now, because I was eating while cooking, so I will eat later”. After the meal I cleaned the table, then threw my portion into the rubbish bin and poured the soup down the sink. I was happy because I had peace - nobody was picking on me about not eating. Neither was anyone surprised that I rode a stationary bike for three hours a day; apparently, they shared my opinion that I need to lose weight. The Football World Cup was being broadcast then, so I rode while watching matches on TV.
Cigarettes were another thing that helped me cheat the hunger while I was fasting. They killed the feeling of hunger that accompanied me and I felt better Smoking killed the pangs which made me feel better. I had already started smoking and drinking during elementary school. No, not because others smoked and drank, I was not susceptible to influence. I started smoking later than others and only because I wanted to. At that school level, doing a prohibited activity like smoking gave us an adrenaline rush. Hiding with my friends from my teachers was exciting. It was the same with alcohol. I started drinking later than the others and because I just wanted to, I liked this cool feeling.
I also started to steal in elementary school. I stole money from my parents, I also stole from shops. I learnt to steal from friends who had been doing it for some time and I thought that maybe I could try it too. The adrenaline, danger, and fear of getting caught made it fun. The more I stole, the better I got at it. I would take whatever I wanted from shops and was never caught. It started with food and escalated to bigger, more expensive things.
The days flew by. When I came back from school, I was alone at home. I would come and find meals prepared and left behind for me. Some days, I would throw the food away. Others, it would be harder to resist the urge, and I’d eat then make myself throw the food up. Each time, I had terrible feelings of remorse and helplessness, I felt weak. I was constantly going through a range of emotions that I could not shake. All this time, I kept up my bike riding . My weight, as I had hoped, kept dropping until I finally reached 55 kilograms which I was elated about because it meant I could go to work.
Everyone in the family noticed I lost the weight and commented on how nice I looked; I was incredibly proud of myself. Some people were surprised that I was able to lose 10 kilograms within a month, they asked me how I had done it, and I answered briefly that I gave up sweets, started eating less and exercised regularly.
I went off to work, and reconnected with all my friends from the year before. I really enjoyed working in the pub, the atmosphere and the regulars who all got along with each other. I wished I could be there all the time. Throughout this whole period, I ate and vomited, but I had stopped paying attention to it. It became routine for me and I didn’t see anything wrong with it, I did not think about it. Besides, the words of others were still in the back of my mind that, “You are from a family of doctors, and have everything you want so you don’t have a right to get sick. You have it too good.” I had also heard, “I’m too sane to fall into anorexia or bulimia,” so I lived in that assurance that I would not fall ill. I rejected the idea that I could be sick - it absolutely was not taken into account. In fact, I didn’t even have time to think about what I was doing. Everything around me was happening very quickly.
Chapter II
The past
Remorse for the bad deeds I had been doing to others since elementary school would continue to bother me and had become even more intense. Even though my parents had given me so much, I wasn’t happy. I felt a hellish sadness, even when I smiled, it was forced. I had an internal scream that I was dying to let free but had no idea how. I started to drink alcohol in the mornings before school and attended classes under the influence. I don’t know if my teachers were ever aware. It is likely that they were not, because they never said anything. One day I couldn’t take it anymore and I cut myself, in order to drown out the sorrow. It gave me a momentary sense of happiness and relief. I did not say anything to my parents because I was afraid of their reactions. From childhood, I was usually screamed at or spanked for bad behaviour. We had been punished in this way many times. When something bad happened, I tried to hide it for as long as possible because I was afraid of the consequences. I remember one moment when I shut down while my mum was beating me. Usually, I didn’t cry unless it went on for so long that I could not take it. My brother was always emotional, he was always crying. I was different. I was cold. Most often, the row was about school and learning; occasionally, about a mess but rarely about anything else. Mum was always pedantic.
One memory has always stuck with me, one that did not concern me directly, but my brother. Dad came back from a school meeting very angry at him. Since we got a dog in the house, our parents no longer beat us with a belt like they did before, but with a leash; probably because it was close at hand.
Except the dog’s leash was no ordinary leash, it was a sailing rope with thick loops. My dad then took that rope and started beating him with it. From the second floor, I heard my brother screaming and crying. The dog came to me with its tail tucked up and it was shaking all over, and I started crying myself and couldn’t stop. I hated myself for what happened to my brother. Jarek had huge haematomas after that, and it stayed with me. I don’t know where my older brother was when it all happened. Once, when I went with my dog for a walk, I took this rope and hit myself. I did it lightly, but it still hurt me terribly, and just to think - my brother was getting hit by my father with all his strength. He didn’t get hit just once, but about a dozen times. At that moment, I felt such a terrible pain that I cried, and every time this situation came back to me, tears filled my eyes. I tried hard not to think about it and to convince myself that it was over, and I needed to be strong.
Even now, when I describe the whole event, it is terribly difficult for me. The feelings have remained till this day. That day I also almost got hit with this rope, I don’t remember how I managed to avoid it. The weirdest thing about it was that my dad seemed to feel guilty for doing it. He punished in the greatest anger, and then always tried to smooth things over, my mother didn’t - or so I thought. Once, years later, in their presence, I brought up this incident. Through tears and while swallowing my bitterness, I recounted what happened only to be asked, “so what?” My father was not one to dwell on the past, but it had been incredibly difficult for me which was why I was still experiencing the pain. Many people who do not believe that events can make you feel so strongly may not understand this. That a person who, according to some, has no feelings is still brooding on it.
I never told anyone about it. I thought that it was normal for parents to beat their children, that this was how everyone was brought up. I heard that other children were also beaten, so I didn’t feel the need to share it even more. Besides, there was a rule of “don’t tell anyone what is happening at home” which I thought probably applied to everyone else and their homes.
Then something happened. I didn’t have a very good relationship with my brother who was older than me by a year. We had never got along since we were children; we argued, he beat me - like brothers do, but that day he came to me, and we started talking about what was happening at our house. He asked me if I believed that all children were beaten by their parents, because he knew that not all children were beaten and that it wasn’t normal behaviour, and even if they were beaten it wasn’t that severe. Then something inside me switched. After that conversation, I started to defend myself and threaten my dad that he had no right to hit me anymore because such things are reported to the police. He retorted that if he reported me, I would probably be in jail for what I did. I think he said it because he knew his behaviour was wrong and that it would scare me. And scare me, it did.
I eventually became completely mentally distracted by myself and what was happening around me. One morning, I swallowed sleeping pills and washed them down with alcohol. Unfortunately, a friend came to pick me up that day, the mixture of drugs and vodka had not started working yet, so I went with her, convinced that I would be fine.
But I was wrong. The pills started to work on the way to school. And when we got there, I could barely stand on my feet. My classmates watched me in surprise and a bit of fear, and the teacher told me to go to the nurse. I vomited there. I was taken to the hospital where I had a stomach lavage, also described as stomach pumping. My parents came and took me home. My mum said to me then, “you had everything - how could you do something like that?” - but what she thought was “everything”? I wasn’t sure, - she probably meant material things. I went to the room and cried. My mother and the rest of my family thought that I couldn’t be unhappy because - from all appearances - I had a wonderful life.
After this incident, I was told that I had let down my classmates. Why? Because they considered me a happy, carefree person who helped others and yet suddenly I had tried to kill myself?
People always considered me to be that way - worry-free, what could I possibly know for example about life, being from a family like my own, and wanting for nothing.
What is hard for most people to grasp is that even a child like me who had “everything” while growing up, could still have problems. Everything I did was considered just impulsive behaviour - “the princess is doing too well”. Such a reaction intensified my remorse and I dismissed the possibility that I might have fallen ill even more. I had to be always organised, nice and happy, even when I wasn’t happy. Appearances, however, had to be kept up.
At home I was totally different. I wasn’t a nice, good girl. Rather mean, wicked, boorish, rude, saucy, arrogant girl who still made people feel bad. It was no surprise people thought that’s how I genuinely was, that’s how I acted all the time. If something sad was happening at home, I didn’t show my emotions, I hardly ever cried in front of them, so I was considered insensitive. I didn’t show my feelings, because someone once told me that you shouldn’t show your emotions nor weaknesses, because others could take advantage of them. In life, you should be tough. I was little when I was told but it stuck in my memory and that’s who I tried to be even though I didn’t always succeed. Besides, at home there was still pressure about learning. From an early age, learning came first, because it ensured the future. When my mum went to England for an annual scholarship, we went with her for six months. We, that is my brother, grandmother and I. Dad and my older brother stayed in Poland because dad had to work. They only came for holidays.
In England, my brother and I were going to English school. I had no problem with the language because I had learned it since
I was in kindergarten and I knew the basics. The lessons started always at 9 a.m. and finished at 3 p.m. At first it was difficult for me, but then I got acclimatised and even made friends with the headteacher’s daughter, who was in my class and lived quite close by to us. The only thing that was a problem at school was the lunches, because they were not the tastiest. When I didn’t want to eat my brother was called and he would complain to my grandmother that I was being picky again.
