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.

Symbolism.

It bewilders the mind to think that we have pasts that can't be visited. Photos and stories from loved ones are the only proof of certain events – our memories simply didn't capture and hold onto those moments in time. We have so much behind us, in our pasts, that cannot be recollected, but each and every moment were an integral part of making us who we are now. Our experiences, memorable or not, shaped us, and continue to shape us.
Looking through photo albums of when Eleanor was only a few days old, took me back to a time before I could remember. I felt so much a part of those photos, yet so distant and separate from them. That little, tiny baby, asleep in my mother's arms, was me. The thought has never occurred to me before, and it came to me for reasons unknown. When the brain is new it can't hold onto moments in time because it is so busy focusing on the present moment. It is learning, learning in order to survive - nothing else matters. It is just like when a brain is under-nourished. The only thing the brain can focus on is food, as it is what is necessary for survival. Again, nothing else matters.
When I was in the midst of my eating disorder, the only thing I can remember from that time was the constant thought of food. I don't remember any significant events, only that I was in a depressed state constantly. My mind was on food, or it was on nothing at all.
Not being able to remember past events when I was a newborn baby isn't nearly as terrifying as not being able to recall months of my life when I should've been able to. They are lost moments of time. Looking back on photographs of my childhood fills me with joy and excitement, because it's another story that can be told by my parents, but looking back on photographs of those months of sickness fills me with horror, disgust and sadness. There are no exciting stories to tell in those photos. They only capture a sad, empty and lonely girl – I don't want to remember what it was like in that state of mind, but the fact that I can't makes it all the more worse.

The past is in the past, though, and that is where it will forever stay. I want photos of me to capture happiness, liveliness and a healthy glow. I want to capture moments in time that I want to relive and remember. Life will not wait for me, and photos can only show bits and pieces of memories – instead of living in pictures and words, I want to live in the real world. I want to make my own past one that I'm proud of.

***

On this past Saturday, I spent the night at a friend's house with 3 lovely girls. I was filled with anxiety, annoyance that I had to bring my own food, and excitement all in one. It has been too long since I've done something fun and social, aside from the once-a-week coffee with two girlfriends of mine. I hadn't slept over someone's house since last year, and that thought made me sad. I took a chance, Saturday night, and decided to challenge myself. So what if I had to bring my own food? Those three girls were very understanding and accepting, making me feel welcome and… Normal.

That night, something symbolic happened. I'm ashamed to admit that the hospital band I'd been made to wear while I was away had been on my wrist since my discharge… Until Saturday night.
After watching the girls cook and eat their own dinner, I went into a room to change into my bedclothes. That's when my hospital band snapped off. I looked at it, sitting there in two pieces on the floor, and the only thing that came into my head was:
Freedom.
The breaking of my hospital band signified freedom; freedom from the chains that bind me to my eating disorder.
I had been wearing the band more out of habit than anything, but the fact that I hadn't made the effort to rid myself of it showed that I was unwilling to let go. This was the letting go that I needed, the kick in the pants that I required in order for me to move onward. It's made me realize how much more there is out there than being bound to a sad and lonely existence. Seeing those girls eat what they wanted, when they wanted, just because, gave me the motivation to do what was right for myself and my health. Those girls weren't constantly worried about what they ate, how much they ate; they didn't care about carbs or protein or fat. They simply just ate, because that is normal. I've become so used to this abnormal way of living, constantly thinking about food, the nutritional benefits or lack thereof. Those girls inspired me, and my broken hospital band was a sign. It is a sign that I am ready to move on, and that it is okay to move on.

I can be happy and healthy and whole, just like them.
It will take time, a lot of effort and hard work, and I will need help, but I will get to that place, and when I do, I'll look back and wonder why I ever let myself get so unwell. However, it has made me appreciate the small things in life, and life itself.

I will be free.
I am ready to be free.

It’s Been A Long Time.

I've been writing blog posts in my head all week, but when it comes to actually writing down my thoughts, failure & frustration ensue. So here is my last attempt at writing something literate.

Physically, I am father forward in recovery than I have ever been. Last week, I got over the 'scary' weight I had been avoiding for the entire year I was out of hospital. Last week, I crossed that line, and in doing so I slashed a huge hole in my emotional and mental stability. While everyone around me is proud, happy, elated – I am full of negative thoughts and feelings.

I read somewhere once that recovering from Anorexia is harder than being in Anorexia. It's the moving forward into the unknown, the uncomfortable, the ether otherwise known as life that scares the brain away from moving forward. Being in the throes of Anorexia is a comfort; everything is set out, everything is known, there's no uncertainty. It's a 'safe' place where everything stays the same and everything is seemingly in control. But when you take a step outside of that safety zone, that's when the hurt, the pain and the fear floods the mind, sending it into a downward spiral of negative energy and force.
While I am physically healing and strengthening, mentally I am sinking and weakening. Rationally, I know that this is because I am moving into an unknown place, and the disordered thoughts are trying with all their might to get me back into that safety bracket… But it's a hole. A bottomless hole of despair is not a hole that Eleanor wants to fall back down into. Eleanor wants to wake up in the morning, leap out of bed and smile at the dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Eleanor wants to eat when hungry, stop when full, not worry about how much or how little. Eleanor wants to live.

Being in an Eating Disorder will only lead Eleanor into the realm of Death. It will starve her of happiness, fulfilment, life.

The further along I get, the harder it becomes. There have been countless times where I've just wanted to give up and give in, because the way I know how to cope is 'easier'. That in itself is an unhealthy thought, and I have been trying with all my might to ignore those urges. I don't have any control over my food intake at the moment, which rationally I know is the only way things will improve. Give E.D. an inch and it will take it a mile, as the saying goes.
It's terrifying that these voices are so strong.

Yesterday I was talking to an ex boyfriend of mine about the things that go on inside my head. Externalising the Eating Disorder and viewing it from third person really helped to put things into perspective. Essentially, someone with an eating disorder is slowly killing themselves, existing basically on air and empty promises of happiness. The brain is constantly thinking of food because the body is so starved of it – take a candy away from a child and the child will kick and scream until it gets the candy back. Why would anyone do that to themselves? Stripping away the layers of happiness and joy in their life until they're left with the pieces of a broken body, soul, heart, mind and life? We become susceptible to the monsters that lie beneath the surface and turn to them as a way of putting meaning to a pitiful existence.
Seeing it without being a part of it makes me wonder how I got here in the first place, but also makes me want to be rid of it. That is my motivation. I don't want a pitiful existence. I don't want to die before I've done the things I want to do in life. I want to live happily, and to live happily I must first be physically able to. I need my health in order to live the life I want to live.

This post sounds somewhat positive, which surprised me as the only things in my life as of late have been viewed in a very negative light. But I'm not complaining.
The hard days will get harder, but the good days will get better.
And it will all be worth it in the end.

What A Day.

Ladies, I would like to introduce you all to the boy that stole my heart away.

He loves me like no one else ever has, he makes me feel like I'm the only one that matters. He makes me laugh and smile, putting me on a permanent high. I'm love struck.

I must warn you all now, though, that Green Eyed Monsters may find their way to the surface of your minds…
His name is Albi, and he is my baby boy.

* * *

She woke up like she did any other day: her alarm woke her from a dreamless slumber, just as it did every morning. But little did she know, today wasn't going to be like every other day she'd had so far: full of sadness, tears and monotony. Today would be anything but monotonous, sad and tearful.
As she was preparing herself for any other day, her phone gave off an unexpected ring. She answered it hesitantly.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hi El, it's Ard (my Mum's friend). I was wondering if you'd like to come shopping with me and Little Marissa (her baby) today? I've been home all week bored mindless and I think I've cleaned my bench top 9 times this morning."
At first, Eleanor didn't know what to say. This would throw her out of her normal – otherwise known as boring – routine. But she accepted.

* * *

And so started my day.
I haven't smiled so much in such a long time. I haven't had such amazing conversations in longer than I care to remember. Today, I was busy all day. I went shopping with my Mum's friend, who so happens to have the opposite problem to me. She is an overeater, and has been overweight almost her whole life. She's lost so much weight, and is looking better than she has in as long as I've known her. We talked about the similarities of our conditions, and I learnt so much from her. I learned that it's not just about food, it's about the mind, and the desperate lengths it will go to, to find ways of coping.
I had an amazing morning. But it didn't stop there.

This afternoon, an old boyfriend of mine, who I have had a very sketchy history with, asked me to go out for coffee with him. I accepted, not expecting to come home in a good mood. But I did.
He's always been such an intellectual, and it took today for me to realize just how much I miss the conversations I used to have with him. I talked about my condition, I talked about the thoughts that go on in my head and the fact that I always know that I'm doing something wrong at the time that I'm doing it, but not having control over the actions I follow through with. And he understood. He's an amazing guy, and as much as I was hurt by him, we've both grown on and past our previous life together, and reconnected on a different level. I lost him when I started getting sick. He left. But that's because he didn't know how to handle it, he didn't know what was going on and he didn't know how to do anything about it. That's understandable. It took me a long time to get over that, but I've matured and grown a lot since then.
We talked about how experiences change and make a person who they are. I came to the conclusion and realisation that, if I hadn't gotten this illness, I wouldn't have learned to appreciate life as much as I do now

.I had the most amazing day. I can't do my day justice with words, because it goes beyond explanation. I had a normal day. But it was an amazing day. I learned a lot about myself, and about the people I love and care about.
Today marks an important day in my recovery. My hard work so far has paid off, and maybe tomorrow I'll have an absolute horror of a day, but the fact that I had an amazing day today makes it all worth while. It makes the fight worth fighting. It gives me hope for more amazing days.

Let's learn to appreciate what we do have in life, instead of what the unrealistic wants we have. Let's learn to appreciate ourselves, for who we are and what we have to give to the world.

We're all beautiful. We're all strong. We're all worth fighting for.
We all have lives to live, that can be lived and will be lived.
Our experiences shape who we are, and teach us important life skills & lessons.
Life can be beautiful, if we learn to accept it for what it is.

How?

I'm the shadow behind you, creeping under the door,
I'm the scratch at your window, the dust on the floor.
I'm the clouds in the sky, hiding the sun,
I'm the raging wind, where the storm has begun.

I'm the waves of the ocean, the crash on the rocks,
I'm the howl of the wind, the sound that shocks.
I'm the grey of the sky, the thundering roar,
I'm the sinking ship, the boat with no oar.

I'm the voice with no sound, the lips that don't move,
I'm the worst kind of question, with no answer to choose.
I'm the deafening silence, the constant drone,
I'm the heaviest heart, the one made of stone.

I'm the thoughts at night, that keep you awake,
I'm the stranger in the dark, that stands at your gate.
I'm the waking nightmare, the repeated dream,
I'm the one you detest, I'm the reason you scream.

***

I've been too scared to post. I've been too scared to write down the things that are going on in my life, as if writing it all down will confirm it, making it reality. The sense of control craved in times of confusion is coming back with force, and that need for control is controlling me. It's stopping me from thinking rationally and logically, it's taking away what mental clarity I had.
It's getting harder instead of getting easier. Where's the promised happiness, the sense of freedom? The light at the end of the tunnel?
My light has gone out. I can't see anymore. I can't see anything. I'm surrounded by this haze, this shadow. My vision, my clarity, my thoughts are all blurred; stumbling has become the new means of getting around, and every time I fall down it's harder to get back up.

This is all mentally, of course. Physically, I am on the up, which is why I'm so confused as to the lack of happiness/freedom/peace of mind. The walls of which I had built up as a means of protection, love and support are crumbling around me and on top of me, which has left me aching for the control which allowed me to deal with my troubles before. Before, I had something to hold on to, albeit destructive and unhealthy. It was something. Now I have nothing, except the broken pieces of what was once a loving, wholesome family. My family, my beautiful, strong and supportive family, are breaking apart.

Where was I, while this happened?
I was in my head, listening to the disordered thoughts that told me I was doing the right thing.
I was in hospital, trying to get my life together so I could better cope at home, where I could repair my relationship with my family.
How could I have let this all slip past me… Right before my eyes?

To stop being cryptic; in more or less words my parents, have fallen apart without my knowing. Without their knowing, as far as I'm aware.
The reality only really just hit me a few days ago and I've been struggling to digest it. It all seems so unreal. I've been expecting to wake up, as if it is all just a bad dream, but no matter how many times I pinch myself, I only hurt. I don't wake up in a cold sweat, and sigh in relief knowing that it was all in my head. I can't turn over and go back to sleep. I'm living it, this nightmare. This nightmare is my life, my reality.

I can't really believe I'm sending this out to the internet… It's not as if doing so is going to fix anything. I'm clutching at straws, I guess.

I'm scared. I'm scared of losing the only thing I really had: my family.

I cannot revert to old bad habits. I have to stay strong, not only for myself but for my family.
This isn't an excuse, this isn't a reason to slip back.
This is a reason to keep moving forward.

Oh, God.
Life is full of twists and turns and unexpecteds.

Poetry Speaks.

When words escape me, nothing is more refreshing than using the words of others to depict my emotions.
A thank you to the beautiful woman who sent me through this poem. You're in my thoughts.

Summer: Mountain Top

When I swam through oil-filled waters spat upon this bitter earth
When I saw a mother's crying face at that dying birth
When I walked through icy winds, when I slept on beds of snow
When I felt the leadened hail stone, swam against the ice flow

When thoughts were crucifixes, when nightmares grew from the ground
When screams were entwined in my every word, every sound
When wounds opened and bled salted tears
When every day passed away like it was a year

When lost in leech-filled forests, when I stood alone in storms
When battered and tired from the day I was born
When the darkness enveloped me as the sun had gone away,
I carried on for the reason that I would reach here one day.

I would see spirits playing twister and by the sky streams
I would see layers of my own tears drift past like flocks of dreams
I would see glistening hope in every single teardrop of pain
And I would hear the sound of music in all this falling rain.
-Lemn Sissay

* * *

There is no good without bad, and no bad without good. To see the good, sometimes we must first be exposed to the bad. That way, we really know what there is to appreciate in life.
But no matter how bad things may seem, there is always a glimmer of hope.
This has taken me a long time to realize – it's frustrating to have to have gone through a period of bitterness first to see what there is in my life to appreciate. It's frustrating to have to have gone through a period of bitterness to learn to appreciate my actual life.

But I've been there, I've seen some bad things, and I've done some bad things. And I have come to the conclusion that, although it wasn't a waste of time, it's not worth wasting another minute for.

The battles worth fighting for are the hardest of all.
It gets harder before it gets easier, but I'll run the hard yards if it means coming out into a brighter, sweeter future and life.

 

It's waiting for us. We just have to get there.

Home Coming.

I'm going home tomorrow morning.

That sentence has so many emotions attached to it, of varying degrees. I'm full of excitement, anticipation, hope and happiness. But I'm also full of fear, anxiety, nervousness and complete horror. There's no way I could be in hospital for much longer before going insane, but the prospect of gaining more weight is… Well, weighing my emotions down. I know that it's necessary, but what's waiting for me at home is a family that is just as scared as me about having to deal with the Eating Disorder. It's still strong. Nowhere near as strong as it used to be, granted. But it's still strong, and it will still try to make my life a living Hell. It will try to work against me, it will try to work against my family, my dietician, my therapist. It will try to work against everything I've worked for, and it will try to work against everyone that's working with me.

I'm scared.

I've wanted to go home ever since I got in here, but I never really thought about what it's going to be like at home. I knew that I just wanted to be away from the hospital environment. Were my intentions pure, positive and healthy? Or were there underlying reasons that my eating disordered thoughts tried to sneak in? I can't know that, and maybe I never will, but I now know what is waiting for me at home.
What's waiting for me at home is a family that will do everything they can to get me to a better place in my life.
What's waiting for me at home is a treatment team that will, also, help me to reach a better platform.
What's waiting for me at home is the chance to better my life, myself, for me and for my future.

That's nothing to be afraid of. But I am afraid of hurting my parents. Or rather, I'm afraid that my eating disorder will hurt my parents. I'm afraid of giving up control of food, I'm afraid of food in general. That alone is proof I'm not at a healthy enough place to look after myself.
I just have to accept that.

I have to accept that things will be hard.
I have to accept the help I'm being given.
I have to accept that things will get easier.
I have to accept that it's hard because it.is.worth.it.

I'm going home. And I'm going to make it.

love, love, love.

Growing Up.

With the coming of my new puppy, I have accumulated my own pre-pubescent new puppy fat on my tummy. My once [unhealthily] flat stomach has now got a layer of protection, and then some. Fat protects the organs. You know, those things in your body that KEEP YOU ALIVE? My organs were exposed to damage, and the weight gain has sent the new fat to the parts of my body that need it most.
(I'm sure you're all well aware of this fact; I am merely repeating it to myself so it is easier for me to believe. Repeating positive mantras allows me to believe these things with ease.)

I feel out of proportion, out of shape, untoned, and all the rest, don't get me wrong. But as a wise male friend once said to me: "Guys dig girls with some meat
on their bones!"
My body is soaking up all the nourishment it's getting and doing with it what it needs to in order for me to function properly and healthily. At the moment, there is no point in me worrying about how I look, where the weight is accumulating, etc., etc. At the moment, none of that matters, because I'm not at a healthy place.

It's taken a 3 week hospitalisation for me to realise this. It's taken 3 weeks of absolute HELL to realise that I have a life beyond an eating disorder.
I've gained a little over 4 kilos in 3 weeks, and have not had any physical activity. My body is aching, I am incredibly tired, I'm suffering from caffeine withdrawals, but I'm getting healthier.

My Dad said something to me yesterday that made a lot of sense to me."You're growing back into yourself again."

I'm becoming Eleanor again.

Yes, I may have some puppy fat, but I can now at least share that with my pudgy little pup (that I will be able to see in a week!).
I am being discharged from hospital next Thursday.

And, I am going to continue moving onwards and upwards, growing back into myself.

 

love, love, love.

P.S. The photo of that puppy isn't of my pup, I stole it from the internet. BUT, he will look much like that!
Thank you all so much for the beautiful words. They mean the world to me. You all make me so proud; proud of you and proud of myself.
Thank you.
x

Furry Friend.

I am getting a puppy.

My very own little pride and joy.
This little puppy
will be my companion.
This little puppy will keep me smiling.
This little puppy will be my motivation.
This little puppy will keep me strong.

His name will be Albi,
a little golden labrador.
And he will be mine.

I Miss My Coffee.

…Enough said.

***
Hospital has been taxing, in every aspect.
My muscles are screaming out in agony; they want to be stretched and used like they're meant to.
My mind is being torn in two directions constantly; plagued by a voice that isn't my own, and plagued with a voice that is my own.
My emotions are all over the place; crying has become second nature.

I am in here for at least another two weeks, from what the doctors have said.
I am sick of being in here for many reasons.
No coffee!?

It is too hard to explain everything that's been going on. I gained a lot of weight in 3 days, which spun me out of control for a while. Not outwardly, but it was an internal battle in my mind. I have my Dad here this whole week supporting me and spending time with me, which has made the whole ordeal a little easier to bear with. Being so far away from home has had an immense effect on me, and having Dad here is like a home away from home; he offers comfort, and he offers reason. He talks me out of me emotional hell-holes and brings me back into my logical, rational mind, where I belong.

I don't want to have to be in here anymore.
I can do this at home, and I will to this at home.
There's no 'trying' or 'attempting'. There's no 'wanting' and 'wishing'.
There is only doing.

I will do this.
Once and for all.


love, love, love.

Monsters.

My monster lives inside my mind. It can't be seen, but it's there.
It yells, it screams, it roars.
It can be heard, as loud as thunder.
It can be felt, sharp like knives.
I can't see it, but it's there.

I have my own monster, and others have theirs.
Their monsters can be seen. Their monsters can be heard.

My monster, inside my head, feeds off other monsters.
My monster looks at their monsters. It sees, it hears, it learns.
My monster competes with their monsters.
My monster wants to be better than their monsters.

My monster is roaring. My monster is hurting.
I can feel my monster's jealousy.
It's a green eyed monster, yet so much more ferocious, so much more dangerous, so much more deadly.

I'm afraid of their monsters. I don't want to hear them, I don't want to see them. I don't want to learn from them. I want my monster to fade away, I want my monster to disappear for good.
I don't want my monster.

These monsters roam inside the minds of innocent people, wreaking havoc, causing chaos and catastrophes. These monsters seek and destroy the minds they inhabit, digging, biting, shredding to pieces the innocence and replacing them with their poison words, thoughts, feelings. We become the monster we create. We are the killer, but also the killed. The abuser, but also the victim. The innocent, but also the guilty.

* * *
Being surrounded by the monsters that the afflicted can't see but are in plain view to me, hurts. It hurts so much, because I can feel my own monster roaring with rage and panic. It's lashing and thrashing out, causing me to weaken. Being surrounded by bad influences makes it increasingly harder for me to see what is right.
I know that I am in here for me and no one else. I am in here, mainly because I put myself in here, but also because it's the safest option for me at the moment.
I'm just afraid of the negative effect these other girls are having on me.
I'm here voluntarily, whereas they are not. But that doesn't make it any easier.

* * *
I think I've almost been regretting coming in here. I've found it so much harder this time than I did last time. I want to go home, and I want to do it at home. I want to get better at home, where I am safe, where I am with my parents and those who love me.
I've been crying my eyes out every night on the phone to my Dad, who has been missing me like no tomorrow. It's been a battle I don't want to have to fight here, in a hospital. It's a battle I want to fight at home where I am comfortable and safe and loved.

This is so hard. I don't know what to do anymore, but I know I can't go out just yet.
Another week. And I'll evaluate the situation then.

But for now:

One day at a time.

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.

A Few Days In…

…and the only thought I have is that I want to go home.

I can't even begin to describe the battles I've been fighting during the few days I've been here. I can't believe how strong the Anorexic voice is, how much it fights against my attempts at getting well.

"
You don't deserve this.
You'll get so fat, I can already see it on you.
Disgusting, worthless, putrid. You're a disgrace. "

You get the general idea that Anorexia doesn't really like hospital.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because it believes I'll get fat.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because they're making me eat foods I wouldn't touch at home.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because I'm eating a lot more food than normal.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because I'm constantly bloated.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because it's going to separate me from Anorexia.
Anorexia doesn't like hospital because I'm getting my life back.

Eleanor doesn't like hospital, either. But she doesn't like hospital for different reasons.
Eleanor doesn't like hospital because she is far away from her family.
Eleanor doesn't like hospital because she is away from her friends.
Eleanor doesn't like hospital because she has no privacy.
Eleanor doesn't like hospital because she is here because of Anorexia.

I don't want to be here, but I know that I need to be here. I have to be here.
Here is the only place I'll be able to leave my Anorexia behind.
Here is where I will leave my Anorexia behind.
* * *

I'm feigning positivity, in the hope that it'll rub off and make me actually
feel positive. As I said before, I cannot begin to describe how hard it has been to be in here, facing my greatest fears every day, every meal. I'm offered the chance of challenging the Eating Disordered thoughts, and I have been doing that. The repercussions of challenging the Eating Disordered thoughts are the constant insults, put-downs and negative mind-frame.
I wake up every morning fearing the day to come.
I also wake up every morning knowing that it's one day down, one less day I have to be here.
The fight against positive and negative is mentally and emotionally exhausting, and leaves me feeling fragile and weak. But that was always going to happen, there was no avoiding that.
Every day is a struggle to get through, but I've gotten through them all so far, so there's nothing to say I won't get through the next.

The constant blood tests, pulse rate checks, temperature checks and blood pressure checks are more that annoying, just as the being followed to the bathroom and shower are more that annoying. But Eleanor understands why it's all necessary. Only Anorexia thinks it's stupid.

It's a fight. But it's a fight worth fighting.
This is my life I'm fighting for. My future.

I'll keep fighting, because I am worth fighting for.
Will you all fight with me?

 

love, love, love

Acceptance.

I have been accepted.
The hospital is now my home for the coming weeks.

Am I happy about this?
To a degree, yes I am happy.
I'm in a safe place, where I can gain weight in a controlled environment. I don't have a choice here. What's put in front of me, I eat, no questions asked. No ifs or buts about it.
I have to realize that it's the eating disorder that is scared. It's the eating disorder that fears the coming weight gain. It's the eating disorder who hates the food.

I'm here because I need to be here.
I'm here because this is the
best place for me to be.
I'm here, but
I won't always be here.

This is another step towards recovery. Another step away from the dark place I don't deserve to be in.

I have to accept that this is what I need. This is the only way that I will move forward in my life.
I need to accept that this is just the means to an end. I will not always be in hospital.
I need to accept the help that's been offered and provided, and be thankful of and grateful for it.
I need to accept that things need to change.

Things need to change in order for me to live the happy, healthy life I do deserve to live.

Thank you all so much, for your support and your love.
I don't know where I'd be without you all; you've given me a direction, you've given me strength, you've given me
hope.
And I have accepted that.

love, love, love.

Into The Deep.

It all seems so surreal; like everything is happening around me while I stand in a box where time stands still. I watch the world flash past: the blur of life.
I watch myself pack my life into a suitcase. I watch myself look into the mirror, staring at a stranger. I see the questions building up behind her eyes. Her eyes are so bright, yet so dull. Those eyes, they were once full of laughter, now full of fear. The eyes that once burst with life now gleam with tears that threaten to spill over and down a face once glowing with life.

Over the course of almost two years, I've watched myself waste away. I've seen it all happen, but being inside that box confines me to that box alone. I am a mere bystander. A watcher.
That box I once called home, I now fear. It's dark in there. It's lonely. I don't want to just watch anymore. I don't want to watch myself cry, I don't want to watch myself hurt, I don't want to watch myself wither away into nothingness.
I don't want to watch myself blossom and bloom, either.
I want to be the one blossoming and blooming.

I can't thank you all enough for your support, your kind thoughts, well-wishes and love. You all mean the world to me, and I can honestly say that being a part of this community has opened my eyes to a much brighter, more beautiful world. I've seen growth, I've seen flourishing life, I've seen discoveries made and experiences had.
It's my time now.

I'm diving into unknown waters, and I am terrified.
I don't know what to expect, yet I am trying to create possibilities in my head that are so ridiculously intricate that I know I'm ultimately setting myself up for disappointment. I do not have control over what happens and I need to keep reminding myself of that.
The possibility of me being admitted is just that, a possibility. There is no certainty, because there may not be any beds.
I just have to let it be.
Whatever happens, happens. I will take it from there.
One foot after the other, one step at a time.

The place I'm going is public, not private. Money doesn't come into it. I know that so many people don't get the opportunity to go into hospital, which makes me feel slightly awful that I'm doing this. But at the same time, the opportunity has been presented to me, and taking the opportunity is the only thing I can do, because I know it's the only thing that will help. I wish that no one had to go through the horrors of an eating disorder.

I don't know if I will have internet access straight away (OH MY GOD THAT CAN'T HAPPEN) so I don't know when I'll be able to update you all on the happenings, but as soon as I can, I will.

You are all in my thoughts.
You are all in my heart.
You are all a part of my journey and I wouldn't have it any other way.

 

I love you all, more than I know how to express. You are truly amazing girls, amazing people, amazing friends.

Thank you.

 

love, love, love.

Mother, Mother.

My mother is the most organised and pedantic person I know. I am the least organised person I know, but the pedantic gene has certainly stayed in the blood.

These two attributes aren't ones I'm particularly proud of. Being unorganised but pedantic makes the whole "preparing for an extended holiday" procedure a very stressful one indeed. I have constantly been writing check-lists, only to throw them away after realizing I've forgotten to write something else down. Lists are supposed to make things easier, so one doesn't forget to pack one's essentials or forget anything of importance; that is what I've been told, anyway, but these lists seem to be raising my stress and confusion to a whole other level. I really don't want to pack that in my bag.

This need to be organised, packed and ready to go, is coming to be somewhat of an obsession. I was up half the night worrying about not having a laptop bag… If that's not out-of-the-ordinary-and-slightly-crazy I don't know what is. Perhaps it's my mother's need to have everything organised and absolutely one hundred per cent ready 4 months before the actual trip that is making me stress to such a degree.

It's all starting to sink in; the fact that I will possibly be admitted into hospital on Friday afternoon has been the cloud above my head threatening to rain, all week. It's there, in my mind, along with the unanswerable questions I need to have answers for.
+ What if they don't have any available beds?
+ What if the other hospital doesn't have any spare beds?
+ What's going to happen then?
+Will it be like hospital at home?

These are all questions I can't have answered because nothing has happened yet. My mind and my concentration have been in the future all week and the snippets of 'real time' I have are so flooded with confusion and uncertainty that I almost feel safe in the unforeseeable/possible futures I create. I can't escape from the confusion, because everyone is confused.

I need to take each day as it comes.

My mother: my organised, calm, composed-at-all-times mother, has been incredible. In one of my semi-conscious states, I began to think of her and all that she's done.

My mother has done everything for me.
She's put on a brave face when all she wants to do is break down and cry.
It's killed her to watch her daughter slowly waste away in front of her very eyes and feel completely useless.
Yet she battles on, she keeps strong, she picks me up when I fall, she's held onto my hand so tightly and she's never let go,
she's never given up.

My mother is my inspiration. I don't know how she's done it and how she does it, but she is amazing. She.is.amazing. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her. I know it hurts her to have to let me go, but at least she'll know I'm safe. Me being away for a while will give her a chance to breathe and walk tall, she won't have to tread carefully and watch her words. She won't have to worry or stress or see her daughter suffering.

She'll have the break she needs, and I'll have the help I need, so I can come back not as the Eleanor before the eating disorder or the Eleanor with the eating disorder, but a new, fresh, lively and loving Eleanor.

I'm scared beyond words, and I have refrained from bitching/moaning/complaining about the hospital. I'm trying to take each day as it comes and take it from there.

I just want to be happy again.
And if hospital is what it takes, then hospital it is.

One day, I will be whole again.

love, love, love.

Falling Upwards.

I feel change coming.

I fear change.

I need change.

The week's events blurred together in her head; so much happening in such a small amount of time had left her weak, exhausted, vulnerable. So many people, so many faces; conversations of long forgotten words, promises and agreements made in a state of semi-consciousness. She felt as if she were awake but asleep, half expecting to open her eyes and find herself lying in bed surrounded by a pool of tangled blankets and scattered journal entries whose words had coming back to haunt her dreams.

Images of her possible future tumble around inside a mind already fogged with thoughts and fears and questions and concerns and emotions. The anxiety of not knowing what's going to happen next has left her feeling almost numb; the lack of knowing renders her useless, hopeless. She is the portrait of a lost little girl.

* * *
Time has escaped me. I've woken up from the past 4 restless nights not knowing what day it is, knowing only that they will be a fight to get through. Every single thing that has happened this week has all been blurred into one long strip of cinema film, tangled up and stuck back together with sticky-tape and chewing gum.
 So much has happened in regards to the prospect of hospital. There have been moments of complete chaos where everything was up in the air and formless, causing everyone involved unbelievable amounts of confusion and stress. Most of the uncertainty has been settled and put into shape piece by piece, but there is still so much that could happen, but might not happen, or will happen but might change.

To cut a very long, confusing and boring story short, my Dietitian and Therapist have been calling up the hospitals down in the city (which is an 8 hour drive away) and seeing if there are beds available. Nothing is certain yet, but I am going down for an assessment this coming Friday. I have to have my bags packed and ready on the chance that I'll be admitted, but if there is no conformation of an extended stay (that is: a long admission) then I will not be going in.

To be honest, I don't know what to expect. I don't know what's going on. I don't know if I even want to know what to expect. I'm exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. I'm absolutely terrified to the point that I'm calm. Calm might not be the right word for it; more like subdued. I've submitted. I'm too tired to worry, too tired to care.

I've made the decision to go IP.

There's a possibility that they might not be able to admit me, but the prospect of actually being admitted this Friday is terrifying. I have no idea how to deal with any of this.
 On the one hand, I'm absolutely relieved that I have such an amazing support system and treatment team helping me through this and helping me to organise my whole life. My Therapist has been superhuman. She's called me frequently, visited me at home outside of her working hours, given me her personal number... Without her I would not be as 'mentally' strong as I am right now. I'm surprised I've even kept this amount of mental awareness up for so long.
My Mum has been equally as amazing. She's kept herself so strong for me, being so good about it all. Without her love and support I'd be doomed, that much I know.

And on the other side of the hand, I'm beyond petrified of being left in a hospital without anyone I know, and without knowing what to expect there. I know I've agreed to this and chosen this pathway, and I know it's for the best, but making that decision has caused me so much hurt. The fear is consuming.

Do I regret making this decision?
Do I really need it?
Will it work?
What will happen?
What will I have to do?
What do I eat?
How much?
How long will I be in there?
Will they let me go for walks?
Do I keep up my schooling?

I need to shut off my brain.
 I'm falling.
There are people who will catch me.
I'm exhausted.
I won't have to wait much longer.
I'm scared.
Nothing bad will happen to me.
I'm trying.
Trying is the best thing I can do.

I really do feel as though I'm falling... Falling upward.
I have a sinking feeling, but where my life is headed is not down, it's up.
Deciding to go to hospital for a while is going to get me on the right track, so I can properly see my potential, and see that recovery is possible.
I can only go up from here.

This might be the hardest thing I ever have to do. But I am willing to do this, because this is me getting my life back.
I'm falling upwards into recovery, back into life, back into myself.


I'm scared. But I'm not alone.
 
love, love, love.

Decisions.

For whatever reason, making decisions has never been a strong point. Being presented with too many possible choices leads to an overactive mind, which then results in a whole lot of unnecessary stress.

Unfortunately, sometimes life is a bit like a questionnaire; the yes or no questions, the true or false statements, the multiple-choices, they all demand an answer, and the act of ticking only one box or circling only one-of-the-above can take a lot of effort.

 

Some decisions are easier to make than others, but when the simple decisions become the hardest to make, the difference between the important and unimportant become skewed.

 

* * *

 

My life is cupped in the palms of my shaking hands.

My future.

That power is terrifying.

The ultimate choice of making or breaking everything:

My dreams. My wishes. My hopes. My wants. My desires. My goals.

Me.

Right now, I'm of sound enough mind to choose to stay at home and get myself to a healthy place in every respect.

That choice brings up many, many questions:

+ Am I strong enough to do it here?

+ Can I do it?

+ Do I want it enough?

+ Do I stay at school OR do I defer for 6 months?

+ Do I do this completely on my own OR do I get help from my parents?

Right now, I'm of sound enough mind to choose to willingly go In Patient down in the city for as long as is necessary.

That decision also brings up many questions:

+ How hard will it be?

+ What will they make me eat?

+ How much weight will they make me put on?

+ How long will they keep me there?

+ What happens afterwards, when I'm discharged?

These two options, these to pathways into my future, have been on my mind since Thursday last week. No matter how many times I run through the pro's and con's in my head, I never end up with a conclusion - a decision.

I cannot thank you all enough for your advice and opinions on the topic.

I know that I'm struggling and I know that I could potentially benefit from IP, but there's so many conflicting thoughts and feeling surrounding the issue that it's almost impossible to make a decision anyway.

The more I think on it, the more confused and less certain I become. But not thinking about it is as equally as impossible.

I have really not gotten anywhere with this post. I guess I just need to vent, and vent I shall.

The next two weeks will determine what happens regarding the hospital situation, but until then

all I can do, is do my best.

love, love, love.

Advice.

Three exams down, two to go.

And lucky little me, the two to go are both Maths exams. My least favourite, and possibly worst, subject in the history of the world.

This week has killed me, mentally and physically. I have been in a state of unbelievable stress and panic, so much so that I have been too wound up thinking about school to even consider the stress my body was, and is still, going through.

The thing that terrifies me the most, though, is that I haven't even realized how much I am struggling. I am struggling, and yesterday's Therapy session made me realize the extent of my struggling and the impact it's had.

My health has been left on the way-side. Trying to balance school and life at the same time has put so much pressure on me without me actually being aware of it, which needless to say has unconsciously given the Eating Disorder free-reign of food choices. I know, I know, that I can't be making excuses for myself. I know that I could have been more vigilant, more aware, admitted I was struggling - but at the same time I was too caught up thinking of school to pass a thought on my health.

My Therapist said something that really hit hard. I could potentially go back to hospital; not to the children's ward I was put in the first (and only) time, but to an adult unit, where I would be for at least a month. Honestly, I didn't think I had gotten so bad. I'm not sure of my weight... I find that out in tomorrow's Dietitian appointment, but I'm almost certain I haven't gained the weight I know I should have gained in two weeks. Tomorrow is a really bit portion of the deciding factor in a hospital admission, but my T has said to see how I go next week.

The decision is ultimately up to me. It is my choice, up to a point, whether I go into hospital or not. I've been weighing up the pro's and con's...

Just the prospect of going away for a month scares me speechless. I can't even put down in words how I feel about this whole mess.

I don't want to have to go back, but at the same time it might be what I need.

I could potentially do this at home, but I've been doing that for a year now, and I haven't gotten very far, at least not physically.

I don't have to make the choice now. I have a week, factoring in tomorrow's outcome.

I am terrified. I am hurting. I am disgusted in myself.

I'm scared for myself.

I don't often do this, but I'm calling on you girls for your opinions.

It's beyond me right now to make any proper sense of the situation, and your words have always been so valuable, insightful and reliable.

Maybe I need the extra help, just for a little while. The push forward that I can't quite manage on my own, or at home.

Asking for help, and recieving help, isn't a sign of failure or weakness.

It is an act of courage.

love, love, love.

Worrier, Warrior.

It is the 6th month of the year, already. A whole five months of 2010 have gone by already, and I am left with the question of: what have I actually accomplished this year?

I really don't want this post to be a downer again, after my last post.

(By the way, the comments left on that post made my heart melt. You girls are amazing, and I cannot thank you enough for your support, understanding and encouragement.)

I have another 6 months of this year left to make something of. I've been given a life... Why waste it?

This week of school has the potential to break me. It's exam week... Although I'm in Year 11, and Year 11 Exams don't technically count towards anything, I can't stop myself from freaking out about them. I'm a worrier by nature - I procrastinate until I get so sick of myself that my brain melts all over the page in the form of words that, at the time, make absolutely no sense to me but manage to get me a decent score in the end. I worry myself about the smallest and most insignificant of things; I worry about tests, assessment tasks, assignments and essays days before, can't sleep the night previous, and end up doing well.

I absolutely detest this worrying problem of mine. It's gotten to the point where my Therapist has assigned me allocated "Worry Time", where I have an hour in which I can worry as much as I like. I haven't actually used that allocated time yet... Only because up until this point I had forgotten entirely about it. I spend most of my waking (and probably sleeping...) hours worrying, about goodness knows what for goodness knows what reason.

My brain is melting right now, it seems. Verbal vomit, or whatever you want to call it.

I should blog more, because it's theraputic. But I worry about what I'll write, how I'll write it, who will read it, how I'll come across...

There. Proof. I'm a worrier.

It's gotten to the point where I actually broke down at school today.

I cried.

At school.

In front of strangers.

God, I felt so stupid. I feel so stupid.

A friend of mine, who has also been through this awful disease of the mind, came up to me today. She hugged me, Tightly. And it hurt. It hurt to be hugged because she was rubbing the non-existant flesh on my back. That makes me sick.

The looked at me, she saw me broken, and she said:

"It hurts me to see you. It hurts me to see you like this. I know how you feel, I know what you're going through, and I know you can get through it. You have me, and you have yourself.

I love you."

This girl... She made me see it. She made me see what's right in front of me.

This isn't living.

This is slow suicide.

I do not want to die.

I do not want to be constantly struggling to get out of bed in the morning, and constantly struggling to go to sleep at night and stay asleep.

I do not want to collapse at school, mentally or physically.

I do not want to be stressing myself to the point of sickness every day, for the smallest of reasons.

I do not want to lie in bed at night thinking about how to skimp at breakfast in the morning.

I do not want this disease.

I know I have said this so many times, but I have to keep reminding myself of it.

The only person who can get me out of this hell is me.

I am going to fight until there is no enemy left to fight anymore.

I'm going to win this.

love, love, love

from a worrying warrior.