She can talk the talk, but can she walk the walk?

Her eyes scanned the menu board, looking for something safe. She knew what she wanted, and what she wanted wasn't enough. She knew that, too. She scanned and scanned, looking from menu board to food bar, then shook her head. Deep down, she knew that she could have opted for an extreme skimpy, poor excuse of a lunch: "I'll have the salad without the dressing, the cheese, and the croutons, please". But she didn't. She also could have gotten an extremely scary, unfamiliar and uncomfortable bowl of food. Yes, she didn't. Instead, her and her mother went off to another possible place to lunch. Equally as scary were those foods, but her eyes met with a food item that she could simply not resist. Carby? Yes. Fatty? Most definitely. Scary? Like you wouldn't believe. But her desire for this slice of fear-on-a-plate made her tummy grumble. And so, Eleanor nodded her head this time and that was that. Lunch was ordered, eaten and most of all, enjoyed.

***

I'm not saying that I don't regret ordering what I did, because a part of me does regret ordering that Zucchini Slice. Floury and pastry filled, oily, egg-y, fatty… Those were only some of the thoughts going through my head as my knife and fork entered the spongy slice. It's safe to say that it was the least safe option. I could've had a sandwich, minus the butter and cheese, or I could've had a wrap, without the mayo, but I didn't. I got exactly what I wanted, and yes, I was overcome with dread, but I ate it. It's in my tummy now, where it belongs.

It's been a long, long time since I've eaten out in my town. The last time I did that, it was a fruit salad, and I tried to tell everyone (as well as myself) that it was a suitable lunch, while everyone else was eating burgers and foot-long subs from Subway. Oh, how times have changed. Today, I went out to lunch with my Mum, after being told countless times by everyone that I need to – excuse the language – pull my finger out of my ass and just do it.

For as long as I can remember I have been floating along, not getting better, but not getting worse. I've just been treading water. But that got me thinking: I'm using all of my energy staying stagnant, in a miserable and unfulfilling place in my life, when I could be using that energy to better myself, my health and my life. Why would I choose to settle for less than what I truly deserve? Hence the advice to pull my finger out.

My therapist has given my many, many methods of coping, of dealing, of moving forward, but I haven't taken any of that advice. I nod my head, I agree, I say "I can do that" – but I never do. I'm a bullshit artist, to put it mildly. I can't fool anyone. I can't fool myself. I'm sick of being in a constant state of fear, and the only way to get rid of that overwhelming feeling is to actually face those fears and eradicate them. Granted, that is easier said than done, but it's not impossible. My therapist herself is proof that there's life beyond an eating disorder and the disordered 'fantasy world'.

I admit it. I'm going to be cocky and egotistical. I did a brave thing today.
and damnit am I proud.

There’s no explanation or forewarning.

Unfamiliarity, uncertainty, hopelessness; overwhelmed with emotion but somehow deadened to all feeling.

When the foundations upon which your whole life was built start to crumble, what are you left with but the pieces of was your everything? What do you do with those pieces? How do you start to build again when you haven't even the strength to lift your head up above the rubble? And why, why do you take on all the responsibility of it?

This is my life at the moment. And it pains me – frustrates and annoys me – to start off a blog post with such depressing words. A black cloud looms above my life, threatening to tumble down with the hardest, heaviest and most destructive rain. It darkens every one of my days – a smile is always regretted, a laugh inconceivable, fun unheard of.

There has been too much going on to even begin to explain where I've been, what I've done, how far I've come or fallen back. There have been ups, downs, weight gains and losses, body image misery, physical strengthening and mental weakening… A barrel full of events and emotions to match every occasion.
There has been a major upheaval of my once comfortable family life. My parents – mother especially – has completely lost her way in the world, and with it her love for my father. My father is trying with all his might to hold on to my mother, and to me, which is suffocating for both her and myself. Dad doesn't know what to do, and in his confusion he is clutching onto the preparation of my food intake with such dependence and obsessiveness that it is having a devastating effect on my love for and my connection with him.

My family is falling apart, and I know within me that when the time comes to choose, my choice will be my mother. For as long as I can remember, I have not had a proper relationship with her. She loves me, and always has, but up until recently we have never shared that special bond I hear so much about. I have that now, as I am growing up and becoming more mature and adult-like. I can't let go of that, and I can't be without her. That choice and decision breaks my heart because I feel like I'm making my Dad out to be a bad person. I hate that I have chosen one parent over the other – what sort of person does that? What sort of person doesn't want both parents when they have the option?

My eating disorder has become so much a part of my life that it's the only thing my Dad associates me with now. He doesn't think I am 'ready' to look after myself, he doesn't think me capable. I need to try. Having to depend on someone to get my food ready for me keeps me ingrained in this disease. The independence I crave has been muffled and shut away from me, because I'm 'not ready'. I will never be ready if I don't have the chance to. I hate being monitored, I hate being dependent, I hate being treated like a disease and not a human. I've come to a point in my life where I feel more adult that child, and more ready to be a part of this world. I want to be my own person in this world. It's the only thing I've got – I am the only person I have, especially now when my parents are both confused and battling with their own problems. I have become their problem; I am involved in this situation because I am emotionally and mentally mature enough to understand, but I will never be emotionally and mentally strong enough to cope with it. I know this is a dangerous time for me because I could easily let my health go the way-side, but I honestly can't deal with that anymore. I don't want to kill myself, I don't want to die.

I'm further forward in recovery than I've ever been, yet Dad doesn't seem to think so. I weigh more now than ever before, but that's not enough? I don't know. I don't know anything, to be honest; that uncertainty, unfamiliarity and hopelessness goes deeper than my mind and heart. It is me. And that's something I have to deal with. I can't become someone elses problems. I can't become my own problems. I have to just become, and now of all times is the time to do it. When my parents are both fighting their own personal problems, I have no one I can fully rely on other than myself.

I'm talking myself around in circles. I don't even expect anyone to read this. Sending my thoughts out into the world wide web offers me some sense of relief. It's not my problem anymore, it's in the Universe's hands now.
I need to trust the Universe, if nothing else.

No Excuses.

There are too many possible excuses I could use as to why I have been so absent from my blog as of late. I could say that I've been busy, I could say that I've not had time, I could say that I've been focusing on school work, I could say I've been out there living my life and not felt the need to blog… But they would all be lies.
I have no excuses. I can't even say I've been 'afraid' of blogging, for fear of jinxing my positivity or sounding like a failure. I just… Haven't. And that's that. I haven't blogged because I haven't. That is my excuse.

* * *

She woke up slowly, unaware of the time. Her alarm hadn't been set for almost a week, because there was no point in her getting up at the crack of dawn; she needed the extra hours of sleep and she savoured them. When her mind had fully woken up – or at least, woken up as much as possible in the still early hours of the morning – she was instantly hit by an overwhelming feeling of fear. Laying in her bed, she knew exactly how her day would follow through. She knew the things that would be in it, she knew the course of events, she knew what she'd be eating, who she'd be seeing, what she'd say and how she'd feel. She knew all of this, because that was how each and every one of her days panned out. Her life was a cycle; a never-ending cycle of monotony. She lay in bed, working through her day, dreading it.
And then she got up, to face the same day she'd faced the day before.


* * *

In the two or three weeks that I've been gone, so much has happened. I had one extremely good week in which I felt on top of the world, followed by a crash-and-burn week, in which I lost weight. And now, I am in the recuperation week in which I pick myself up, dust myself off and try to start again. To say I'd been riding an emotional rollercoaster would be an understatement; all my life I have had ups and downs, but never before have I experienced the turbulence I have now found myself caught up in. Riding the Recovery Rollercoaster is exhausting, and walking the path to a 'better life' has left me somewhat lost, worn out and ready to plonk my ass down and rest for a while. Realistically I know that if I do rest, it will only be harder to get myself back up and going onward again, so instead of plonking my ass down I am taking it excruciatingly slowly; dragging my feet through the dirt, one after the other, in a pitiful state.

Somewhere during my "Blogger Break" , I got drunk for the first time. Somewhere during my break, I became a girlfriend again. Somewhere during my break, I lost weight, and somewhere during my break I began to gain it back again.
But all throughout this break of mine, I have been struggling to figure out just who I am and who I want to be. I often ask myself where I want to go in life, and the answers are always different. To get anywhere, I have to pass this year at school, which at the moment is looking very unlikely.
I have absolutely no motivation.
I have found myself in this mentality, which may be familiar: If I can't do it perfectly, there's no point doing it at all.
Yes. The "All Or Nothing" mentality. It's poisonous, it's deadly; it's best friends with procrastination.
I have two very unhelpful mentalities in my mind, both of which are hindering my progress both academically and recovery-wise. In other words, I'm in a funk, and I'm starting to drown.

Too much is going on in my head to make sense of. I've tried, and I've failed numerous times. I'm still so resistant to giving up my eating disorder, and that scares me. There is not one good thing I can name about having this ailment, yet I'm holding onto it like a child holds onto its favourite stuffed animal. My eating disorder is so far from a cuddly, comforting stuffed toy but the attachment I have to it makes it seem so. I am terrified of letting go, because I don't know what lies on the other side. I won't know what's on the other side if I don't give myself the chance of finding out!

My rational and irrational minds are raging away inside my head and to be honest, I'm sick of it. I was always sick of it but it's reached breaking point.

I want my life back. Or at least, I want a fresh, new, exciting and positive life.
I still haven't given up. I have latched on to the tiny ray of hope that I've been given by the support I've been shown through the Blog World. And I won't let go.