Writing is a form of therapy - the only therapy that seems, in some small way, to ease the pain that is a constant on mind and body. A relief, if you will, of the incessant naggings that won't stop, and don't stop, regardless of the efforts undergone to kwell them.
Writing, therefore, is the escape route taken to take a heavy mind from that which makes it heavy. 

However, where to start, and where to finish?

That, ladies and gents, is the very thing that stumps me most. I want to write, but when it comes to the actual hands-to-keyboard motions, I don't know what to write, or how to write. So much is going on inside this mind of mine, but at the same time, very little is able to be put to words. Words to thoughts, and thoughts to words; that's my trouble. 

Everything swells up inside, threatening to burst, and comes out in the most horrid of ways.

After having come out of IP, I haven't done what needs to be done, because at this moment in time, what needs to be done doesn't meet the criteria in which I have (or the "other" has) put in place. Food is an issue, living is an issue, family is an issue, school and work are issues - all too much, all too soon. I knew what I was coming back to, but nothing could prepare me for it.

I am in constant fear.
Fear of food,
fear of weight,
fear of life,
fear of living.
Fear of letting go.

I can honestly say I am not ready to let go. A nurse in IP told me she knew exactly what I meant, and she knew, in the bottom of her all-too-caring heart, that what I was saying was truth.
But she also said "I live in hope."

At least someone does.

Home.

Home again.

What next?

A Beginning?

Well, well. Things have been interesting these past few days.

First thing’s first: This Tuesday, I will be a resident at a treatment centre in Melbourne. To say I’m scared is an understatement. To say I want to go would be a lie. To say I’m ready to give up ED and recover is the absolute last words I would utter. 

I am stressed beyond belief. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be thinking. I have no idea what to expect and that’s what kills me most. Especially about food.

Also, I don’t have internet access there, except on my phone. So blogging is out of the question. Facebook will be used only on my phone, and infrequently, as with emails. So please, if you want to email me, do so! I would love some support or words of kindness once in a blue moon. 

***

But on to other things. Something, dare I say it, cheery. Cheery isn’t an emotion I would equate with myself, not in the last few months. I’ve been anything but. I’ve been in a shell. But today, on the first of June (which is actually quite symbolic), I had a smile on my face.

Today, I got my first ever tattoos.
And yes, I did say tattoos. 

The key is actually a replica of a key that my Mum gave me as a present. It represents new beginnings. But it also means that I possess a key to unlock all doors, all locks and barriers that ever get in my way.

The locket, I don’t know. It means a lot. Secrets, but also openness. I have the ability to open it and share myself whenever I want. Control, I suppose. Control of my heart, myself – a safe control.

***

I’m still all over the place.
I can only see how things go. Enter this new stage of my life, this new door, with an open heart.

Advice Greatly Sought.

Sleepless nights: constantly tossing and turning as a way to ignore the mind that refuses to shut itself off and give itself peace and quiet after long days of fighting, discussing, stressing, crying and decision-making.
The thoughts never stop.

***

I’m not running on much, anymore. I slipped and fell and I haven’t been able to pick myself up, nor have I allowed anyone else to help me up and dust me off. So now I have been lead to this:
I am going away to IP. 

I am terrified. And that’s why I need advice. I need advice, support, help, anything. I need girls with experience of IP to tell me what it’s like, what they’ve been through, what to expect. I know each and every treatment centre is completely different, but I just need some sort of heads-up.

I’ll be in an adult ward now, seeing as I’m the big “18”. 

The people at this particular clinic haven’t given us any real, solid information. I have no idea how long I’ll be there for, how much weight I’m going to gain, what sort of therapy I’ll be getting… I don’t know if I’ll be able to discharge myself because I’m 18, either. So really, I’m going into this completely clueless and I am terrified.

Mind you, I don’t actually know when I’m going away. Not even that is certain.

My head is in the clouds, I am in a complete daze – everything around me is in slow-motion. I’m losing track of everything. School, friends, my boyfriend, my life. And that’s why I need this. That’s why I need to go away.

That’s why I need your help.

I would honestly appreciate ANYTHING you have to tell me.

Thank you. So much.

Lost, Dazed, Confused.

How is it possible to express emotion when you have been paralysed by numbness?
How is it possible to explain the current situation when all you want to do is escape it?

I’m lost. Oh, so lost. But I am not particularly sure that I want to be found either, which is the most dangerous and worrying part of all.

I still feel the rational side of me, I still hear her, screaming in the background to “GET UP GET UP GET UP” before it’s too late. However, I think it may already be too late. I may already have fallen too hard and fast for it to be possible to get up. The confusion is overwhelming. I don’t know which way to turn, who to turn to, where I should be, who I should be, what I should be thinking, how I should be acting… It’s endless:
A maze of confused thoughts, feelings and emotions.

I don’t want to accept help. The monstrous voice inside, the demon, the dark cloud, the black-cloaked figure with its skeletal fingers outstretched, scraping fingernails down my back; it wants me to fall.
But if I fall, I have too much to lose.

I’m being threatened with hospitalisation, yet again. The third time ‘round. This time, however, would be different. I wouldn’t be in the “Child’s Ward”; no, I’d be in a proper unit, with proper treatment. Part of me knows that is a really good thing, and another part of me is terrified, as is to be expected. 

There are positives to it (and the Eating Disorder is kicking and screaming at that admission) but there are also a whole range of negatives, and I can’t seem to weigh them out properly.

I don’t know what to do.

I am lost, I am scared, I am confused.
I wish I could be anywhere but here.

A Celebration.

Today is the day of
my 18th year. 

Eighteen years of existing.

Eighteen years of exploring the world.

Eighteen years of discovering who I am, and what that means.

Eighteen years of being Eleanor. Whoever she is, and whatever that means.

* * * 

Quick:
catch the memories like butterflies before they wither and fade.
If carefully preserved, beautiful they will stay.

Caught in the Golden Web of Time, a victim of change.
Yet life continues on, being written page after page.

I'm running.
But I'm not sure what I'm running to and what I'm running from.

She's there. With open arms. Wiping tears from crying eyes. Stroking hair away from a tear stained face. Whispering promises into desperate ears. Rocking gently back and forth to calm the storm.

Or maybe the storm is just beginning.

She's lost in the ether.

Words form themselves in pools of confused thought; streams of consciousness make their way through a mind made out of pieced-together emotions, experiences, wants and needs, numbing everything but bringing everything back to life simultaneously.

Questions, questions with no answers, regardless of the amount of searching and sifting through the mind-mess roam free:
“Why?”
“Why me?”
“Why now?”
“What for?”
“What are the reasons?”
“Is there a way out?”

* * *

I often wonder if these questions need answering, or if it’s just a comfort to have a solid answer, a confirmation, whether it be positive or negative. I don’t know what I want to hear anymore. I don’t know what I’m searching for, besides escape. But if I escape, where do I escape to and what am I escaping from? Who and what would I leave behind?
Too much. I’d leave behind too much, if I were to go. And as for where I’d go, there is no answer. It differs from person to person, belief to belief, faith to faith. I have no faith. I just have needs. My need to be free is increasing daily. These thoughts in my head are killing me.
Physically I may be fine. To others, anyway. Physically, I hate what I see with such fiery rage. It scares me, the extent of which I hate myself.
Mentally, however, I am not fine. I am nowhere near fine. If anything, my mind will be the death of me.

I still think like Anorexia. I still feel like Anorexia.
But I’m not Anorexic anymore.
That hurts me. That physically and mentally pains me. And I do know how sick that is, which hurts me even more.
My eating disorder is something else, now. I don’t know what, exactly. But it, as well as food, still rules my life. It’s with me, wherever I go.

I’m not okay.

I love my boyfriend. And he loves me.
However, I don’t feel as though I deserve that love, that adoration, that worship, that respect, that kindness. I don’t deserve his words, I don’t deserve the times he says “You are so beautiful, Eleanor”, “You are perfect, Eleanor”, “You are amazing, Eleanor”, “Your body is beautiful, perfect and amazing the way it is, Eleanor”. I don’t deserve that, or at least my eating disorder doesn’t think I deserve it.

I am scared of losing him. But I’m also scared of losing ED.
I need my boyfriend. But I also feel like I need ED.
I can’t be with them both. I can’t please them both. I can’t hold onto both.

I am lost. I’m growing up, growing beyond, attempting to find myself and ignore myself at the same time, trying to hold on, hold back and move forward all at once.
I am confused and scared and hurt and ashamed. 

I just want freedom. I don’t want to be lost.

Words.

Opposites:

Elation – Depression

Two extremes. No balance. No in between. No warning.

Peak and fall.

And falling hard.

*   *   *

Poisonous thoughts.

Binging.

Purging.

Restricting.

Killers. All of them.

It hurts. Too much.

*   *   *

Boyfriend.

Love.

Affection.

Adoration.

Awe.

Smiles.

Laughs.
Sharing everything.

Petrified of losing him.

 

*   *   *

Sentences aren’t doing it for me right now. There is too much going on.

I’m living. I am in the real world. And it's scaring the shit out of me.

I HAVE MY PERIOD.

I am a woman. Again.

I GOT MYSELF A JOB AT A COFFEE SHOP.

My first job, ever. And I’m making coffee. Dreams do come true.

I HAVE A BOYFRIEND.

He treats me like gold. He listens to me. He accepts me – demons and monsters and all.

I AM GOING TO MY FIRST EVER MUSIC CONCERT.A Day To Remember and Underoath.

Wow.

I AM TURNING 18 IN TWO MONTHS.

And I’m going away. With my boyfriend.

I AM GETTING A TATTOO.

Well… Tattoos.

*   *   *

This binging and purging is killing me. I hate who I am. I hate who I am. And that scares me. Never have I felt such intense feelings of loathing for someone or something before. And it’s all directed upon myself. I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve put on so much more weight than I ever thought I would and I hate it. I’m over an 18 BMI and I wasn’t even supposed to know but my idiot doctor told me.

I don’t know what I’m doing with myself but I’m scared that I’m going to lose everything. I mean, I want to lose weight and I want to lose my period, but I don’t want to lose my boyfriend, or my job, or my schooling.

It’s all just too much.

“You’re standing on my neck.”

I don't really know where to begin. For the past few weeks, my life has been a rollercoaster. Not the enjoyable sort, either, the one in which you can feel the wind in your hair and the smile spread from ear to ear, nor the sort that gives you an exhilarated rush of excitement and thrill.
The sort of rollercoaster I am talking about is the one our dearest eating disorder has control of. For the past two and a half years I have been on a constant peak and plunge trip – whipped from one extreme to the other within a matter of days, hours or even minutes. My happiness is short-lived and my sadness is always creeping in the background, waiting to take advantage of a mere second of neutrality. Needless to say, depression has hit an all-time high (or low?) and all I've wanted to do is crawl up into a ball and cease existing.

I remember I used to make up these worlds of my own – a hole in the Universe that was mine, and mine only. Everything I wanted was there; everything was perfect. But perfection doesn't exist and the hole in the Universe I long for won't ever exist, either. All I have is reality. Yes, I can do what I want with that reality but right now I'm not sure I'm calling the shots.

I was binging. Now I'm not. That problem seems to have settled down. But now I'm left with the feelings of "oh my God I've gained so much weight I am so fat I need to lose it all as soon as possible I can't believe this happened to me, LOOK at me I'm HIDEOUS, I can't let anyone see me, I can't go back to school looking like this"… You get the picture. I'm a mess.
To top it all off, I've had my heart broken, too. What else does a girl need besides an eating disorder? Oh, that's right, a boy who's broken your heart repeatedly over the past 3 years.

I'm not really doing well for myself. I wish I could say otherwise but the fact of the matter is that I am struggling. Yes, I'm "weight restored", but I'm still sick.
My mind… Where to begin. The self-loathing is on the rise, the self-esteem in sloping downwards (if that was even possible), and any desire I had for leading a healthy and happy life has dwindled dramatically.

I've been getting comments like:
"You look so healthy now, Eleanor"
*LOOKS DIRECTLY AT THIGHS*

…Needless to say, again, I'm not really liking the situation I'm in right now.

 

I apologise sincerely for the complaint. I've just needed a place to vent and no one here has been able to help me in any way, shape or form.
I'm on my own. And distractions are getting harder and harder to find.

I've already worked my way through 3 seasons of Daria…

Another Year Come, Another Year Gone.

Another stereotypical "end-of-the-year" post. In all honesty, I don't really want to reflect on the happenings of this year. There have been too many, and most of them have been things I would rather forget. But these happenings have shaped who I am – the girl I am today is the result of my past experiences and choices.

Instead of dwelling on the past, however, I'm instead going to look forward, into the future. For instance, tonight I am going to a New Year's party with my closest friend – we will have an absolute blast; we'll dance and sing and drink and be merry and bring in the new year with gusto.

Everyone wants the New Year to be special. Different. New, exciting. I'm not expecting that, though. I've learnt not to. The year ahead is what I make of it – it doesn't come down to luck or blessings. It comes down to effort, commitment, perseverance.
If I'm going to get through the year ahead, I've got to keep looking ahead. Instead of hoping for a better tomorrow, I need to make the most of today.

I know all of these things.
I just have to do them, and that's the trouble. My motivation is wanning.

But
"Where there is life, there is hope."

 

Happy New Year, to all of you. You've all made such a positive impact in my life and that is something I am grateful for. Without you girls (and mabe boys!?) in my life, I wouldn't have the strength I have today. I wouldn't be fighting as hard. I wouldn't have a constant motivation and inspiration.
So thank you. Thank you for being part of my life.

I hope that the new year brings us joy. But we have to fight for it.
Let's fight together.

I'm Alive, but Unwell.

It's been two weeks since I last posted.
Yes, I am still alive. But so much has happened in these last two weeks; some good, a lot bad. 

My time away has taught me a lot. It's given me some more independence, but at the same time it's made me realise how strong my eating disorder still is.

I haven't, in fact, lost any weight. On the contrary, I've gained some. But that is where the problem lies.

I know I have talked about this before, and I didn't think so much of it back then. Now, however, I've been shown just how much of a problem it really is.

I have been binge eating.  Every day.
Regardless of how well I eat during the day, I come home, eat dinner, then eat everything in sight. It's happened every single day for two whole weeks - I  am out of control. No one I have told - my therapist and dietitian especially - think it's an issue. BUT IT IS. If it wasn't bothering me so much, I wouldn't be crying about it every night and every morning.

 I don't know what to do about it. I think being at home will ease some stress a little bit, but these problems were happening at home, too. I hate food, and I hate the amount I'm eating - I'm not even hungry when I'm doing it. I just do it to DO it, and that is not healthy. 

I'm lost, girls. I'm lost in this spiral of extreme self-loathing and hatred right now. My body image issuess have hit an all-time high, and all I want to do is crawl up into a ball and stop eating altogether. I know that's not an option, but the conflicting thoughts in my head are driving me insane. One side is telling me to EATEATEAT, and the other side is telling me to RESTRITRESTRICTRESTRICT. I don't know what to do. 

I just want all of this to go away.

I don't need another eating disorder.

...And She's Off.

Tomorrow I leave my house, my family, my town; three whole weeks away from everything I need an escape from.

I'm scared. Terrified.

But I'm ready, too. I'm ready for change, ready for a new way of life, ready for freedom.
I am ready to find myself, whoever that may be. And I think I might be ready to embrace that person.

I've steadily gained weight over the past few weeks, and have gotten to a point where I can maintain. I realise that it would be so easy to lose weight while away. But that is not the idea. The idea of my mini-holiday is for me to overcome my fear of weight, numbers, food. That is what I plan on doing, and I will put my absolute all into everything I do.

I want freedom.
I want independence.
I want a life.

With effort, persistence, perseverance and a lot of courage, I will get what I want.

Triumph.

 

I. 

Ate. 

JELLYBEANS.

Body Woes.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

***

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

Mish Mash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

Family Ties.

Just as a forewarning, this post is going to be quite emotional, disorganised and desperate cry out for help, advice and support. I apologise in advance for those brave enough to read through the thoughts swimming through the pools of my mind, but at the moment blogging is the only outlet I have and the only thing I can firmly hold on to.

***

What does one do when their rock, their foundation upon which they have built themselves, begins to crumble?
What does one do when the most important person in their life beings to spiral out of control, and become a negative influence?

What does one do when their mother, their best friend, their true life-partner, starts to walk down the same path that they themselves walked down?
What does one do when their mother starts to use the same excuses that they themselves once used?
What does one do when their role-model presents them with the temptation to go back down that path they once walked, the path that they are trying to walk away from?

What do I do when I see my mother losing kilo after kilo, seeing bone after bone appearing, skipping meal after meal and refusing to give in to her obvious signs of hunger? What do I do? How do I deal with this situation? How do I look after her? How do I convince her to change her ways before it becomes too late?

* * *

I am sorry for all of the questions. I am trying my hardest to answer these questions for myself but I keep drawing up blank and empty. Watching my mother drain herself of life is draining me of the willpower I somehow mustered up to getting myself back on track. When I see Mum heading off the tracks, I can't seem to justify me staying on them, either. When I see her skipping meals, I can't seem to justify eating.
Her actions are making it so much harder for me to keep myself doing the right thing. I've lost weight, and it's getting harder and harder to gain it back again when I see her shrinking right in front of me. I know I can't hold her as an excuse, and I am trying not to, but it's also extremely hard to not be swayed into that eating disordered mind-set when it's happening to the person I love the most.

She's seen her daughter fade away. Now the tables have turned.
How is that fair? How can she make me gain weight when she needs to gain weight, too? How can I eat when she doesn't eat? How is that right?
It's not right.

I don't want to feel cold anymore. I don't want to feel sick, empty, simultaneously hungry & bloated. I don't want to feel hurt, I don't want to be hurt.
And I don't want my mother to become a disordered eater.

* * *

Our family is splitting up. The details are complicated. Basically:
My Dad is moving out, but he's going to be here during the day to monitor my meals.
He'll just be gone in the morning and before Mum gets home from work in the evening.
I have no change. Change is what I crave. Change is what I need.

I need to escape from this; from all of this. From Mum, from Dad, from this house, from this town. But I have nowhere to go. The only place I can go is back into hospital, and they won't accept me now because my weight isn't critical anymore. The only other alternative is residential treatment, and that costs a fortune, and I would be subjected to people who've had eating disorders for years. That wouldn't be good for me. That isn't really an option.

I guess I'm just… hopeless right now.
Hopelessly looking for answers to questions that don't have answers.
Trying to justify eating and gaining weight in a world that is losing it.

I need a reason.

Coming Clean.

I have so much to lose, so much to throw away.
But for what?
This inner being, this possession, this all-encompassing darkness of the heart, mind and soul – it has taken so much from me already.
It's stripped me bare of happiness, as well as health. The two go hand-in-hand, though: happiness and health.
It's stripped me of opportunities, possibilities, chances to succeed and feel proud.
It's stripped me of the abilities I once possessed. It's stripped me of the joy those abilities brought me.
It's stripped me of love; from friends and family, to my own love. My self-love, self-acceptance, self-appreciation and self-confidence. It's stripped me of the memory of ever feeling those feelings.

But I still have so much to lose.

I have a future ahead of me. That can be lost.
I have a mother, a father, two brothers and a puppy that love me. I have friends close to my heart that love me. I have extended family that love me. All of these people appreciate me, my words, my company and my love. They, too, can be lost.
I have passions, hobbies, abilities, talents. They can be lost.
I have hopes and dreams. They can be lost.

I have a whole life ahead of me that, at the moment, feels empty and bare of all hope. But that life, it is there and it can be lived. And it can also be lost.
I don't want to lose my life, my future, my family and my friends, my passions, desires, hopes and dreams. I don't want to lose the chance to succeed in life; I don't want to lose the chance at actually living life.
Right now, I am not living. I am existing in a barren wasteland, a breeding ground of hate and self-loathing. There is no chance of life in this place. The only way for me to come back into life is to accept that I need help, and to accept that there is more to life than Anorexia. This dark cloud above my head has been there for far too long, raining down on me whenever I even think I see the sun. The help I need is going to protect me from that hard, cold rain. It's going to push those clouds aside and let the sun shine down on me, finally. I'm wasting away here, all by myself in this realm of dark and misery. I need to let in the light. I need a hand to hold onto. I don't want to depend on anyone but right now, I need to. I need to put my life in the hands of those that know how to make the hurt go away.

Ultimately, it all comes down to me and whether or not I accept the hand that's being held out for me.

I think it's time.
It's time to start living. It's time to start participating in life.
It's time to find my place in the world.
It's time to find me.

I have so much to lose.
But I also have so much to gain.
Life.

Clear as Mud.

Uncertainty is the only thing I can be certain of,
The unknown is the only thing I know.
Unfamiliarity is the only thing I am familiar with,
The unexpected is the only thing I can expect.
My lessons have yet to be learned.

I look ahead and see only shadows: shadows of what could be, what may be, what might be. The future is colourless, as it has yet to be painted and shaded in with emotion, experience and knowledge.
I have a head full of nothing, yet I feel as if I already know it all. Or maybe it is a desire to know it all that I am feeling; an endless pit in my brain, never to be completely full. Perhaps that is what all minds are; pits, waiting to be filled to brimming but never quite reaching. Just as the Universe expands, so do our minds and brains. There is always something more to learn, something more to find and discover and become. We are forever unsatisfied, but it is the thrill of perhaps achieving this state of being in which we are finally satisfied that we chase. Like the carrot in front of the donkey to keep it walking, such is the desire to learn more, to reach that ultimate goal - whatever it may be doesn't matter. It's a purpose, a reason.

But what happens if what we are searching for is our purpose? What then? Is our purpose in life to find our purpose? Perplexing; more-so confusing and frustrating as the need to actually have a purpose is growing stronger every day. What point is there in waking up every morning to a day full of nothing, a day in which a purpose is not clear? It is not my purpose to find a purpose – that is an endless cycle. My purpose is not yet clear, but my stubbornness is set in that I will find one. I will find a reason to rise in the morning and go about my day; I will find a reason to smile, to live and to learn. Although passion for learning is purpose enough, there is an unsettling notion that there is more out there.

Will I know when I have found my purpose? What will it feel like? How will I react? Will it be clear? Will I need to dig deeper? Will I be absolutely certain?

But what if there is no such thing as certainty?
What if there is no such thing as the known?
What if it goes beyond familiarity?
What if it cannot be expected?
What if I simply just let things go?

***

A cup of tea sits barely touched beside me. I am not hungry or thirsty for physical things. I am hungry – ravenous, even – for certainty. To know what is to happen, to foresee future events – that would satisfy me and my mental desires.
I just want to know that things will be okay in the end.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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