Triumph.

 

I. 

Ate. 

JELLYBEANS.

Body Woes.

I cannot thank you all enough for the advice you have given me and the kindness you have shown me. I don't know how you all do it, but I am grateful. More than grateful. I am blessed, honoured and touched.

Thoughts don't have beginnings. Thoughts don't have endings. Thoughts simply come and go – in thinking about how to write down my feelings I am only lead to disappointment as my thoughts simply don't stay still. They drift in and out, like clouds passing over the blue sky above. Only my thoughts are heavy clouds, threatening rain, and my sky is not the happiest shade of blue but a pale, almost grey hue. Oh, some thoughts are bright and cheerful, such as the thoughts I have of my puppy, or a close friend. But the majority of my sky is dark and grey, heavy and weighed down, tainted.

I thought (here these thoughts come, again) that gaining weight would lead me to be happier and healthier. But the only thing I feel right this very minute is a hatred so deep that I cannot see the bottom of it. It weighs down my heart; my mind is being held hostage by this monstrous eating disorder and the thoughts are the darkest shade of hate.
I can feel myself growing, I can feel my body changing. Should I not be embracing that change? The transition from child to woman, curves and all. Why do I only see a body that is out of proportion? Why do I only see things that I hate? Why can't I love my thighs? Why can't I at least accept that I have heavy-set thighs?
These questions have no answers, and if they do it is one and the same: because the eating disorder is still strong.

Gaining weight is not a failure. The rational side of me knows this. The rational side of me knows that I am so much more than what my eating disorder tells me I am. I am much more than the shape of my body and the space between my thighs (which is steadily disappearing). I am much more than the amount of food I consume or do not consume. I am much more than my facial features, my hair, my skin and my bones.
I am me, Eleanor. But why can't I accept her?

***

I have gained some more weight. With that weight gain has come extremely loud hateful and self-loathing thoughts.
Watching my mother disappear right before my very eyes has made the weight gain hard to come to terms with. Time and time again I have tried to tell her how the weight loss has affected me and strengthened the eating disorder; time and time again I have tried telling her that her tiny, mini-meals make me feel like a glutton; time and time again I have tried telling her what this has all done to me, and time and time again she has not listened. She is stressed. She is depressed. I UNDERSTAND THAT. But it's almost as if she can't understand that her weigh loss has made me stressed and depressed. She is my mother, my role-model, my rock. Losing that makes my fight all the more harder, and I feel like giving in.

Getting away might solve some problems. But I will have to come back. I will be coming back to the same old mess. I want to get away forever.
I'm going to be under constant supervision while I am away. My freedom and independence is minimal. I am pretty much going from one hospital environment to another; my aunty will be supervising my meals, just as Dad did at home.
To be honest, I am terrified of going away. I am terrified of the meals I'll be eating, the amount I'll be eating, the weight I will gain and the way I will look upon returning.
Is this my fear, or is the eating disorder? I can't tell. It's becoming too hard to tell.

***

My thoughts are muddled. But what I am sure of is that the support I receive from you is enough to keep me going.
Thank you.

Mish Mash.

There are no words I can string together that justly express my appreciation and love for you girls. I wish words didn't fail me so, because writing is the one way in which I am able to express my thoughts and feelings. But it just goes to show the power of love and support and friendship. It goes to show how much you all mean to me.

This container of peanut butter was full, four days ago. Today, this container of peanut butter is empty.
Yes. I ate a full jar of peanut butter in less than a week.

This brings up all sorts of emotions, both good and bad. It's put me in a place of confusion. I don't know how to correctly deal with the thoughts in my head, whether to listen to them or to ignore them. The overriding feeling here is guilt, with a side of disgust and horror in the mix.

This empty peanut butter jar symbolises something else, too. It symbolises freedom, in a way. For such a long time, I have been resisting food, resisting recovery, resisting a life outside of my eating disorder. I have conformed to its rules, listened to its every word, made sure to keep a hold of it somehow, in some way. But over the past week something has changed. It's almost as if I have "given up" on my eating disorder and instead I'm eating my way through jars of peanut butter to prove a point: I am over being associated with Anorexia.

But that doesn't stop the fear of me developing the opposite problem, being binge eating. It hasn't just been peanut butter that I've consumed in excess amounts. It's been honey, cereal, milk, dried fruit, nuts… Yes, all of these things are "healthy" and I realise that, but the amount in which these foods are consumed is not healthy.
This is such an awkward topic for me to discuss. But could it just be that my body is finally so over being half starved that it's craving the very thing that keeps a human alive? That's likely. It just doesn't stop me fearing that things could get out of control.

Do any of you have suggestions for me? I'm sick of asking for help, but in times of desperation, it is you who I go to because it is you all that help me through some of my darkest days.

***

Escape.
Escaping from the mother with protruding bones and skinny limbs.
Escaping from the father with a dictatorial approach and a need to keep a hold on his daughter.
Escaping from the place in which my disorder began.
Escaping from the disorder itself.

Am I running away from my problems, instead of dealing with them? That's a question I've yet to answer, though I doubt – like many of my questions – it will be answered.
I have found a place to stay for a little while, away from the mother, the father, the place and (hopefully) the disease. A place in which I have the potential to be the independent woman I was born to be; a place in which I have the chance to explore – not only the surroundings, but the inner corners of my mind; place in which I am able to find myself, my real self, without the association of a disease.
This is a chance for me to be me, and no one but me.
I want to take this chance. I know it comes with risks, I know that being away from home poses the potential for me to slip back, but if I slip back I will be going straight back into hospital. That's not the idea. The idea isn't to go away, escape, and lose all the weight I gained.
No. The idea is for me to go away, to take a break, and to come back refreshed and instilled with peace and a clear direction.

I want to feel like myself again. I want to be able to deal with things without using food as a coping mechanism. I want to be human.
I want to be me.
I want to be free.