An Open Letter

Dear Friends,

A number of your have asked me the same question lately: "Have you lost weight?". The answer, for those wondering but not asking, is: "No shit, Sherlock". My jeans don't fit. Nor do my shorts or skirts. Apart from being a royal pain in the arse clothing-wise it's not something I'm concerned about, and neither should you be (so shut up and stop asking). I'm not going to waste away into oblivion. Ask D: he sees me eat, hears me whinge when I'm hungry, sees me pat my tummy when I'm full. I eat a lot. Probably a lot more than I used to. But cutting out refined sugars and processed foods just means you lost fat reserves. I'm happy. All I was carrying around was shit that my body didn't need. I wasn't any healthier for being heavier. I haven't lost muscle tone, I've lost fat.

And you know what? I feel bloody amazing, thank you very much. It would be a lie to say I've never felt better, but the truth is that I haven't felt better for about 6 years now, and that's a bloody long time. Last weekend I went to two parties on Saturday night, and stayed out until 4am. On Sunday, hungover and sleep deprived, I packed for a week long trip (many thanks to D who did all my cooking for the trip!). Then I got up early on Monday, drove and worked all day, stayed up late, and did it all again for the next 4 days. On Saturday morning I cleaned the bathroom (I'm not sure what got into me there), I was social through the grand final BBQ, I slept for a couple of hours in the evening, got up and kicked on. Then I got up on Sunday and cleaned the kitchen (it's Spring, that's the only explanation I can think of). I have spent the week at uni, doing my thing, keeping normal hours. I went to a gig last night, stayed up til 1am and got plastered. Now I'm hungover at uni remembering what that feels like. Yeah, it doesn't feel great, but it was fun at the time!

The above sequence of events may not seem unusual to you. Maybe a little tiring, maybe less that you would do in a normal week, I don't know. But it's pretty incredible for me. I have chronic fatigue syndrome. The kind of behaviour I've been exhibiting for the last (nearly) 2 weeks would normally have put me in bed after 3 or 4 days. Touch wood. It may yet put me in bed, but it's astonishing that it hasn't already. Especially since I've been drinking like a trooper as well as all the staying up late and working hard. And when I say "put me in bed", I don't mean having an early night. I don't even mean having an early night and then a sleep-in the following day. I mean run-over-by-a-truck flu-like symptoms, deliriousness, muscle aches, racing-heart, can't get out of bed to feed myself for 2 days. Yup.

So please, stop looking at my loose jeans and start looking at the glimmer in my eye. It is the tiniest spark of hope that things might be changing for the better in my life. Smile with me and cross your fingers that it continues.

Love you lots,
Ellie



Photo credit: Zara J