and this is where I stand... xxx

Now believe it or not, THIS post was what I originally intended to write on Thursday - but then, as I was sitting there contemplating what to write, it occurred to me just how tricky beginning a piece of writing can really be, and that in turn led me to the reflection of how often, in human life, beginnings can be very, very hard. Especially in regard to recovery. So needless to say I ended up blogging about something completely different from what I initially I planned...but I guess that's all part of being a dreamy writer like myself ;)

So...before I go off on a complete tangent AGAIN. I wanted to tell you a little about where I am at, now. Five months have passed since I initially set out on a new journey, my battle against the relapse.

Firstly, in regard to weight gain. as i mentioned before, I am more or less weight restored now. Mam and I are both very much determined that I don't get too caught up in, or bogged down by, an exact number or particular "ideal" weight. What is an ideal weight, anyway? Why should I live my life in fear of that certain number, the "threshold" which I cannot cross? That voice in my head is telling me now that I cannot go beyond this certain weight. But I know..I need to find a place where I am at peace with my body, but at which my body is at its healthiest, the best it can be. And this number could be higher than that which Ed has set for me. I know, in my head, what this number, this limit, is. Its what I am at now: Ed screams at me that I cannot go any further.

Does a flower have a target height at which she ceases to grow? Will she stop at a certain limit; even though she has not gained her full strength? 

Physically, I am healthy. People might look at me now and see a girl who has recovered.

But I know my journey is far from over. I know, I still have many miles left to climb.

But just how am I going to do this? Well, I suppose now I need to take my own advice. To stay strong and positive, and believe that I can and will get there. And actively work on accepting my body and treating it right. I have made progress in this area already. I just need to keep this up now and work on every single one of my weak areas.

As regards to college...well, I got the results of the exams about two weeks ago. I looked at them, expecting , and prepared, to see a fail. A fail, because my second attempt at third year English in Trinity inevitably turned out to be as hard, as painful, and as exhausting as all the years which preceded it. I struggled. I relapsed. I faltered and didnt think I'd be able to go on. I was in as bad a state as I was, before I went into hospital last year. But then, something clicked deep inside me; and despite the terror and the pain, there was that little light. A little light which fed me strength, and courage, and hope. And suddenly little Emmy found that she did have the strength to stumble on.

I thought the recovery road had disintegrated into nothingness; that I had fallen from the wayside into a deep and bottomless pit from which there was no hope of  escape. But it was my strength which allowed me to pull myself out of that abyss. The hands of my loved ones were stretched out towards me, and this time I reached out to them, rather than let them slip away from me. I tore down the walls that I had built around myself: walls of isolation and loneliness and pain.

I realised that I had to make recovery my new priority. Doing so was extremely difficult: it went entirely against my nature, for this time to put myself first. Branding myself as lazy and selfish and greedy...that was my first, initial reaction, and I very nearly fell right back down again. I was so, so torn; and indeed, heartbroken. I just wanted to get through this course, and make my loved ones proud of me. But I knew, if I dedicated myself to recovery, and exposed myself to the pain and discomfort and anxiety that recovery inevitably involves - my studies would take a massive hit. I was already struggling as it was; but to face the distress and pain of weight gain, while attempting to study at university, was something which I knew This might sound strange to a non-ED person, or someone who does not know alot about anorexia. Weight gain? Sure thats easy, some might say. The reality, of course, is the entire opposite. My new mission to gain weight following my relapse was every bit as painful and every bit as difficult as all of the times in the past. But I knew, that this time, I could not let college get in the way of my attempt to free myself from the thing that was destroying me.

Always , always remember...

There will always be another chance:

Another chance to sit that exam.

another chance to get that university degree.

Another chance to get that new job, or that promotion.

But there will never ever be, for each and every one of us, 

another body; another heart,

another chance...at life.

So don't wait until tomorrow,

To make that change.

Act now, before it is too late.

The First Step...

Beginnings. Beginnings are often tricky, in a way. Sometimes, they can even be difficult, hard, obscure. Take for example me yesterday evening, when I initially set out writing this post. I had sat there, with my laptop upon my knee upon my little cosy chair in the sunlit conservatory, staring contemplatively at the screen in front of me for ages, my fingers resting motionlessly upon the laptop keys. It was so hard to know exactly what to write. There were so many words, so many things I wanted to say. So many thoughts and concepts and images, twirling and spinning like swallows upon the wing, round and round in endless circles in my head.

But beginnings are often the most crucial part of any task or goal that you may set yourself. It remains to be said that they are often the hardest part of all. Whether that be a difficult exam, the start of a marathon, a climb up a mountain or the commencement of a hospital stay. Because beginnings can be overwhelming, and scary. It is at the beginning when those voices begin to creep in, whispering to you that you cannot do it.

And it's the same with recovery, of course. The first, crucial step, is always, always the hardest.

But you must, and can, make that crucial first step.

How to do it? How can you do it, even? How can one take that terrifying first step, when it feels as if you are literally stepping off a tall, rearing cliff, into nothing but emptiness, into never-ending infinity?

I wish I could somehow reach out to you, make this first step just that one bit easier. Because the truth is the first step is painful and often very hard. But you need to do it, for there is only one choice. To remain motionless where you are, entrapped in this gulf of pain and fear and misery, or to take that terrifying step forward, forward into what seems like endless nothingness, but within that nothingness there is a beautiful glowing light which burns and sparkles like rising golden sun of the new dawn...

I suppose, in my recovery journey, I made a number of crucial first steps. That day way back in 2014 , when I finally acknowledged the excruciating truth that I was suffering from an eating disorder. Up till then, I had been in denial: but that all ended, on that day.

And my terror threatened to suffocate me, because my eating disorder had become my life and restriction, my sole purpose. The prison of ed had encompassed my world entirely. But despite all that..I took that first step. I told my mam, I told my loved ones, I reached out to them, I poured forth the secrets of my heart. And then...I started to eat, again. And then when the relapses came and the hospital admission, I knew that I had fallen, fallen back into ed's dearthly embrace once more. But every single time, I forced myself to get back up to my feet. And then though my body faltered out of the fear and my heart felt like it would cease to beat for pure terror ...yet I still took that step, forward, once again.

There is hope, there is hope, there is so, so much hope, for you. You just have to believe it, believe it with every fragment of your heart and soul. And never give up, and never let the fear paralyse you; to never let it stop you from taking that first fundamental step. <3 xxxx

If I could do it, so can you...

I thought I would break down the First Step into a number of different steps; all of which helped me when I was at that place at the beginning of that long and seemingly endless road.

Taking the plunge
Hope and self-belief
Eating disorder therapy

Facing the fear
Ignoring and defying the Voice
Reaching out for support.
Staying strong
Time

Self monitoring
Talking to others
Educating oneself
Positive affirmations

Taking the plunge: quite possibly the hardest but most important part of the First Step. By taking the plunge, I essentially mean diving straight into recovery - the unknown, the pain, the discomfort of recovery. It means immediately putting aside your fears and excuses, It means directly confronting the eating disorder head on.
Hope and self-belief .A vital part of taking the first step. Stepping into recovery the under the conviction that your case is an entirely hopeless one is bound to end in failure from the beginning. You need to believe in yourself; believe, that you can and will get through this.For where there is belief there is always hope; where this is hope, there is a fire that will never burn out.
Eating disorder therapy:. I think it is important in recovery to get some kind of psychiatric help. And if not at the first stage, at the latter stages; when the mind is in a better state to be able to combat and fight the eating disorder thoughts.

Facing the fear. As in, doing exactly what you are most afraid of; whether that be eating a fear food, or allowing your body to rest, increasing your food intake or getting to your body's healthy set point. You have to directly face those fears.  The only way to destroy those fears is to confront them head on.
Ignoring and defying the Voice. Which involves, inevitably, doing the opposite of what it says. Every time you succeed in doing so, you are consequently rendering the eating disorder that one bit weaker.
Reaching out for support. You should never feel like you are alone in this battle. Reaching out to your loved ones and closest friends One should never underestimate the power of unity, love, and friendship.
Staying strong..and refusing to give up. You have to be aware that there will be hard times ahead..but be able to face those hard times and to refuse to let them drag you down.
Time. Dont take the first step, assuming that the journey which you are about to embark on will be over in a couple of weeks, or months. The road to recovery is long and cannot be rushed in any way. Give yourself time to recover and don't expect impossible things of yourself.

Self monitoring. It doesnt matter what your situation may be; self monitoring is important, as it is you and you alone who has the ultimate control of your recovery. I would really recommend keepingwritten records of everything - food intake per day, progress made, areas you are struggling in, etc. Set yourself goals and share them with your loved ones to pressurise you into keeping them. It can be daunting but it so important!!
Talking to others.again, this one was essential for me. It involved opening up to my loved ones an telling them of each and leaving not one ED habit unconcealed.
Educating oneself. Whether that be through books, websites, blogs, or eating disorder group meetings. I think ed awareness is crucially important to both the sufferer andhis/her carers and supports. Eds ar complex mental illnesses and are very difficult to comprehend. So it is important that everyone is made aware of how they affect the sufferer to prevent tension and misunderstanding. Also I think it is very important to educate onself upon the potential health effects and consequences involved.
Positive affirmations. Just repeated to yourself, aloud or in your head, particularly when the anxiety hits. Having lots of positive quotes stuck in handy places like laptop screen, on your mirror etc..I always found those particularly helpful.

My favourite song at the moment has to be Birdy's Wild Horses..I love this song so much and I find it just so spine-tingingly beautiful. And meaningful, too, particularly in regard to recovery.

I will survive and be the one who's stronger.
I will not beg you to stay.
I will move on and you should know I mean it
Wild horses run in me... <3 xxx

I will survive this, Ed.

For it is I who am the one who is stronger.

I will not beg you to stay...for it is now time for me to move on.

Step by little step takes me further, further away from all the pain that you caused me.

Further away from you...

I have taken the first step.

My little candle became a flame; the flame, became as bright as the morning sun...

It started off so small, my rebellion. My rebellion against the relapse.

At first it didnt seem like I had a chance. My heart was broken and my spirit was torn. My fear - seemed so vast, so immeasurable, so limitless. There didn't seem to be any hope left for me. That hope was as slender as the flickering slivers of light on the dying embers of a rain-soaked fire.

But despite all that I still surged forwards, reaching for that change with outstretched hands.

And over the past few months...I know I have climbed many mountains. I have faced, and withstood, so many, many storms.

I reached out for support to my Mam and closest friends.
I dedicated myself to sticking to my meal plan and I got myself back on it alone.
I stuck to my meal plan every day.
I consciously increased my food intake.
I took on the enormous task of battling my eating disorder, by myself. I kept on going to college, I struggled onwards with my course. All the while I was fighting a battle of my very own. The other people at Trinity were oblivious to it. But I knew that I was fighting for my life.
I sat my exams and I got through each one. Even though i felt ready to crack under the strain and the anxiety...I told myself I had to be strong. And on each and every one of those exam days I ate as well as I would have on an average day. And I told myself...I would be ok. This was an exam, nothing more. An exam did not define me. If I failed this exam, than there would be always be another one; another chance to sit, and pass. But this might be the only ever chance I get, to save myself, my body. There would be other exams but there would be, for me, only ever one body. And I knew that the time had come to treat it right; and to prioritise my recovery...

And not once during those storms, did I let my little fire wink out.

Of course, the owner of that Voice is far from gone. It is still there, perched doggedly upon my shoulder every day, bending itself over to whisper softly in my ear and fill my head with its threats and obscurities, its cold, manipulative lies. All it would take would be for one small step back and then my candle will flicker again, be toppled over. But this time, though, something is different. The flames have become more than mere flickers: they are dancing, leaping, glowing like ambers. The girl who is called Emmy has changed. And her flame is stronger than ever before.

So many other things too, try to dampen my flame; try to pull me down. But now I know I need to dispense with each and every one of them. The perfectionsim, the obsession, the constant talking myself down. You're useless. You're a waste of time. You're surely the most stupid human being who ever lived. These thoughts revolve around and around inside my head, echoing and reverberating. Trying to establish themselves as my fundamental truths; striving, with the ruthless intent of a leopard closing in for the kill, to block out all of my light. The worst of it though is that you can't escape it. How can you escape a little, but so cruel, voice which resides in your very own head?

The answer, I have learned, is this. you can't, essentially, escape it... But you can choose to fight it, resist it, defy it with every single breath. The Voice can and will be silenced. But the onus now lies on us to strive against it now, to stand tall and brave and strong.

And my little flame burns brightly, shining like a diamond, a glowing, sparkling star. And it burns and glows and becomes stronger...

And this time I will nurture it. Nurture it, let it grow.

The storm may rage and the rain may fall. The wind may blow hard against me...but this time, the wind and the rain cannot touch my little bright light. This time, my light will not be extinguished.

This time my light will shine on. <3 xxx

Thank you so, so much to evryone who commented and sent me well wishes during my blogging absence. It meant the world to me and I thank you with all my heart.

I thought I just needed to clarify before I sign off just where on earth I have been the past few months since I ceased to blog.

If you recall, back in September last year, I disappeared from my blog as this was the month which marked the beginning of my relapse. However, this time this was not the case. I stopped blogging for a number of reasons which I just want to briefly elucidate now. Firstly, what with the exams fast approaching, I felt as if I could not dedicate to my blog the time and the care that I would have liked, so I thought it were best if I distanced myself a while from my beloved Cocoa Stained Apron for fear that it would interfere with my studying. This was a source of great sadness and frustration to me, as I love blogging and hated being separated from it, but I felt as if I didn't have a choice.
Secondly, and here I am being very honest in saying that of course, there were times in my relapse-recovery that I felt extremely negative, down, and depressed. It was hard; it was so very, very hard. There were times when I felt I had to give up. There were times when I felt ugly, unattractive, fat, a failure, repulsive. And I felt so afraid that somehow, during those times, my negativity would manifest itself on my blog, if I chose to write. Another factor, then, in my decision not to blog. And thirdly, my little negative voice also had allowed me to convince myself that my blog was useless. Yes, this was exactly what I had allowed myself to think and believe.

But now, as I say, Emmy has changed, and grown.

I know I am not ugly, fat, or worthless.
I know my blog is not useless. It is my blog and my place, a place of memories and reflection, of sharing and healing.
I know that recovery is hard. But also, that recovery is possible. That if you refuse to give up, and keep on going, despite all the fear and the hardship and the pain. That one day, we will get there, together. That one day, we can and will be free.

And, last but not least..I don't have any exams coming up!! :D (more on this later - think I need to update you on where I am at at the moment in regard to college :o )

So now the time is right for me, to return to what I love. It is time for the Ganache Elf to resume her blogging journey again, for so much has changed since that day all those weeks ago, when a young girl with fear in her eyes embarked upon one of the most difficult and challeneging stages of her recovery journey: the fight back against a full-blown relapse. But I did it. I did it, and here I am now. A happier, healthier, stronger Emmy who is ready now tomake her voice heard. <3 xxx

Different worlds..

Having written my previous post, I experienced some tiny sense of relief. Just to get those feelings out of my head, to not have to carry this secret around with me for any longer. because it's true to say that it is something which I have concealed from everyone; the extent to which the days I spent in mallorca were not at all as bright and as beautiful as that smiling girl in the pictures might convey them to be. Following our return to Ireland last year, the feelings that stirred themselves deep inside my breast, were not ones of happiness and joy: those ones which one can only ever really, truly experience in the aftermath of something so exquisite and so beautiful, that the mere fact that it is now over is enough to bring tears of gratitude to the eye. But no: these feelings were completely, drastically different.  These feelings were ones of intense and bitter sadness. Like a sharp little thorn prick, tearing deep into tender, vulnerable pale skin; embedding itself beneath; the freshly nicked wound which refuses to cease to bleed.

we had booked that holiday - a two week stay in the quaint Villa Selene; set in the spectacular surroundings of the Northern Mallorcan countryside - not long before my admission to hospital in January, one of the most difficult and challenging experiences in my life. My heart had soared at the thought of it, at the time. To a twenty year old girl facing her first ever hospital admission for treatment of anorexia, that single, beautiful shard of hope was like a sparkling, pure white diamond shining brightly in the pitch black darkness of the coldest and most harshest winter night.

I had believed, with all my heart and soul, that this was going to be my summer: my first summer, without ED. That I would emerge from the stuffy, uniformly white walls of my prison, as a changed girl. That this holiday would be the holiday: that, this time, I would step off that plane and feel the hot Mallorca sun upon my face, and be able to laugh, drink up that sunlight, in the knowledge that Ed was not there with me.

But of course, in reality, recovery is, or never will be, that easy.

And going into that hospital..I suppose, I had let myself slip into a dream world; a dream world which, I suppose, I still am very much lost in, even now, having learnt alot about myself and recovery since then. But my dream world is one which is constituted of elements of both the dream and the nightmare. Because along with the romantic ideals of what I so desperately yearn things to be like..there is thatother half, that other half of the dream world which I have become so firmly entrenched in. A hellish, dark, menacing land of thorns and rocky crags; strewn with withered, shrivelling flowers of dusky blood-red. And this is the landscape of my mind.

Sometimes..it does feel as if I am dying inside... There is just no way out of that world - you can't just simply "wake up". And neither, of course, can you flee from it. you can't escape the forces at war inside your very own head.

And so, here I am now. I know that all I can do is to keep going, even though at times I feel as if this battle inside my head is one which I just won't be able to survive. It is just so exhausting, so draining, so excruciatingly, painfully hard. And its true...sometimes, it feels as if I have no purpose. I'm just stumbling along looking for the light, but not even really quite sure, what that light actually is. What is...what is my recovery?  How will I ever be able to change the way I am?

I am longing now for these exams to be over and done with. To be able to walk away from the Front Arch of Trinity and inhale the sweet air of freedom, allow it pass into my body and enter my bloodstream; let it warm every vein, every bblood vessel, ever aveoli of my lungs. No more exams, essays or deadlines. No more shame and comparison and feeling like the inferior, nonsensical, useless girl surrounded by intellectuals. But I know, even as I look toward the summer with the warm touch of hope glowing in my heart, that there is a sense of poignancy and fear and intense, bitter loneliness. I don't want to be the loner anymore. At one time, it was me and ED and that, much as it pains me to say it, was enough, for me, because I was too sick, and lost, to care.

But now things have changed. I want to get better, I long to be free, with all my heart and soul do I yearn for rtrue, real freedom. A freedom which will make my heart soar like an eagle on the wing; a freedom which will be endure with me, mellowing and blossoming like a budding eucalyptus in the high summer. A freedom which isn't transitory and fleeting, to be granted only then to be stolen away once more, set on a pinnacle far out of my reach: a delicate little rosebud blown away from me by the cruel winter wind, forever out of reach of my desperate, groping fingers.

Entrapment...

Not far now. The one sentence which I keep repeating to myself, over and over again: sometimes spoken outloud, softly so no one else can hear; sometimes over and over in my head, so that the three words echo and reverberate through the tunnels and passages of my mind.

I am referring, of course, to college. It's the final stretch now of what has proven, once again, to be a difficult and painful year for me. The essays are all done, now. All that remains are the exams, which i now lok towards with fear, dread, and apprehension. But behind all that fear and the doubt and the uncertainty, there burns this one small, barely distinguishable, but fervent light. I fix that light in my mind's eye, now, protecting it as I would a fragile little candle with its tiny, flickering flame.

Summer. The season of warmth and colour and sunlight. The season of long, sun-soaked days of sublimity and cloudless skies, when the blazing orb of the sun casts down its rays of gold and liquid amber to caress the shimmering face of the earth. The season, that can be seen to revive each and every part of that world. The idyllic country garden or the pebbly, windswept beach; the lonely  mountain top or the bustling city. The season....the season of freedom.

But I chose not to go away this summer. Mam and Dad will be going to Mallorca again; but this time, I will not be going with them. And it is not because I do not want to. With every inch of my heart and soul I wish that I too will be sitting in the car with them, with my battered sunhat and faded flipflops and mucky runners wrapped up in an unsightly plastic bag. But when mam and dad were arranging the holiday and finalising their decision about whether theywere going or not, I was in the depths of my relapse. When Mam asked me that anticipated, dreadful question, on that bleak rainy day last October - that being, of course, if I would like to come with them to our long-established favourite holiday spot - my immediate reaction was one in which I experienced an assortment painful, conflicted feelings. Sadness and longing, fear, anxiety, desperation. But, most of all, the sharp, throbbing ache of regret.

I desperately yearned to reach out to her, then. To make her realise…just how badly, I wanted to go with them. Mallorca. Beautiful, untainted, unforgettable  Mallorca: that little gem of an island set in the sapphire blue waters of the Mediterranean . But I can no longer hear that picturesque island’s name, without feeling the hot and bitter tears of remorse fill my eyes; without reflecting, with a heavy heart, upon the extent to which that single word evokes for me a series of painful and memories. Memories of tears and anger and pain, where there should have only been joy and laughter and happiness. Of the chill, the chill that had encased my heart in ice and stole the glow of pure, blissful happiness from my cheeks ; a chill which into even the glorious radiance of that Mediterranean sun could not eradicate; or even touch. Because every single time that I went to Mallorca, i know that Ed was there with me. With me, every time I sat with my family in our favourite restaurant in the little square, whispering into my ear and filling my head with its lies. Lies, of what was going to happen to me; if I dared to order that meal which sounded so scrumptious; if I dared to even attempt to break through the unfathomable spell of its fear. With me, each and every time I would slip off my top and shorts and immerse my body in the cool, rippling waters of the pool outside the villa. I was its ever obedient subject, its most unquestioning and piteously compliant servant, completely and helplessly subordinated to the force of its will and the strength of its malevolent power. One lap would swiftly lead to another; each stroke, becoming faster and more vigorous with every breath that I managed to take. On and on I would go, surging through that water until my lungs felt like they were going to burst and I would be left gasping and floundering like a fish entrapped in a net. 

I hope with all my heart though that this summer will be long and golden and beautiful. But there is something which I want to...I want to feel this summer, which I have never, for the past ten summers of my life, have been permitted I want this Summer to be different...this time, I want something to change.

Because yesterday I turned twenty two and I realise that I don't want to remain entrapped, no more. I have been entrapped for almost half of my life... This Summer I want to be free.

i was not free, the first time i went to Mallorca, all those years ago in 2009. Neither was I when I returned back to that special island, several years later in 2014. Then,in 2015, last year, I went back to Mallorca for the third time, with a new, "recovered", body..

2014- start of my recovery journey

 2014

2015

And even though people would look at me, and think, there's a happy, healthy, "normal" girl...
They couldn't see the storm that raged deep inside...

They couldn't see the chains that bound my heart and soul and mind.
For then, even then...I was anything but free.

Step by step, brick by brick..the little things that make up PROGRESS...xxx

And now for a little bit of Wednesday positivity.. ;) <3

Well, my main intention in writing this post, was to convey something which I hope will serve as an important and worthwhile reminder to everyone; including myself as I strive to move further forwards in my journey to recovery...

We all tend, on those hard, dark, difficult days - those days when the storm clouds gather themselves together to block out the weak, feeble rays of a dying, watery sun; a sun which provides the only source of light in the darkness of a hostile world - to catastrophise; to believe that we cannot move any further forwards; to believe that we will remain trapped, helpless and devoid of hope, in this cold, dark, desolate place forever, or to fall further and further down into the fathomless abyss that has no end. Or to just remain eternally lost, in a maze in which every turn just leads to another dead end: another unpassable and inhospitable wall which affords you no chance of admittance. Round, and round, and round you go, searching, desperately searching for some way which you can escape from this terrible, bleak place in which there is no body but you and that Voice inside your very own head; a Voice which has the power to taint and corrupt every single thing that you love; a Voice which has left you torn and broken inside. The murderous Voice of the Eating Disorder, from which there might appear to be no method of escape.

But it is in times like these when you need to draw upon all that strength and determination and courage which you possess deep inside.

Just think about...all that you have been through. All that you have overcome and all that you have faced. Oh, so there is a voice which is trying to make you convince yourself, that you have not achieved anything, that you have spent your entire life controlled and helpless to the crippling power of fear. Dont believe a word of it. You can and will be strong.

This time a few months ago...

I was restricting every day.

I had completely and wholly abandoned any notion of the meal plan. The days which i would actually eat a proper three meals were few and far between. As for snacks..well, let's just say they were virtually non-existent. I ate, but every single mouthful was monitored and controlled. I was not consuming enough nourishment for my body and my physical and mental state rapidly declined.

I was relapsing...but I didn't allow myself to acknowledge it.

i had cut out so many of the foods which I loved.

But now, it's a completely different story...

I stick to my meal plan every day. This means for me: three meals, three good snacks, three milky drinks, and my favourite dessert. The temptation to restrict is ever present; that much is true. ED;'s whispers are continually in my ear, painting the advantages and benefits of being skinny in the most attractive and appealing of colours. But I have learnt that in fact, I AM strong enough to resist and defy that evil, scheming voice; recognise it as the liar which it ultimately is.

I no longer hold back from eating the foods that I love. Because after all I know that my body needs them and deserves them. I know that there is absolutely no reason on this earth I should feel guilty for having two, three or even four teaspoons of pb on my crumpets or my toast; or having a generous bowlful of Shreddies in the morning with lashings of creamy warm milk.

I recognise that yes, I did let myself down and I did relapse. I was starving myself again and had succumbed, wholly and completely, to the ensnaring embrace of my eating disorder. But I know now that  I cannot let fear, and shame, and remorse and guilt stand in my way. A relapse is a relapse; nothing more. It should not be regarded as an eternal lapse or a fatal, unmendable failure; or a complete and total abandonment of recovery. As a dear friend once wrote in the beautiful handmade cared she made me while I was an inpatient: Don't let one stumble in the road be the end of your journey.

And all these steps, all these small but crucially fundamental bricks which make up the road which we call PROGRESS...were ultimately only made or achieved; because I made a conscious and purposeful decision to change.  And if I can do it...well. So. Can. YOU. <3 xxx

So I know that what I need to do now is to draw upon that strength and determination that has brought me this far along my recovery journey; to enable me to make the next few steps along this long, winding, difficult path towards the p to allow me to lay down the final few bbricks in the road.

The next steps that I need to take...

• Conquer the "carbs at dinner" fear. A stupid and irrational fear which, oddly enough, only really established itself during the past few months during my relapse..it wasn't something i used to struggle with so much before.
• It's true to say that dinner is definitely the meal which I find the hardest still, and which I know I still need to really focus on. In terms of, engaging in the conversation at the table, fighting the anxiety, not cleaning my plate etc, in addition to the carbs thing too of course.
• Lunch is still something too, which I need to be extra careful on, so I will continue to work on this as appropriate. 
• To never, ever hold back from eating that little bit more, if more is what I want.
• In time, I might need to consider upping the meal plan again, depending on how my weight goes. This will be hard I know, but I have to say..the fear of eating more, increasing The fullness and the bloating is the thing which I find the most difficult to deal with.

And then I know, of course, there remains the hardest and most difficult challenge of all which I now need to overcome...

To face, head on... with the heart of a lion as he roars his defiance at the bars of the cage which has imprisoned him; with the spirit of the darting swallow on the wing, twisting and wheeling across the magnificent, sublime backdrop of that infinite blue sky. Freedom. We are all made...to be free. To be at peace with the world and our bodies. But directly across that beautiful path which leads to that freedom, lies the greatest obstacle of all which could ever possibly stand in my way...

That being, of course...

to accept myself; my body, my healthy, real, natural body. As I know that I was no born or designed to be a skeleton. I know that I have to do everything that I can to make that change. <3 xxx

Together we can climb this mountain. <3 xxx

They are Poles Apart from Me..

The smiling, curly-haired librarian, having taken my library card and scanned it, peered at her computer screen with a thoughtful expression, her free hand tapping the smooth, polished wood of the desk in front of her. "It arrived this morning, Emily!" she told me. I"I'll just run upstairs and fetch it for you." Having said so, she vanished, returning barely minutes later with a massive, bible-like book under her arm.

I stared at the hefty volume in some sort of amused bewilderment, before stepping forwards to relieve her of her burden. "Thanks a million!" I exclaimed, looking down at the monstrous text that i now held in my hands. Iris Murdoch's the Green Knight. And I was supposed to have this read for Friday.

On initially seeing the book, and glancing over the short description the lecturer had inserted at the top of the week's tasks sheet, I was pretty much expecting the text to be laboriously complex, unengaging, and difficult to read. However, a few pages into my humongous doorstopper of a novel,  I discovered, much to my surprise, that I was actually enjoying it. In a strange, oblique sort of way: the story is complicated, full of abstract language and sensuous naturalistic imagery; and as I read I could not help but ponder as to whether or not I was actually picking up on everything that professor Murdoch actually intended an active reader of her text to do.

But yet, despite all that, this text spoke to me, touching my heart and speaking to my soul in ways which I hadn't in the least anticipated. And I could relate, if not palpably identify with, a number of the novel's various and strikingly diverse different characters. One of these was the girl Moy. Naive, innocent, childlike, little Moy's special relationship with the external world is explicit from the beginning of the novel; as is the extent to which she is something of an outsider in her own closely-knit family circle. Because Moy is an oddity, in a way: she is patently, fundamentally different from her bookish, elegant sisters; indeed from all of the other members of the small circle of friends known collectively in the book as the family.

And Moy can be seen to embrace this difference, while at the same time, it can be seen to be tearing her apart...

Reading Moy's story, was enough to bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Because I could really...feel, her pain; that sense of fragmentation deep within your own sense of self. Because, likeMoy, I know that I am so very, very different. That I am an oddity, that I am set apart from the other girls at my age. It feels as if we occupy two entirely different worlds.

There is that part of me..that part of me which does not care, that I am different. I am a dryad; a nymph, a spirit of the woodlands. I am a flowergirl with wild rosebuds in her hair and daisy chains around her neck. I am an explorer, a tree climber, an elf, a keeper of the forest's hidden and secrets. I can run through daisy strewn fields with Benny at my side, my hair wild and loose and streaming behind me like a banner; my leggings, torn and snagged from branches and brambles, Here, there are no judgmental eyes to gaze critically at me with scorn or disapproval. I can be the wild girl of the woods...I am free.

But then...then, there is that other part of me; where lies a pain so sharp it seems like it might slice my heart in two; a thick, interpentrable root of despair, stemming directly from that knowledge that yes, I am different, I should not be like this; I am so fundamentally and critically different from the other girls my age. That this is not the way it should be, for a bordering on 22 english girlin the modern world of the twenty-first century. No social life, no relationships, no job, no dependence.

How...how do i negotiate my way through this? I want things to change; I want to wear a pretty dress and pencil eyelincer onto my eyes, to go out there into town in a group of giggling girls, and dance my heart out on the dancefloors of those sparkling, glittering nightclubs, feel the beat of the music pulsate with my heart and fill my body with its irresistable rhythm. But yet, simultaneously, there is that massive part of me which is desperate, so painfully, agonizingly desperate - for things to remain the same. To never leave home; the home that I love and where I feel safe, the sanctuary where I can take refuge from the cruel eyes of the world.