Deciding to be happy

A few years ago I was sitting in the office of my then counsellor when I was asked, “Do you think you’ve ever tried to be happy?” My immediate reaction to my counsellor’s question was obvious, of course I’ve TRIED to be happy… Hadn’t I?

The thing was, when I slowed down to think about it, I couldn’t for sure say I had. I’d tried lots of different labels, but ‘happy’ didn’t seem to be one of them. 

I was seeing this counsellor for two reasons, I had recently been diagnosed with chronic back pain and I had a long history with eating disorders and disordered eating. With the lack of movement involved with being in constant pain and the loneliness that comes with it, my Doctors had recommended I seek help to deal with the considerable amount of changes that had barrelled into my life. I had just moved to a new city and was living on my parents property (I was 30), I’d completed my BA in Fine Art a year earlier, and my sweetheart lived in South Africa.

This was also the first time I’d been put on antidepressants, a treatment to help ease back pain in particular. I believe it was due to this medication that the voice of my ED, always such a constant barrage, had been softly muted. I could hear it trying to interact with me, but the pills provided a blessed layer of cotton wool, and thus I was somewhat impermeable to its rants.

With this new found serenity, I realised what a permanent onslaught Slug was every other second of the day and decided to do what I could to keep the mute button on permanently, without the need for medication.

Whether or not antidepressants work is up for debate depending on what science you read, but the placebo effect works up to 60% of the time, and for me, that magic little pill gave me the space I needed to imagine a life without the voice in my head.  I can imagine it’s hard for people without an ED to understand what it’s like, how consuming and everywhere it is, how horribly we perceive ourselves, and how truly worthless we feel. The Slug, the voice, was muffled and all of a sudden I could move more easily through my day. 

These were small wins mind you; I could eat two pieces of toast, missing the bus wasn’t my fault, I let myself rest, I sought further help.

Which brings me back to my counsellor, the latest addition to my now 8 strong team. At this stage I was seeing a Massage Therapist and Angel Healer, an Acupuncturist and practitioner of Chinese medicine, a Neurosurgeon, a G.P., an Osteopath, a Physiotherapist, an Occupational Therapist, and now, a Counsellor. Our family crest, we like to say, is emblazoned with the words “We Don’t Fuck Around”.

After spending a few months with the label, ‘sufferer of chronic pain’, and spending time in thus named support groups, I realised that there were two types of people; people who love being defined by their pain/ drama/ sadness, and those who fight their way out of it and transform it into something else. 

This is done consciously, with purpose, intent and power, and to be honest, I think it’s also done alone. 

I didn’t realise that at the time that my back spasmed, that Slug still had such a hold on me. But then again, it’s probably pretty ridiculous to ask a disordered mind to tell you about order. What I do remember however is lying on my mattress in tears as I rubbed my hands over my hip bones for yet another morning of judgement, and as I cried I asked the universe for deliverance. I asked it to help me quit this fucking ED Slug filled, pain riddled existence that I called home. The universe answered. I’ve learnt to be more specific in my prayers. 

At the time that all of this was happening I was running a minimum of 4 times a week and doing yoga or swimming every other day. I was busy, busy, busy with food prep and doing all the right things… Like being the perfect employee, daughter, girlfriend, friend, citizen, and stranger. I was lost, broken, alone, isolated, barely tethered and miraculously, still breathing. Following my prayer to the Universe and over the next few months my body slowly seized.

As my body closed down on itself I moved to my own apartment and it was here, while I was completely alone that my body and mind completely shut down and demanded a reboot. Within the space of a few weeks I was no longer running my hands down my hips searching for bones, I was instead seeking the best space to support my hips as I attempted to roll myself ever so gently out of bed… but not to gently, otherwise I’d get stuck in the frozen limbo of ‘not quite out of bed’ sciatica that I was now so suddenly familiar with.

I had gone from being able to run as far as I wanted as often as I wanted to being unable to walk to the bus in a timely fashion. I could no longer sit down and street-side curbs were a hassle to step over. I stuck to the edges of the shopping centre I worked in, scared by the speed of other people walking around me. 

I was on high alert for pain, for hurt, for lies and ingenuity, and my body proved it every day. I was so tense that a slight shift in breeze or a customer's attitude could cause my body to expect the unexpected and stiffen into flight and freeze mode.

I worked, but I wasn’t there. I was loaded with pain pills to such a degree that I could feel them ‘coming on’. I got home and cried as I leant against the kitchen counter, unable to sit down due to the pain. My body was so damn tired and sore, yet Slug was still there, growling unpleasantries in my ear, unable to let me rest. 

Was it as simple as deciding to be happy? Could it be that I had missed this central question for so long? I woke up at 6am every morning so that I could stretch, medicate, and warm my body in time to start work by 9. Putting on socks was a 10 minute, tear jerking exercise executed only after my morning pain meds had kicked in… I had never noticed the intricate moves the foot, leg, back and arms went through in the humble act of putting on a sock. 

The Universe had answered my prayers, I wasn’t thinking of my hip bones anymore. I was looking at joggers and runners, at anyone who could move their bodies, with lust and anger, all while I pushed my own to recover the quickest and the best. The best patient with the best results, the best frame of mind, the most achievements… and there it was. There was Slug once again, egging me on as though the idea of perfection existed. That my life would sort itself out if I just studied more, and did more of the right exercises, and took more of the right meds, and saw more of the right Doctors, and asked more of the right questions to get more of the right answers. If only I just kept going. 

So I stopped. 

I asked myself the question, can I decide to be happy? I asked myself in the morning as I stretched, yes, I could be happy during that time.

I asked myself during my lunch break, yes, I could be happy during that time.

I asked myself as I contemplated my relationship, no, I couldn’t, so I said bye.

I asked myself as I contemplated my relationship with my Father, no, I couldn’t, so I said bye.

I asked myself a hundred times a day, can I decide to be happy in this moment? 

Slowly and surely, I learnt to listen to myself; instead of Slug, or a boyfriend, a parent, a boss, a teacher, or a friend. I made conscious decisions to follow the thread of happiness wherever I could see it glistening, and over time my pain lessened. Everything changed. My job, my home, my clothes, my art, the foods I ate, the reasons I exercised, the words I spoke, no part of me was free from the examination question, ‘...can I be happy with you?’.

My world got bigger and smaller all at once. The comfort, space, and happiness I felt in the very depths of my soul flourished like a garden well-loved, while the parts of me that Slug had access to shrunk inexplicably. 

I’m sitting at my laptop now, 5 years or so later, and like the pain, my Slug has settled into a manageable toddler who only gets out of hand when their emotions get too big. Like a loving Mother I tend to Slug and seek what the real issue is, usually fear, and I do what I can to help myself, and my Slug feel safe. 

Can I decide to be happy? With Slug curled in my lap, fears placated, yes I can.

With half-finished paintings and unrealised dreams? Yes, I can. With cellulite and rolls, wrinkles, wrong words, mistakes and imperfections? 

Yes, I can.

Remission from an Eating Disorder is complex and layered, as is chronic pain, and indeed the living of life. But at its core doesn’t everything boil down to zero? 

Can you decide to be happy?

xxx ALi