Less Than Positive.

Headaches.

Stomach bloating.

Whole body aching.

Exhausted, but can't sleep.

No concentration.

No motivation.

Tears.

Fears.

This week's been a downer - though I'm not all that surprised. The week after weight-gain is always the hardest to get through. I'm struggling through, but my body is really taking the mistreatment of the past and running with it.

And running.

And running.

And running.

I haven't been sleeping. I lie awake, and I'm bothered by this irritating feeling on my back and hips.

I turn over on my back; there it is again.

I toss, I turn, and I'm hit with a disgusting revelation. It's my back bones, rubbing against my skin. My bones, aching, cold, sore, bruised.

Thrown about with reckless abandon.

I'm appalled. I'm sickened.

I feel so ashamed.

I've missed so much school. I'm not coping mentally there. The workload is huge, but it's the same for everyone else too. Why does it seem like I'm the only one struggling?

I know staying home from school is only going to heighten my fear of the place; if I sit through the uncomfortable feelings of it I'll become more immune to it.

I don't want to fall back. I can't. Not now.

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday, just to get me checked out. A flu has been making its way around the school, and my family has been touched ever-so-lightly by it. Perhaps I have flu symptoms, on top of everything else.

He takes my BP, pulse, heart rate, whatever it is.

I stand up, and he takes it again.

He says there's a big drop. But that doesn't seem to phase me.

...Later on.

Mum comes into my room.

She mentions my heart. The strain on my heart. The effort it's putting in to keep me going.

"It might not have any immediate effects, but in 20 years time..."

This has never occurred to me. I've read about the signs, symptoms, the effects, the damage to the body, but it's never sunk in that any of that could happen to me.

"If your heart stops, that's it."

Oh, Mum.

This has to come from me.

My body hurts, my head is screaming, and so is the voice of My Plague.

These physical cues, these mental cues, they all point towards the same thing: My health, and the jeopardy, the danger, I am in.

It also points towards this: I am responsible for my health. I am the only one who can do anything about it.

I am going to do something about it.

I don't want it to be too late.

 loveyourself, loveyourself, loveyourself.

She's Done It.

I did it.

I DID IT.

She walked to the car, her stomach convulsing violently. Never before had she suffered from nerves such as these. Doubt was swimming in her head, the little voice chanting "You're a failure, you didn't gain the weight. But you're a fatty anyway. You think you can beat me? You think you can ignore me? You don't stand a chance. You're nothing!" She sat quietly in the back seat of the car, staring blankly out the window but not looking for anything; she only wanted to escape, to crawl up inside herself and give in to the convincing voice she knew so well.

The car stopped and her father opened the door for her. Without looking up, without speaking, she walked to the building inside which her fate lay. The big, cold, hard medical scales were waiting for her - she had an intense fear, an intense hate for those scales, unsurprisingly so, as they had the ability to dictate her mood, and the overall feelings of both parents and treatment team.

The click-clack of her Dietitian's shoes on the tiled floor of the walkway tore through her state of mental numbness, and she robotically stood up and forced a painful smile upon her lips. The walk to the room gave the voices in her head a chance to blast obsceneties at her; little knives jabbing into her heart.

She sat down in the chair beside the scales, where she voiced her concerns about not having gained weight the past week, but also told of her challenges and her trials, her sickness and her exhaustion, her battles to do the right thing. Her nerves heightened, her stomach was clenched; she took off her shoes and stepped on the scale.

Numbers numbers numbers, ticking ticking ticking.

Surprise.

* * *

I gained weight.

 I gained weight, by myself.

I gained weight by myself, for myself.

To be honest, I don't know how I feel. It's 7 at night now, I was weighed at 9:30 this morning. I've had all day to process my thoughts, but I have yet to come to a solid conclusion. I don't know how I feel, I don't know how I should feel. I was convinced I'd lost weight, and I expected to see a drop in weight, but instead I was greeted with an 800 gram (2 pound) gain.

I felt proud.

I also felt disgusted.

Almost a kilogram in a week? That's a lot. That's a scary amount of weight. That's the biggest amount I've gained in a long time. A long, long time. And I did it myself. I didn't depend on anyone else. This was my doing.

I want to feel proud of myself. I want this to strengthen my mental state, my confidence - I want it to boost my self-esteem and give me a real sense of control. Instead I'm confused, uncertain, and conflicted.

I know that I can't stop here. I have to keep going upwards for the time being. There's no other option for me health-wise... But I have the choice to go up, or to stop trying.

I've scared myself.

But I know what needs to be done.

I need to live.

love, love, love.

Reflections.

The History:

One Year Ago (2009)

Two weeks  from today, Eleanor is officially diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa.

Two weeks later, Eleanor turns sixteen.

---

Eleanor spent her sixteenth birthday trying to understand what being anorexic meant.

Eleanor spent her sixteenth birthday cold, sick, tired.

Eleanor spent her sixteenth birthday in a state of depression.

Eleanor sat in front of a chocolate sponge cake she'd made in Home Economics, and watched it devoured by her family.

Eleanor's plate stayed empty.

Three weeks after Eleanor turned sixteen, she was admitted to hospital.

For Anorexia Nervosa.

* * *

Two weeks from today, one year will have passed since I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa.

In 27 days from today, I will turn seventeen years old.

This realisation hit me today. Almost one year has passed since I had a "label", a way to identify my situation.

In less than a month I'm seventeen. The one year anniversary of a miserable day.

I deleted all the photos from that day. From my camera, from the computer. I didn't want evidence of that day; I looked horrible. The misery, the lifelessness... You didn't just see it, you felt it when looking at those photos.

It brings back memories I want to forget.

These memories serve a purpose, though.

They remind me that I wasn't happy. I wasn't happy on my birthday.

I wasn't celebrating my life.

I was blowing away my life when I blew out the candles on a birthday cake I didn't even eat.

Blowing away my life.

* * *

This Week:

Week Number Two on my "Trial of Independence and Responsibility".

Do I feel like I've tried my hardest? No.

Could I have done better? Yes.

Should I have done better? Yes.

But can I change anything about this week? No, I cannot.

I can only accept that this week has been hard, and I have struggled. But I must keep reminding myself that I haven't failed. I have done what I have done, and the only thing I can do is accept it. I must also accept the consequences if I have not gained weight, or at least maintained my weight.

I am terrified that I have lost weight.

That factor alone indicates a change in mental-state.

But if my weight is down, the likelihood of a heightened mental-awareness is not in the positives. I highly, highly doubt my dietitian will believe I'm chipper mentally if I've dropped the much-needed grams/pounds/ounces/kilos etc.

The past two weeks of food independence has been a long, hard battle.

I believe I've come face-to-face with the demon inside me. I can feel it, I can hear it, I can even almost see it sometimes, and these past two weeks have opened my eyes to just how dangerous, manipulative and destructive it is.

I'm terrified that if I have lost weight, I will no longer be trusted in preparing my own meals and 'fending' for myself.

The rational part of me knows that this is understandable; take away some of my 'control' and there is less of an opportunity for me to give in to my demon.

But then, if I don't have that control, how am I to learn to face this demon and overcome it?

I have a head full of thoughts and a stomach full of [metaphorical] butterflies. I am so nervous; I want so bad to prove my worth. To prove to not only my parents but to myself that I CAN do it.

Tomorrow is the decider.

There is no use in worrying about tomorrow, because it will come no matter how much I wish otherwise.

There's no use in worrying about the past, because what's done is done.

The only thing I can do is make the most of the Here-and-Now. This is where I am, and this is what counts.

I can reflect all I want on my past, but that wont change what's happened.

All I can do with my reflections of my past is to learn from them, grow from them, take them with me on my journey to tomorrow, and keep them safe with me today.

love, love, love.

LIVE.

Oh.

Sometimes I just want everything to disappear.

The stress,

The attention,

The expectations,

The anxieties,

The trivials,

The unimportant,

The secrets,

The lies,

The hurt,

The pain,

The sadness,

The hate,

The thoughts,

The voices,

The need to be perfect.

Me.

There is no end to the list of things I wish to be erased.

I feel sick to my stomach. Sick with indecision, sick with stress, sick with exhaustion, sick with denial.

There is no cause, therefore no cure.

But ah, could it be, could it be at all possible, that this feeling of sickness is in fact a starving brain and a starving body, crying out in hungered agony? Could it be that my constant thoughts of food are signs that I am not getting enough of it? Could this exhaustion be due to a body not properly nourished?

Could this screaming mind, this aching body, this hollow thud of a heart, be signalling that I am not taking care of myself in the way I should be?

I'm stressed when I am hungry, I'm stressed when I am full.

I am anxious about choosing foods to eat, which ends with me gorging on much too much eventuating in a bloated & sick stomach, triggering hurtful voices, thoughts and feelings.

I want to be brave and strong. I want to be independent and responsible.

I want to fight and win.

But how, how can I be these things when I continue to doubt myself?

I am scared. The feeling itself is something feared.

Am I dealing? Am I coping?

What if I don't do well? What if I fall? What if I fail? What if I can't?

What if, what if, what if?

What if I believe in myself?

This might just be a down day.

This might just be a down week.

This might just be the shock I need to wake myself up, to realize I'm not invincible, I'm not superior, I can't live off water and air.

I am human. I am a fragile human, but a human nonetheless.

Humans live. They don't just exist.

Pride In A Jar.

The past two days of my life haven't been the most enjoyable. When I should have been at school feeding my brain with lots of useful information, I was at home curled up in bed, wishing for sleep to wash over me and rid me of my horrendous headache and soothe every aching muscle in my body.

Though I wasn't educated in the traditional sense of the word (that is: going to school), I was educated. My body's aching and lack of energy was a delayed reaction to the weightloss two weeks ago.

Sometimes it takes a metaphorical punch in the face to wake us up and see the truth. My body isn't functioning properly because it hasn't been fuelled properly.

To counter that, I did something a little different this morning. Something a little very scary. Something completely unheard of. Something historical in the History of Eleanor's Life Thus Far.

*Drum roll*

I had Oats In A Jar!

Proof!

(As you can see, the photo quality is superb, thanks to my shocking bedroom light.)

Also note-worthy: I ate breakfast in bed for the first time ever.(Hence the shocking&horrifying hair/face/everything)

The contents of the almost-empty PB jar also had more than one TBS of Peanut Butter.

Two feats, in one morning. And how do I feel?
Better than ever!

I kicked some major ass this morning. I feel proud. I feel proud. That's new. Pride in myself hasn't really been very common in recent years. Nothing I ever do is good enough in most cases. But this morning, I felt invincible.

I do expect some repercussions. But if I tell myself that ED's going to eventually have a say, then that's most likely what will happen. It's a trap I've fallen into many-a-time, and one I'm going to try and avoid, not only today but from here on.

Today is my day.

This is my life.

I'll do what I want to do, because I want to do it.

The rebellious teenager has to come out of me somehow. Rebelling against my disordered thoughts might just be the way to feeding my inner-angsty-teenage-self.

My concentration is starting to slip and my headache is beginning to roar again, which is further educating my rational self that my body needs fuel to run smoothly.

* * *

This is such a scatter-brained post, and I apologise greatly for that. I've got two full days of school work to catch up on, tests to study for and a life to live... Along with a body and mind to feed and nourish. That comes first. Because without that, nothing else is possible.

Nourish yourselves. Nourish your bodies. Nourish your minds. Nourish your spirits.

Nourish your lives.

love, love, love.

New.

I'd like to start this off by saying a huge thank you to each and every one of you.
You are all such beautiful girls, whom without my recovery would not be at the point it is now. The Beautiful Award has been passed around (though all of you are beautiful, and all of ou deserve to feel beautiful, regardless of an award!) and the answers have been phenominal.

This dark place may have taken away a lot of the happiness and shine from our lives, but it definitely hasn't taken away our abilities to see our potential. You are al incredibly intelligent and wise (I almost spelt intelligent wrong...), and reading through your answers have given me strength and the encouragement to go on and push through.
I really mean it when I say I wouldn't be where I am today without you all.

* * *

This post is a special post, for two reasons.

Reason Number One:

I am posting this from my... Laptop!
An early birthday/Christmas present... Probably for the next couple of years. But so worth it. I am in love.

Reason Number Two:

This is the more serious of the two. As you know, last week was my trial week for my "Nutrient Intake". Saturday, of course, was my Dietitian (dooms)day. It was to be the defining moment, to see if I had proven myself capable and able to be responsible for myself and my health.

I wanted so much to prove that I was capable. I wanted to show everyone that it was possible, that I could do it. But I couldn't shake the thoughts that I was a failure, that I had lost weight, that I couldn't do it, I was too weak, I didn't deserve the independence. I shook that aside as much as I could, because I knew that I tried. I put in so much effort last week. But I knew I could have done more, I could have tried harder. There were ample opportunities for me to increase my intake but I didn't take them, I ignored them.

Last week was extremely difficult, but extremely beneficial and helpful. It helped me to see just how prevalent the disordered thoughts still are and how big a part of my overall thinking, brain function and mind they take up. It was, and still is, a shock, realizing just how often these thoughts invade my own. The difference now is that I am able to distinguish those thoughts from my own thoughts. This is a process and I am still at the very, very early stages of this, but being able to pick my thoughts out from the disordered thoughts has given me a sense of self that up until recently my life has been void of.

To cut an (already) long story short, I maintained my weight. Exactly. To the decimal. I was bewildered. Dazed and disoriented. I cried. I cried from relief. I had worked myself up into believing that I had lost so much weight that I was only expecting to see a terrifyingly low weight, a weight that would land me straight back into hospital. It was sheer relief that sent the tears flowing. I can't say that I'm proud of myself, because I know I could have done more. But the fact that I hadn't lost shows some sort of strength and resistance to the disordered thoughts is forming and growing.

To further the rate of growth, I know I've got to put in more effort this week and continue to give my body the nourishment it needs.

I've refrained from saying "ED", or "food", or "eating", because I've noticed that for me, it reiterates negative thoughts and feelings.

I don't know what's happening, and to be honest I'm sort of still trying to catch up with everything. This is going to be hard, and I have to prepare myself for that.

But although this new sense of awareness, clarity and certainty has confused me and been a bit of a shock to the system, I'm going to keep going with it, because it might just take me somewhere.

This leap of faith might be what saves me.
I know that if I start to fall, someone will always be there to catch me.

I'm afraid, but I'm determined.

My pieces are finally starting to come together, and you are all a part of the picture.

love, love, love.

Wants.

I am sick of being questioned.

I am sick of being told what to do.

I am sick of doing what I have been told to do.

I am sick of being doubted.

I am sick of being bombarded with accusations.

I am sick of people jumping to conclusions.

I am sick of being sick.

This week has been hard. There's no doubt about that. It has been hard.

Going back to school from the holidays has been hard enough. Getting back into the swing of things, the stress that comes with school work and homework, the demands. The claustrophobia, people everywhere, people I don't know, constantly comparing myself.

To add on to that already massive load, this week I've been completely independent of my food intake. Completely, 100% responsible for myself. This independence has been amazing. It's changed the way I think and how I feel about myself, my life, my future, my health. I've loved it; doing it for me, without having to depend on someone else to prepare my meals and do everything for me - having my independence. Being independent.

It's been great, but it has also been hard.
Extremely hard. Extremely challenging.

There has always been that voice in my head, that thought, that... Presence. When the opportunity presents itself to potentially skimp on food - skip here, have a little less there, no one will know no one will know no one will know - straight away I'm bombarded with those possibilities, those options, and sometimes it becomes a little overwhelming.
I like to think I've pushed through and made progress... But there is a doubt in the back of my mind that can be clearly read on the faces of my parents, the doubt that I haven't made progress, I've slipped back instead.

Tomorrow's the day I find out if I've lost or gained weight. This week has been a trial period, to see how I go.

I want so much to have put on weight, or at least to have maintained. This is something I would not even have considered a few months ago. The fact that I want to have put on weight, truly and honestly, should count for something, shouldn't it?
If I haven't put on weight, or if I've lost weight, I will be disappointed, ashamed, sadened. And I know that my parents will be disappointed. They're goign to be ashamed. And I'm so afraid that this independence will be taken from me.

I want more than anything to prove to my parents that I can do it, that I can do this for myself, I can be responsible for myself.

I want to prove to my dietitian that I can do it, I want to proce to my therapist that I can do it.

I want to prove to myself that I can do it.

I know I could have done so much better this week. I know I could have.

There was a pressure from my parents that I really felt uncomfortable with, a weight bearing down on me that sometimes got too much for me to handle.
I wish I could go back and do this week again.

I want so badly to have put on weight.

I can't have lost.

I can't.

It would mean so much to me to see a higher number on the scale. A slight gain, any sort of gain. I wish I could let my parents know that. I wish they would believe me.

I want to do this. I really want to do this.

I hope I can.

love, love, love.

E-joo-cay-shon.

...Yeah, I thought I'd be funny and pretend to be stupid.

Happy Hump Day, my lovely ladies. It's been a struggle to get to Wednesday, but I've managed somehow, and I am more than thankful and grateful for the support you've shown me in regards to going back to school. I think we're all on the same wave-length when it comes to school: the stress, the work-load, the expectations, the extra study, deadlines... School doesn't just teach us academia, it teaches us about the world and how to survive in it.
There is no "pass" or "fail" in life. We're either here, or we're not, and that's the sad truth. But while we are here, we have ample opportunities to make something of our lives.

Through the stress, the tears, the tantrums, the "dog-ate-my-homework" standard of excuses, we learn to live. Teachers be damned, it's we who do the teaching; and we learn from ourselves.

I hope that made sense.

School has, surprisingly, been alright. The workload is already working its way across my desk, threatening to spill over the edges of my poor little working-space; maybe it hasn't caught up to me yet, but I haven't actually been feeling too stressed out or panic-y.

Now how's this for a contradiction:

Today was my Literature SAC (Assessment Task). It was last period, and progressively throughout the day I became more and more nervous, more and more sick in my stomach, a headache threatened to split through my scalp, my heart was beating faster and faster, pulse racing, sweats, everything.
Then I actually sat down in the class. My leg was jogging at a million miles an hour, about the same speed as my hand blurring across the page.

What? Actual writing? Actual words making sentences? A PARAGRAPH!? What is this!?Before I knew it, the time was up. I had three double-sided pages almost full up with writing. I honestly have no idea how that happened, and I also honestly have no idea if any of it makes sense, but the fact of the matter is that I did it. I (almost)completed a test in the allocated time, I wrote words, sentences, paragraphs, a dodgy conclusion... I. did. it.

I don't know if what I'm feeling is pride or just pure relief, but whatever it is, a weight is off my chest and I'm no longer sweating, flushed in the face and stressed to the point of wanting to knock myself out to get rid of it all.

I doubt myself so much sometimes; I doubt my ability, I put myself down, I have no confidence, I'm constantly comparing my intelligence to others... For what purpose? I just proved to myself that I can actually, in fact, write an essay. My previous results should have proved that, but obviously it's not something that's going to be eradicated instantaneously. It's a work in progress.

* * *

Onto something completely different and much more entertaining:
The beautiful beauties Tatianna and Becca have kindly awarded me with "The Beautiful Award", for which I am completely and utterly flattered and honored. Thank you, my beautiful girls!

1) What physical features do you love about yourself?
I've always really loved my eyes. Ever since I was a wee little baby Ellie, I've had huge, bright blue eyes. They're almost obtrusive! I love their intensity, their shine, their liveliness. People have often complimented me on their colour, or my eye lashes... It's a confidence boost, but the fact that I love them too means much more. When I got sick, I lost the shine in my eyes. My body was too busy concentrating on keeping me alive to worry about the colour and state of my eyes. Now that I'm getting healthier, though, I've noticed they are increasingly regaining their former character; the dull, lifeless blue is getting brighter, stronger, fuller. It's amazing to watch, and beautiful.
Oh, I also love my bottom lip! It's big. I used to suck on it, as opposed to sucking on my thumb, as a child. Weird, I know! (Angelina Jolie got nothin' on me!)

2) How do you personally take care of yourself?
I'm very concerned about my physical appearance, i.e. my hair, make-up, clothes, etc. I don't wear a lot of make up, but I play up my eyes with eyeliner and mascara every day. I also spend a ridiculous amount of time preparing my hair in the morning. Straighten, tease up, hair wax, mess up/ruffle up hair, make it big, enough hairspray to put a hole in the ozone layer... You get the picture.
I also have a growing collection of perfumes. I love to smell nice. It makes me feel nice.

3) What are you looking forward to?
Corny as it sounds, I'm looking forward to life. Being in this 'barely-existing' place is starting to bother me; I have so many interests, loves, passions, and I want to persue them. I want to go to University, I want to learn about life, people, literature, words, English, language, the history of language... I look forward to learning, learning about the things I am interested in and long to know about.
I look forward to travelling around the world, seeing sights of true beauty, the wonders of the world.
I look forward to sitting in little cafes, watching the world pass me by while, watching people go about their lives.
I look forward to being a part of someone's life, making a difference to one, or many, people.

I look forward to my future, whatever it brings.

4) Who has aided your recovery the most?
The only person who can recover from my Eating Disorder is me. The only one who can make the decision to recover is me. It all comes down to me to recover. Up until recently, I wasn't aiding in my recovery at all. I was working against it. But I changed my mind, for me, not for anyone else.
Although I've started to recover, for real, I've not always wanted to and I've not always been mentally strong enough to make that decision. My parents have been by my side, from Day One, through good and bad and worse. The ups and downs have been taxing, but they've taken it all, they've taken all of my shit, my resistance, my tears and tantrums. Without my parents, I wouldn't be here.

5) What was the very last thing you ate?
I just ate my din-dins, and by golly was it good! Red lentils, sweet potato, pumpkin, yellow squash, brussel sprouts (ewwww, I know, but they actually tasted nice!) with a sprinkling of just about every spice in my spice rack: cinnamon, cardamon, ginger, nutmeg, cummin, ground corriander, tumeric... It was good.

6) What is one material thing you are dying to have right now?
My Dad has been in the process of searching for a laptop for me for... Well, for much longer than my patience can stretch. Finally he found one and ordered one, and it's commmmming! So yes, my laptop is my material object of desire.

7) If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
I have always, always, always wanted to go to Paris. I've never travelled outside of Australia; I've never actually really travelled much at all. We're not an extremely cashed-up family so we've been pretty restricted in that respect, but as a younger child my Dad, my little brother and I went to a few beautiful towns in my state.
But to answer the question, Paris would be my top choice. Then New York. Then all the small, beautiful country towns around Europe. With the little churches, the small pubs that everyone goes to... That's all probably just a dream, though!
I just want to go everywhere, see everything.

8) What is/was your biggest fear food, and how will/did you conquer it?

I've unfortunately got a lot of fear foods yet to conquer. Chocolate, fast food, ice-cream, cream, candy/lollies...
Although I have a lot left to conquer, earlier on in my recovery I was fearful of cheese, peanut butter and meat. I tackled those three things; I eat fish 3 or 4 times a week, cheese has made its way back in, peanut butter is something I eat just about every single day!
Before I was admitted to hospital, I hadn't eaten bread, or anything bread-y, for over a year. I was thrown in the deep end and I ate bread every.single.day while I was there, and I've eaten bread every.day.since then.
I plan on taking things one step at a time. When I feel the time is right, I may take a challenge and scare myself a little.

9) What are your dreams for after ED?
I just want to find happiness. I want to one day be able to love myself.
I want to be doing what I love, and loving what I do, whatever that may be.

10) What advice would you give to someone concerning eating disorders?
I hate these questions because I am always so hypocritical when I answer them!
Suffering from an Eating Disorder has taught me so many things about life, myself, and others. I see the most beautiful people, going through complete and utter tourment, and it pains me to watch, because I know they are so much more than what they're being told by the disordered voice in their heads.
The advice I will give is to live in the moment. Trust those who are trying to help, accept that help or at least consider what they are saying/trying to say. Take advantage of the support that is being offered because it may be the saving grace. Even if at first you are recovering for someone else, do that, because eventually you will begin to find your own voice.
It is not an easy path to walk, but it's not walked alone. Take a hold of the helping hand being offered to you, walk towards the light.
Hope. Believe. Trust.

I am supposed to pass this on to ten people; I know they've all probably been tagged already but here goes: Amy, Kylee, Jennifer, Emily, Amanda, Eva, Ailsa, Rachael, Rhiannon, Sarah.

(OH you have no idea how hard that was!)

We are all beautiful. Each and every one of us, for so many unique reasons.
Even if you don't believe it now, tell yourself you're beautiful, because one day, you will believe it. 

love, love, love.

Emotional Thunderstorm.

When words don't form coherent sentences, when they won't string themselves together and paint visual artworks in the mind, I feel defeated. All day I have tried to find some way of expressing my thoughts and feelings, to no avail. When I put pen to paper, a flood of emotions poured themselves into my head; waves of emotions crashed against the walls of my skull in frantic urgency, trying to break through and let themselves be known. How I tried to stop myself from downing in them, how I struggled to stay afloat.
I'm washed up; soaking, numb.

But alive and breathing.


Tomorrow is Monday. Monday brings with it school (cue foreboding music). The first day of school after two weeks of blissfully ignoring my education. That also means I ignored the homework and study I was supposed to have attended to in preparation for an Assessment Task taking place this Tuesday. I realize that it is entirely my fault and I have no one to blame but myself, yet I keep coming up with excuses. The most believable of all is that I have been concentrating more on my health than anything else, which is true, but still not enough. No excuse is enough. I shouldn't need to have an excuse, I shouldn't have to blame my "eating disorder" for the lack of study.

I am stressed. But I will deal.
Stress causes me to lose weight. I can not afford to lose weight.

My Dietitian appointment went better than I expected it to. I did lose weight, but that weight loss hasn't impaired my ability to reason, and it hasn't meant that my independence around food has been taken away.
It has made me realize what needs to be done. I am responsible for myself. My health included. Without my health, I am merely existing. I don't want to just exist, I want to live.

This week is going to be tough. Nothing can prepare me for the onslaught of school work, homework, study. No amount of preparation will be enough to prepare me for the stress, anxiety and fragility of my emotional state in the coming weeks.
But I can ensure I'm able to cope with these things. And that means giving my body what it needs; food.
I must nourish myself. Only with proper nourishment will I be able to survive through the Winter months ahead, and the work-load school is promising to put upon me.

I have all the support I need. I know I only need to ask. I'm trying not to be afraid of asking for help. Asking for help doesn't mean I've failed.


What a pep-talk.
I hope it works.

I'm soaked to the bone from this emotional torrential down-pour. I'm paralyzed by fear of the unknown. No amount of pep-talking is going to help me if I don't start believing in myself.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for believing in me.
It wouldn't be possible for me to be as strong as I feel now, if it weren't for the support, the love, the motivation and inspiration you have all shown me.

love, love, love.

"Roll Up, Roll Up!"

A little circus parades itself round and round my head; marching out of time to the beat of my heart, the circus folk dance along the frenzy of thoughts strung about the walls of my mind.

A pretty scene.
Red balloons, blue balloons, white balloons dance up towards the roof of a red and white striped circus tent. Cannons shoot streamers, glitter, puffs of smoke. Magicians and their white rabbits, clowns and their big shoes. Pretty girls riding ponies and the marching band playing tunes.
Twirling, swinging, screaming, singing, twisting, turning, tumbling.
All competing for attention, centre stage.

A circus without a Ring Leader is a chaotic circus, indeed!

That, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is currently taking place in my head.

* * *

I don't know where this is leading, honestly. It was mostly an attempt at getting some creative juices flowing after the lack of said juices for much too long. Unfortunately, I feel no creativity pulsing through my veins, instead a rising dread is slowly starting to seeps its was through to my beating heart. How that heart beats. Getting louder, louder, louder, as the clock on the wall gets closer, closer, closer to the time that seals my fate.

An appointment I'd gladly avoid awaits me at 9:30am this Saturday morning. Three weeks of no Dietary appointments has been bliss... In the sense that I haven't had to see a Dietitian for three weeks. Bliss doesn't describe the other happenings of my life thus far, but that's something I'm working on.

These past three weeks, I have had a lot more independence food-wise than I have had in the past. The results of my three week trial will be dictated by the number on the scale, and the number on the scale alone.
I feel, in a way, like the only thing that matters is what this number is. This number, my physical weight on the Planet Earth, is The Decider, it is what all decisions regarding my future are based upon. To a point, it makes sense. But only to a point. Beyond that point, it becomes obscene. That a number, a few digits, declares a "win" or a "lose", a "good" or a "bad", IS obscene. It's infuriating. I am not a number, I am not just that damned weight. I am more than that.
I want my mental state to be taken into consideration here, too.

I don't feel as if I've lost weight, as my mental clarity hasn't been lacking. I've needed these few weeks of food-independence to start to learn what it's like to be responsible for myself again. After so long of being babied, having meals served up to me, I've become almost dumb in regards to looking after and feeding myself. That's not right.
It hasn't been easy. It's been... Well, it's been ridiculously and shamefully hard, to feed myself properly.

But for the first time since I was diagnosed with Anorexia, I feel like I am mentally eating.

As bizzare as that sounds, it is how I have been feeling. I am listening to cravings, I am giving mysel what I need.
I'm no where near good at this, yet. I have been freaking out beyond explainable as this week has wore on, and I've been eating extreme volumes of honey and peanut butter in a panic.
Afterwards, I feel disgusting and horrible. But I've been doing it because I actually care about my weight. I care if I have lost weight, I care if I have gained.
I don't want to have lost weight.
I'm not too keen on the 'gaining weight' side of recovery, but you know what? Eleanor has almost, almost come to the conclusion that this gaining weight is necessary if she is to ever get her life back.
Gaining weight is only part of it.
It's not everything. It's not only my weight. It's my life.
My life.

* * *
You have all been so amazing. You are all amazing. This journey is no where near the end, but I hold onto the glimmer of hope that sometimes flutters past. I'm chasing this idea of life, in the hope that it will lead to something desired, something beautiful.
You have all helped me on this journey, and I can truthfully say I would not be where I am now if it weren't for you.

I may be scared out of my panties about the Dietitian appointment today, but I can't let that hold me down and back from the things I have achieved in these few weeks. Ups & downs, goods & bads, the inbetweens... I've gotten through them all and I am where I am now, which is all that matters.

love, love, love.

There is an imaginary line I'm not allowed to cross. Like a childhood game of don't-step-on-the-cracks, a faultering or mis-judged step means failure.

"Don't step on the crack, or you'll break your mother's back."

Barriers, rules, guidelines. You have to do things a certain way, or else the game is not worth playing.

Life isn't a game though, is it?

I'm a chess piece, a Checker board, a rolling dice. Playing against myself.

* * *

My mind is everywhere.

I'm struggling. Cries for help go unheard - they're dead and dry before they reach my lips. I'm stuck inside this body with no means of control. I'm possessed by something outside of myself, something alien and unknown.

I'm voiceless. Whatever's crept inside of me is leaking through my body and rendering me helpless.

Why have I given up fighting?
I'm struggling even to put these words out to the world. This is a cry for help but not one that will be heard by the ones who need it most. I'm ashamed; ashamed to admit I've failed.

Who am I failing, though? Is it them, or is it me?

None of this makes sense, and it hurts me to write such meaningless words. I almost feel like it's a waste - what purpose is this serving other than me complaining and moaning?

I am so sick of myself.

I tell myself to quit bitching, man up, do something about it.
But I feel too weak to do anything.

Am I too weak? Or am I just telling myself I'm too weak? Convincing myself the lie is a truth?

* * *

I'm losing hope.

But I don't want to give up.

Exposed.

I feel this overwhelming need to reach out my hand and be taken away from the place in my head I've been sitting in for a while.
Without knowing it, this desire to be something more than what I am has dwindled and I've stepped back onto the path that leads to destruction and misery.
The facade of happiness is alluring, tempting... Blindly and naively I believed it was real, a genuine happiness. This path couldn't possibly come to an end - a bad one at that. This sense of happiness, the smiles, the laughs, the I'm okay's; they're only the first layer. Pull back the curtains and the truth is exposed.

And this time, the truth really does hurt.

I can admit I'm happy. But I can't admit I'm healthy. Physically or mentally. I can pretend I am, I can be convinced I am, but somewhere within, underneath the lies and the deceptive thoughts, I know what I'm doing is wrong and I know where I'm going is wrong.

The hardest part is not accepting the truth, but altering the direction. Changing paths, stepping off the easy road and onto the hard road.

Unwilling to be helped along the way, but secretly knowing I need help.
Unwilling to admit that I need help.

I am determined to see this through.
I am trying to rid myself of these destructive behaviours.
I am willing to admit I'm struggling.
But I know that I need to do this myself.

This is my life.

This is my life I am potentially throwing away.

The choice is mine. The time to choose is now, not tomorrow, not next week.
Now.

In this state of happiness I've said things I know come from Eleanor. My passion for knowledge, my love of words and literature, my interest in the human mind, human developement. My curiosity and sense of adventure and my passions are all still there.
This momentary sense of false happiness has made me realize that there is something to strive for.
I have so much potential.
I just can't reach that potential if I hurt my body.
Hurting my body is hurting my mind, and my mind is so important to me.

I'm not giving up. I am not giving in.
I'm struggling, yes. But I can admit that.


And now I'm going to change it.


love, love, love.

Nowhere in particular.

My mind is in a place far away from reality.

In a small, out-of-the-way cafe I sit in peace and comfort and watch the world pass by, all hustle and bustle, while I sip on rich, hot coffee and pen random thoughts in a tattered old notebook. Leaves in hues of the coming Autumn scatter the sidewalk like golden, orange and red confetti: splashes of color on a black and white image. I'm where I want to be, doing what I want to do. No obligations, no demands. Time is not of the essence; I have all the time in the world. This is my world.

I don't want to have to wake up out of these daydreams. They offer a place of serenity. I wish these places existed; the only way I can reach them is in my head, but my head is usually full of everything else. I never have room, I never have time, to take myself away to a better place. I'm constantly trying to escape, but in escaping one hell, I end up in another.

* * *

I made it through my first term of school. What I mean by "made it through" is that I am still alive. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel, but at least I'm doing something. Treading water is better than sinking.

To put a positive twist to a rather negative string of words, I got an extremely unexpected A+ in my English Literature SAC. (Don't ask me what SAC means. It's an Assessment Task of some sort.) I felt proud about that for all of 5 minutes. I was actually in denial about it for a time... Me, an A+? No, that's not right. That can't be right. She's made a mistake. The mark is wrong. She meant to write that about someone elses.
What's with these excuses? These explanations for things that need no explanation.
Damnit, Why can't I believe that I deserve that mark? Why do I have to berate myself, put myself down? Why can't I just be happy?
Questions that have no answers.

I've missed blogging. I've missed expressing myself. I've missed sharing words with you beautiful people. I wish I could express my minute-to-minute thoughts and feelings; I realize I ask way too much of myself, but the thought is a nice one.
My passion for writing hasn't disappeared, it's just been buried underneath the mountains of homework that's accumulated over the course of this first term of school.
On top of working myself to the bone at school, we've been assigned holiday homework! Because that's what holidays are for!
(Note the heavy use of sarcasm)

* * *

In other news, I GOT JEANS THAT FIT ME.Not leggings that look like jeans. Not tights. Not treggings or jeggings. Jeans. Denim jeans. This caused me inexplicable amounts of joy. Even the guy at the store was happy for me! That says something.
I didn't even care what size they were, in honesty. Sure, they're the smallest size, but they actually fit. And they're not kids jeans.

The mirror doesn't reflect me as a person, and no amount of poking and prodding and grabbing is going to change my body. Putting on weight is putting on condition. It's giving my body the chance at being somewhat normal again. Not even normal... Healthy.
Health is beauty.
Happiness is beauty.
When I am able to realize that, for real, that's when I know something's changed. Changed for the better. I'm far from "better" at the moment. My thoughts about myself, my thoughts about food, my thoughts about weight, they're all still extremely disordered. I have good days and bad, but the bad days are more frequent than the good.

Where I am at the moment might not be desirable, but there are plenty more places that I could eventually end up in. My journey is far from over but that just means I've got much to discover, about myself and about life.

I'm paving my own pathway, brick by brick, stone by stone, and walking it step by step. Life is a process. A journey. A discovery.
Life is worth living.

Want to live it with me?

love, love, love.

Down the Rabbit Hole.

Remember me?
Where did I get to?

Did I fall off the Earth?
Nope.
But I fell into a hole.

Without really realizing it, two or more weeks have passed since I've written a post. I wish I could say that it was because I went on some super exciting adventures, I saw some beautiful things, I rediscovered Eleanor and my falling-off-the-Earth resulted in me finding myself in a better, happier place.
I wish I could, but I can't.

I did go and see Alice in Wonderland, and she took me on an adventure. She held onto my hand and together we tumbled down the rabbit hole, into a world like no other, yet one I was so familiar with.
A world where I was either too big or too small, too short or too tall.
I was never right, but always wrong.
A world where I was expected to do things I didn't want to do.
I couldn't make up my mind, because my mind wasn't my own.
I was told to drink, to eat,
Do this, but not that!
A world in which nothing made sense.
A nightmare; only I was fully awake.

These past two weeks have been full to the brim with stress, anxiety, pressure, expectations. Meetings, talks, appointments.
Due-dates, assignments, tasks.
School has been mostly to blame for this. I've found it extremely hard to cope.
My weight has dropped. Not significantly, but significantly enough to affect my mood, my concentration and ability to get through an entire day without conking out.

I've lost my ability to write. I cannot, for whatever reason, put words on paper and be okay with what I've written. I've failed to do essays on time, sit Exams, even writing diary entries.
Writing is what I do. It's how I express myself. It's my passion, it's what I love.
Losing that, I feel like I've lost what I did have of myself.

I am seriously clutching onto the lightest, shortest, weakest whisps of air, in the hope that they might lead me to an answer, or to at least bathe me in momentary peace and freshness.
It hasn't worked. The air around me, if anything, is suffocating me, pressing down on me.

I know what needs to be done, and I tell myself that I'm 'trying', but I don't know if that's true.
I'm digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole and this nightmare is becoming more and more livid, more and more real.

Pinch me, will you?
I think it's time I woke up.

I love you all; I haven't forgotten about you, given up on you, moved on from you.
You are all in my heart, every day. I think about you, send you love, follow you, read your progress. I want to give you all advice, help, information.
All I can give you, though, is my love and support.
I hope that's enough.

love, love, love.

VENT.

I have no idea where to begin, no idea where to end.
I have no idea where I am.

I've been searching for something that doesn't exist. Trying to find answers to questions that haven't been asked. I've made no discoveries, no important findings, no answers, no solutions to problems, no cure-alls, no understanding.
Without knowing what I'm trying to find, there is no clear path for me to walk down, no clear direction for me to head in. I'm not waiting for someone to tell me, I'm waiting for people to stop telling me.
I'm not recovering for myself, right now. I'm recovering for everyone else. I'm recovering for my parents, I'm recovering for the Dietitian, I'm recovering for friends who are sick of me for "not going out and having fun". I'm recovering for everyone else but the person who needs to recover. Am I recovering from myself?

Do this,

Do that.
Take this,
Eat that.
Stop complaining,
Tell me what's wrong.
I love you,
I'm so sick of you.
This is up to you,
You're going to do what I say.

These contradictions. These demands. I'm being told to do everything, all at once, and I'm expected to do them, all at once. I'm being "weighed down" with these expectations.  I'm doing what's said because they expect me to.
I want to recover for me.

If I'm not "allowed" to recover for me, I'll never know how to. I'll never learn.

* * *

I've been sick for the past week. I don't know what it is, but it's taken its toll on me: physically, mentally and emotionally.
I missed three days of school. Three! I am so far behind... I missed four Assessment Tasks which are vital as they're what's tallied up at the end of the year for my final score. I have to somehow catch up on all of them as well as keeping up with normal school work.
Cover your ears if you don't like curse words,
but I'm honestly fucked.

* * *

I've not felt any motivation, lately. To do anything. School work, home work, going out with friends, spending time with my family, yoga... Nothing. I'm completely lacking everything. I'm forcing myself to listen to music. That shouldn't be forced. Needless to say I'm not really enjoying it.

This sickness, whatever it is, has been so hard to deal with. I'm taking antibiotics for some stupid infection on my finger on top of the sickness... I'm bloated beyond belief, I am so uncomfortable. I feel like crying all the time. I don't want to go out, I'm that uncomfortable with myself. It hurts. I'm in constant pain. Being bloated after eating is completely normal, I know this, everyone knows this... But being bloated just because? That's not. It could be the antibiotics, I don't know, but whatever it is it's killing me.

The beautiful Tatianna wrote a post on body image, which really stuck with me. I've been battling with discomfort in my own body for so long, especially now... And the things Tat pointed out were so valuable to me.
As opposed to avoiding mirrors, I've always been drawn to them. Not out of big-headed-ness (like my ego-maniac older brother) but out of self-consciousness. I constantly check myself, which only leads to being berated by whatever it is that is in my head. I don't even want to say "ED" anymore, because I'm honestly sick to death of talking about "it".
Anyway, the mirror-checking is something I've always done, but doing it now is obviously damaging my already fragile self-worth/confidence/esteem. Being abused and belittled by a part of my own mind is eating (heh) away at me. I don't know what purpose I'm serving by looking at myself, because I know what's going to come after that.

This all comes from me. I need to learn to accept what's happening. These changes are needed. These changes are vital. Humans have muscles and fat for a reason. To protect our organs and bones. I'm not going into a Human Development rant here, I'm just sayin'.

Maybe reinforcing things that I already know will help me to accept them. I can be told by everyone else that I need ot gain weight but until I tell myself that I need to gain weight and until I start believing it, it's all for nothing. Wasted words. And we all know how much I love words. Words aren't supposed to be wasted.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this.
I needed to vent after not posting for so long. It's theraputic.

I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, how I'm supposed to be doing anything or where I'm supposed to be going.

It's all part of the journey. I'm learning. Learning to live. I'm growing. Growing into something new. I'm fighting. I'm fighting for myself.

Nothing is easy, but nothing is impossible.

love, love, love.