Week 1.

Week 1 is almost over and done with, but it feels like I've been here for a month. Time has dragged, which has made each day a horror to get through.

Each morning I wake up, and wait for a nurse to take my blood pressure, heart rate/pulse and temperature.
The days are all the same. The same things happen, I see the same people, I do the same things.
Routine. The kind of routine that is safe, because it's within the four walls of this hospital.

I'm here to be fed, and not much else. As I'm on a Paediatric Ward (seriously, I shouldn't be here. I'm as mature as a 57 year old!) there is no coucelling, there's no mental, emotional or psychological treatment. The only thing I get is food in front of me and upping of meal plans if my weight plateaus.
The food is like all hospital food: watery, flavourless, full of oil and sugar and salt and cheese.

Every day has been a battle to get through. I've faced some fear foods! I hadn't eaten pasta in over a year and a half, and last night I had near 2 cups of pasta with ricotta and tomato sauce. Ricotta: another fear food!
I've had to eat desserts with lunch and dinner which consist of custard + jelly, full cream yogurt, cheesecake, mousses, and other sweet things.

My eating disorder has been roaring in pain, in agony, in remorse. And what have I done about that? I've continued to choose the foods that scare me.
My therapist said something to me before I left that has really stuck with me: You're going to hospital to leave your eating disorder there. Piss it off, let it scream, cry, thrash, moan, complain, yell. Let it do all of those things. Leave it all behind."

That has really stuck with me. I've eaten things I'd never think of eating at home, and will probably not eat when I get back. They are things that remind me of my Eating Disorder; they're things I don't want to be reminded of. I've cried a lot, I'm constantly complaining to anyone who will listen, and I'm struggling to keep Eleanor in the forefront of my mind. But I'm doing it. I'm letting it out, I'm letting it go. I'm freeing myself of the chains that bind me and I feel incredible inside. I mightn't feel great physically, being on bed rest and being stuffed full of huge amounts of food; I might be bloated, blocked up, in pain, suffering indigestion and all the horrible symptoms of refeeding, but I'm getting through each day. I'm doing it. I'm learning to let go. I'm learning to challenge myself. I'm learning to be me again. Eleanor.

I'm homesick. I'm physically sick. I'm mentally exhausted.
But I'm alive.

Part of me regrets being here, and part of me knows it was the right choice to make. Which parts are my thougths and my disordered thoughts are sometimes hard to differentiate between, but I'm conscious of both and that is an achievement in itself.

I've achieved a lot, in just a week. I've put on 2.6 pounds (1.2 kilos) this week, which is a terrifying amount to put on. I feel self-conscious, but I'm trying to push past that. I know it is going to be difficult to accept my body at the moment, but it will all come with time.
It will all come with time.

I can't thank you all enough for your support and encouragement. You've all overwhelmed me and filled me up with pride and happiness. So thank you. Thank you for being with me through it all.

 

You're all fighters.

 

love, love, love.