And inside this box...

...is safety.

From the outside, it doesn't look like a very comfortable place to be - but inside, I feel sheltered, protected, safe. Inside my box, I don't need to think - everything I need is boxed up with me. Inside my box, I don't need to fear - unless someone opens it up and tries to pull me out.
But inside my box, it's dark. And you know? Sometimes, it gets a little lonely. Sure, I have a pal there, sharing the darkness with me. But sometimes, that pal isn't so great - there aren't any heart-to-heart conversations, and more often than not this pal of mine says pretty harsh things to me and tells me to do some pretty nasty things. But after being shut up for so long with only one thing for company, you become dependant on that one thing. It becomes a comfort in the cold and dark, a voice when no one else will hear you speak, an answer to your questions and a guide when you are lost. Having something always there, no matter what, - a constant amongst all the change -  becomes the only thing you have, the only thing you know you can rely on, your only sense of "self".

But recently, I've been starting to feel sort of cramped and trapped in here. It's too cold, too dark - my personal space is being invaded... My every thought is shadowed, my every "bright" moment smothered by something I can't see, but sure as heck can sense and hear. I have moments where I think I see a gap in the edges of my box... Realization that this isn't all there is, that there is a whole other world out there, waiting to be lived. Darkness, of course, quickly works to patch up that gap, telling me I've been decieved. But I saw it, I felt it. The thing I share my box with isn't the only thing that "cares" about me and "loves" me. People, friends, family, they're real? They've been trying to tell me that my box isn't safe? Isn't a nice place to be? Woah... Maybe I've been decieved by something else, I haven't been seeing things or imagining things. This "other world" does exist. Life outside my box is real. Where a smile is not frowned upon, where a bite to eat is not transformed into pounds of flesh and fat, where loving isn't painful and loving myself isn't wrong. Have I been missing out? Has my box been keeping me from all of this... The real meaning of life and living?

I mightn't be completely free from the bonds ED has wound around me, but slowly, sometimes without my notice, the bonds are loosening and the light from outside is getting in to my darkness. The shadow, the stain on my heart and mind and soul, is washing out. Yes, sometimes it hurts, it hurts like Hell. It wells up in my eyes and pours down my cheeks, it forms in my brain and flows out of my mouth, it aches in my stomach and screams in my head and turns everything into a chaotic mess - but it dies down.

I'm realizing, that the harder ED scratches, the louder ED screams, the further away he is getting from me. His cries of pain are caused by the ties bonding us together loosening, stretching and snapping. It hurts ED, and in the process it hurts me, but afterwards, I'm left with a sense of... Self. If I can call it that. I mightn't know who Eleanor is at this point in time, but at least I'm starting to understand that Eleanor isn't Ed. Eleanor is Eleanor, ED is an Eating Disorder, which I will not be defined by.

Something did come out of the box today, though. I finally mustered up the courage to tell my Mum about my blogging. It was scary - unbelievably so. But a huge weight was taken off of my chest once the words were spoken. She knows, and she is okay with it. Secrets shouldn't always be kept secret. Sometimes, they're better off being entrusted with a person you love, so that they can keep it safe for you.

I'm sorry for the narrative - if any of you can make sense of this, you deserve a congratulations. And a medal!

But most importantly, you all deserve to be free. Free to live, free to love, free to be you. Free to love yourself.

love, love, love.