I just feel so, so disappointed, again, because, as of Friday, I was feeling alot more positive and upbeat about things. But my head and mind seem to work differently from most people's, it seems. I resolve to be happy, and then something happens - something which might seem so small and insignificant to ordinary, normal people, but subsequently causes a massive issue for me - and I was once more reduced to despondency once again, because my demons - the demons of my very own making, the products of my very own mind - were just staring at me right in the face: and there were two branches, this time, two branches of the wrongness about the girl who is Emmy, snagging and catching at her body, threatening to trip her up and throw her to the ground.
I will tell you about these two demons in this post and the next, and then, I will leave it, here. I feel as if I need to talk about them, as there is part of me which wants to deny that it is ture, that they even exist. But I know all too well, that they do.
A few weeks back, you might have remembered me talking a little about my immaturity. And by that I don't mean anything to do with physical appearance. Though around this time last year, I know, I had the body of a girl. Stick-like arms and legs, tiny waist and hips, small, barely discernible breasts. That has changed, now, but unfortunately, my mindset certainly has not. And I still very much feel like that little girl who I used to be, when ED first came into my life, when my happiness wilted like a flower touched by frost. Small, afraid, frightened and dependent on others to keep me afloat. And unfortunately, that part of me hasn't changed.
It was this which caused some of the upset yesterday, and I completely understand why, it did. And I do not blame my loved ones for this, because I know how frustrating it must be for them, how hard it must be, to understand, why I act the way that I do. But of course, I still wish that they do understand; that they aren't as hard on me. As I don't know what to do to solve this; to make myself suddenly snap out of this self-imposed sense of immaturity. To make myself just grow up , like they tell me I should.
My ED makes me immature in a number of ways. Ways which writing them now fills me with shame and self-loathing, but the sad fact is, that I know that they are true.
Firstly, unlike most girls of my age - an age which is pretty much associated here in ireland as being the time for party-going, clubbing, being out on the town till the wee small hours of the morning, and so forth - do not have much of a social life, at all, and going out is something which fills me with fear and anxiety rather than excitement and delight. That people will look at me and see; and judge, and think, and speculate. I am painfully, excruciatingly self-conscious about my body and the way I look. I don't really drink , so this of course immediately makes me feel something of an oddity in a pub or a nightclub, surrounded by people who are doing just that; and me being one of the very few who are sober. I have been like this for the past three years, and I could count the nights out during this time on my fingers, as there have just been so few of them.
And then, of course, there is the food side of things. For in this sense, I am so, so pathetically immature: there are a number of things here which testify this, for me. For one thing, when I am on my own, it is almost as if I cannot physically make things for myself. Whether that be hot chocolate, or dessert, or to do myself a buttered scone, or toast a teacake under the grill. It is almost as if, by doing these things, my ED gets extremely agitated, screaming, No! You can't do that! You need someone to do this for you. It won't taste as good if you do it yourself. You need them to "see" that you are actually eating something. If you do it yourself noone is going to notice! No, don't you dare make it yourself! You can get away without eating that! You don't need that! You don't! You don't!...
And it is here where I always fall down in terms of the meal plan, for, if mam or dad or someone isnt there to give me that prompt, or make whatever up for me, or to check up on me to make sure I am actually going to eat it...then oftentimes, I can't do it. And this is all very well now, what with me living at home with Mam and Dad to look after me. But I am 21. 21! You wouldnt know it, would you? 21, and I have never worked, never had any money of my own, never been able to look after myself properly, never able to do anything really, by myself. And Mam and Dad can't look out for me, forever. There will come a time when I will have to leave home; I know that there is no denying that fact. But I am my ED's child as well as theirs, it seems. I would obey its wishes and comply meekly with its demands, just like a frightened child who is afraid of being punished, would. ED has made a child of me...if only I could pull away from its grasp, wholly and truly. If only I had the courage to break free.