Just so I remember.

* Letter pubished with permission

Hey Waijia,

I'm not sure if you remember me. I came to support group with X about a year-ish ago and at that point, I think you had just recovered... I remember the initial impact you had on me- that you were a genuinely caring person that I could trust and would want to be in contact with. And I remember texting you and talking to you.

At that point, I was still really sick and really far and distant from God. You invited me to church countless times, asked me out, constantly reassured me that everything would be okay. I knew you cared, and you seemed to understand, but at that point, God to me, was just there. He wasn't real. He was just some figure that I guess had somewhat of a role to play in everything. But I had no real relationship with him, he was more of an authority figure with a fullstop. Not a friend, not a father and it just scared me to think of him to be anything more than that- I didn't want to commit or deal with more hurt than I had at that point, that I continue to have. I can't remember when we exactly stopped talking but I just want you to know Ive been reading your blog, and sometimes I even see you around the hospital...Yeah, sad to say (I guess..), I'm still looking and trying to recover.

But recently, I'd say, its been different, I've DEVELOPED and grown so much in God and with God and I think I'm really starting to learn that he plays a role in my recovery. That I need to recover for him and can only do so through him.

Theres so much I want to say through this email but mainly, I guess thanks :) Thanks for being there at that point, thanks for writing and I just want you to know how much of an inspiration you are to me (and I'm sure many others). Reading your blog gives so much hope and its just incredible :)


Cheers and God bless!


XX

P.S: I just have a pretty random question, was it more a process for you? Or was it just a "great awakening" one day? In terms of realizing that you had to fully give it up and surrender it to God?

Thank you for making a difference to my life, too dear. And for letting me know my experience was not for naught. In the same way, your experience will also help someone else along the way someday.

To answer your question, Recovery is all about Process. Walk your journey with God.

Love.

Near midnight, I received a text message from a face I hardly talked to:

Hi Wai Jia, I was reading your blog and am greatly encouraged by your writing. Thank you for sharing so richly :)

Thank you for your precious words. They mean much to me. I just want to remember these 2 letters which came in yesterday so I can read it again when someone hits me in the face in malice about my writing, which does occur from time to time. Philip Yancey says it takes 17 postive letters to erase 1 hate mail he receives, ha.

Thank you.

Special Day.

"So what does this mean?"


"It means you've Recovered. We're discharging you, that's what. I see a grown-up young woman before me, and I'm excited for you."


So what does this mean.

It means I've struggled, grown, matured, and overcome. It means God kept His promise, it means He heals, it means He makes everything beautiful in His time. It means that He has a purpose for everything.

It doesn't mean I've reached Perfection, but it does mean I've reached Acceptance, and can walk everyday in deeper humility, and self-awareness. It doesn't mean I can put aside what I've learnt, but it does mean applying it every day, and making sure I keep my eyes on God. It doesn't mean I've fully arrived (who has?), but it does mean God has been and will be with me till the end of this long pilgrimage we call Life.

It means what God broke, He broke in order to heal; what He destroyed, He destroyed in order to rebuild; what He imprisoned, He imprisoned to chasten, discipline, purify, love and finally,

Set free.

Sweet Lord, I've been waiting so long for this day.

Deepest thanks

to my friends, whose prayer and love I'm grateful for, for your faith in me and walking with me.

to Aunty Af, EK and Aunty Ay, for your guidance and encouragement,

to the team at Singapore General Hospital, for your patience, dedication and tough love,

(with special thanks to Miss B: you inspire me to know my patients in the same way)

to those of you who've written me emails, left notes here

( your words of encouragement are cherished and remembered

- with special thanks to "Mrs Lim")

to Mum and Dad- I could not ask for better parents,

And to You- for being by me.

For setting me free.

Thank you for walking with me on this journey.

" For He bruises, but He binds up;
He wounds, but His hands make whole."

-Job 5:18

"Therefore, if God makes you free, you shall be free indeed."

- John 8:36

Raindrops.

Ever so often when I'm walking along the streets, I find my eyes drawn to the canopy of sky above me, watching the clouds and trees above me. For all our talk about how God cannot be seen or heard or felt, I stand in awe and wonder at the beauty of creation, and wonder why we even have doubts in the first place.

God is no where to be found, and yet everywhere if we choose to find Him.


Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't even quite explain why. I was just walking through the little corner bookshop my church runs, leafing through books and looking at pretty ornaments for sale when it caught my eye.

It was nothing much, really. But it stopped me dead in my tracks and in that one moment, I felt a thousand dreamed-up Dreams well up within me and felt the swell of yesterday, today and the rest of eternity build up behind my eyes.

It was nothing much, really- just a bible holder hanging off a rack for little kids, the kind which looks like a mini-briefcase so kids don't drop or lose their bibles everywhere and spill an assortment of interesting spreads on them. The handle was a belt of rainbow, and on the cover, was a black-and-white cartoon picture of Noah's ark and an empty coloured rainbow behind it. The little briefcase was packaged with markers, assumedly used to colour in the black-and-white picture on it- though why anyone would trust six year-olds with markers to colour within the lines of a picture on an expensive, brand-new bible holder I will never know, heh.

It was nothing much- just a simple picture of an old stereotypical bearded man with a staff, and smiley-looking zoo animals which all looked like they were posing for a tooth-whitening ad squashed together on a wooden boat which never would have held the weight of half the hippotamus on board it, in front of a rainbow with an arc which would put a compass to shame. It reminded me of the mural I drew and my team painted on the classroom wall of a Cambodian kindergarden 3 years back-that depicting Noah's Ark. And right across the rainbow were the words "God keeps His promises."


Perhaps it's because of that one incident which explains why I will never look at another rainbow the same way again. Perhaps it's because of how and when it happened which explains why it spoke and still speaks so much to me. Perhaps it's what the rainbow signifies in God's Story that stirs up so much within me.


And so today, I just... felt like crying. Because I just realised- that in spite of all I've lost, through depression, anorexia and recovery, I've gained so much more. That amidst the humiliation, I gained humility, and amidst the pain, I gained faith. And in all those times where I wondered where in the world God was, He showed Himself to be everywhere- in people, in situations, in gifts and today, in my healing, in my growing, in my becoming a different person- one I never imagined.

In that moment when I held that kid's bible cover in my hands, I thought about person I have become, so different from that 3 years ago, eight months ago, and even... two months ago. Just different, in thought and attitude, and I'm so thankful. I came to a point where God forced me to let go of everything I ever put my trust in, and in return, as I put more of my trust in Him and less in myself, I gained so much more, grew so much more.

I will never look at a rainbow the same way again. I will never think of one without tears forming in the depths of my heart. And though not everything I had prayed for has come to pass, enough in this time, God's time, has, and because of that, I can look forward to tomorrow.


I often ponder- if water droplets, evaporated from the rain, are everywhere around us, and rainbows are the result of light, split into seven colours from shining at the right refractory angle through rain droplets , then perhaps, illusionary rainbows really are all around us- but it takes the right moment for us to see them, to see God's Promises for us.


Eight months ago I could hardly imagine a way out of the darkness, and just four months back, each day still carried its struggles of its own. But everyday, I am learning, gaining and growing, and today, I find myself free-er than yesterday, more grown-up than yesterday and more secure, more of a Woman, less of a big kid. Because of God and His promise to us, yesterday is different from today, which will be different from tomorrow, too.


Because of God's Promise to me, to us, I can look forward to tomorrow and sing.


Tomorrow, it may rain again, but after the rain has drenched our clothes and washed away our tears, does it surprise us to find ourselves right there standing in the sunshine, waiting with certainty for something so ephereal, transient and illusionary which paradoxically and beautifully represents something as sure and eternal as a Promise?


We've all come a long way from yesterday. And because of God's love for us and His faithfulness to keep His promises, we can look forward to tomorrow, and tomorrow's tomorrow. Looking back on our situations, perhaps it isn't easy to see God anywhere in them- in the storm, where can my rainbow possibly be?


But we forget, that like rain droplets, God is no where to be seen, and yet, like illusionary rainbows, is everywhere if we choose to find Him. Two thousand years ago, when God walked on earth and spent time with His children, even His disciple, Philip, who was with Him everyday, asked the question- Show us God. Where is He?



Perhaps, just like rain droplets and the sky and trees, Rainbows and God's Promises really are all around us- but it takes a special set of eyes and a special heart to see that all this while, He really has been...



... admist us, and Everywhere, indeed.

" Philip said, 'Lord, show us God (the Father) and that will be enough for us.'

Jesus answered, 'Don't you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? ...

Don't you believe that I am in Him... and He is in me..."

- John 14: 8-9

City from a hill.

“Come, and tell me what happened?"

“…”

“... Not a good week at hospital?”

“I... no... It’s nothing much, really. It’s just really silly… just tiny, stupid things.”

“It’s the little things which always get us down, no?”


We had breakfast together in her White house- just simple toast and spread. Just simple bread, the kind you just buy from the supermarket in a loaf, and simple spread, the kind from a household brand. But it was a lovely breakfast, prepared by her in her large, lovely White house, atop a hill, and it was nice to have someone invite me over, pray with me while being enveloped in a hug, and send me home. It’s amazing to have church-aunties who love you- they're like supernatural guardian angels who read your minds and predict your emotions, buy you meals and pretty things, invite you to their homes, pray for you, and spend time to text message you to ask how your week was, even though you don't deserve any of it.

This beautiful woman’s house is on a hill, overlooking our Singaporean city of skyscrapers. When you reach the top, the tall buildings underneath the canopy of azure sky, rising just above the host of low terrace houses below, look like a mirage, foggy in the distance. On a clear morning, the view is breathtaking.

Simple breakfast. Sharing. Talk, and flipping pages from an old bible. Prayer, tears and a big squeeze.

"Come, I'll send you home."

A grateful smile.

We climb into her large car and drive away.

"I love this view of the city from up here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

“Yes, it really is, Aunty Ay. It’s amazing.”

“ I like driving down this road- it reminds me that God’s plan for us for our future is just like that beautiful city you see there. It’s right there, built already.”

As we drove downhill, however, the spectacular and surreal canvas of the cityscape began to sink, out of our view. The terrace houses at the road rose to meet us, and once again, we were back on the ground, surrounded by roads, trees, temples, boring houses… The advantage of an elevated position no longer provided us with the amazing view, and the real world surrounded us again.

“ See dear, as I'm driving down, we lose sight of the city. All these houses around us now are like the distractions all around us, the world we’re forced to be in and yet not a part of. Hurtful things people say, nastiness and comparisons, discouragement, stress from exams, the flurry of hospital life… But you see, Wai Jia, the city is still there. Nothing’s changed. God’s plan for our future is still there. It’s right there.”

“Mm.”

“You’ll be a great doctor, Wai Jia. I’m so sure of it.”

“... ... Thank you... thank you very much, for everything you did for me today... And thank you for the present.”

I opened the sash and saw Estee Lauder. Lots of girly, pretty things inside a soft cloth-bag which I’d never have the audacity to buy for myself- lipgloss and lipstick and scents and such. I liked them very much. But more than them, I liked the simple breakfast, hug and ride home, downhill, and watching the city sink away from my view, and knowing that no matter how low I was feeling, how inadequate, incompetent, uncapable, discouraged, wretched and icky and overwhelmed I was from the week, the city was still… there.

No matter how far our car drove downhill, and though all we could see before us were low houses and pavements, nothing changed the fact that the city, full of its lights and pulse and excitement, grand architecture and touristy sights- Fullerton hotel, banks, offices, the Singapore river, Clarke Quay, the Singapore flyer, Marina Bay... was still there.

When our view of things change and it seems like things around us are sinking away or like we’re walking down a valley, perhaps it's good to remember that like God, most of the important things in life can't be seen immediately, too. Life's full of ups and downs, encouragements and discouragements, mountaintop experiences and deep-valley moments, but what matters is that no matter where we are, we hold on to the hope that God has a plan, all written out already for us. We may not be able to see it, not be able to imagine it, even, but just like the beautiful cityscape which we saw from atop the hill,

… the city- God’s city for us... is still… there.

“Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.”
- Hebrews 11:16

Remnants of Beauty.

They are all ugly. And worse, they take forever to fade away. Sometimes they itch even, and grow to become grotesque, infiltrating tentacles which dig deep into skin. Most of us hide them-underneath sleeves and thin clothing. Few wear them as badges of honour. Even fewer have reason to.

Scars.

For a long time I noticed one on both my forefeet, more prominently on my left foot, but could never figure out how they came about. They were just tiny things, seeming to appear without rhyme nor reason. I neither hit that part of my foot against anything, nor chaff them against my shoes. Nonetheless, day after day, over weeks during the time I struggled with depression and fought Ed, the scars mysteriously grew deeper and more obvious.

I never knew why.

And then one night, I awoke in the dark with absolutely no feeling in both my legs. It was as if they had been lopped off by sneaky leprachuans in the night. In my exhaustion from tears, work and talking to God, I had fallen asleep on the hard wooden floor on my knees. As I got up, I saw blood. I finally found out- that the scars on my feet were from nights crying, listening, talking to God on my knees, and the weight of my body bore down upon the bony prominences, the way my burdens bore down on God’s shoulders.

Scars. Just tiny ones, but they're still there.


I almost feel like I’ve entered into a new season. With the love and encouragement of many of you, my parents, friends and special angels, I want to share with you the good news that I've been making good progress. I remember the utterly bleak mornings and black nights earlier in the year and only marvel in gratitude at how far we’ve come together.

I say We, because I never walked alone. My parents, and friends loved, cared for and supported me- even in times they could not understand. They never stopped trying, never gave up and even now, are still trying because the depth of their love runs that deep. Most of all, God was always there. Always there, always understanding.

The worst is over, but not the journey. The journey still runs on, in glorious, honey-glazed sunshine, because of the new life without Ed the Professional People will help me to rebuild. And my tears ran down at church last week, even today, as I thought about the laid-down love my family and friends extended to me all this while. All in the little things- in the way you all surprised me on my birthday, the way you always considered where we were lunching when we met up without me having to worry, the way you travelled all the way back to accompany me unexpectedly, the way many of you were there- in deed and not just talk.

And I often wonder if I would look back upon this in shame or in pride. Stigmas don’t change overnight.

But I choose neither. For I know for sure God allowed this for a reason- I have grown and learnt so much in this season, become a person, more whole, healthy and able to reach out to others and to connect with God.

Often, everyday in fact, I look at my scars, and my knee-jerk reaction is always one of cringing. Don't they all bring back bad memories? My eleven-stitch scar on my elbow since I was five brings back the same vivid memories, even after all these years... of my daredevil recklessness, that at-all-cost eagerness to win at police-and-thief, the devastating crash to the floor at my best friend's house (he was four and proposed to me shortly after I was discharged from hospital), my favourite toy gun flinging out of my hand across the corridor, the excruciating pain, the manic panic...

But with every story of grief, struggle and suffocation, comes also the ending of breakthrough.

For the same scar brings back memories also of the zoo-animal sling I picked for my cast, the many precious signatures I accumulated from friends, the many "wah, what a brave little girl you are!" encouragements from aunties and uncles... and the easy identification it provided when I forgot which was my left, and right- "See Jia, this scar here means this is your left hand. L-E-F-T. Left," my sister would tell me.

It's ironic to know how it is not the visible physical scars which are hardest to wear, but those worn in our hearts, which bring us shame, reproach and guilt.

But we forget, that scars are scars, and every one has the same story of pain, and yet praise, too.

Pain, because it hurt so much. And praise, in knowing that God brought us through, that we survived the battle, and came out stronger for it.

Scars. Why do people call them Ugly.

Indeed, scars may not be the prettiest things, especially not if they're found on an area we wished were baby-smooth, for all to see. But while they remind us of the painful processes we walked through, they also mark the battles we fought valiantly and the love of God which guided and saw us through.

Scars. They are our marks of victory, badges of triumph, flags of celebration.



Ugly? Why, not quite.


It's not easy, however. I should know. There is always that crimson embarrassment, that lavender shyness and turquoise envy at someone else, when one recounts the story of his own scar. Ed. Depression. Even this very space is a scar, bearing the mark of all my weaknesses, pitfalls and dark-valley times. Many times I meet people who've visited this space before seeing me face to face, and that naturally, on a human level, unnerves me a little. We all want a darlie-white first impression, don't we? But I tell myself we live for a reason bigger than ourselves, and if our scars can bring hope to another, bring glory to God, then perhaps, they are worth carrying, worth revealing, worth celebrating.

There is a fine line between shame and humility, and I believe this is where we make or break ourselves. We can choose to be ashamed, and continue to live under a cloak of reproach, or embrace our experiences as opportunities for growth, as times of learning humility, as testimonies of God's love for us- for seeing us through, for building us up, for being... Real.

Scars.

I call them remnants of beauty, for remembering the goodness of God's love. We needn't hide them.

That tiny scar on my left forefoot tells the story of the nights of weeping, the feet-breaking numbness from kneeling... but also the intimacy and reality of God to me, that invisible, enveloping presence from up above, and my eventual recovery, healing from a journey of faith- blind faith.

Scars. We can wear them with honour. It's not easy, I know. I don't pretend to be someone else when people who meet me tell me they know my Story. I always smile back, always.

Scars. Our evidence of God with us.

For we can hold on to that promise, that when we become bone and ash, and dirt and dust, and find ourselves in Paradise in a Perfect Place, we will see that the journey was worth it, was necessary to make us who we became. And on that day of total gratitude and inexplicable admiration for those remnants of beauty, we shall, paradoxically, find ourselves completely restored, without a hint of blemish, perfect.

For in heaven, they say, only one Person bears all our scars. Because of Him, we are free, finally.

" Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows...

But He was pierced for our transgressions...

and by His wounds we are healed."

-Isaiah 4-5

Anna's Story: Growing Up.

I like the name Anna. I always have. It's plain, simple, straightforward, and unpretentious. Just like the way most things should be. I've always liked the name Anna.

Even long before Anorexia arrived, I'd already named the little girl in Kitesong Anna. Little did I know what it strangely foreboded, for it was only much later in Therapy that I learnt, quite eerily with goosebumps too, that Professional People all over the world often, in the process of therapy, personify the illness as a separate being, most commonly known as E.D (eating disorder), Ed (like a boy's name), or... ... Ana.

Terrible coincidences.

Anorexia is a complex illness, and everyone who suffers from it has a Story unique to himself. Its roots often stem from one's childhood, past trauma, one's personality, or a combination of them all. When all these factors interact with present circumstance, they may result in a toxic manifestation that takes the form of Anorexia. That is why the Professional People can work in a team of up to four or more- psychologist, psychiatrist, dietician, family therapist, phyisiotherapist etc... as they each treat the illness from a different angle, wearing down this huge Monster of an illness.

What may be slightly more disturbing or perhaps, fortunate, is how these drawings accurately represent my inner world that I'm unable to express through my own words. These drawings have been vital in my Recovery, for my therapists often glean more insight from them, pointingly accurately, too.

I've never really given Anna an introduction. For those of you who frequent this space and have been journeying with me, I'm sure you know who she is.

This is Anna, Anna from Kitesong, Anna from Anorexia, Anna from... me.


And this is Anna's Story.

Anna's Story

Once upon a time in a not so far away land, there was a little girl named Anna.

Her favourite colour was White but she lived in a dark place, where everything was either blue, or grey or black, where there were black monsters and dark blue clouds hovering above her always.

Most of the time, Anna was very scared or sad. In order to survive in the dark evil place, Anna was forced to Grow Up very quickly, so she could fend for herself. Hence, she became very Big and Strong and Capable on the outside, even though she really was still a little girl on the inside.

One day, Anna found a White House which belonged to a man called Mister God. She was so happy because she found that this new place was filled with colours. Red! Yellow! Green! Purple! Rainbow colours! And best of all, White!



Anna was very happy, because she found her White Place. And Mister God was also a very nice man. His Plan was for a Bright and Happy future for her, where she could Grow Up to be a bright, happy person.

This, however, made the black and blue monsters very upset. They decided they would put a curse on her, that she may never Grow Up- that for all eternity, she would remain as a child, even though there was such Beauty and Wonder in Mister God's plan for her new phase of adulthood.

They placed a blue and black curse upon her, and introduced her to a bad man called Ed. Whenever Mister God tried to show Anna His wonderful Plan for her, the evil monsters would scheme and use Ed to tell Anna how undeserving she was of such a bright and happy future. Ed made Anna believe that he was the only was who could make Anna feel safe and secure.

Ed was a Very Bad Man, and slowly drained little Anna away. Anna's Big People were very worried, and could not understand why she suffered so deeply, or why she so often had angry, childish outbursts.

What nobody knew was that- Because Anna had been forced to Grow Up so quickly on the outside while she was still little, and never really experienced a complete childhood, the black and blue monsters which stayed with her caused little Anna to rebel against Growing Up.

Anna yearned for the Bright and Happy Child memories she never had, for hugs and bedtime stories, for her Bright and Happy Child Friends, like Raggedy-Ann and Teddy, and little Miss Giraffy, which she had heard other Children had had before. Day by day, she grew more and more resentful towards the Big People, whom she felt Abandoned by.



While Mister God had Plans for Anna to Grow Up beautifully, Ed and the evil monsters made Anna feel unworthy to do so.


How would Growing Up Beautifully ever be possible? Anna asked. In truth, Anna didn't really want to Grow Up because in the black and blue house, she never really had a chance to be a little child-like Child. She had been forced to Grow Up very quickly on the outside even though she really was a little girl inside.



This Struggle made Anna very ill, because it made her very confused, and angry and resentful. It also made her throw lots of tantrums around the dinner table in front of Grown-Ups, because she was feeling hurt, insecure and unloved. Her angry outbursts and reliance on Ed made her feel very ashamed and even more Abandoned.

Sometimes, she felt so Abandoned that she thought she would never get better. But Mister God was always there for her.

Recovery, for Anna, means letting go of past hurts and moving on, releasing unforgiveness and walking forwards, letting go of her desperate longing to be a Child again and her dependence on Ed to cope so she can finally put her trust in Mister God to help her Grow Up to be a Bright and Happy Grown-Up.

Recovery means seeing herself all Grown-Up without needing Ed to assure her; it means seeing herself well and happy without seeing Ele anymore; it means letting go of the past and anchoring herself in Mister God so she can walk into the Future that He has planned for her.


And this is part of Anna's Story of Growing Up, of letting go, and of being free, to walk into the Bright and Happy Future Mister God has for her.

Thank you for walking with her through this arduous process. Wai Jia has been making good progress in Recovery with the team at Singapore General Hospital. With the help of Mister God, her physical health has been fully restored, she has been allowed to participate in races again, and no longer needs to follow a prescribed meal plan. The past few months have seen her through several breakthroughs, because of the Team, your encouragement and most of all, her loved ones (especially her special friends and the Big People) who have patiently supported her. She would not have come this far if it weren't for their long-suffering love towards her, their incredible patience to learn more about her illness through therapy, and their consistent support, prayers, and faith in her.

There is still a long way to go but she will continue pressing on.

"God's grace is sufficient... -2 Cor 12:9"

Thank you for walking with her on this journey.



All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital.
By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges. No one recovers by themselves- take the first step foward.

Inside out.

"What does Recovery mean to you, Ele?"


"It means being completely comfortable with who I am, who God made me to be, whoever it may be- inside and out."

" ...for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Marvelous are your works,

And that my soul knows very well...

How precious are your thoughts to me...!

Search me, O God, and know my heart...

...And lead me in the way everlasting."

- Psalm 139: 14, 17a

All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital.

By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges. No one recovers by themselves- take the first step foward.

Tunnels.

Perhaps one of the most frightening things about This is how I never know when the next big Incident will happen. You're holding steady, drinking up the waters by a quiet stream, growing fresh leaves into a new season, when suddenly, an Incident happens and you're thrown off course. A forest fire erupts, caused once again by an unexpected trigger- and you're left burning, burning.

You're burning down, a cindering matchstick smoking into ashes, an embarrassingly extravagant display burning, burning down in shame and agony.


It's a very real phase of Recovery, having to journey through twists and turns. You've been making good progress, but when an Incident breaks out, again, unexpectedly, it can leave you so utterly discouraged and hopeless. The worst part is, the most serious triggers come so unexpectedly, and they're caused by the most well-meaning of people who don't or are unable to understand the illness, and yet demand you explain your absolute helplessness to them.

You've been struggling so hard yourself to accept that it is an Illness, and not some profane bout of insanity. But they're demanding you to explain yourself- and I'm reminded of what the doctors told me, "Tell them you can't tell someone with pneumonia to stop coughing. It's an illness- just like pneumonia."

Perhaps what makes it so hard in its own way is how This is not like pneumonia, or an amputation, or cancer- you don't have a purulent cough, a missing limb or hair loss to suggest you are suffering from a medical ailment, and that you need rest and sensitivity to what you're going through.

The thing I've learnt about Recovery is how much support one actually requires. I kept thinking I could do this on my own, with help from the Professional People, but little did I realise how pertinent and necessary support from one's loved ones is. The challenge is, this takes a lot of trial and error because not everyone understands. But we hold on, and I've been blessed to have loved ones who try so hard to support, help and love me, and I celebrate in gratitude the little victories which do come our way.


While I watched the tree burning down into charcoal ash, I heard the dark voice of death beckon by the roadside. It grew stronger and stronger and it was seductive. There were speeding cars and bright headlights at midnight, and the voice sounded hypnotically familiar. For a brief moment, it wrapped around me and called me by name, and I was emboldened by a dark voice to do the unthinkable- the unthinkably stupid.


If I had not known God, my life would have been over. It would have been the third time- that was how bad it was. One moment's darkness and folly is all it takes.


But the more we know God, the more these thoughts and seductions become ludicrous, incredulous, and we reject them, though they are very, very real and within our reach. Our lives have been bought with the price God paid for us. They are not our own possessions to take.


As I lay my head on your shoulder at church, with tears streaming down my cheeks, from my eyes swollen from crying the previous night, I asked you softly and in desperation if I would ever get better. You said yes. Yes, because God heals, because He does miracles. I've already come this far, and I believed you, even though I was crying, still, because He's done miracles for me before, is in the process of doing a miracle even now.


That night, as I dragged my tired feet home, away from the glare of the harsh streetlights and honking night racers, and lay my head on God's word, I imagined how it seemed as if I had reached the end of a dark, dark tunnel. I knew where to go- it was forwards. But it seemed as if I had hit a wall, that there were no more places to go and that Ed was winning.


Have you ever felt like you'd hit a wall too? As if you knew where to go, but that you could no longer move forward because you'd hit a dead-end?

It can be difficult to trust in what we cannot see, especially when we can't see a hope and a future for ourselves. But even in the darkness of a seeming dead-end, we need to Persevere, press on with a pick-axe and believe in a way out with all of our hearts.

If God's given us the direction in His word, He will take us through to the very end. He will always give us what we need- a tiny headlamp, a retractable ladder, and a trusty pick-axe.

May we always remind ourselves, that in every trial and tribulation, we need to Persevere and trust in God, in His goodness and the hope He has for our futures... because there is always a way out of the tunnel. A tunnel always leads somewhere.

Tunnels connect us from one phase of life to the next, one stage to another. They never end by themselves- they are tunnels, linkways for a reason.

And we mustn't give up too soon, because we could just be this close to a way out...

... This close to a new breakthrough.

" ... And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverence; and perserverence, character; and character, hope.

Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us. "

- Romans 5:3-5

"Now I can trade these ashes in for beauty..."

-At the Foot of the Cross

Frostbite yesterday.

We've been going on intensive mode for quite some time now, and it hasn't been easy. Anna still has huge issues with fears of abandonment, and this sets off huge triggers like fireworks.


If there was ever a toughest day at therapy, this would have to be it.

Even in early Spring, it takes time for the sunshine to warm the frost.

All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital.

By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges. No one recovers by themselves- take the first step foward.

Lumpectomy.

Lumpectomy is a common surgical procedure designed to remove a discrete lump, usually a tumor, benign or otherwise, from an affected man or woman's breast. As the tissue removed is generally quite limited and the procedure relatively non-invasive, compared to a mastectomy, a lumpectomy is considered a viable means of "breast conservation" or "breast preservation" surgery with all the attendant physical and emotional advantages of such an approach.


Today, as chance would have it, a surgeon called me into the operating theatre for the treasured opportunity to assist in a surgery which involved removing a breast lump from a patient.

"Benign?" I asked.

"Nope, malignant. This'll save her life."



There was yellow fat sliced away, red blood spurting, and the smell of burning flesh. Surgery is, in its essence, a brutal event. When the evil mass had finally been excavated from the soil of human flesh, the wound gaped open in bloody agony. It seemed an impossible mess to stitch. Yet, very skillfully, the hole was sewn, sealed and plastered over. Neatly, impeccably, beautifully, with the rest of the breast still largely intact.

In the past, most doctors recommended masectomies, where the entire breast was removed, compared to lumpectomies, procedures requiring far more skill and time where the rest of the breast still remains largely intact.

As I watched the surgery and thought about the woman I had met just days ago, I wondered, if perhaps our fears of completely losing such an intimate part of ourselves prevented us from seeking help, and compelled us to live behind the curtain of shame and dread forever.

It may surprise most to know, however, that if one chooses to nip the problem in the bud early on, one has a good chance of requiring a lumpectomy only, and not a complete removal of the breast. The surgeons just need to take away what's bad, but they leave behind what is good.

How the surgeon burnt and excised the tumour reminded me of the way the therapists carved away the cancerous roots of my intimate illness. Skillfully and neatly, and still, leaving behind what was good. I think many people are afraid of losing themselves in the process of seeking help professionally, but the truth is, they only cut away what kills you.

Going under the knife can be scary. Largely naked on the cold, cold operating table, with nothing but a paper-thin gown and some sterile sheets covering you, with possibly your breast exposed and a host of busy staff crowding round you, it is a vulnerable place to be in. It may hurt, and it can sometimes be a messy, even brutal process, but the wound and scar heals, and when the surgery is over, you find not only your breast still largely intact, but your life saved.

You can fight tooth and nail to resist help, as many do, but the more you let go and the more you trust, the more they can step in and get the job done- and done well, too. Going under the knife means completely letting go, allowing someone else to take over. Most people who are ill continue to cling onto control, and until that control is completely handed over, the root of the illness can never be fully removed.

And the surprising thing is- the more you let go, the more you are given in return. They took away my old sources of pride, took away my old sources of control and sustenance, took away my old coping mechanisms, forbade me to eat and exercise the way Ed wanted me to... It was a complete surrender, a complete giving up of control. Yet, at the end, I realised, that all the good parts were returned to me... and more. The joy of eating, the joy of running, the joy of being comfortable with oneself, and the joy of finally... living.


They removed the lump, and left most of the breast largely intact, saving the patient's breast, and life, and most importantly, giving her a new lease of life, with nothing but a fading scar for nostalgic remembrance.


After a few gruelling hours, the surgeon heaved a sigh of relief.


"There, it's done. This'll save her life."

Seasons for a Reason.

Before the new year started, I remember asking God for a simple request, for Fruit to be borne in my life. When things didn't happen the way I had expected, I asked Him- why.

Why the loss of Rainbow. Why the loss of abilities. Why the sorrow and illness and affliction.

Why God, why.

And then I heard a White dove whisper in my ear, that throughout our lives, God has four seasons for us. Spring, summer, autumn, winter- the seasons were made for a reason.

Everybody loves Spring. New buds grow, flowers bloom, and music fills the cool, crisp air. Everybody loves Spring.

Not everybody likes Summer. Some find it too hot. Hard blasts of heat make it sometimes difficult to endure. Not everybody likes Summer.

Everybody likes autumn, too. Fruits ripen- it's harvest time! O, what a joy.

Everybody loves autumn.

But nobody likes Winter. It is too cold here. There is nothing. There is nothing.

Nobody likes Winter.

The White dove told me- In Summer, the hard blast of heat, like our trials and challenges in life, is what is vital to producing good fruit in us. Without the soaring temperatures, the fruit borne would otherwise not be half as sweet. In Winter, on the other hand, after the frenzy of a busy harvest-time in Autumn, all life seems to have ceased... but only few know about the mysteries behind the gift of Rest, and even fewer understand the secret miracles birthed beneath the surface of the cool, wintry frost.

Nobody likes winter because it seems like nothing is happening- but only the wise know that Spring is birthing in the heart of the cold. When there is winter, Spring is near, too.

Fruit is always borne in it's season. And do you realise, that there are not one, but four seasons? Surely bearing good fruit takes not one, but all four of them.

A White dove told me, that sometimes, it is not that God has not answered our prayers, but rather, He sometimes puts us in the seasons we did not expect Him to, but which are best for us. We all want to be in Springtime always, but fail to realise that without the heat of summer which produces maturity in us, and the frost of winter to give us rest, good fruit cannot be borne.

Waiting and delay are a part of God's dealings. He made the seasons for a reason.

I asked God for Fruit, for a wonderful autumn harvest. After all, after Kitesong, I thought- what else can He not do? But little did I realise, God's Fruit is of a different kind. More than what we do, He loves us more for who we are. And so it says in the bible, that the ultimate Fruit is Love, love that comes with 8 other fruits, namely- joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Galatians 5:22)

That is the Fruit which has been borne this season.

At the time when all around seemed to be darkness, and faith flickered like a dying candleflame, the White dove told me, that broken faith that has been tempered in the furnace has a fortitude to endure greater resistance, is quieter, more durable, and indefinitely more Fruitful. The greatest dimensions of faith can be entrusted only to broken vessels, it told me. Great faith that has not been broken turns into presumption. And so the season of heat, of breaking, has a reason too.

Are we able to see that the seasons were made for a reason? That even in Winter and our times of despair, we may be bare, but not barren?

Bare, but not barren...

... because roots take time to grow, too.

Pruning, but not punishment...

...because "He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit; while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it be even more fruitful."

- John 15:2

Loved, but not abandoned...

... "Because He disciplines those He loves."

- Hebrews 12:6a

It's all a matter of Perspective.

Whose eyes are you looking through-God's eyes, or yours?

He made the seasons for a reason.

Steps.

There is something beautiful about climbing steps. It can be painful, and it only gets more painful towards the end. But even in the midst of bearing the acidic pain which shoots up your calves, one cannot deny the beauty of steps, and climbing them.


Steps represent hurdles, lessons and milestones- the little obstacles in our way which train us to be stronger. Being presented with a neverending flight of them always seems scary, but what is beautiful is that, when you look at each one, it is always, always manageable. Each step is a stepping stone to the next, and we needn't look too far into the future to scare ourselves. When we focus on the present, each step becomes all at once small, conquerable, altogether possible.


The thing about climbing steps is that- as long as you're willing to put one foot ahead of and above the other, you'll get higher, and reach where you want to be. Other people may help you by giving you a thrust, but ultimately, it's your own two legs that will have to take the upward climb. And even if a wicked one shoots fiery arrows at you and cause your wounds to slow you down, even in the excruciating pain of injury and exhaustion, you're still left with the same choice of choosing to step forward and upward... or not.


It's a matter of whether you want to or not. Who's to tell you what you can or cannot do?


I will never in this life forget Dr William Tan. He came to my college once. And after all the other students had left, he stayed back and talked to me about his life for more than an hour, late into the night.


Born with polio, he put his all into performing well in school to be qualified to study medicine. When our local university saw his waist-down paralysis, his application was rejected immediately. Undaunted, he set out to Australia to pursue his dreams.


When they told him he could not perform surgery because he could not stand, he fashioned a special tripod stand for himself so he could perform on an operating table; When they told him he would not be able to deliver babies, he far exceeded the quota for each student to deliver at least 3 babies that semester by delivering 17 of them; When the world told him again and again that he was hitting himself against a wall, that he would never make it as a doctor, he saved up everything he had and went to Harvard University to do a First Class Honors Degree and Masters in Physiology, a PhD in neuroscience and became a brain surgeon. After which, he trained to fulfill his childhood dream of becoming an Olympic athlete, being the first person in the world to complete 10 marathons over 7 continents over 70 consecutive days.


Over the last 18 years, he has completed 60 Ultra Marathons (Over 45 km each) and raised over 16 million dollars for charity.



They told him he couldn't. Shouldn't. After all, he was disabled. He had a disability.



Ironically, it was his disability which birthed in him his indomitable Spirit to fight against all odds. So then, would you call his disability his greatest handicap or asset?


It's a matter of perspective, isn't it. It's about whose eyes you care to look through- yours, or those of the world.


I mentioned this before- that I was unnerved by the audacity of a question which I received about my ability to become a medical doctor because of my journeying experience to Recovery. The next day, I made a phonecall to a full-time medical doctor who is preparing himself and family to enter the mission field to serve the poor.


"Do you think my condition or whatever you wish to call it, will affect how good a doctor I become? Will it endanger my patients? I need you to be very honest with me."


After listening to what I had to say, he replied very calmly, "You know, I'll tell you, all through my life, I've been suffering from chronic migraines. They come at the worst of times, like when I'm in the operating theatre. Do you know how dangerous it is when a severe migraine hits you in the middle of a crucial operation? But it doesn't stop me from pursuing my dreams, does it? It only helps me to make responsible choices, and I decide not to do surgery, but something else I love. "


Every single human being, doctor or not, has a handicap of some sort which prevents him from doing his job well, and pursuing his dream. No one is perfect, no one is God. The crucial thing, however, lies in ourselves making responsible choices, in the interests of others, while still being true to ourselves.


" So if you're concerned about taking responsibility and giving the best to your patients, then perhaps you might consider not pursuing a career in say... "


"Psychiatry. Yup, wasn't in my mind anyways."


"Precisely. You know, it may sound silly to you but I don't see my condition any differently from yours. It's just about knowing what we're good at, and what we're not. What we're predisposed to, what we're not and how to avoid those speedbumps. "


So, who's to tell you what you can or cannot be. If you can't change your circumstance or your genes, then you change what you can. And most often, it most certainly doesn't come at the expense of giving up your dreams.


Dreams are often so big and free that they give us space to mould, sharpen, shape them further-according to the gifts we were given.


So the next time someone comes to tell you that you have a disability, don't crumble in agony, grasping your burning foot in pain. Because for a while, a few days actually, I did.


We all have our Achilles' heel. But when the poison arrow strikes the soft spot, know that at that crucial moment, still, you have the power. To take one step upward and forward, against the pain, resistance and lies.


Upward and forward, upward and forward, against gravity, against the lies. And before you know it, you realise... you've reached the top. You've conquered all those steps, and you've earned the greatest reward of all- not fame, or power, or men's praise, but the fullness and certainty of knowing that a dream was fulfilled because you believed in yourself. That through it all, there was nothing to fear, because God was with you.


Upward and forward. And when you look back, you'll be surprised at the number of steps you conquered- against gravity, against the lies. And when you do, don't let anyone tell you that you didn't deserve to be there, to fulfill your innermost, deepest calling, because every one of those steps was a step you fought to conquer.


Upwards and forwards. Upward and forwards. And perhaps, just perhaps, when you reached the top, you and the world will see just how much more thankful, dedicated and passionate you are about what you do. Because after all, it was a disability, one which crippled you at first, which birthed in you more strength than any other normal, abled person, to do what seemed impossible. You had to fight that much harder, against that many more odds to gain the rare durability and perseverence to walk to where your heart needed to be.


What the world saw as your disability, becomes your greatest asset.


I think it would be fair to say that This experience has certainly helped me to become more acute and aware of this area of medicine, more astute to picking up hidden clues from patients regarding their disease. In fact, did you know that a majority of illnesses which present themselves at clinics can be traced back to a psycho-social origin? The hypertensive patient could be in trouble because of his high levels of stress- his stress could be related to his family or work; the diabetic could have a chronic problem with non-compliance to his diet because of his environment- his children could have abandoned him and he has no money to eat healthily; the patient who complains of chronic backache and migraines could be presenting with symptoms of depression-but refuses to seek treatment because of her husband's stigma regarding seeking counselling... none of which can be solved by medication alone. Drugs may alleviate the symptoms temporarily- but Western medicine is often guilty of missing the root causes of the presenting illness.

And I think it's fair to say that This experience has helped me, as a medical student, to look beyond what the eye can see, to delve a little deeper, to find out, and treat the root cause of the issue- which very often lies in changes in one's social environment and psychological attitude, not in 5-minute consultation sessions, scientific advice hammered down, or conveniently dispensing medication, even.


I am learning to see that it's all about Perspectives. Perhaps your unique life experiences could help you better empathise with others. Perhaps it helped you to treasure what so many take for granted. Perhaps it opened up your mind, and your heart to worlds so many have no ability to see.


I know it did for me- I will stand up to those who think otherwise. And I know many others who will be standing with me, too, even if we may be in the minority. What is right is often not the majority, anyway.


Upwards and forwards. Who's to say who you can or cannot be.

Pictures taken by Xi

Fools for Causes.

It’s been an exhilarating week.

After two years of struggling to germinate under fluorescent tubing amidst piles of notes filled with esoteric names of microbacteria, drug names and biochemical reactions confined within the four walls of a lecture theatre, we’ve finally taken the leap to enter our clinical years.

The difference between a third-year medical student in his clinical years and a second-year one is as huge as the ocean. At once, you’re transplanted from the dull, sterile classroom into the chaotic, heart-thumping pace of the hospital ward, from meeting merely tutors and lecturers to interacting with your greatest teachers- real patients themselves. What you once knew as only theoretical information and pictures in the textbook becomes fleshed out into reality- you see that an illness has a face, family, friends, feelings and a future, real consequences for someone’s life. From the pen-tapping mundane routine of the classroom, you’re thrown into a dynamic, ever-changing storm of the ward, where you scrub and gown and watch surgeries, where there’s so little time, so much to see, hear, feel, learn.

You feel a sense of liberation, like you’ve finally become what a medical student ought to be- part of the drama. At once, you feel like finally, you've been given the right conditions to bloom. Everything amazes you, and you can't wait for the next study period when you can engorge yourself on all that knowledge that fertilises your brain, half-withered from the dry routine of the previous two years. There is adrenalin pulsing through your veins, you’re in a white coat, you’ve got your pen and paper by you all the time, your stethoscope hangs sexily around your neck. In your heady excitement, the fact that you don't quite know how to detect a simple heart murmur doesn't quite sink in, just yet.

There are Strangers from all walks of life, all willing to tell you their Stories because of your white coat, people giving you pats on the back congratulating you for coming this far, patients holding your hands thanking you for spending time with them… and then you suddenly realize… you don’t know anything at all.

Your utter helplessness overwhelms you when reality sinks in- that in a sea of vast, vast knowledge, you’re struggling to breathe, you’ve Stories to listen to but little advice to offer, you’ve a stethoscope around your neck, but instead of feeling like a glamorous young know-it-all ripped from a medical drama serial, you feel it's real weight around you, realise what this all really means- life and death, persistence and stamina, long hours and a upstream struggle for a balanced life.

You’ve reached the first milestone, the first second of momentary euphoria wanes off, and you realise-you've still a long, long way to go.


Of late, I’ve had to ask myself the serious question of the implication of This on a vocation such as mine. Two people challenged me about it, and it left me, to say the least, quite unnerved.

I realize, that many people suffer from This illness. Yet, the reason for this extra scrutiny, the reason I was questioned, challenged even, put down for my honesty on this space was simply because of my choice of a vocation that many demand far, far higher requirements of.

It’s been a struggle all this while. And all the time I am receiving mixed signals from two opposing camps- one thanking me for my brave honesty and inspiration, and saying how much they believe my experience will make me a better doctor, the other mocking my stupidity, fearing for my future and suggesting me to take the easy way out- get out now so you don't regret it later.

It’s not that I particularly fancy the occasional time-bomb thrown at me. But how do I explain my conviction of being honest and unafraid to share about my journey, how do I begin to explain to you that This illness is no respecter of man, that just as how anybody can have it, anybody can triumph it, too- and that one has a choice not to allow it to take you away.

How can I tell my own patients to be brave to acknowledge their conditions and seek help- if I myself fear what others think of me? How can I tell them to take courage to face the world with their heads high in dignity, when I can hardly practice what I preach?

And how do I explain the reality of too many inexorable, slippery slides to suicidal despair, that could have been stopped, avoided, if not for the pathological and unfounded, irrational fear of failure, disclosure, shame, guilt and of being exposed, found out, caught vulnerable in the limelight. How do I explain the sheer un-necessity of lives lost, wasted, flushed down every single day- all this completely preventable if not for our immaturity as a so-called developed nation to be unable to accept these grippingly stark and genuine realities. How do I begin to share with you the emails I receive from people being impacted from this honesty, whose lives have been touched, changed, revived?

Oh how our deceitful, cowardly and unthinkably selfish natures have distorted our perspectives- building and puffing up our own esteems, at the expense of others, lives lost which we’ve heard about, tragedies which we’ve read about, and bright futures bursting with potential which we’ve never even met, known, loved- all completely wasted, thrown away, flushed down and lost, forever, because of our one moment’s folly to accept the greatest lie there ever was- that to win, you must hide.

When in fact, everyone who plays hide-and-seek gets found out in the end. If you don’t, and you find yourself hiding for hours and hours in a dank, musty cupboard full of cobwebs and spiders, with the rest of the gang given up looking for you and moving on to play a different game, you lose anyway.

You lose anyway.

It reminded me of Ed. When we let him go, tell him we don’t need make-up, or a façade, or anything else in the world for that matter, we shock ourselves to find that… people really do like us, far more for who we are for real, than the person we tried so hard to be, and never had feet large enough to fill those over-sized, mouldy shoes.

The medical profession sees more depressed, overworked and burnt out healthcare workers than any other single profession in the world besides pastors and missionaries. These are the people who work their lives to the core, for the single altruistic cause of helping others.

There has been paper after paper after paper published on the high percentages of doctors and medical students diagnosed with depression and other psychological illnesses. You put a group of exceptionally high-achieving individuals with perfectionistic tendencies through a rigorous course with ever-increasing demands, long work hours and scarce sleep, on the frontline with blood, illness and bereavement every single day, and tell me if you do not see the formula for disorders, distress and woe.

Contrary to popular belief, doctors and medical students aren’t infallible, all-knowing superheroes who heal and transform and perform miracles. We aren't God. At the end of a long day after a 36-hour shift seeing patient after patient after patient, and listening to Story after Story after Story, we have our own homes to return to, family to entertain, and perhaps, spouses who may not be half as understanding, wondering who it was they married years ago.

And all I am trying to do, what I am trying to say is this- that I've nothing to hide, and I'm not afraid.

Some have told me I don't need to do this- that I can go about my own life, avoid these cruel arrows strange people send me once in a while, wrap up and forget about all this talk of being open, of sharing, of helping people through a public space. You put yourself on the line unecessarily, of course you'll get hurt.


How do I explain this foolish thing called a calling-

-the thing that makes you terrified of giving up what you believe in, and to be unable to bless other people in the way God has blessed you, to be unable to share and to live out the things God has taught you through experience.

We swim upstream, not for nothing, but for a Purpose. The same purpose I started out with- to raise awareness about This, to give it a face, and to testify how there's nothing to be afraid of, that one ought to get help and help others to do so, that it's perfectly fine, beautiful even, to be Real, because it's worth it. A Purpose makes things all worth it, even if you get hurt, even if it faces resistance.

I dedicated Kitesong to the one teacher who impacted and changed my life in the most phenomenal way. He's the kind of teacher who makes you want to salute him not merely because of his knowledge, but for who he is, and for who you are when you're around him. He is the reason of a large part of me today. A few days ago, I went to visit him at my previous college, and asked him, "Sir, so you think I'm foolish, too? And maybe, I ought to choose a different vocation?"

He looked at me and said, " In the Holocaust, Wai Jia, there was this huge oil lamp in the middle of the concentration camp. It was what gave the prisoners heat during winter. It was said that one ought not to go too near it, because even though it was so cold, the heat from the barrel would cause your body to warm up, and paradoxically, you would catch pneumonia more easily."

" Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl realised that in order to live, he had to find a purpose greater than his life then, greater than his circumstance. When he found it, he found that he could withstand the chilling temperatures far away from the oil lamp in spite of the suffering. What he observed was that those who lost their calling in life, their sense of purpose, inched nearer to the oil lamp day by day, and eventually died because of pneumonia. When they lost their purpose, they only cared for immediate comforts like warmth but cared not for the long-term. There's always a price to pay, suffering to bear when you do what you believe in, but the Purpose makes it bearable, worthwhile. After all, Socrates was sentenced to drink the poison hemlock on account of "polluting minds" and Christ was known as the King of Fools and crucified... This story speak to you?"

So I'm afraid, I will not stop wearing my heart on my sleeve on my white coat, not stop telling the truth, not stop doing what I believe I was made to do, a missionary doctor, and not stop living. I will listen and take good advice, constructive criticism, and feedback on my doctor-patient communication skills, study techniques, clinical procedures, but I will stand up to anyone who tries to tell me their opinion that I ought to be doing something else.

I love talking to patients, love listening to their stories, and I can't take my eyes off a medical book, now. A calling, a Purpose can be so strong that its fire sets you ablaze.

It gets mighty cold sometimes, especially when all you have is a white coat in a cruel blizzard, and it's not easy, but I suppose- for one's Purpose, it's all worthwhile at the end.

Ed, my Ex.

All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital.

By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges.

No one recovers by themselves-

take the first step foward.

We used to be together, and I thought we had things going really well for us at one point. We got married-and then he started to abuse me. Now we're separated, I'm filing for a divorce and he's really upset. He's been such a big part of my life, so I've had to get help learning to cope without him.

I think he deserves a formal introduction. Ed is my ex, also known as the Eating Disorder, in this case, Anorexia.


The first step to Recovery, they say, is to acknowledge the problem as a separate entity from your real self. The problem has a voice. It tells lies. It is a part of, and yet not a part of you. The deliberate distinction makes all the difference. It may sound strange, almost like having a split personality, but to some extent, all of us live with two or three voices in our heads all the time. Part of journeying to Recovery involves recognising this, and involves giving the problem a face, traits, even a name, a personified identity, as if it were a real person, apart from you.


So, ladies and gentlemen, this is my ex, Ed.

Little Anna, and Ed

Ed has a mirror which he shows little Anna on a daily basis, that is really not a mirror at all, but a frame with his pet elephant behind it. He is a hard, fierce slavedriver who carries a whip wherever he goes. He's a Casanova, a control freak, and a narcissist. He's pursued many of us, little Anna included, since she was that round child with chubby cheeks. He was always there to remind her how much more beautiful, successful and popular he could make her, if only she listened to what he told her.

Run more, eat less, hide your ugliness, hide it underneath layers and layers of achievement and good deeds, busy yourself, please people and I can help you be Perfect if only you will let me.

She was quite bothered by him as a child. Then at 19, he convinced her there was nobody else who could promise her happiness like he did. They got married, as he does to so many other women, he successfully battered her till she had to see the doctors, and now they're filing for divorce.

She really upset him last week.

You see, they went to see the doctors together. He got exposed and it was really embarassing-for the both of them, really. He got really upset.

Most times, Anna's supposed to tell Ed to pipe down and ignore the lies he tells her. But at the hospital, Ed is allowed to speak so the doctors know how to help.

They walk into the dietician's room and Ed sits down next to little Anna. Little Anna is very nervous. Ed tells her that she knows more than the dietician can ever tell her, that it's all a conspiracy-they're here to make her get round, become unwanted and go home. They can't help you, he's saying, only I can.

"How can I help you?" The dietician is very nice, and very patient.

"Didn't the other doctor tell you my problem? I don't even want to be here." Little Anna's hostile retort shocks her own self, and she quickly apologises. "This is very hard for me, I'm so very sorry..."

The dietician understands- she's seen so many patients with similar struggles.

The dietician wants to weigh little Anna and asks if she wants to know the number. Little Anna takes a deep sigh, says yes, that she's thrown away her scale and she doesn't know how much she weighs anymore.

Every day, Ed has been reminding her that she's put on two sacks of rice worth of weight, that she has it spread out on all the wrong places. Imagine going to the supermarket and carrying two sacks of rice home- that's how much weight you've put on, says Ed. And you've put on an extra five kilos since your birthday-you're a sorry snot, nobody's going to love you now, he tells her. But she steps on the scale and she is startled- she realises she hasn't put on a pound.

She tells Miss B* about this later on and Miss B says this just shows how good a liar Ed really is. Ed is the prince of lies.

The dietician asks her a lot of questions and she lets Ed answer them, only because she's supposed to, especially during therapy sessions. Other times, she has to learn to tell him to shut up. He tells the dietician what he thinks about food and before I know it, Ed is arguing with the lady in the white lab coat.

The dietician looks at the both of us squarely and says, "You can't get your main source of carbohydrates from fruits. We get them from RICE or equivalents. And tofu is not considered meat. "

The words ring in my head in slow motion and echo. Ed is shocked. How preposterous, he tells me, how dare she the audacity to even say that to you.

I look at Ed- he feels absolutely violated by that four-letter word. Throughout our marriage, Ed has always preached that R-I-C-E is the enemy. It is an unspeakable vulgarity.

Ed sees the dietician take out a sheet of paper that looks like a meal plan and he panics. There is three times as much food intake on that piece of paper than he allows little Anna to eat every day. Ed and the dietician negotiate for what seems like an eternity. Why is there rice here. She can take fruits, or muesli-why rice? Why so much, no she's not going to be able to finish this.

I am very tired by this. Ed continues to argue and I get very upset. I didn't think it would take so long. He uses his last resort and whispers- won't you look at how thin your dietician is- do you really think she practises what she's preaching? Take the meal plan- just don't follow it.

I start to cry. The dietician asks what is wrong, and tell her this is really hard for me to do. I'm 21, a second year medical student. And there I am sitting on the chair watching her teach me how to eat and what makes up a normal meal using plastic food models, asking me if I think this portion is too big, how about this, or how about even this, does this look like an unmanageable meal, will this plan be hard to follow- I answer yes to all her questions and we start over from square one.

I am crying because I am 21, a second year medical student, and someone in a white lab coat is telling me using plastic, coloured moulds of plastic rice, meat-cubes and broccoli what makes a normal meal- a normal meal that I've never been able to have since I can ever remember.

Most people have little idea of the extent of distortion that an eating disorder causes. It has the ability to distort the most sound, rational and knowledgeable mind. It is illogical, and it takes weeks, months of therapy sometimes to get to the root of the problem. The root problem almost never lies in vanity, but often in deeper issues such as self-esteem, trauma, lonliness, depression.

Ed and I look the 3-dimensional food pyramid before us and all the different plastic food models inside it. He is really upset now- he realises that at the rate I'm going, he'll lose his power over me someday. I realise that eventually, the dietician will teach me how to eat cake, sweets, chocolate, and all the other things I've not eaten since I married Ed, -gasp- and even ice-cream.

Since they got married, Anna has eaten ice-cream perhaps only but once, and even then Ed punished her harshly. His whip is not kind.

After an eternity of table-tennis negotiating, the dietician asks, "Is this meal plan all right for you now?"

I look at it, and it has more rice in a day than Ed allows me to eat in five days. It has milk, even, and meat. It also has... oh my, it has bread, and biscuits. Oh my, and potato, too. Oh look, and I can whatever I want at this time, right here. This looks... fantastic.

"You're joking... I can eat this much? E-ver-y sin-gle day? Really? This is crazy." It sounds too good to be true.

"Try it, " she says. "Your current food intake is insufficient-that's why your metabolic rate has slowed down so much. Eat more, and it'll shoot up. My job here is to maintain your current weight. By the way, you can have spreads on your bread, you know. Like jam, peanut butter... Most people I know don't have it plain."

"No way- like, seriously?"

She whips out a plastic dollop of jam and says, "This much of spread." The dollop looks huge.

You're joking? I look at her incredulously.

Ed has gone completely berserk. She's lying! It's a conspiracy! I see him hopping on the chair with his muscular legs and spandex pants, without an once of fat jiggling on his jumping body and I am amused. I keep asking her over and over, "You mean I can have this? And this too? Bread and jam and biscuits and potato and rice? Really?" I am squeezing the plastic food model and asking her. " I can have this much? All in one day?"

She says yes. I feel like raising my hands and shouting Hallelujah, because that meal plan she is holding looks like a miracle.

There is three times as much food in there as I usually take now, and probably eight or ten times as much as the time I was most ill. This meeting happened last week. It has not been easy following it. Most people don't understand that because of the illness' ability to kick the body into starvation and conservation mode, one's stomach gets filled up much faster, food gets digested much more slowly, and eating more becomes a real pain. It's not like what you think- recovery isn't a piece of cake, pun intended.

I turn around and see Ed flat-out, sprawled out, on the floor, his chest muscles heaving up and down with exhaustion, his face hot with frustration. I hold the meal plan, and I tell him, "I can have JAM."

He's really upset with me now, and he's not going down without a fight.

* Miss B is the principal psychologist who works with people suffering from eating disorders at the Singapore General Hospital.