I want you to know that there is more than one me. Or, at least, there was. I wasn't cloned, or replicated in any way. I also don't have multiple personalities, although you can check the truth of that out with those who love me. I may be a bit of a different person when I'm woken up too early in the morning. I started identifying the two parts of me when I began the process of recovering from my mental illness. I found it comforting to compartmentalize the illness, and what was left of me, in two seperate boxes. Easier that way to destroy the one, and give life and breath to the other. What I have come to learn over the years of recovering, and learning how to live life out of only one box, is that in between those two sides there was always a faint little third bit, sometimes strong, but often ignored. That little wee bit was hope. I have never been a hopeful person, but as I find myself farther and farther from the person I was when mental illness informed my every decision, I realize that hope is the gift I have retained and am able to share. After all, I made it through. That is why I am eager to talk to anyone and everyone about my story. I am not that different from any other person. Everyone will suffer an episode of mental illness in their lifespan. Some will be situational, some chronic and ongoing. All will be painful, confusing and life altering. I can offer everyone hope that you can get through, you can suffer setbacks, you can thrive and,most importantly, experience the joy and wonders of real,amazing,astounding LIFE. Back to the two me part. I had been bullied ferociously in middle school, and lacked the proper guidance from my well meaning but distracted mother to help me navigate the tough years of puberty. Coupled with tough times at home with a drug addicted, violent brother, an absentee father who was back on our doorstep and the usual teenage angst, and the world around me was chaos. The first time I ever thought there was something wrong with being me was when I was bullied. The second was when my Mum encouraged me to go on a diet at 13yrs, as being a bit slimmer would boost my confidence.If my Mum thought I needed to change, then clearly I did. I began to hide who I was, living in terror of judgement from other people. After all, if I felt this way about myself, then everyone else surely say someone WAY worse, uglier, stupider, fatter. I constantly failed to live up to the expectations of people in my life, and never managed to live up to my own. So this is the time that I split into two. One dominant, loud,organized, convincing side, the other awkward, a bit scattered, enthusiastic and messy. I call these sides order and chaos. Order is clean and tidy. Order loves perfection and high standards. Order is in control, well planned and highly respectable. Order preferred things to look just so, and not be happy or sad, as emotions aren't necessary. Order does not accept failure. When things are not so, Order turns a nasty corner. Order can turn cruel and lie to make sure I am still listening, still working towards perfect. When I fail, Order recruited her friends: extreme food restriction, obsessive exercise, purging through vomiting, laxatives and diuretics and self harm. These things can be controlled. A punishment for failing to live up to Order's high standards, and a comforting way to maintain Order when the rest of the world refuses to do so. Chaos is messy and bouncy. Chaos has huge ideas and not always a good plan to make them happen. Chaos is happy with the highs of life, and settles in to bear the lows. Chaos is funny, sparkly and full of joy, because the next great thing is just around the corner waiting for me to go and grab it. Chaos doesn't know what failure is, because it gets up and tries again.Chaos is often joined by a motley crew of followers: friends,depression,music, anxiety, art, social awkwardness, dance, movement, pain,laughter and tears. Chaos refuses to be controlled, but instead chooses to live each moment. When I was 12 or 13, order took over and reigned for many years in the forms of Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia Nervosa and Self Harm with many different techniques adopted over the years. I had no idea that what I was doing to myself was not normal until my late teen years and I watched an episode of Degrassi about eating disorders that opened my eyes a bit to my habits, and my obsessively thin self. I lived with Chaos and Order balancing out pretty well for a lot of years. Order always had the upper hand and informed much of my decision making, but healthy choices won out as well. I put on some weight, married a wonderful man, had two beautiful children a house and two cars. Order, funnily enough, had won after all. A series of events sent me spiralling downward, resulting in Order thoroughly taking over the show. I was at my sickest. Having lived the bulk of my life hating myself, I saw myself as a complete failure. Every part of me was gone but Order, and I wasn't able to satisfy her anymore. At my lowest, I spent a whole Christmas Day on the couch after having taken 2 boxes of laxatives the day before. I was so beaten, so depressed and so finished that it took every bit of effort to open my eyes. I had a plan. I would get out of this pain once and for all. I had lost. My husband had other ideas. He searched and found a treatment program at Toronto General Hospital. I submitted to try it out, not really believing I was sick enough or worthy of a place in the program. I thought they would laugh at me and send me home. They did not. Two weeks later I started an intensive day program, which lasted for 3 months. I then graduated to 3 days/week and spent another 4 months like that. After that, 1 night a week for maintenance. It was strict. I had to eat. All the things. I had to maintain a symptom free life, ie/no cutting or purging, I had to be in attendance every day. I had intensive group, art and individual therapy. They monitored our weight and I had to watch the growing numbers with horror, no familiar way of coping in hand. I had two choices, and both ended the person I had become. I decided to give this one everything I had. After all, if recovery didn't work, I always had a back up plan. It worked. I worked. I worked hard, every minute of every day. I listened, learned and adhered to every word the caring people in the hospital shared with me. I met other people and learned from their stories. I took part in clinical trials to challenge myself. I ate. I put Order behind a screen and starting telling her the truth. That I knew her vision for me was a lie. That I was good enough. And I knew that one day I would believe it more often than not. It has been 6 years since I walked out of Toronto General's front doors for the last time, having been declared one of the very few success stories in the battle against severe and debilitating eating disorders. I'd love to say that every second has been bliss and joy, but I can't. I have embraced who I am and with that, Chaos, as we met earlier, reigns supreme. I make huge plans. I work hard to make them happen. I dream, I love, I run. I have the greatest friends - friends who know me as everything I am meant to be - perfectly imperfect - and love me anyway. I am seen and loved for who I am, by others and finally, by myself. I own my own successful business, raise my lovely children and splash in puddles. I also have the darkest of dark times. Depression and anxiety occasionally seep in and on occasion I hide my head under a pillow and avoid the world. But, I get up, eat my lunch and move on. Order is still around, but I try to use her best points to my advantage and ignore the lies to the best of my ability. I use music, running and dance and the support of my people when things get too much. Therapy is still in my toolbox for maintaining my health. Being recovered is hard work, when your goal is always to win. I don't identify with the disease any more. I am just a woman, living my life, doing my best. Every single person will suffer at some point in their lives with a bout of mental illness. You are not alone, although the illness is confining and solitary. I have learned that there are resources available to help if needed. That people understand more and more that mental illness is real and that you need their help to find your way to finding health. Don't settle for a half life, when there are ways to make things better. Believe you are worth more Hope is real. I am living proof that there is another side to mental illness. A happy continuation, rather than a happy ending. Chaos reigns supreme. Speak out if you are suffering. People will help. Believe you are worth more. And fight for it. Be yourself. Nobody else is quite as wonderful.