Going Within To Get Out

INTRODUCTION

A gorgeous friend wrote this for me when I shared my fears of not being good enough to write a book, and for feeling like a loser by ending up on unemployment benefits.

January 2002

For all the work you have done, are doing and will do, you will be highly recognised in the future. Patience is the key and to believe it will happen. The knowledge, wisdom and experience you have, the courage to share with others - if they are open - will assist others to heal their own lives.

Your knowledge, experience and openness to share are key issues. Remember to stay focused on the job at hand.

Do not feel guilty for believing you are not working, because you are. To write your own story will not be, and is not, easy. Try to distance yourself from the emotional pain and stay focused on the experience. If it becomes too much and something really hurts, think of me, call me any time day or night. Talking helps it go away.

I commend you Bella; you are a beautiful, gifted person, and it may only be your friends and family who are aware of this now, but the future will make other people, who don’t even know you, recognise this.

Please keep this with you and don’t lose it. Keep it for the future.

Love you with all my heart xo

Chloe”

Chloe’s words felt right so I followed what I knew so I sticky-taped her letter onto my cupboard in my bedroom where I could see it to encourage me to keep going. That’s what this letter did for me - it kept me going with the transition from typing out my journals - which I’d intended to keep private - into a book, which I was going share with many others - especially You.

BEFORE I BEGAN TO WRITE IN MY JOURNALS

I was living with my cousin and three others the same age. All of them had finished studying and were applying for jobs in their chosen careers. My cousin had graduated with honours. Their abilities were a bit overwhelming, as I was working at a local supermarket and I was taking food out of the back storeroom bins to eat - moments after it had been thrown away. I had an obsession with food. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was always working out what I was going eat, when I was going to eat and how much I was going to eat. I loved food and yet I hated it. I wanted a skinny, perfect and beautiful body and I hated what my body looked like. The more I fought with food, trying to control how much I ate and what I ate, the more I thought about it and the more out of control I became with it. I was able to starve myself for long periods of time between the ages of 12 and 18 until I discovered I could stick my fingers down my throat when I ate. I thought I could get away with eating more knowing I could spew it up straight after. I felt relieved knowing I couldn’t get fat if I didn’t let the food digest through my body. I didn’t know nor did I care about the damage I was doing to my body, or to myself, including the damage being done to my teeth. The obsession to eat drove me to steel food off the grocery shelves, the deli or bakery departments only to stick my fingers down my throat while I was trying to manage a large supermarket store. I felt bad about it. I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I knew what I was doing was dishonest. I couldn’t tell higher management about it. I would lose my job. I was a hard worker. I knew that. I worked much of my overtime for no pay believing management would praise me for being such a dedicated hard worker and it helped me to justify stealing. ‘Look at all the work I do for nothing, surely I deserve this food for free!’ So I stole it. I was terrified of being caught, especially from taking food out of the storeroom bins but equally terrified about putting on weight.

I felt really yucky that I was allowing a guy at work, whom I wasn’t attracted to, make sexual comments and advances toward me, so as I could keep him liking me. I stunk because I wasn’t showering every day, perhaps every three to four days and wearing the same underwear inside out and back-to-front for days at a time. EW! I just couldn’t be bothered, nor did I seem to care. I was depressed and had been for a long time. I knew I was different to those I was living with but I couldn’t work out what it was. Not on my own anyway.

I looked forward to drinking. I felt excited about drinking. When I drank I could forget about my responsibilities, all the things that were stressing me out including what others thought of me. My body could relax and have a break from it all. Have a break from myself. I would drive home drunk after catching up with my work mates after work. I knew there was something terribly wrong with me. I was finding it really hard to get out of bed because I woke every morning with a sense of fast-approaching doom. My cousin would call me in the morning to encourage me to go for a run. A run was not going to happen. I did not have the energy or the inspiration to go for a run when I was feeling as low as I was. Plus a simple activity such as walking down the street felt excruciating because I was sure everyone knew what I was doing. Man, I was paranoid!

I had arrived at a point where I could see I was on a very slippery slide. I could see my drinking was controlling me. I could see I would surely die if I continued on this path and if I didn’t do something about it, I would end up as a full–time drunk. I could see I didn’t have to wait until my mid 30’s - like my parents did - to sober up and make my life better for myself. I could see that I could stop drinking at twenty-two avoid my inevitable future as a hopeless and helpless drunk. I knew quitting drinking meant no more Sunday afternoons drinking with my mates, or going out and getting smashed, or drinking at my friends parties, or even having a drink at my own wedding. “ARGH”. That was my way of life and I couldn’t imagine another one. But I was in so much pain, that quitting drinking was the only way out for me.

I was not able to stop by myself. I couldn’t trust myself with alcohol; I didn’t have the will power. Even though I loved alcohol and what it did for me I felt like trash and I believed I was trash. I understood I needed something greater than myself to help me stay sober because I knew other people weren’t enough to stop me. They had tried and failed.