The girl who would not bleed

They won't hurt me again. I won't ever, ever let them break down my walls. I'll be guarded and careful and keep my heart wrapped up tight in swaths of stifling cloth. I typed the words furiously, fingers rapping against the keyboard, tears streaking down my face to land in messy plops upon the surface of my laptop.

I will not bleed. I won't let them. From now on it's me and noone else.

No sooner had I written the words though I knew that I did not mean them. Because truth is I'm a girl who is naturally open and honest and warm. A girl who loves intensely and deeply and craves to be loved in return. A girl who realises that she needs to let others in, needs those others to help her carry her forwards, to reassure her that she can bare that heavy, heavy cross.

And it's not them who make me bleed, anyway. Rather, it's me. I'm the one who is making myself so hurt and torn inside. It's me after all who controls my response to events; who chooses how to react to that comment, who makes a decision to take those words right to the heart.

It's me who has the power to say I will not bleed. I won't let myself, not them. And Ed. Always Ed.

For he's the one who scored gashes across my heart, broke it so deftly with his cruel, nimble fingers. And so many times. So many times that I have lost count.

But now I say. No more, Ed.

I am the girl who will not bleed.

Yet even as I write those words again I cannot help but grimace at the irony set deep within them. Of course, that's just what I am too, literally speaking. Yes. The same girl who has been told on numerous occasions that she looks "healthy" and well, and yet, the same girl who has still not had one single period. She literally will not bleed. Is it wrong of me to wish that the world would just keep its comments to itself?

But no good saying all this and writing it. No good just saying that oh, yes, I will be strong and no longer let ED cut me open. I now need to take concrete actions in my life; actions which will bring about the physical and psychological changes that together constitute what I see as true recovery.

And even as my heart lies in bloody, shattered pieces, pulsing upon the floor, I still hung on to my tattered shreds of hope.

That's what'll keep me going and which will drive me on. On and on as the thunderclouds broil thick and heavy, and the rain slashes down upon my face.

I will get through this. I'm stronger now than I ever was before.



And so, I am going to conclude this post with some real, concrete actions, to move forwards.

Because action is power. And hope, and that refusal to give up, could well be my greatest ever strength.

• Get into the habit of checking my weight once a week again. No more, no less.
• Learn how to deal with the much dreaded,  you look well.                                                        Ah, the agony of  that so simple little comment; three short words in a single sentence, a sentence which has the same devastating power as a massive avalanche would crashing down upon my head. It was something, those days when I was very underweight, that I wasn't of course at any point faced with, at all. Back then it was you need to gain weight, Emmy. Something that deep down I wish people would say to me now. Because I know in my heart I should be trying to gain weight. It's no good trying to convince myself I am "healthy" and well at this current weight at which I am at. People may not know it, but I know that it is the truth. The fact that I will not bleed is enough evidence for me, for that.                                                    But to learn how to deal with this comment is something of a crucial matter for me, given that my inability too in the past has nearly caused me to go completely off track, even, relapse. Late last summer I could not sit and eat a meal without hearing that lady in the library's voice reverberating through my head. Telling me that I had a chubby face. That's only one of several instances in the past in which I have been sent tottering on the edge as a result of that simple little comment. 
• Write a list of the Cold Truths. I think this is something that we all should try to do in recovery, as it can serve as a bit of a wakeup call if you find yourself drifting. I'll share my own in my next post.
• And I would like more than ever now to commit to some kind of therapy. Though the problem is, though - no point trying to deny it - to even endeavour to do so is in itself something which I find myself reluctant, even scared, to do.                                                                             Why?? There's a few reasons, really; some of which are totally illogical; others, maybe not so. I'll talk about this very shortly.
• And now more than ever I need to conquer my remaining fears. I need to feel the fear and do it anyway. I'm currently reading the book by Susan Jeffers, the title of which holds a lot of resonance for me. As soon as I started to read that book the sparks began to fly off the pages. I realised everything Susan was saying was so directly relevant for me, or for anyone in recovery. Feel the fear and do it anyway. It's ok and normal to have that fear. Everyone does. But the difference is between people who succeed and don't succeed in conquering their fears is that the successful people say to themselves that they can handle it. And so. Now I repeat that same sentence over and over in my head. I can handle this. I'm the one in control. I have the power to overcome ED. 

And the girl whose heart was bleeding and torn in two will stand up, now, and despite her wounds and scars will keep on going, on and on, with the sunrise directly in front of her.