And this, for me, is most certainly something I have been struggling with ALOT recently. and its funny because at the beginning, I considered myself at being fairly good at keeping to it. I suppose that was because of the fact that back then I knew that I had to gain weight and I recognised just how imoportant it was for me that I did so. But now, things have become harder. My bmi has increased from 15 to 18 since I went into hospital, and now, at this new, healthier bmi, my ED voice tells me that I need to stop and start restricting again, as you have already gained weight Emmy, and you need to lose it again.
I often wonder, how the world sees me....do they see a girl who is recovered? Do they see, do they feel the battle going on and on and on, inside my very own head?
About two weeks ago today, I was walking from the station towards the hospital, the thoughts rushing, rushing through my head; so much so that it almost felt like I was walking in an entirely different world, a world of my own making. Just me and Ed. Ed trying to tell me things, I trying desperately to ignore them, to not listen to them. What are you going to try and miss out on today, Emmy. - No, please, I don't want to miss out on anything. - You do, you know you do. Because if you stick to that meal plan, you know you will just gain more weight, and you know that you don't want that...
And then, I felt it; a sensation, that I knew all too well: a building ache in the heel of my left foot, barely noticeable at first, but intensifying with every step i took.
The last time I had had one of those "aches" in my foot, it had been my right foot, in the instep...and it had been like that for over three months; and for those three months I had hobbled from place to place like a cripple.
Why? well, looking back on it now, I had obviously sprained or injured my foot in some way, by seemingly doing nothing at all - I didn't fall, slip, twist my ankle or anything. But what i didn't realise at first back then, as I limped around trying to conceal my injury from everyone...was that, because my body was so undernourished, because I had overexercised for as long as I could remember - hammering up and down, up and down the hard tarmac roads for as long as I could manage, whether it be scorching hot, freezing cold, pouring with rain or perilously icy - because of all that, I had caused severe damage to my feet. And even when I did hurt myself, I still didn't allow it to rest.
And here I was again, now...a different foot, and a new injury in a slightly different place. I tried to keep walking, but I knew I was getting slower and slower. My usual brisk, quick-stepped little walk diminished to a dragging, heavy-footed limp. I very nearly sat down hard on the damp pavement and cried. So. After all of my efforts, after having been forced to put on weight, face my fear foods, and spend day after day cooped up like a prisoner behind the walls of a hospital, forbidden to walk or do any form of exercise...this was what I had. My body was still weak; and I had done it again - my foot was injured, by doing absolutely nothing at all. Everything seemed so, so hopeless and pointless. Slowly the tears I had been trying to hold back leaked onto my cheeks, and I didn;t even lift a hand to wipe them away.
Guess you've won again, Ed...
But then, a few hours later, I realised what I had to do.
I rested my foot. I stayed at home for a few days folowing the incident, elevating the injured foot on a mountain of cushions with my knitting and my laptop close to hand to keep my mind busy and Ed quiet. I moved about as little as I could. By God it was not easy; for rest is something that I really really do struggle with. But I knew that my foot needed it, that I needed it. Otherwise, if I kept on clattering around at ninety miles an hour, walking and doing my usual chores, I wasn't going to get myself anywhere. I would just make my foot worse and worse.
And then, over the next few days, my foot DID improve. the swelling reduced dramatically, the aches lessened and then diminished altogether. But one thing that did not fade, was the memory of what had just happened. The realisation of just how lucky I really was.
No. I',m not recovered. And as I confessed to you at the beginning of this post, the past couple of months haven't been great for me in terms of sticking to my meal plan. But. I KNOW I have to get myself back on track. Because it's obvious that there is still work to be done, in terms of recovery and strengthening my body and bones and improving my osteoporosis. I know that if I don't stick to that meal plan, I will be as helpless and as weak as a canoe without a paddle,caught on the rushing rapids. I will be swept away and dashed against the rocks. Ed tries to tell me, that i do not need to stick to the meal plan. That I should try to lose weight again and go back to skinny, stick thin Emmy. No. I canot, I will not let this happen. I know that I have to keep on fighting, keep on nourishing my body and my bones. Then and only then will my body become stronger; only then will the severity of my osetoporsis be reduced; only then will I be able to get my periods back. I know that I have to do it. I have come too far to turn back now.