I know..that this is the Write Time.

Time for me to Write, again. 
Time for me to again find my Voice. 



Not really sure where to begin, with this. As I anticipated, the things that have worked to inhibit me from blogging in the first place - namely doubt, lack of confidence, and that all too familiar fear of being judged - are taking their places in that audience in my head right now, ready and eager to start their boos and heckling. As I sit here my eyes are scanning over the words I just wrote, seeking out flaws, feeding the hungry inner critics that reside within my mind. They're all poised and ready, now - ready to judge, ready to knock me down and smash the flimsy fragments of my fragile confidence, to unretrievable, tiny shards. Ready to cause me to once again do the thing that always follows my every desperate attempt to write. To close my laptop with a frustrated snap, push it away from me. Let one single tear fall upon the ribbed black cover, as I do so. A tear born from a awareness of defeat.

Im rereading and criticising every single syllable that I just wrote, there. But this time Im not quitting the stage. Im looking that scornful audience in the eye. Doubt sneers back at me, fear leers like a grotesque jester, mocking me, trying to make me feel small. Stand down, Em. It’s past time for you to stand down!
Another tear falls as I write. Not with anguish this time. It’s a tear for what I might have lost, alot of: but which has not completely died.

Amidst the cold and the harshness

Upon the bare branches something beautiful may blossom, again.. <3

Its true alot has changed. I believe I have  lost alot of my skill, if you could have ever called it that, for writing. I never believed that I had that much in the first place - despite being praised, back in my younger days, at school, for my descriptive essays, and despite of course going to Trinity College to study English. Despite my former love of writing, making a start on my own novel, and not being physically able to go out the door without bringing one of my many notebooks with me, and a camera for taking pictures, for my blog. Ah, yes, my blog. for me, an untilmate sumbol for my love of writing. My blog symbolised for me, the residing of two powerful passions of mine in the midst of a serious eating disorder: baking, for one thing, and of course, more implicitly, writing, itself. And for years it remained that way - through the storms, through the landslides; the soaring highs and the plummeting lows. My blog was there for me - through all of that. It was the lighthouse, shining a beam of light throuigh the stormy night; the sheltered hollow on the slippery slope, into which I could retreat and take sanctuary from the cold. My blog was all of this to me, and more. It symbolised hope, and strength, and resilience; it reminded me, when the clouds gathered thick and i could not see through the driving rain, what it was I actually was really fighting for, what I had to keep on pushing towards. It reminded me of whao i was - the real Emmy. Who I wanted to be. Writing here became a key mode of expression, for me. it was here where I would channel the emotions, the feelings that were too painful or difficult for me to put into speech. And, having transcribed the pain, the frustration, the fear and the hurt I felt, out onto paper, I would attempt to make some sort of sense of them. Writing had become, for me, an integral part of my recovery.

But it seemed like ED is intent on taking every last scrap of everything that ever meant anything to me.

Many years ago, when I first became sick, it was my body which initially seemed to occupy ed's  core focus in its bid to callously distort, weaken and destroy. My mind and brain, from a cognitive point of view anyway, seemed  at first mercifully unaffected by Ed's taint. Not content, however, with the devastating physical impact it had wrecked upon my body, Ed began to turn its attention to the psychological and cognitive facets over which it knew it could have some sort of control. And just like the physical effects, the process was slow and gradual. At first, I didnt really understand what was going on: why I was suddenly crying over my lecture notes which made as much sense to me as a book written in double Dutch would; why I suddenly could not write a single sentence of my novel in the space of 30 minutes; whereas once, back in some other distant time, I could have written a whole page. Why? I used to scream to myself in anguish. Why? What’s happened to me? How did I suddenly...just...become...so dumb???

And by the time I realised what it was that was actually causing this, it was much too late to do a simple u turn, and go back.

Slowly, slowly and painfully, I teetered from the path towards destruction and ruin; onto a wholly different, but equally difficult, road. The road of recovery. And gradually, with every tentative bite and onerous meal; with every gruelling day of grinding my teeth together and forcing myself to keep on eating, while the Voice screamed like a livid Fury in my head - my body slowly began to heal. Heal what it could after years of trauma and abuse. Heal, what actually still remained, to be healed. I learnt the hard way that you cannot always reclaim what has been lost.

If only I could just walk away 

and leave you behind, ED; forever... </3

One thing though that I was confident would be restored, would be my former ability, to write. But to my horror and dismay, this did not seem to be the case. And instead of writing becoming easier  - and more “natural” to me as it once had been - as I progressed further with my physical recovery, it seemed to become, on the contrary, even the more difficult, tedious, and frustrating. And there came a point, perhaps around January of this year, when I suddenly realised that I didnt want to try anymore. Not even with my beloved blog; not even with the journalling that I had up-kept throughout the strain-filled days of anorexia. Your ability has gone, Em, the voice of doubt and self-loathing mocked. You cannot write anymore. Youve become heavier and uglier and stupider besides. You - are - worthless!!!

I gave up. I gave up, and agreed with Ed that there was not one scrap of a writer within me. 

But now Im looking my judges - the doubt, the self criticism, the perfectionism - straight in the eye. And this time I don’t back away from their glares, their scorn-filled jibes and jeers. Yes, its true. Im not the same girl as i was, 10, 9, 8 years ago. When I was the grade A student of her class, who could write page upon page of fluid composition. Im not even the same girl as I was in uni, who managed - somehow; God knows how I did it; but did it, I did - to write the 6000 word essays that enabled her to attain her college degree. Im not the same girl now. So much of what I had - just like that of my tenuous health which I allowed to become abused and neglected -  has been lost; perhaps, forever. I cant write like that anymore. I allowed ED to take alot of that away from me; my former confidence with writng, my aptitudes as regards composing a piece.

But there is one thing left to me that not even ED in all his seeming omnipotence cannot touch.

That is my love, my passion, for writing. And I know - as long as that tiny flame still flickers within me; that tiny golden candle  - I can write. I can write and I can reach out to others as I used to. I can write and tell my story. I can write and perhaps, some day, some where, inspire and touch the hearts of others.

And I know now that this is the Right Time. The....Write, time. The Time to Write. 



I’ve refound my Voice.

The Beginning after the Halfway

They said that the beginning would be the hardest part.


But why didn't they warn me about halfway? The halfway slope, which rises to an almost vertical climb: steepening and steepening, rising before me like a grim and inaccessible tower. And in the exposed space in my head, the comments wheel and shriek like vultures circling their prey.They bide their time, awaiting the opportune moment, before closing in with talons outstretched, cruel beaks poised to slice flesh and draw blood.

You look healthy now.

Your body looks better than it has done in years.

She has finally recovered from her eating disorder.

She doesn't have anorexia anymore.


And if I could, I would raise my arms and protect myself; but how can I possibly fight something which I know is inevitably, inexplicably, part of this recovery journey in itself? People will look and people will judge; it's part of life; and I would be a fool if I were to go through life expecting people to keep their thoughts to themselves. If you go into the desert, you expect to find vultures. If you make it as far as the land of half recovered, than you have to expect to encounter such comments. That's part of the harsh reality. The harsh reality, of being a supposedly "recovered" anorexic in a harsh, diet-obsessed, thin-loving world.

Its been so long since I last wrote in my blog. But the last time I went to write I found that the words would not come. What to say? What to describe? How to possibly express the feelings and emotions running rampant like racing stormclouds in my head?


They said the beginning was the hardest part. And in this case, perhaps, it was.

But just like the beginning of my first initial recovery journey, four years ago, now, when I realised I had to make some sort of start.

A beginning I will make here, too, on this small and little known blog.

And now is the time to return to my journey, and begin where I left off. The beginning of the hardest part of the journey. The beginning of what is recovery after the halfway mark.

Look to the Sky...

The cool northerly wind pawed at my exposed cheeks as I climbed out of my neighbour's car, in the middle of a bustling supermarket car park in which shoppers intently searched for spaces like hungry lions hunting for gazelles. Not surprising, really: it was Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve, and it seemed like the whole population of my small home county had descended upon Portlaoise in order to get all their essentials purchased before the big day itself.

"Thank you so much," I had said to him, and he smiled and assured me that it was no trouble. I had got a lift off him into Portlaoise to start the big food shop for mum. I had an hour to kill before I headed into Tesco as it wasn't until half 4 or so till mam would be able to get out of work.

Usually, whenever we did this of an evening, I would cycle into town and make my own way. But, on being offered a lift from James, it suddenly occurred to me that this was the perfect opportunity to test myself. Because that morning, it had rained heavily, and I had forgone my usual romp with the doggies for a quick five minute potter around the daisy field.

An hour to kill, Em.

Anxiously, I looked to the sky.
It was long past mid afternoon at this stage; and the pale yellow orb of the sun was now beginning to slowly inch its way towards the western horizon. The sky was like an endless expanse of pale blue velvet, interlaced, here and there, with wispy, peach-fringed clouds of lilac-grey and creamy pink.

One more hour of daylight...

I have shopping to do, things to get..

But you haven't done any exercise today. Oh it's going to rain tomorrow! Aren't you going to make the most of this lovely dry afternoon?

But...I said that..

I would..reduce...

But you haven't done anything...the shopping can be done tomorrow, sure...you are lazy, you need to move, imagine how anxious you will feel later if you don't do anything now...

And then you will be all moody and surly..you won't be able to focus on your college work tomorrow morning..the anxiety, oh, Em, you know full well you won't cope with it...

And so I bowed my head in acquiescence, adjusted the straps of my bag upon my shoulders, and walked.

My three furry friends <3 

Looking back now to that evening, I know that it was wrong.

it was compulsory, it was what ED wanted me to do. I love to walk. Walking with Benny and Daisy upon the heather-covered boglands; trotting alongside them along woodland tracks scattered with pine needles.But here? Upon the concrete streets of Portlaoise; alone, with a heavy handbag slung across one shoulder? No. In this instance, I did not really want to go off power-walking: I wanted to go to Home Store and More and buy some picture frames; before then proceeding to the pound shop to purchase wool and gift bags and Weetaflakes. Did I really want to be wandering the streets of Portlaoise in endless circles for forty-five minutes? No, I did not. But yet, because I had not been able to walk that particular morning, I felt absolutely compelled to do so.

Em, why are you afraid of not exercising..when you have some weight to gain?

But that is the point, isn't it, after all. I am afraid. So, so afraid. I am so scared to gain weight again even; despite all the times when I did so before.

But.
I know that I have to do it.

And so I cast my mind back to that moment when I raised my head to stare up into that beautiful sky; on that cold, pearl-bright December evening, no more than a few days ago.

Up there, birds had been wheeling together on the wing; the jet black crow with his harsh grey beak; a bottle green starling with flecks of silver upon his nape.

So free, up there; in that endless blue infinity; so far removed from all the troubles in this world.

If only I too could grow my own wings and join them. If only I could fly, and soar, and be free. Be free like I have never been for so, so long.

 But I am a human; not a beautiful bird. I have to work with what I have.

 I have lungs and a heart and a head in which a mind is contained. A mind which, I realise now, has the power to set me free from this snare.

I think, for my next post (and I really, really hope that you will do the same too if you are in a similar position as I am ) I will compose my Reasons to Recover list...

Because I truly believe this is such a worthwhile exercise to do; if you find yourself  in this state of ambivalence. When you are teetering on the brink between recovery and relapse, perhaps; or if you have embarked upon the road upon the mountain, only to have fallen down upon the stony ground, overcome with the fear of where this road is going to take you.

You are not alone.

This is me right now and I am afraid too.If there was some way I could make this road easier for us, I would cross the oceans of the world to find it..

But there is one thing that I know I posses: I have my words, my voice.

So perhaps, through reflecting, and writing, and sharing, and exposing, I will help both myself and others to recover...

 I may not have much, but I have my voice..

The greatest ever gift...and the greatest ever leap..

Before I begin, I just want to stress again how incredibly touched I am over the responses I have been receiving here on My Cocoa Stained Apron since I resumed blogging. I really do mean it when I say it means more than the world to me. It may not seem like much when you decide to write and post a comment on here, but, to me, every single message and response is worth so, so much more than just a few words upon a screen.

It makes me feel so glad that I decided to return to this little thing which is my blog; a little world in which I know I can truly be myself. It's here where I know I can pour out my heart if I want to; it's here where I am free to expose my biggest fears and anxieties and try and shape them into coherent words and forms.

It's here where I can reach out to others in the knowledge that I will not be judged for who I am and from what I have been suffering since childhood. It is here where I can be just Emmy. A girl with an eating disorder, yes: but also, one who has hopes and dreams and passions; a girl who is just trying to find her way along the slippy crags and lonely moors of a mountain known as Recovery.

Hard to believe this was Christmas two years ago, not long before I went into hospital.

But have I changed that much between now, and then...?

Christmas. For me, Christmas has always been a special time, being synonymous with being at home surrounded by my loved ones, and the joyous act of buying, wrapping, and giving a gift; and the excitement evoked on receiving one. It is a time when I suppose the love I perceive human beings have for each other is brought into patent expression. And that in itself is a beautiful, beautiful thing; more beautiful than any diamond wrought star glittering high upon its sparkling Christmas tree.

Though it's true to say, over the past four years or so, each one which passed me was marked by intense and palpable sadness; and a joy wehich was always bittersweet. I guess, now that I am older, I have become more sharply aware of how quickly the time is flitting by me.

How these precious moments we spend together as a family, might well be the very last of these times. Or how many Christmases I have spent with Ed. How many months, years, that U have done. It's now been well over a decade.

Ten Christmases, which essentially have been the same:the same fears and the same anxieties; the same desperate longing to be totally and completely happy; to not dwell, for one single moment, about the portions at Christmas dinner or the difference in the eating times. To not think for a single instant about weight and shape and what I will eat that day.

And I know that the greatest gift that I could give me loved ones is to choose to recover. To dedicate my heart and soul and every last drop of my energy towards recovery. And this isn't just true for me; it holds true for everyone.

So if you, like me, have suffered for any given length of time, choose to make your new year's resolution this year to be one which ultimately will prove to be the scariest, most daunting, most terrifying decision of your life...but also one which give you back hope, and life, and freedom once again. The one which will ultimately save your life. The one which will allow us to break away from this harsh, cold, disparate world created for you by your eating disorder. Because it is a different world; a world in which there is only pain and suffering and hurting; and, inevitably, one which is overshadowed by death.

On the outside that world might appear so aesthetic, so ideal. Before you entered it, it was like you were standing looking across a great river, to a world lying upon the other side which, in comparison to your own, appears so attractive, so vivid, so ideal. It's a world of snow-white glaciers and glittering skyscrapers; so appealing to your hopeful eyes.

You are drawn to that world like a bee to a lily's golden nectar. Because it seems like in there, all your problems will be solved; all your needs and desires instantly fullfilled. It offers you things that your own world does not provide for you, you believe. This was how I felt, anyway. I thought that, leaving behind my old world...I would find what I - that young, naive, innocent version of myself - truly wanted. What was it? Many things. Confidence. Beauty. Control. To make myself different. I thought that I was a boring, plain, ugly thing and that Ed's world was the only route through which I would be transformed.

But I could not be more wrong.

Ed's world did change me, alright: but to a shadow of the person I once was. And I now realise fully just what his world really is like.

The glaciers there are of ice so sharp and cruel that my skin was torn to shreds on stepping upon them.

I thought that on climbing those towers, I would be on top of the world. Id feel more in control, more capable, than ever before.

But I - just like so many, many others - became a prisoner in those towers. And now everything that you value falls away, separated by a hundred billion miles. All there is is...you, and the other sole occupier of this cold, sterile, barren world.

Because that is what the world of the eating disorder really is like.  And this is what it can do. It separates; creates a seemingly impassable gulf between you and the world and the people you care for; everything . It isolates, distances, and destroys.

But we remain there; entrapped in this cold, harsh, inanimate world of pain and suffering. Because it's our new normality; it's as if we never knew anything different. And the river separating our two worlds now seems as deep and as vast as the infinite expanses of the ocean.

It might seem an impossible thing to achieve...to close your eyes, feel your way through the dark, then realise the river is there right in front of you. Right in front of you and all you need to do is take that one massive leap.

But I'm here - I'm HERE, at the bank of this river; I know what I need to do...
but it's just...taking..that massive, massive jump, and then, starting to swim...I won't be able to do it...I'm not strong enough...!

Why must we fear the river...

when, deep down, we have the strength to swim through its waters?

But...

Believe you can, and you will.

And I will repeat this to myself every day, because deep down I know ir is the truth. And though ED might try to make us believe otherwsie,

there is enormous strength deep down in every single one of us.

Enough strength to cross that river...
Enough strength to reach the pinnacle of the mountain.


Make this year the one in which you give your loved ones the greatest gift...
And the one in which you take the greatest and most bravest leap that you ever will take in your life.

Why fear drowning in the river...
when we are already drowning in the depths of ED's world?

Thank you so, so much for taking the time to read my blog in 2016.
I really hope 2017 will be the one in which we conquer our fears and achieve our greatest dreams.

And so for the latter part of this year I want to talk a little more about the particular challenges I face and my endeavours to overcome them; and also, posts which I hope, in composing, will set in stone for me how imperative it is that I make recovery, this year, my priority.

I really hope that through the words of my writing, I will be able to reach out and help others in their struggles too; and make a true difference to someone's life.

But I know that, ultimately, I will never be able to help anyone unless I rescue myself.

You know what you have to do, Em. 

The happiest of Christmases to all my readers,

Near and far, no matter where you are. <3 xxx

Relighting the candle.. :) xxx

Hello everyone. <3 xxx

It'stwenty past ten and I am sitting by the fire with Mam and Dad in the front sitting room here in Derryguile. The crackling of the fire accompanies the soft tapping of my fingers upon the laptop keys, while, down at my feet, Benny snores his way across the dewey grasslands of his dreams.

Twenty past ten and the night is still young, but the tiredness that bludgeons in my head makes it feel as if it were a whole lot later. Soon enough I will be joining Benny in my own dream landscape.

But I felt compelled to write a little before I head to my cosy little bed with the soft green coverlet and crumpled pillows. Because over the past few days, I really have rediscovered something which, in my second relapse, I thought that I might have lost forever, this time. That being my joy in, and love of, blogging. If you take a look at from whence I first started my blog, there have been a good few gaps before the most recent one. I don't think they were as significant as this one, though. College constituted one of the main reasons for my ceasing to blog; I could literally not sit and write a blog post, no matter how much I wanted to, without being consumed by anxiety about the work that I was not getting done". But that said, there was, of course, a big part of me too which was powerfully and intensely ashamed.

Ashamed that I had gone back on myself again; having come so far since my relapse last year.  Ashamed that I had allowed my return to college to just turn into a repeat of last year. Ashamed, so deeply, palpably ashamed, of myself for being the weaker one again. I had let my blog, my readers, my loved ones down. The thought of that was enough to make me want to weep bitter tears upon my pillow every night.

And alongside all that, then there was also something...something else. That little voice, niggling away at me, again: Your blog is stupid and useless. Noone reads it; its of no use or help to anyone. You might as well just stop now, you imbecile!! Delete that pathetic excuse of a blog post; you have an essay to write!!

But yesterday,  I made a decision of my own; pushing  away that scornful, mocking Voice with its constant flow of criticisms and relentless stream of mocking taunts. No, ED:  I am going to start blogging, again: Because I want to, and I feel, quite ardently, that there are things that I want to say and share with the world. I have a story to share and advice to give; it is only ED, i know, who wants me to remain entrapped within its crushing, suffocating silence. But no. It is time for the Ganache Elf to don her little apron once again. it is time for the real Emmy to dig out her dog-eared blog draft notebook and translate her thoughts to words once again
.
Blogging has helped me so much in my journey to recovery; and I know that it will continue to do so. I really hope that by sharing my experiences and insight that I will be able to help others in any stage of recovery; or indeed anyone who has ever been touched by a mental illness.
But now my eyelids are heavy with sleep and my beloved kitten mug is now vacant of hot chocolate. ;) so I am going to sign off for now and potter off to mo leaba; but before I do so I just wanted to thank you, every single one of you, who read my blog or left comments on a post; who thought of me and wished me well. I can't stress how much this means to me.

Thank you so much for helping me to find the path that I had lost,

And for helping me to reignite

That beautiful, golden, radiant little candle 

which for so long remained hidden from me...

but which now I have found again, and set alight with unafraid hands.

That little candle that has a very simple little name.

Such a small little word

for something so incredibly powerful.

That candle is called hope.

Like the twinkly lights that shine upon the Christmas tree,

Hope throws off the darkness and fills my heart with its glow.

Good night everyone. xxx

This isn't our real fire  - its the fake one we have in the dining room!! But I love the way daddy has adorned it with these gorgeous fairy lights. Just looking at it every evening is enough to give me that warm fuzzy feeling to the very tips of my toes. ;) xxx

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

The New Spring.

Emptiness. The barren moor upon the lonely mountain; exposed and helplessly vulnerable to the harshness of the cruel, pitilessly relentless, bitterly cold winds. The chill that settles and lingers, upon every pore of every inch of the skin, as you immerse yourself in the darkness of the deepest, darkest cavern of the cave which extends into the very bowels of the earth. A chill  which seeps into the very marrow of every bone and claws its way into your very soul.

I don't want to feel like that anymore...

so hollow, so empty, so lifeless and broken deep inside.

Didn't I want this year to be my year. Didn't I want to come alive again, like the vibrant, blossoming, bountiful buds of spring?

But the new spring did not only bring of course, spell upon spell of pure, unbroken, immaculately golden sunshine; days of vitality and growth, spans of fertility, renewal, life. Instead, that spring brought to me rain, and with that rain, the terrible, uncontrollable, wrathful storms. Thick, grey, inter-penetrable clusters of heavy dark clouds crowding in on one another, blocking out the light, casting my world into darkness.

The tender little snowdrops, became soaked and dripping with icy rain.

It's all they could do...that I could do...to barely keep themselves upright, to not be ruthlessly torn from the soil.

I know I have been absent from my blog a little while since I wrote my last post. There are a few reasons for this, all of which I will reflect upon a little more over the next few days. But, firstly...the past week I have felt so disconnected from everything. And recovery is, as always, proving just so, so hard.

And so, yet another week passed me by; another week in which I tried so, so hard to get fully back onto my meal plan, to achieve all of my goals, to give recovery my 100 % ; to never, not once, give in to the cruel, heartless, whispered dictations, of ED.

But...of course, I did not fully, completely, succeed. For every ED victory that I won, there was, eventually, yet another loss.

But if I don't continue to fight...

Then I know I will remain entrapped, within this dark and lonely winter, forever.
So cold, so bitter, so desolate. So deprived of light, and warmth, and life.

If I choose not to recover, I am just going to spend the rest of my life in and out of counselling sessions, sitting in doctor's waiting rooms...I could end up back in hospital, for a second, third, fourth time. Countless times. Perhaps for not as long as I was in there before. Or. Maybe even longer than I was, there before. Weeks, months, half a year. A whole year. And is that the way I want to live my life? Always...a patient? The "sick" girl? The girl who could not, would not, and did not recover?? 

I just need to realise that...I can recover. That I will, if I just allow myself to break away completely from ED.
That I have evry reason to recover, and that I have to fight for it, with every single ounce of strength that I have left in this tired, broken body. Because, as I wrote before...I have two choices, now. Black and white, life and death. Recovery, or eternal imprisonment. For as I well know, a life with an eating disorder is not truly a life at all; and the past few years it feels as if I have slowly been dying inside. torn and bleeding, with the pain, a pain borne out of the fear and the hatred and the guilt.

I need to come alive again...

I need to open up those buds of the New Spring. Let them blossom, let them grow.

I just want to say this, again..thank you, thank you, thank you, for staying with me. My days are just so dark at the moment, but your help and support is like a little candle of light in the darkness. And for that, and for everything else, thank you so, so much, with all my heart. <3 xxx

You can't put a price on what truly matters...

Hi everyone !!! <3

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

I can do this for you Mam... <3 xxx

ED watch out!!! :D the Ganache Elf is back and she has a Plan of Action... :) xxx

Polka dots, Morokia, volunteering...and that faithful, chocolate-splattered Kenwood Mixer of legend... ;)

Yes, these are just SOME of the tools I have at my disposal...in my quest to overcome my relapse and forever silence ED...

My plan of action against ED. :D

1.To make a concise meal plan and stick to it every day, NO exceptions.

Designate a particular time of the week (for me I think it will be on one of my hot choc breaks at the weekend! ;) ) to plan out my meals and snacks (I have ANOTHER new noteook for this purpose, this one has polka dots on it...my little catty one has gone walkies somewhere in my room so I had to get another one!! :o ). Let  Mam know what I would like her to get for me when she goes grocery shopping (I used to go with her but I have college friday mornings now :'( ), vary what I eat so I don't get bored of anything and lured into just having "safe" foods.

And of course, one of the most essential components of my meal plan = LOTS of hot choc!!! ;)

2. Make my own list of rules...which are essentially are reversal of the ED ones :)
I will tell you more about this in a separate post as it is a very good and helpful technique I think, for going against the ED voice and destroying the "rules£ that it makes for us, in their various forms.

3. Bake my own snacks so that I will be more motivated to get back into the routine of snacking regularly.
Yesssssss, what better excuse to stick to my meal plan and eat my snacks?? Because by doing so, I will give myself the perfect reason to bake and mess around with my beloved Kenwood Mixer to my heart's content. In a nutshell: eating my snacks and keeping to meal plan = more baking and I will of course post all recipes/photos on here, rest assured.. ;)

4. Make sure I make time for my hobbies and interests and for spending time with people who make me feel happy and loved. <3
I'm going to start volunteering here at home (an hour a week, visiting an elderly person in Mountmellick to keep them company and give them someone to talk to); keeping up my blogging and maybe Morokia over Christmas if I have time; make time for baking, walking Benny, knitting, and meeting a friend for a chat over hot choc - just some of the things I am going to do in order to keep me busy and occupied and distracted from the ED voice.

5. Talk back to the ED voice when it tries to sway me off track again.

Talking back to the Voice: an example dialogue...

ED. No, you don't need your snack...get out the packet of biscuits, take them out of the packet...but then just wrap them in a tissue when no one is looking, and throw them away...then they will be none the wiser...

And the past few weeks, it's true; I went along with what that Voice was telling me, agreeing with what it said, not putting up any fight. Deceiving my loved ones and throwing away food; not eating, even though my stomach felt empty and all I could think about, focus on was what i wanted so badly to eat...but the Voice said, no, you cannot; you shall not, you will not.

But now, I am determined to talk back to that voice: take up a defiant stance. And in that moment of resistance I know I will find my strength.

And so, let's write out the new dialogue.

ED: You CANNOT eat your snack.

Emmy: No.
I want to have my snack.
Why should you get to decide what I can and cannot eat? What right do you have to dictate to me how I nourish my own body?

                                         yes, I CAN!!!! :D

If I don't eat that snack...

I will just contribute to the weakening of my bones...
I will deprive my body of the vital energy it needs...
And ultimately, it will mean that I am just giving into,..the Voice of Ed...
I will just be costing mam and dad more money, more worry, more heartache.
I will just be wasting yet more and more of my life away, sacrificing each and every day to ED.

So I am going to adopt this approach, when ED tries to persuade me to not stick to my meal plan, to not finish a meal/snack, or to engage in any other ED type behaviours. I think it might help me as well to make little memos and stick them at random in places where I can always see them (ie the top of my laptop screen, my food diary, etc. just random stuff which will help keep me motivated...more on this to follow!!! ;)

6. Set myself daily and weekly goals.
And I will tell you more about this in a later post too. But the main idea of this is to set yourself individual little challenges to complete every day, so that I will be making progress week by week at a rate which is very doable and not too overwhelming. I might try sharing my goals on here as I think that will really help motivate me to accomplish them!! And if you have any suggestions let me know, thank you so so much <3 ;)

7. get as much support and help as I can.
I know I have all my loved ones, friends and readers behind me; and that I should never feel afraid or ashamed to reach out to them when things get tough.

8. Charter my progress and share my experience through my blog.
Blogging has always helped me so, so much with recovery...and in a way, I suppose, when I stopped blogging just before the relapse, that didnt really help me at all; but back then, I was in a bad place and felt too ashamed to write about my struggle. But now I am thinking about things in a different way and, though I am finding it very, very hard to let go of the anger and shame at myself...I'm trying, to move on and find peace with myself. And so I suppose you can say that the Ganache-Elf is back on the blogging scene...and her recovery journey goes on from here. :)

My footprints didn't just end here... :) xxx

Hello, everyone...it's me! I'm back! <3

And after being away from my blog for so, so long, its so hard, really, to know where to begin.

But I think it's time to stop going to such great lengths to make things perfectly right. To make my first stand, against that little voice in my head saying that I am not good enough...

It's time to just let go, and just let myself be me.

it's felt like...an age since a certain day, back in August 2015. It's been over two months. Two months, since I last blogged.

Two months since that day when I, as was often my custom, during those long, blissful, golden days which were the summer of 2015 - sat down one evening in the sunlit conservatory overlooking the garden of my home; a garden overflowing with the rich, vibrant colours and fruitful fertility of late August. The shifting dapples of sunlight beneath the gently swaying, leaf-adorned branches of the maple tree. The sweet pea frame, with its wispy purple blooms above tender, supple green stems, entwining themselves intricately across the expanse of the slender bamboo canes. The neat flowerbed at the garden's very heart, where robins pecked amongst soft brown soils and flowerbuds stretched, with soundless longing, towards the fading evening light as the sun begins its slow descent towards the western horizon.

I had sat there with my laptop, in my little comfy chair by the window, gazing towards the horizon, too, watching as the golden rays slanted upon the gently sloping sides of my beloved Slieve Blooms which guarded the skyline to the west, their peaks ablaze with vibrant patches of rich purple heather.I could picture those moors in my mind's eye as clearly as if I was standing directly above their heathery, windswept expanses: close enough to inhale the peaty scents of the boggy ground, to see how the wind rustled every single one of the tough-stemmed, scrubby plants with their tiny bell like flowers. Such unspoilt, wild, untamable beauty. A beauty that could never be tarnished or tainted: a beauty that would never be stifled or contained, for the mountains, and everything which they nurture and contain, will forever be free.

Beautiful, sweet freedom.

But as the sky dimmed and the sun slipped silently down between the soaring forms of those mountains, the garden was cast into shadow, the warmth of the evening ebbing away like foam being carried away by a stream. A delicate, feather-light chill hung in the air, prickling across the bare skin of my arms and shoulders. But I barely noticed that chill. All I could see, all I could feel was the emptiness that enveloped me, as surely as the darkness encompassed the garden. Because I knew I was not like the mountains. I was ensnared within that darkness, trapped in that gaping, vast emptiness. I knew that I was not free. That I never had been, or was anywhere near, free; ever since that day my eating disorder came into my life; the day when everything changed. And there had been those times when I felt as if I had the world at my feet; times when I felt as if could conquer everything and anything. Times when I convinced myself that I was fre...or at least, closer and closer to my freedom. That day back in May, 2014. The day when I promised myself - promised my loved ones - that I would never, ever give in to my greatest ever nemesis ever again. That no matter how bad things got, I would not give up. No matter how many times I fell down, I would pick myself up, pick up the pieces, and stumble forwards once again. I would never let myself be a prisoner, ever again...

But then, at the eclipse of that golden summer, as autumn leaves began to turn and change and the fragrant blooms which adorned the flowerbeds of my garden began to fade, withering and compressing into dry, brittle, lifeless forms of what they once were as if a single touch would cause them to disintegrate into dust, I could perceive another change in my own little world, too; a change that was occuring deep within my very soul. A change as gradual as the turning of the leaves as green gives in to gold; as steady and as inevitable as the purposeful, cruel, heartless advance of winter. I could feel my inner strength ebbing away, born away like those fallen leaves upon a icy cold wind. To be replaced by nothing but the emptiness, and the heady, crsuhing feeling of shame. because I knew that I was relapsing. The Voice had jumped in at my first sign of weakness, and its soft whispers filled my head with every step that I took, every breath that I inhaled. The shame was as heavy as a lead weight hung across my neck. The guilt was as sharp as a bramble thorn, pierced in my side so that I was left bleeding and crying out soundlessly for someone to help me. Soundlessly..because I thought, well, why should anyone come to help me? I was the girl who had failed. Who had put up such a brave face and had spoken of how she would give everything she had to recovery.. but you failed, Em, you failed. Just as you always do, and as you always did, and always will. You are the girl who failed...

You deserve this pain, this pain of not having your voice heard. 

But then a few days ago...can't even really remember what, or how, or when. All I do know is, I was longinto go back to my blogging once again....

And that, no, I should not feel ashamed.

I still haven't really succeeded in convincing myself this... It is so hard, and the guilt and the shame are still there, pressing down upon me. But alongside the guilt and the shame and that crippling sense of loss - the aching and crushing recognition of being the girl who failed - there is something else now, too. A tiny, quavering little flame of weak and feeble candleight. But it is there, all the same. A single, tiny, minute flicker of light in the yawning chasm of depthless emptiness.

I suppose, recovery is sort of like walking along a windswept beach, with the sound of the waves roaring in your ears as they roll in towards the shore; the relentless, gusty winds tugging fiercely at your clothes and hair and body as if wholly intent upon pulling you down, down into the rapidly advancing tide which approaches the sand upon which you walk without one shard of remorse or pity. And to fall would be to be engulfed by the icy, cruel, suffocating embrace of those rushing, icy waters; to be submerged within the fathomless depths of that sublime and terrible emptiness. No trace of you would remain, save that little set of footprints you made as you approached that beautiful, terrible shore: one single set of footprints in one huge, and impossibly cruel, world.


And this time last week, every single little part of me truly believed, that I had allowed myself to be borne away by that tide. That I had lost in my fight against the malignity which was my own eating disorder: that it had won, and that there was no hope left for me.

But I know now that my footprints don't just end here.

 It's true. I did fall down, in my slow trek upon that beach. I was borne away on the tide. But that did not mean that all hope was lost. I know that the past few weeks I have been drowning, and that it would only have been a matter of time before I was completely and utterly lost beneath the icy waters. But despite everything and how weak, scared, and afraid I now feel, I know that inside me there remains a little flame flickering. Which the icy waters have not - and will not- ever extinguish. I know that I have the strength deep inside me to do this. I know that I can find my way back to that beautiful golden shore. And that my footprints, instead of abruptly ending, will continue on their little path. My little path...the path that I choose. the path of recovery, with all its little slips and bumps and falls.

My footprints didn't  just end here.

Thank you so, so much, for staying with me. Please know that you have touched my heart in a hundred thousand ways and that you all mean so much more to me, thank you will ever, ever know. <3 xxxx

My little snuffed out candles...

Almost a week, since I last wrote a blog post...ever since I started blogging, well over a year ago now, I don't think I have ever left such a large gap between two posts in My Cocoa Stained Apron. I could never leave off blogging for that long - a couple of days, at the most - before I found myself eagerly opening up Blogger again to compose a post, of varying length, purpose or meaning. And it didn't matter how deep my despair was, how heavy my melancholy, how bitter and choking my anger. My blog was there, a space where I could be me. Where I could reach out and touch the lives of others, simply through my words, my voice, my thoughts. Blogging became part of an everyday routine: I incorporated it into my day as you would set aside time for a shower or doing your laundry or reading before going to bed. My blog meant the world to me, and I invested into it the necessary time and dedication and energy that it needed to grow and evolve into something more than a little girl's ramblings.

But then, that hard-faced, merciless thing which is known by many as perfectionism - a thing which has held me in a snare not unlike that of Ed's: tight and cruel and binding; and seemingly, inescapable - fingered its way into my consciousness once again, touching and tainting yet another thing which, formerly, gave me so much pleasure, so much joy, so much happiness.

Because over the past few months, it has sort of hung over me...a hulking, ugly, grotesque shape which has cast its shadow upon the enjoyment, taking away the light, throwing everything into darkness.

But anyway, for months on end, I managed to keep it at bay. But this weekend, I let things get on top of me; like a snuffed out candle, my desire to blog was just...gone.

The flickering light which perfectionism had slowly but surely beginning to dim and block out, it was now extinguished entirely.

But can I relight all those candles..those bright little twinkling lights, which ED, perfectionism, depression, all snuffed out and took away.

Blogging...
writing...
cooking..
baking...
walking...
cycling..
speech and drama..
music...

And they are just a few of many. :(

everything which I love could be taken away, if I don't fight back against perfectionism and ED. I won't have any little candles left.

Day 24: Has having a blog helped or hurt your recovery?

I think you already know what the answer to this question might be...;)

My Cocoa Stained Apron...it has been with me, ever since that day, all those months ago, back in May 2014 when I swallowed my fear and took a step, a blind, hesitant, ever so tiny step, forward, out of the rain and the mist...the rain and the mist created for me, by a little Voice inside my very own head...that I had numbly wrapped myself in for so, so long. Out of that mist and rain, and onto a winding, steep, rocky road which is the road to recovery...

And my blog has been with me, through it all.

It was there for me when I set off upon that road, allowing me to charter the pain and suffering that I had gone through, all those years of being sick.

It was there for me after that glorious summer of 2014, when i returned to college and injured my foot...the injury which, inevitably, would lead to my referral to the mental services hospital.

The day of my first doctor appointment, I felt like the world had ended. i stumbled home, opened up my laptop and typed furiously, tears streaming down my face as I poured my heart out. This post was called Help Me, and as I wiped away my tears and crept up the stairs to my little bedroom, hoping to find some comfort or solace in the darkness of sleep, I had never, ever felt so completely and utterly alone.

But my blog proved to me that was i never, ever alone with my struggle.

I began to get individual comments from readers from across the world. Comments which expressed sympathy or encouragement, or offered advice and support and help. You wrote that you were thinking of me, that you were behind me and that you believed in me. And suddenly I realised that, no matter how bad things got, there was hope. There was light at the end of the tunnel. My readers reminded me of the truths which, in the murkiness of my depression, I had cast aside and buried deep in the ground. That there is always hope, that it is never, ever too late to recover, and that, whatever it takes, you should never, ever stop fighting, and believing. All thanks to you, my readers. <3 xxx

Through my blog, I was enabled to share my experience of being a girl - a once happy, carefree, normal girl - who, one day many years ago, developed an eating disorder which has remained with her ever since. And My Cocoa Stained Apron has allowed me to reflect and record what I went through, and to remind me of how far I have come.

It has allowed me to turn my story into something more positive and generative, as I endeavour to triumph over the Voice in my Head and prove to others out there who are in the same dark, dark place which I found myself in, all those months ago - a place of despair, hopelessness, and believing that I couldn't go on - that no matter how long you have been sick, no matter how entrenched in your illness you find yourself in, no matter what others may think, no matter how tough and hopeless things may seem...

that there is always hope
that there might not be a tomorrow, so live for today
that life is too short, to be unhappy.
Recovery is WORTH the fight. <3 xxx

And one more thing - I am so sorry as I know my days are all mixed up with the recovery challenge!! I intend to write the favourite quote thing next. The reason why I have postponed that particular post (haha :p) is that I want to write these quotes on pretty pieces of paper and stick them on an inspiration board in my room, and then take a pic of each individual quote and put them on here.<3 

Day 21: What was your "rock bottom", and how did you overcome it?

I think the point at which I hit "rock bottom" was in April 2014, only just over a year ago now. This was not the period before my referral or my inpatient hospitalisation, funnily enough. I suppose I had reached a point in my illness at which I suddenly realised that I just couldnt go on the way I was, the way I was living - or should that be, barely surviving. I was underweight, but that wasn't the worse of it. Every single day was one long, hard, painful struggle which united fear, deceit, restriction, and tears. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally; from the lack of proper nourishment, the constant movement and exercising I forced myself to endure every day, and, of course, the stress and mental drainage of it all.

it was around this time, when my Mam and my sister began to explicitly express their concern about me. They started to query what I was eating when I was away from home, was I eating anything. I would always answer them with the same responses, the same lies. I eat fine when I'm in Dublin. You don't need to worry about me. There's nothing wrong. Honest. 

Up to this point, you see, I had been in total denial about the cold reality that inside, deep down, I recognised as the truth. But up to this point in illness, I was not prepared to acknowledge that my problem was much more serious than a somewhat "weird" relationship with food. restriction and overexercise came as naturally to me as brushing my teeth in the morning, or putting on clothes. It was automatic, a daily practice, a way of life. But in April of this year - the point I recognise now as my rock bottom - something changed deep inside me, which would in turn alter everything; and set the wheels of my recovery gently into motion.

It took enormous strength, courage and perseverance to overcome this stage of my illness. and in a way I suppose, the point at which I hit my rock bottom...it was absolutely vital in terms of my recovery. And it was at this moment, when I was at my very weakest than I had ever been before, all those long years of being sick - it was also the moment when I found immense strength. The strength I needed to stand up and take action, and fight back against my eating disorder, and embark upon the road to recovery...

But of course, I knew that I would never be able to overcome this demon of my own making all by myself, standing alone. For years, I had put up barriers around myself, preventing those I loved from reaching out to me, from seeing just how lost I really was. I wore a mask and a false smile, concealing my true emotions and feelings, and thus enabling the conflict that raged deep inside me to continue on, breaking and tearing and destroying, unnoticed and unfelt by every other human person. All except me.

 But at the beginning of my recovery I discarded the mask, the false smile, the barriers. I opened up, I spoke out, I put voice to my feelings and allowed them to be heard. I unveiled the true nature of my suffering. I started to blog. It was a difficult and painful thing to do, at first...as I truly believed that if I shed light on the fact that I had an eating disorder I would be branded as selfish, vain, insensitive or just plain stupid. But the help and support I have received ever since i revealed the truth about my illness can only be described as being simply, incredible. If I hadn't quite expected such a kind, understanding, and genuinely concerned and empathetic response from all those I have been in touch with since I opened up about my condition, I can safely say, hand on heart, that such explicit displays of human kindness and generosity has both overwhelmed and moved me in many more ways than one. And you know, since that day, whenever I have found myself slipping or feeling as if if all hope is lost, then I know the first thing I have to do is to tell someone. And this I think can apply for everyone out there, whether you be in recovery or not. A problem shared is, truly, a problem halved, and it was through reaching out to others, seeking help when I needed it, and being as honest and as open about my true thoughts and feelings that I had hidden away for so, so long, that I was essentially enabled to overcome my rock bottom and work upwards and onwards with my recovery. <3 xxxxx

I overcame my rock bottom...I faced my fears and here I am today. If I could do it so can YOU!! <3 

So please, my take home message for you today, is to remember the importance of asking for help. Don't suffer in silence. If you are struggling, TELL SOMEONE. Don't wait or prolong your suffering for any longer! <3 xxxxx

A perfect day...:) xxx

Hi everyone!!

I know some people might laugh, but when I logged onto blogger today, I got a little buzz of excitement when I saw there was not 1, but 4 comments left for me to read!! Awww!!! Again, I know some might find this comical, that I got so excited about what might seem like to some such a small, insignificant little thing. but honestly, let me tell you this now, this one little thing made me feel so, so happy, so overjoyed to hear from the wonderful, truly amazing individuals who are YOU, my readers. So please, just allow me to take this opportunity to say, Thank you all so, so much...for commenting, for reading, for thinking of me...<3 <3 <3

I am so sorry I didnt get round to replying sooner to the comments by the way!! Yesterday, I didnt actually go onto Blogger much at all...as I actually wasn't at home! I went for a little "adventure" with two of my closest friends. And oh, what an adventure it truly was. It was a day which was just, simply perfect. The weather, the craic, the chats, the laughter we shared. Every single little thing we did, every little recalled memory we drew forth from the past, every single little plan we made for the summer ahead of us.

and you know, yesterday, I almost forgot that I was a girl with an ED...

me and my friends bought some gorgeous food and had our lunch in true authentic picnic style, underneath a sky which easily could have been mistaken for that of Spain, or Africa, or Australia. But no, this was an Irish sky; and at that very moment in time, I couldn't have been happier, on any other place on this earth. The emerald green grass, scattered with tiny daisies. Flowerbeds alive with blooms that dazzled the eye and took your breath away: so beautiful, so vibrant, so free and alive with colourful splendour. The leafy trees, each branch heavily laden with fresh new growth: the sycamore with its dainty winged "helicopters"; hawthorns with their radiant array of pink or white blossoms; copper beech trees with their deep red leaves, rustling softly in the warm summer breeze that blew from the south. That breeze touched our skin and gently tossed strands of hair across our faces; wafting the delightful smells which spoke only of June into our nostrils: The odour of freshly cut grass, the perfume of the flowers, the coconutty fragrance of our own suncream. It was an afternoon of joy and laughter, happiness and smiles...and of a tranquility so perfect, it almost seemed surreal...

We had great fun cooking a truly delicious evening meal at my friend's sunlit little kitchen that evening. We sat around the table on the patio, chattering away long after the sun had slipped beneath the rooftops to the west, and a silent, peaceful calm had settled over the darkening garden. Eventually we wandered back inside and drank hot chocolate in front of the TV, giggling as we dipped and licked teaspoons into the little pot of almond butter we had discovered hidden away in one of the many kitchen cupboards, and had decided that we would enjoy as a little night snackrel. ;)

It was a magical day, a truly beautiful, unforgetable day, the memory ofwhich I will treasure in my heart forever.

yesterday made me realise, once again, just how much I have to be grateful for; how much I have to live for. Why it is so important to keep on fighting my eating disorder, to keep on making myself stronger, to never, ever let myself give up and to tell myself that recovery is not worth it.

Please hear my words now and believe me when I say, that happiness is possible. No matter what. A few months ago, not long after my osteoporosis diagnosis, I found myself in a very, very bad place. I had never felt so low, so helpless, so desperate. And I did, at one point, convince myself that it would be better for everyone, and everything, if I was no longer alive. I believed that I had nothing left to live for...

But here I am now, several months later... and yesterday I really did exoperience true happiness. I hadnt a care in the world as I lay underneath that sky making daisy chains with my friends. ED was there, of course, but ED did not govern my actions and make my food choices for me, or take away from my enjoyment of the day, in any single way.

Henry Ford once said: Whether you believe you can, or can't, do it...you're right. And this is SO true, of life. Because if you believe, you truly can do anything. So let yourself believe, that true happiness IS possible. Turn your face towards the sun...because then you will never be in the shadow. <3 xxx