Buddha got it right.

I think I've sort of been avoiding posting. I'm not 100% sure why that is, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that I've been a whiney little mole for the past I-don't-know-how-long-and-don't-want-to-know-how-long and I'll bet my bottom dollar you girls are getting sick of my complaints!

(Warning: This whole post is likely to be one big complaint, too. Sigh.)

It's Sunday morning. 6:40am, to be exact. I haven't slept much; I've been exhausted all week, and the "week-end" hasn't really been much of an "end" to anything. My relaxation vibes have decided to take a holiday without me and have left a replacement: Mr. I'm-Going-To-Stress-About-Eeeeverything. Not a welcome guest.
Yesterday didn't start off my weekend in a very welcome way, either. Dietitian Doomsday, yes. As expected, I freak out the week before my bi-monthly weigh-in/appointment. Then jump on the scales to see I've shifted upwards just a smidgen, then get my mealplan examined and changed a bit.
I thought I would be okay with that. And I was, til it came afternoon snack time. ED hadn't been, and hasn't been, that big a part of my thoughts recently and I've been taking that really well. The thoughts have been there, but they haven't been overwhelming. Last night's little episode made me realize just how prominent the thoughts still are, and how sneaky they're becoming; in turn making me sneaky. ED freaked, using my mouth, my words, my voice, to portray the feelings that had welled up about certain things. My mother copped the butt of this, and I copped her harsh backfires. She's vicious. And those comments hurt. But honestly, without her verbal mastery I would not have eaten my afternoon tea, or dinner. If it weren't for her percistence, and her love for me, I wouldn't be where I am now.

I am slowly, slowly starting to realize that the things Mum says aren't directed at me anymore. Yes, she says my name, Eleanor, she looks directly into my eyes when she lashes her sharp tongue, but she's not talking to me. She's trying to find me. She's trying to talk me onto the right side, bullying the ED thoughts out of my mind, Eleanor's mind. She's incredible.
We have our differences, we have our petty little mother-daughter fights. But I'm a teenager. I'm supposed to disagree with everything my parents say. That's normal! My stubborness and selfishness is just magnified by ED.
Screw ED. ED has turned me into a monster and damnit, I'm not that bad a person and I know it.

The past few weeks have been horrendous, I won't lie. I've cheated, I've lied, I've been deceptive and dishonest and I've abused trust. But something has started to whittle its way into my mind. I'm not entirely sure what it is, but I think it's hope.

You girls, your words of kindness, your support, your love and compassion and thoughts; they've impacted me in ways that I've never experienced before. I've never felt such a strong sense of love; I've seen it, but I've never felt its full force, it's never been directed at me. Having that magnitude of intense love, compassion, support and kindness has done more for me than I realized.

You've pushed me forward when I was stuck.
You've given me light in my darkest of times.
You've opened my eyes; allowed me to see the beautiful things when all I saw was the ugly. You've taught me to appreciate my body, and listen to its messages, cravings, signs.
From you I've learned to appreciate all that it does for me and all that it can do for me.
You've shown me the things I can do if I do the right thing by my body and my mind.

You've given me hope.

I'm still on Negative Nancy's side at the moment, but every day I'm becoming more aware of my thoughts instead of ED's, and doing what I want as opposed to what ED wants.

Struggles mean we're fighting. We're fighting for us, for ourselves, for our lives.

I've been studying Buddhism in my Religion & Society class; Buddha believes we are all capable of happiness. We are all capable of being "enlightened"; the end of suffering. I am by no means an expert in the religion, but through reading of it, I've become aware of just how much of this positive way of thinking can be benefitted from.

"You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection."

No one deserves our love more than we deserve our love.

Loving ourselves is so important; we're going to live with ourselves our whole lives, so why not take care of the person we'll be with?

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. "

This is our journey. No one can walk our path for us.
But we don't have to walk it alone.

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."

I don't know what I'm thinking, I don't know what I should do/what I want to do, I don't know where I am, I don't know where I'm going... But I'm going to follow this path, and see where it takes me. Because where it takes me might be better than where I am now - I just can't see it yet.

love, love, love.

She's All Grown Up.

...With too many responsibilities.

In amongst the school days, the piles of books for homework and study, the strangers and the friends, the appointments, and the stresses they all bring, I've tried to gather up what is left of myself & my sanity, and piece everything back together. (Hence: Pieces of Her) This has been a challenge, and needless to say, my puzzle board is looking pretty empty at the moment. Or rather, scattered. Bits and pieces are together in some parts, and sparce is others. I'm no where near complete and sometimes I go days, weeks, without filling in a gap with a piece of me.
I have become my homework and study. I have become these appointments. I have become what everyone else wants and expects me to be, and haven't left any of me to myself.

I have a confession to make. The post from two mornings ago; although it wasn't forced, it wasn't written as a love-note to myself. I didn't and still don't know if I actually believed any of what I wrote. It was written to try and force myself into believing it. If it was something I could physically see, then maybe it would be easier to believe. I'm actually pretty skeptical about that, and I'm somewhat ashamed in admitting that it was written forcefully rather than truthfully.
It was a monday morning. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty crap-tacular. I tried to put myself in a better mood, and it somewhat helped, but didn't last long.
So there's my confession.

School work has buried away what there was of Eleanor, and my stress levels have blasted through the roof. Usually, I sleep well. This past week and a half, I have not been sleeping well. I can't get to sleep, and when I eventually get to sleep, I can't & don't stay asleep. My mind is running through the day's events, the next day's events, my homework I haven't done, the homework I should do, the Assessment Tasks (read: three next week and we only just found out about them and I have no idea what they are/what to do/how to do them) and on top of all of that, food, weight gain and my dietitian appointment.

I'm starting to be hit by depression. I talked to my Mother last night about it, and she's dead set against medication. Honestly, I don't really want to go down that path either, but I also don't want it to get worse before anything is dealt with.

Any advice would be much appreciated and valued beyond imaginable.

Mum did say, however, that she'd get me massage appointments and accupuncture, too, if I felt the need for it. She's been so accomodating, so helpful, and it hurts to see her in so much mental/emotional agony. I hate that I'm at the butt of all of this pain, and I hate that I'm not helping myself - I know that helping myself wont just help me, but it will help everyone.
I need to show her I love her, but words fail me on that count. Words just don't work, not with Mum. She's too important for words to be the only way of expression. She's too beautiful to be summed up by a strung-together sentence of letters. She's an amazing woman, with such strength and courage and seeing this incredible woman break right in front of me, because of me, is eating away (pun not intended) at my heart.

* * *

I want to find that little girl who got to eat the froth off her Mother's coffee.

The little girl who pretended to like the taste of coffee, because it made her feel grown up.

The little girl who put on her mother's shoes and stomped around the house.

The little girl who wrapped her bed sheets around her and pretended she was a princess in a ball gown.

The little girl who broke into the makeup cabinet and painted her face with pretty colours, because that's what "big girls" do.

Where has that little girl gone?

Does she still exist?

I have a feeling she's one of the missing pieces of the puzzle, and until I get that innocence back, that sweet and curious and adventerous and cheeky girl back, my puzzle will stay empty.

Maybe she's not ready to be found. I can't know, but that doesn't stop me trying to find her.

love, love, love.

A Word of Love.

Dear Eleanor,

You are beautiful.
You are kind.
You are compassionate.
You are capable.
You are brave.
You are strong.
You are talented.
You are creative.
You are imaginative.
You are cute.
Yes, cute.You are loved.
You are worth fighting for.

Love,

Eleanor.

* * *

* * *

Dear Beauties,
You are the light in my life.
You are the words I need to hear.
You are the hand I want to hold on to.
You are the smile on my face.
You are the kindness in my heart.

You are all amazing. You are all loved.
You are all worth fighting for.
Love,

Eleanor.

A Messy Head.

My mind is everywhere it shouldn't be and not where it needs to be. My mind needs to be focused, but focused isn't a word I can connect with at the moment. Actually, I'm finding it hard to connect with anything. My body and my mind and my brain and my thoughts and feelings are all on their own tangents and poor little Eleanor is caught up in a nice big bowl of leftovers. I haven't even been given utensils to sort through the mess with, that's how bad it is.

Imagine eating a bowl of hot spaghetti covered in the reddest tomato sauce you've ever seen, with a blindfold on and your hands tied behind your back. And you're on the floor. And you're being filmed. I don't actually know where I was going with this... But the image isn't pretty, right? Well, that's the sort of sticky situation I'm in at the moment.
And I don't even like spaghetti!

I have not been feeling my best, recently. The recent upping of food intake and reduction of exercise has left me feeling somewhat out-of-whack. I've been insanely tired all week, and my body is just not functioning. Pregnant belly from a blocked up tummy, aching body, throbbing head, dosed up on painkillers and weighed down with homework. If I'm to be completely, brutally honest with myself, I am struggling. I stayed home from school yesterday, and ended up coming home half way through the day today. I don't want to fall behind, I can't fall behind. I love school, I love learning, I want to be soaking up information all the time, but when I'm barely "there" in terms of concentration and, well, altogether, soaking up information and learning are the last things I'm doing.

I'm not treating my body properly, that much I know. I'm having troubles with eating the right amount and being honest about what I eat, but when I miss out on certain things I feel bad and sometimes, without being conscious of it, I snack. I snack a lot, sometimes. And that's when ED kicks in. Oh, ED roars. I feel guilty, I feel ashamed, I feel like a failure, I feel fat and ugly and worthless. What is the purpose of this self-abuse? Both physical and mental and emotional? Is it serving a purpose? NO! It's just further fueling ED.
I'm stuck in these ED behaviours.  Yes, ED is still very prominent in my mind and I feel like I can't escape him/her/it. I feel uncomfortable without it. I feel wrong without it.
It's sick. It's sad, and it's sick.

I'm wearing myself to the bone, quite literally. My parents are taking the butt of it, too. I feel so bad for them, because they truly don't know just how much I love them and appreciate them.
As much as I love words, when it comes to expressing my thoughts and feelings about my parents to my parents, I draw a blank. Words wont form inside my head, words wont roll down my tongue and past my lips. It's like my brain-dictionary goes into lockdown or something, and I blabber meaningless shit. (Excuse the language. Sometimes curse words are so much easier to use than articulate, well structured & formulated sentences.)

Maybe I'm slowly starting to realize the effect ED is having on not only me, but on those around me; the ones I love. ED doesn't want me to love. ED especially doesn't want me to love myself, or appreciate myself, or think of myself in a positive way at all.

I sound like a broken record. But you konw what? So does ED. Yeah, that's right. ED's pulling the same old thing every time, and it's becoming monotonous and ridiculously frustrating. I want to deal with this, but I don't know how to deal with it.

I have way too many questions unanswered.
Or maybe, I have the answers, and it's the questions I need to find.
(Bowl of spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti...)

I hope that at some point my mind will untangle itself, but until then, you poor girls are going to have to decifer my meaningless drivle!

I love you all, more than words will ever, ever be able to express.

"Either I will find a way,
or I will make one."

love, love, love.

Where's my exit sign?

I don't know where I'd be without the support of you amazing girls. Each and every one of your words aids in picking me up and helping me forward.

I wish I could say today was a good day and I wish I could say that I'm feeling great right now... I wish more than anything I could truthfully say that, but I can't.
As I write this I'm trying to choke back tears. I'm putting myself through perpetual hell, and I've brought my parents along with me. Now everything they say only reinforces the horrible things I've done and the effects it's had on them and my relationship with them. Now, every time they talk to me it's about food, or health, or how I treat them and how I treat myself.

Everything my parents say to me fills me with overwhelming amounts of guilt; I blame myself for the pain that they are in, yet I do nothing about it. I refuse their suggestions, their pleas for me to "drink my juice" or "eat more", "try more foods".

The worst thing is that no matter how many times it's said by my therapist that it's not me, the common word is "I". I, Eleanor, am the cause of this. I, Eleanor, am hurting my family, hurting myself, my body. It's never ED, not anymore. Although my parents are angry at the ED and not me, they don't differentiate between the two. It's just me, Eleanor, that's the cause of all of this. I did this, I did that. I am jeapordising my chances of life. I refuse the food, the juice, the advice, the help. I, I, I, me, me, me.

Dad always brings up these things at the worst times. ie, when I'm about to eat. Always. And he did it just then. As I write this, I'm trying not only to choke back tears, but choke down my dinner also. I don't want to eat and right now it hurts to eat, but I'm eating nevertheless.

"Your mother and I are trying to save you from killing yourself. You refusing our suggestions... That's not doing anything for you. You need to put on weight. Do you want to be taken out of school? Do you want to have no future?"

I don't knowhow I'm supposed to take that. But I just feel guilt.

* * *

After school today, a friend of mine came up to me and he said "...if anyone ever says anything about you like that again, you tell me, and I'll deal with them". I had no idea what he was talking about, because as far as I was aware, no one had said anything mean or hurtful to me. I asked him what he meant. He prodeeced to tell me that when we were getting our school photos taken yesterday, people were talking about me. He didn't know who, but the things they said were not nice. Mostly along the lines of how I look.

People, people that I don't know, talking about me. Saying things about my appearance, "how skinny/gross" I look. I'm still trying to process this. I couldn't, haven't, and won't tell my parents about this. I didn't know who else to tell, and I knew I had to mention this to you all.

How do I handle this? What have I done to deserve this? I don't know these people, they don't know me, yet they're talking about me in ways that as far as I'm aware I've done nothing to deserve. I don't know what to think, how to feel, what to do.

* * *

I'm stuck. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I don't want to be in this place.

This place scares me,  this place is hurting me, this place is not where I should be. But I don't know how to get out.

I don't know what to do.
I need an exit sign.

love, love, love.

Tough Love Pt. 2.

Eleanor woke with only one thought in mind: yoga. She had to do it. She couldn't not do it. The previous day's-and-night's troubles hadn't disappeared with sleep, and there was no other way for her to find some peace than from those troubles than in her deep breaths and lengthening stretches.
Midway through her morning routine, she heard the noise she always dreaded to hear: a door shutting. That could only mean one thing: her mother was awake. Instantly, her once-relaxed mind was buzzing, but not buzzing in a positive, happy and productive way. Buzzing in a way that made her want to cover her ears, or worse still, rip out her eardrums.
One would think Eleanor would be used to this disruption by now, after having had it happen for almost two weeks, now. Alas, that was not the case. Eleanor is starting to feel as though her world is shrinking in on her; the walls of her personal space box closing in around her, replacing that feeling of freedom with a feeling of imposing claustrophobia.

Nothing, not one thing, makes sense to Eleanor. Her life doesn't make sense to her. Her life is not a life, but a structure. A ritual. A rigid and never-changing series of events. Her life is not a life. It's a shadow of what it could be, what it should be. Her life is void of independence, choice&decisions, variety. Her life is void of happiness, love, relationships. Her life is not being lived.
Eleanor is not living. Eleanor is merely existing.

I am sick of just existing.
I am sick of not having choice.
I am sick of being told what I can and can't do, what to eat, how much to eat.
I am sick of my life being taken away from me, from a voice in my head.I am sick of fighting with my parents.I am sick of hurting my parents.
I am sick of being SICK.

So, some things have changed in my day-to-day life.
I've been upped in food.
I can't walk to or from school anymore, because I'm "burning too much energy".
I cried myself to sleep last night, faught with my parents, and ever since there has been a hostility between me and them. Especially, (what a surprise) with my Mother.

Last night, Mum threatened me with hospitalisation.
"If you haven't put on weight in two weeks, you're going back to hospital".
That hit me like a ton of bricks.

Last night, Dad said something that hurt.
"It should have occured to you by now that your Mother and I are trying to save your life and it would be nice if you could appreciate what we're doing for you because it's taxing on us, it's exhausting, and we're sick of it." or something to that degree.
I feel like I am destroying my family. I am killing my relationship with my parents. I'm overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, regret, shame. I'm angry, at them and at myself.

I have so many mixed feelings right now and I don't know what to do with them all. I want to want to recover, but I'm still not there yet.What's wrong with me?
Why don't I want to get through this?
Why don't I want to give ED up?

I wish I could make sense of what's going on in my head. I'm more or less sitting on the fence, or rather, impaled on it. Not a nice visual image, I apologise, but if I'm to be honest, that's how I would describe my situation.
I'm in a place I don't want to be but can't quite convince myself I should get out of.

I also wish I could bring some positivity to this post. I feel like such a downer, and I hate to bring this on all of you beautiful girls.
You all have so much faith and belief in me, and that does encourage me, motivate me and inspire me to move forward. Every time I read your words, I'm filled with a little ray of hope, and that little ray of hope gets me through.

"Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine."

I must stop standing in my own sunshine, instead I need to be that sunshine.

"Knowing is not enough; we must apply.

Willing is not enough; we must do."

Enough talk. Enough "thinking". Enough "knowing".
I have to do.

love, love, love.

Tough Love.

I feel the need to post this morning.
Currently, it's 6:30 in the morning, and I'm sitting down with my bowl of oats. This is how I start every one of my mornings, and usually, every morning I'm full of peace, calm and clarity.
These past few mornings, nay, a whole week of mornings, I've not been feeling anything of the sort. I wake up at 5:20am, on the dot, every day. That's how I start my day, and it's how I like to start my day. That time of the morning, no one is up. I am alone, with the quiet of the morning. Nothing stirs except for the chriping birds, the gentle breeze and the occasional car driving past on their way to their early-morning job. That's my yoga time. I feel at peace with everything when I'm doing yoga, but only if I'm undisturbed.
This past week, my mother, for whatever reason, has decided to wake up at the crack of dawn also, and every single morning I have been disturbed by her. She makes my dinner in the morning, and puts it in the fridge. I have no problem with this, but when I hear her making it, peeling, cutting, chopping, steaming, using the mircowave... All while I'm trying to forget about my problems with food. It's counter-productive. And today, it got the better of me. I stopped, midway through doing my yoga, to sit here and mope about it.

I don't know how to talk to her about it. I don't know if I can talk to her about it. I'm terrified of the woman. There's never a "good morning sweetie, how did you sleep?" or a hug or kiss or even a smile.
To make matters worse, the first words she uttered to me were "If you haven't put on weight next time you get weighed, you're coming home from school every day to eat lunch."
Good morning to you too, mother. I wish approaching her was easy. I wish getting her to understand was as simple as speaking a few small words. I wish, I wish, I wish.
I need to do, do, do.

On to a lighter note.

Happy Valentine's Day!
My Valentine's Day ended about 7 hours ago, but on the other side of the world I imagine it's still the day of love. To celebrate love, in all its glory, my two best girlfriends and I went and watched Valentine's Day at the movies. There was aww-ing and cooing and gasping and sighing and giggling... And maybe one or two almost spilt tears! Almost! There were some pretty intense moments in that movie. But that was the extent of my V-Day. I was going to use the day to show myself love, but I never ended up doing anything.

I wish I could have done somethng nice for myself. I know, in my heart of hearts, that I deserve love, and I deserve love from myself. I'm still having a lot of problems with myself, though, and I can't seem to push past them. There's not much love floating around in my world at the moment and that has to change in order for me to move on. It all comes down to me. The only way I'll push past these problems with myself is to first of all, confront them.

I know I should be using every day, every opportunity I get, to love myself. And the best way to do that right now, would be to nourish myself.  I have to give myself a chance to really know what it feels like to live. I'm living a half-life. One void of love, compassion, nurture. One void of life.

Love makes the world go 'round
right?

Let's hear it for lovin'.
I sure need my world to keep spinning.

Love yourself, girls, because you are worth loving.

♥ ♥ ♥

love, love, love.

Everywhere & Nowhere. What's new!?

Before I do anything else:
GO AND GET THIS NOW

You will thank me.

Today is/was Saturday. Saturday means Weigh-Day/Nutrition Nightmare/Dietitian Doomsday/Any-other-smart-ass-name-Day. Needless to say, Friday night was a blur of hatehatehateIdon'tneedadietician-she'sstupid-thisispointless-shecan'ttellmewhattodo. You get the picture, right? I've complained about it often enough for it to be obvious how I feel towards this dreaded day and the woman behind it.
I actually feel terrible for making her out to be some form of evil Devil-Woman, because really, she's just doing her job. She's advising me and my parents on what the best plan of action in regards to me restoring health is.

The woman behind it, really, is me. The reason I have to go through this rigmarole is because of me. I'm the cause of the anxiety, I'm the cause of my mother's hostility towards me, I'm the person who's "in the shit". And that, in all honesty, makes me sound like a selfish little brat who thinks of no one but herself.

My mother also thinks that of me. Which hurts more than me calling myself that. (Used to putting down myself? Not good, but true.) Of all things, hurting my parents and jeapodising my relationship with them was the last thing on my mind. Yes, I would wound up in myself and my problems and my struggles and my body and my everything else. So I can see where she's coming from. Every way I turn, I feel guilty, and no matter how I try to explain that I don't mean to be hurting her, she never gets it, or wants to get it. I can't make her understand, and that empty space between her and me has been filling me with this cold and lonely feeling. Pain, guilt, frustration.

Back to my appointment... Well, I was expecting quite a large gain. Recently I've been feeling bigger, and I can't help but think how bad I look.. How much I miss how I looked before. That's sick, I know, and it's something I've been working very hard on changing. But anyway, I thought I'd gained, and with my extra snacking I was convinced I'd at the very least maintained. But whaddya know? I lost weight. I don't honestly know why I was surprised. I've been at school, where without realizing it, I've been much more active. Walking up stairs, walking from class to class, walking to school and home again (albeit a short walk to and from school)... And my friend, K, pointed out to me that in regards to me thinking that I am bigger, it's probably a lot to do with the fact that I've been comparing myself to every.single.girl that walks past me at school these past two weeks. Her logic is flawless.

It's amazing how different a situation, a sentence, an object or a thing can look when you view it from a different perspective. I haven't been putting anything into perspective in these last few weeks - I realize now that that's one of the reasons why I've been struggling so much. I'm looking at things in a negative way, when I could easily be turning my situations into positive things. I always assume the worst will happen.

"It can't last." = "I'm doing it now, and that's all that matters."

"What if I fall behind..." = "If I start falling behind, I've got all the help I need to catch up."
"I will never meet any new people or make any new friends..." = "It's only been two weeks, I've got so much time to make new friends!"

This is my challenge to myself. Instead of viewing everything negatively, I'm going to turn my perspective around, and look at things in a positive way, and if I can't manage that, then I'll take a neutral stance. I will not continue beating myself up over things that either haven't happened yet or have happened and are out of my control.
I lost weight, but that has shown me that those extra snacks haven't made me "magically" put on 10 pounds. Those extra snacks are snacks my body needs as fuel to run as smoothly as possible.

ED, I quit.

I apologise for the all-over-the-place post. I'm not sure where my head is at the moment, but as long as my head's in the general vicinity of my neck/shoulder region, I think I'm doing okay as far as staying together goes.

I love you all. Remember that. We are such amazing creations. Each of us is different, yet we are all similar. We are similiar in that we are all beautiful, in our own unique ways. Be who you are, and don't be afraid of that. Stop and think about the things you say to yourself, the things you say of or about yourself. If they're negative, why? Why can't it be something positive?
My challenge to you is to turn those negative thoughts around. If only one. Change your perspective on your thoughts, yourself, your situations.
I wish you could all see yourselves for the beautiful girls you are.

love, love, love.

Like ripping off a band-aid.

I just "woke up" from taking a much-needed "nap". I put these in quotation marks because I didn't actually wake up because I was never actually asleep. I am not feeling my best at the moment - I came home from school early today because I just couldn't be there. My head was throbbing, I was on the verge of tears all day, I felt like I wanted to disappear. I still feel like I want to disappear.

I wish I was in a better mood. I wish I was in a better place. I wish I could truly grasp onto this amazing thing called "life".

This path, leading to a place full of the most beautiful things,  where smiling isn't frowned upon and laughter is encouraged; where loving is the fuel that keeps the world turning; where feeling happiness is the only feeling felt; where thinking is free and speaking your mind isn't feared; where I can be without pretending, smile without forcing it, accept myself, love myself.

I want to be in that place. But I don't want to have to get there first.

I want to take a hold of the hand being held out for me, instead of avoiding it in fear of it damaging my sense of independence. I want to accept that help, that warm and strong hand, and allow it to lead me along that path to what's called life. But I'm also scared of that help, because it's taking me away from what I know.

The strong part of me tells me that what I know is what's hurting me. What I'm comfortable with is stopping me from happiness. The place I'm in now is a prison, I'm walled in, stuck, alone, neglected.

It's harder for a wound to heal if you don't treat it first. It might close up, but it will leave an ugly scar. Or it might become infected and become more troublesome than it origionally was.

I need to treat my wound if I want it to go away. Yes, the initial treatment is going to hurt, it's going to sting, I'm probably going to cry out in pain and wish I hadn't gone through with it. But after that initial hurt, my wound will start to heal. The pain will dull, the sting will subside, the tears will dry up and eventually, I'll end up blemish/scar/wound free. Who wants an ugly scar? Who wants an infected wound, that could simply have been avoided? Not many, not most.

That's what Anorexia is. It's an open wound, and the longer it's left to fester, the worse it will get and the harder it will be to heal. Accepting treatment might come at a cost, but that's only temporary. I think, deep down, it's worth the initial pain, instead of suffering a long-lasting, possibly never-fully-healed wound. It's worth that initial pain, it is. The more I tell myself, the more easily I'll believe it.

I need this treatment. I need this help. I need guidance, mediation, support, a warm and strong hand to hold on to.

 

I'm sick of this bony, cold, hard hand that's been latched onto mine for however long it's been. I'm sick of this soulless creature trying to suck away mine. I'm sick of my heart being pulled to pieces and coloured black and blue. I'm sick of being void of energy and ability to do the things I want&need to do. I am sick of being sick.

I can't stand hating myself, wishing I was the skin and bones of a ghost of a girl. That thought sickens me above all else - that I wish to be sick, look sick, feel sick. This doesn't make me special. It makes me lifeless.

I know that I am capable of so much and with this overpowering illness, poisoning my mind and thoughts and taking away my better judgement and my rationality, I am never going to be the person I know I'm capable of being.

{source}

I could keep writing word after word after word, in the hope that somehow I'll write myself into an epiphany and leave this shell of a life behind me, but I know that won't happen. This comes from within, and for it to actually do anything I have to take that offered hand and be helped along this path. At the end of that path, my future waits. But until I get there, I have no future. No future worth having, anyway.

I hope this isn't going to cause any of you beautiful girls to think the worse of me. I'm trying, and I know that some days are going to be much harder than others. I'm just having a hard time right now. But you girls help me through. You girls get me by. I don't know where I'd be without you and I don't want to even begin to think about that place. Because I've got you, and that's what matters.

I need to let go of what I've been holding onto, and take a hold of what I know will set me free.

love, love, love.

Procrastination Nation.

Homework: Mountains of it.
Due dates: Mountains of them.
Time: None.
Motivation: What's motivation?

Procrastinating is the only art I am skilled in. When it comes to procrastinating, I'm your woman. Procrastination is my first middle name. Okay, you get the idea. The reality of my life for the next two years is starting to sink in: I am going to have a lot of homework, and I am expected to complete it all and have it handed in on the due date, no excuses. I have a lot of responsibilities. I'm being treated like an adult. These are all scary things, things I am not used to. I feel alone in feeling this - sure, people are overwhelmed by the amount of homework they're getting, but they shrug it off. Me, no, I take it to a whole new level. I freak out, I panic, I stress. I work myself up into unnecessary states of anxiety and freak other people out by my freaking out. I know I need to get the homework done, but I find myself unable to do it.
Is it my overthinking? Probably.
So why I can't I stop it? If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be bitching about it.

I re-read my post from last night and realized just how sad I appeared to be. I didn't even know the half of what I was saying last night, and my feelings obviously were so overwhelming that I didn't actually feel them. It shocked me, actually, seeing just how emotional I can be. I don't want to feel like that, and I certainly don't want to come across as a moany, pitiful, annoying person who complains just for the hell of it. That's the last thing I want, and reading over my entry last night made me think of myself as just that. I wish I could just stop putting myself down and making myself feel like shit, because I know it's not getting me anywhere.

Stressing myself out for no reason other than because I can is unhealthy and unnecessary. I could be using that time productively, I could be doing anything other than over-thinking and over-analysing every tiny little aspect of my life, be it my school work, my mind, my body, my future.

Yes, school is going to be difficult.
Yes, now more than ever I need to take control of my ED.
Yes, that's going to be hard.
But YES, I can do it.

 

I've been snacking again, and ED's been at me. I'm trying with all my might to keep the voice down, block out the abuse. But when I snack, Ifeel so out of control. I'm not even hungry when I do it, usually. I just... Do it. I don't know why, and I'm getting increasingly scared about it. I don't want it to lead to a binge, because I know exactly what will happen if I binge. That's something I've been trying to avoid, knowing full well what that binge will lead to. I don't understand why I've been doing this. I don't feel like I need it, I just do it.
It's a double-edged sword. If I ignore the urge to snack, I'm fuelling ED. But if I snack, ED goes crazy on me.

This is something I'm going to have to accept. Obviously, whether I realize it or not, by body is asking for something, and my body is going into auto-pilot, doing what needs to be done in order to satisfy that craving/urge. After ignoring those messages for so long, it's taking its time figuring out what to do with those messages. It's foreign to my mind, but my body knows what's up.

Our bodies are truly amazing things, and the sooner I learn to appreciate my amazing machine, the sooner I can find the self-acceptance I've been searching so desperately for.

"As you work toward your goal, anxiously anticipating the light at the end of
the tunnel, don't forget to notice the light that shines upon you today."

Michelle C. Ustaszeski

Each day, each challenge we face, is a step towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Each day is a day full of that light, and sometimes, we forget to acknowledge our successes and achievements. Don't let a day go by without congratulating yourself for the amazing things you do. You're all incredible. We are all incredible.

Bask in the glow of the light that shines upon you today. Every day.

love, love, love.

Round Two.

I've been wanting to post but haven't known what to post about.
This past weekend hasn't been the restful, relaxing weekend I had envisioned having on Monday last week. (Yes, I was looking forward to the weekend on Monday.) Saturday was supposed to be "girl-time" with two of my closest girlfriends, C & K. It was girl-time, and I am so thankful to have two beautiful girls I can count on, day and night, but our shopping trip didn't... Live up to my expectation of it. I was expecting to be laughing, feeling good, forgetting about all my worries, all my troubles, leaving all the negative thoughts behind me, at least for a few hours.
We looked at pretty clothes, and we ooh-ed and aahh-ed, and then came to trying said pretty clothes on. Enter ED. I hate changerooms. I hate trying on clothes. I hate seeing someone unfamiliar and alien look back at me in the mirror, someone I can't and don't want to recognise. A body without a face. A body I cringe at. A body I can't accept, can't figure out, can't feel.
I tried on pretty clothes, and nothing fit. I tried on pretty clothes, and nothing suited me. I looked for pretty clothes and told myself I couldn't wear any of those things. I looked and looked and looked, and despite having a huge list of clothes that I needed and was going to buy, I ended up with nothing. C looked like a goddess in everything she tried on. K rushed me and didn't give me time to decide.
The foreseen "fun time with the girls" ended up with me sitting in my room afterwards, sobbing.


I hate crying. I look hideous, I sound ridiculous, I feel atrocious. The art of crying is something I've not perfected, yet I've had so much practice at.
Crying over my body. A waste of time, yet something I do all too often. I find myself hating on myself. The body image issues have only worsened, as school has me surrounded by pretty girls in pretty clothes and pretty hair with pretty faces and pretty bodies. I feel so ugly in comparison to them, in every way.

I can't wear those clothes.
I can't wear my hair like that.
I will never look beautiful.
I will never have a body like that.The constant abuse is killing me. I want it to stop and I'm trying to stop it but everything I do falls short of what needs to be done.

Recently I've been snacking like a maniac. Something tells me it's because last week's failure at eating lunch at school, and I'm trying to make up for what I missed out on. And no matter how often I tell myself it's a good thing that I'm allowing myself to eat "more", I can't convince myself that it's good. I feel horrible for grabbing a handful of dry cereal and eating it. I feel terrible for having a spoonful of honey. I feel gross for having more dried fruit that I "need" to. I beat myself up over having that extra spoonful of peanut butter.
Why am I feeling guilty? Most of the time I'm not even hungry, I just do it because I... Well, I don't even know why. And that's what is freaking me out. I'm not hungry and I'm eating more than I have to. I don't understand it, and I'm working myself into sweats over it.

A lot has been happening in my life and in my head, recently. I'm struggling. I wish I could map it out, put a physicallity to it. Make it real,  make it exist, make it physical, so I can deal with it. Put it on a shelf and let the dust settle over it. Forget it's there so it can never bother me.

I'm all over the place. I'm here and there and nowhere and everywhere. I'm not ready for Round Two of school tomorrow. I'm not ready for Round Two of anything.

I have to face my fears, fight my battles and do my homework. And somewhere in between all of that I have to find myself again.

I apologise for my verbal vomit. Sometimes, trying to make sense of things only makes things all the more confusing. Instead of trying to find answers to the questions I haven't even asked yet, I'm going to do what I can, when I can, with what I've got. If I need help, I've got it. If I need support, I've got it. If I need a friend, I've got them. If I need love, I've only to turn to you all. That's all the love I need.

love, love, love.

"Way, Away, Away From Here I'll Be..."

School has taken over my life, and I've only been back a week. I've done hours of homework, stayed awake in all of my classes, and managed to keep what I initially had of my sanity, mostly in tact. I never usually ask for much, as I'd prefer to give than take, but I really think I need a medal. Or something to award me for getting through a whole week of school without completely melting down into a pool of tears, depression, anxiety, stress, helplessness and failure.
Is this pride I'm feeling? No. No, I haven't gotten that far yet. This week may have been survived, but I still have to work on feeling good about myself and my achievements. The feeling isn't pride, but it's certainly relief. Relief that I have survived. Relief that I haven't fallen into said pool and completely lost control of... Well, what I do have control of, which isn't much. But you work with what you've got, as they say. (Who are "they", anyway? I've always wanted to know that...)

My mind is everywhere and no where and where it shouldn't be and I don't know where. I might have lost the plot, I don't know. But it's Friday evening, I've finished my first week of school that felt like eternity, and I am exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally.
Being constantly surrounded by people; people everywhere, everywhere I turn, everywhere I am, in my head, next to me, behind me, in front of me, squashing me into the wall to push past, looking at me, looking for me... I feel so enclosed. I've never felt so invaded in my life, and having to face that every day is becoming really hard. I can't just curl up into a ball and pretend it doesn't exist because it does exist. I can't escape reality, whatever "reality" is. (I've been questioning and questioned about reality in Philosophy. Mind-boggling stuff.)

 I am part of something. I am part of life. I can't escape my responsibilities, I can't escape people, I can't escape my surroundings, I can't escape life and living.

Yesterday, I went and talked to the school councellor/chaplain, Colin. Before I even got in to his room I had this instant weight lift off of my shoulders... Cue crying. Or at least, that sore feeling in your throat as you try to choke down tears. It's so embarrassing, and it always happens. But talking to Colin just filled me with so much relief and ease. I know I'm going to struggle this year. I'm going to try and stay on top of things, but I know this year is going to be a hard year to get through.

Honestly, lunch times and snack times have been bad. ED has pounced on me, every single day this week. I have fallen victim to his persuasions, and I am so ashamed in myself for that. I know I've lost weight. Well at least I think I've lost weight. I don't get weighed until next week, but I have to pick up my game. I have to stand up against myself. I have to stop letting how other girls look get to me. I am me, and no amount of comparing myself to other girls is going to change who I am. I don't want to feel guilty for eating a sandwich. I don't want ED sitting on my shoulder and watching me as I listen to his orders, and throw my snack away and only eat the fruit. God, I feel so stupid for admitting to this, admitting to falling victim to ED. Why have I listened to these voices? Why have I let ED dictate my meals? This cannot go on. Eleanor is screaming out for help, while ED is keeping her shut up, out of sight. No one can see that Eleanor wants to come through and be in ED's place. ED makes sure that most of the time, I can't see Eleanor. I don't know if I'm making sense. I guess I've just been overwhelmed by this whole week and this whole change of lifestyle.

With practice, I will get better. I won't "perfect" anything, because perfection doesn't exist. But I will do my best, with what I've got, and I'll make the most of my abilities. I CAN undermind ED, I just have to believe that I can. Talking the talk is one thing, but walking the walk is another, as "they" (again, who is "they"!?) say. And damnit, I'm going to walk that walk like I've never walked it before. And some major ED kicking will follow suit.

I can't thank you all enough for the kind words you sent my way regarding my letter. You've all made such an impact in my life, and every day I go to school with you all in my mind. I keep you all in my thoughts, as a way of helping me get through my days. It works.
Words will never amount to much when it comes to me trying to explain how much you all mean to me, because expressing that is near impossible. But every single one of you means the world to me, and I simply just wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for your support and love.

Can I just say... Thank God it's the weekend!

love, love, love.

A Letter and an Apology in advance for this extremely lengthy post!

We have every Wednesday morning of school off! Weeeeee!

Good morning, my darlings. Yes, I'm posting in the morning, because this will probably be the only change I get to do so today. School has really been messing around with my time management skills... Which barely exsist, anyway. So, lack of commenting has been due to the weird and whacked times I am able to use the computer. I do apologise for this, but I read your updates, every day! Every morning and night I check to see how you are all going, and I want to send you all my love right now. I am always thinking of you, and always wishing you well. Your courage, your honesty, your words and your recounts leave me speechless, and for those of you who are moving onwards and upwards, you have been such inspiration and motivation for me. To those who are having trouble, my heart is with each of you, and I hope that you regain that inspiration. Each and every one of you is worth fighting for. Please, all of you, fight for yourselves, because you are all beautiful - your lives are full of love and warmth and endless possibilities and successes, and your hearts are full of courage and strength. You brighten my day, and the days of those who love you.
My love goes to you all.

I'm going to be completely unoriginal and post you a "letter" we were assigned for homework in Literature. It's about "me", and I've always found writing about myself an extremely hard task, but I wanted to share with you my almost-narrative-lengthed Letter!

"Eleanor likes words. Eleanor loves words. She loves how they look, she loves how they sound: rich, strong. She loves how they feel and how they roll off the tongue. She loves that such a small thing can hold an abundance of meaning. She loves that they can bring the imagination to life.

Eleanor loves words. She writes them, she reads them, and quite often speaks them. But the one thing Eleanor doesn’t like about them, is that no matter how many letters she strings together, they just do not sum up or come anywhere near to explaining Eleanor herself. She’s tried and tried, and often gives up, knowing that although words have the power to portray almost anything, they aren’t powerful enough to bring to life who she is. Another trouble is that she is oftentimes confused about who she is. Is she this, is she that? What word can describe this characteristic? What word can describe that emotion? Eleanor has come to the conclusion that, no matter how much she loves and cherishes her words, the words that make up her world, she’ll never be able to write or speak enough of them to describe her.

Eleanor can’t be described in words, but words can more or less (most likely more) describe her daily rituals and routines.

Every morning, Eleanor wakes to the sound of her phone alarm obnoxiously blaring into the early hour of 5:20am. Her tummy rumbles, but she ignores it, and instead busies herself with the task of making the trek from bed to door in the pitch black of the morning – finding the doorknob in complete darkness never gets any easier. Lights on, two cups of hot water gulped down and yoga mat rolled out, Eleanor stretches out her aching and stiff muscles. Yoga in the early morning, to Eleanor, is her time to be herself. No expectations, no judgements (but those that are in her head), no obligations to be a certain person, do a certain deed or think a certain thought. Breathing in the early morning air, and breathing out all the worries, problems, stresses and anxieties of the previous day. As the morning wears on, her Mother, Katherine, rises. With her meditation disrupted, the anxieties of the day flood her – they can only be escaped for so long. Yet she continues on with her morning, by preparing her bowl of oatmeal spiked with a “Nutritional Supplement Powder” and a heavy-handed shaking of cinnamon & ginger spice. Breakfast hot and steaming, she settles herself down in front of the computer, where she checks her emails and reads the blogs she follows.

Every morning, same routine, same ritual. Nothing changes, because change scares her.

As mentioned, Eleanor reads blogs. Not only does she read blogs, she has her own. No one else knows about this secret blogging world of hers – it’s her space, where Eleanor can be Eleanor, or whoever she thinks she is. Blogging allows Eleanor to write her beloved words, in any form she fancies. Emotions, although hard to express, are written, and these feelings are brought to life in a different way. These feelings she can see, instead of feel. Written words are physical, and that physically helps Eleanor to understand herself a little more. The blogs she follows are of girls in similar places in their lives, and she finds that she’s able to connect with them, on a level that she cannot connect with those around her. The words they write, she feels. Although they’re words that have come from others, sometimes it is a relief to see her thoughts from someone else’s perspective.

Eleanor tries to be optimistic, but she feels that she’s unfortunately been born or brought up with the pessimistic attitude her father, Guy, also possesses. The glass-half-empty approach to life often gets her into trouble, mostly with herself. Having a perfectionist’s attitude, also inherited from her father, is another problem she’s faced with daily. Although she loves to write, the things she writes are “never good enough”, or “never quite right”. Her confidence has never been sky-high, but due to circumstances, involving her perfectionism, the confidence in herself has further decreased, and for a time last year she simply could not write. Her English teacher at the time, however, believed she had the skills and ability to write herself out of writer’s block, and so she did!

As words are a very important part of Eleanor’s life, one of her greatest pet-peeves is bad grammar. Specifically, apostrophes. She shares this, yet again, with her father, who has a neurotic obsession for picking out apostrophe misuse, and so he was dubbed the Apostrophe Police. Another of Eleanor’s pet-peeves is the feeling one gets right before they sneeze, only to be extremely disappointed as the sensation disappears, or worse, stays in the nose but never quite reaches the sneeze-climax.

Eleanor believes she’s quite odd. Although only 16 and a half years old, Eleanor feels she’s much older than the date of 20th May, 1993, displayed on her birth certificate. She finds it extremely irritating that the majority of people her age are immature; she simply hasn’t found someone she can fully connect with, on a deep level. In that way, she’s always felt alone. That, she believes, is why she turned to writing, and specifically, blogging. Being the middle child of three, and the only girl, Eleanor has had to fend for herself much of the time. The older brother (Matthew, 22) acts not his age, but more than half of his age – the maturity level of a 6 year old. The younger brother (Julian, 15) is much the same, and when the three children were a lot younger, the boys made a game out of ganging up on Eleanor. Although those times were extremely frustrating, she did come out on top in the end. Through the teasing, she learned how to stick up for herself, which was character building. She also gained quite a lot of independence from those times, not to mention the wit and wicked tongue from the back-chatting. From that wit grew sarcasm, and that team of dry and black humour has enabled her to win the silly arguments with her brothers... Sometimes even her parents!

Although Eleanor has a strong family and a smattering of friends, she’s found herself in very dark places. As was mentioned, she has a perfectionist’s tendencies, with low self-confidence and self-esteem. Eleanor is easily stressed, and has a need for control and order, and after losing control and becoming extremely anxious and stressed, there was a tipping point a year and a half ago. Unfortunately, Eleanor found herself in a very deep and dark and lonely hole, where she became all-too-familiar with a deceptive voice that formed in her head. That voice told her to do things that, at the time, she didn’t even know she was being told to do, and wound up being a shadow of who she used to be. No smiles, no passion, no compassion, no liveliness, no communication. No life. That shadow was, and still is, an Eating Disorder. Without knowing it, completely oblivious to it, she developed an Eating Disorder as a way of gaining back the control and “order” she lost. Every day, she tackles and battles and fights the thoughts that come into her head. Every day she is faced with a challenge, with many challenges, and is often too afraid to overcome her fears. But every day, she gets up, gets ready, and makes it through the hours until she can finally rest her overworked mind, her aching bones and her fluttering heart. Eleanor is on a journey of recovery and self-discovery, and every day that goes by is a day she learns something. Not every day is a good day, but some days are, and she has learned to appreciate life. Although she’s still finding it extremely difficult, she’s got the support of her family and her smattering of friends to help her through. It’s a long and hard road, she has realized, and although the dark thoughts in her head are overwhelming, she pushes through, because she knows, she has a tiny little bit of hope, that she’ll one day see this through. The thoughts may never fully leave, but Eleanor feels that every day she is growing stronger, every day she is learning what life means, every day she is finding herself and piecing herself back together. Yes, Eleanor is naturally a pessimist, and the pessimist in her plays broken records in her head, but she knows she’s got the ability, the skills, the strength and the willpower to do anything she wants and everything she wants.

Eleanor is a mixed bag of... everything. A bit of this, a bit of that, a shake of this, a spoonful of that. She has pet-peeves, she has aspects of her she wishes she could change, she has routines she wishes she could break and she has an unlimited amount of words that will never truly sum her up.

But Eleanor is not a giver-upper-er. Oh, no, she is not. She’s much too stubborn to give up."

 

love, love, love.