Yep, it's time for another one of those wee updates.. :o
I do apologise profusely for the lack of blogging since Thursday :'( bbut unfortunately, the cause of this was completely out of my hands. I have had NO INTERNET since Friday morning hence, blogging came to a standstill, sniff!! Anyway, I'm back in the land of the Connected now, so normal blogging wil resume veryyyy soon <3
And this gave me a chance, I suppose, to have a wee think myself, about how my blogging journey, and that of my recovery, was going to go on from here.
I sort of have come to realise something, though. It's something which is very hard for me to accept, and as usual, there is that little inner voice calling me a failure, that I am weak, that I am absolutely useless in every single possible way, and that I am not worth recovery...BUT...well I am going to be strong now, and resist that voice and shove it ruthlessly away. No...I am not a failure...we need to realise that asking for help is not a sign of weakness but of strength.
Ever since I left the hospital, that day back in March, my Mam, and all my loved ones, strove to urge me to seek therapy. "You will slip back, Emmy," Mam had warned me bback then. I could see the glistening of concern in those beautiful, soft green eyes. "You will slip back. If you don't get help, in order to maintain all the hard work you've done, in there. So you will be able to beat this thing for good." Eyes filled with both love, and fear. Fear that I would slip back...but back then, I had refused to believe that that was even a possibility...
My fear of being put back in Pats, will keep me from falling, Mam, I had said. i don't want to cost you anymore money.
That had always been a stickler, with me. Deep inside me, there is a vast and overwhelming sense of guilt, a guilt for what i have put my family through, of all the money I have cost them through my illness. And no matter how many times mam and dad would tell me, to stop worrying aout the money... somehow, somehow i have never, ever managed to kick that guilt away. it's still there now, as I sit writing to you....
But this weekend I realised something. That by refusing to go to therapy on the basis that it will cost mam and dad too much money, is actually not, by any means, the way I should be thinking about this.
At the moment, my motivation and determination to defeat ED have been both restored and renewed. But of course, though I hate to admit it to myself, there might come a time when things get rough again, that I might receive a buffet to the head which will send me topling over again and unable to pick myself up. And I don't want that to happen...and I know, that in order to completely and utterly change my mindset, so I really can become that happy, smiling, rosy-cheeked girlee with sunlight in her eyes and the spriteliness of a dancer in her toes...then I need to complete, the seemingly impossible task, of completely and utterly driving out every single trace of that ED...
And therapy will give me the best possible chance of doing just that.
I know that nothing else in the world will make mam and dad more happy, more proud, to see their daughter fully recovered...and that happiness and joy, and physical and mental well-being..you can't put a price on that. <3 xxx