The Step

A few things prompted me to write my last post; compelled me to speak out about the pain and frustration and the agony of what is the longing to completely let go, but yet, simultaneously, being so intensely, paralysingly afraid to do so. It's a fear which is as numbing and as real as that when you're about to leap out a plane; stepping right out into thin air with nothing but the parachute upon your back. The very thought of that single step is enough to freeze your very blood out of fear.

But it's the mind that's the worst, here. It skips ahead of you and paints such pretty pictures, of you falling through the endless nothingness of the sky's infinity, the scream being ripped from your lungs and the cold air hissing violently through your ears. Imagined catastrophes wrap themselves around your mind's eye, so that you're unable to see anything else. Images of you falling through space and breaking your body upon the awaiting rocks below; of you, just falling and falling forever, with nothing to hold on to save the memory of what it once was like to be upon solid, firm ground.

And so, with these images having anchored themselves like heavy rocks upon the seabed, you suddenly declare to yourself you can't do it. After all your plans, all your preparations, all your courage mustering; all your best intentions. Now all of those just lie in a useless heap upon the floor, reminding you of what you see as your failure.

But I cannot do it. 

I can't overcome the fear.

But, I ask you now, is it the thoughts of the fall or the actual step which bites into you the most?

I'm telling you now, it's the actual step.

There's enough strength in each and every one of us to achieve anything in this life that we set our hearts to.

Including recovery.

It's just the fear that stands in our way. The fear and the doubt.

But doubt and fear killed more dreams than failure ever did.

Thoughts and doubts can kill. My story is living proof of that. I look back now to when it all began. It wasn't any external factors that caused me to move onto that distorted, polluted road which was Ed's; a road full of poison and damp soaking holes, a road which slowly caused my body to break up just that one bit more with every single hateful, yet irresistible step. No. It wasn't any living person, any physical thing that caused me to become ill with anorexia. Rather it was the Fear, and the Doubt, and the Thoughts. The Thoughts that ED implanted within me, and forced me to nurture. Thoughts that I wasn't good enough, wasn't pretty enough, wasn't cool enough, wasn't skinny enough. The thoughts that in order for me to have the slightest chance of making friends and losing some of my inherent ugliness, I needed to lose weight.

Later, the thoughts were of similar lines, and equally just as deadly. Thoughts that I deserved to die and that starving was the best course of action to achieve it. Thoughts that to gain weight, I would be repulsive; and the world would reject me. And many of these still linger with me now. Deeply ingrained beliefs, as obstinate and unmoving as the most deepset, heaviest boulders of sheer granite rock.

But.
I cannot, this time, let the doubt and the fear take any more of my life away from me, for any longer.
I've already lost alot of years to my eating disorder, through the fears and doubts Ed created within my fragile, vulnerable mind.

But.
Now is the time for me to fight back.

Now it's about recognising that those deeply ingrained beliefs which I mentioned above are not so deeply ingrained that I do not have the strength to budge them. To push them away and set myself free. To take that step out of the plane into the Unknown. The Unknown which is true recovery.

Yesterday morning I took one such single, tiny step, one which to many might seem trivial and irrelevant, but for me resembled something more of a triumph. For a good while now I have reverted to being fixated on having 100 ml max of milk with cereals in the morning. But today, on approaching the fridge to take out the bottle. I wondered. I wondered if I could make it more. Whether I dared to push aside the fear and pour that bit extra in the jug.

No, screamed the Voice. No! It'll fill you up too much! Because if you have more milk you'll have more cereals, and you'll blow up like a balloon! You won't be able to have as much later on! Don't you dare, girl! Don't you dare! 90 mls in that jug, that's ALL! Don't you dare!

I won't, I answered, timidly, but then stopped, pausing, thinking of the last post I had wrote.

And that's when I realised..
It's only a fear. A stupid, irrational fear.
What need I fear of just a bit extra milk???

Milk is good for me, right? I have osteoporosis. Osteoporosis = my bones need all the calcium I can get. Ditto.

And before I could ponder it for any longer I had seized the bottle and poured it out and added the cereal and then....

then I ate.

A tiny victory, but at the same time, it felt good. It felt good to be a victor for a change. Becuase for a while now it seems ED has been smirking an awful, awful lot, at my apparent inability to increase my meal plan that wee bit more.

But I know I can't just stop here, now. I need to do a bit more than that. The "milk victory" felt good but that's not where this thing is going to end. There's alot more I know I need to do here.

If I really want to gain this weight...no, let's pause and rephrase that.

If I really want to be healthy. To get my periods back. To silence the Voice once and for all. To give my bones the best possible chance to be as healthy as osteoporotic bones have the capacity to be.

I dug deep inside myself, searching for answers, the iron hard truths, the impermeable facts that neither time or force can change. Why? Why am I really afraid of being a higher bmi? It's not a case of physically not being able for it, after all. I've put myself through the gaining weight process a number of times. True, not with a target of this higher bmi(s) in mind, but it was still very much an intensely difficult, grueling process which takes an exhausting toll on both the body and mind.

I'm afraid to gain and reach this bmi because...

• I'm afraid of what my body will be like. I am afraid that I will hate it. I feel ugly now at this current weight and I am convinced that, at an even higher one, I will feel completely repulsive and vile.
• I'm afraid that then, people will see me as completely "recovered" (if they do not do already) and assume I no longer need any help and support to beat Ed.
• I'm afraid that, if I increase my meal plan again, I won't be able to stop eating 4000 + calories on having reached the target weight, and will just keep on gaining and gaining.
• I'm afraid, yes, of facing the physical and mental unpleasantries of gaining weight good and proper again. The screaming anxiety, the horrendous bloating, the constant declarations of "you are fat, Em" resounding through my head.

There are more, I know; but those are the main ones.

So now I have to gather my own weapons; prepare myself for ferocious war, once again. War with Ed. I'll retaliate his list of no you can'ts with a list of my own. Oh yes I f***ing can, Ed.

I'm currently reading Life without Ed by Jenni Schaefer. One of the most crucial aspects to recovery from anorexia that Jenni identifies is distinguishing and constructing your own voice, separate from Ed's.

So here is my own voice. Speaking loud and clear, now.

I need to gain this final bit of weight....because...

• Wake up, Em, and face the reality here. You have serious osteoporosis. And you know all too well that your period ain't gonna come at this weight. No good drifting on and pretending it's all ok, because it's not. You may not have taken your consultant's advice back then. But take it, now. And stop closing your eyes to the truth.
• By gaining this final bit of weight I will be able to fully restore my health. All those other parts of the body damaged from over a decade of anorexia. My nails and skin and internal organs; my concentration, my memory. You might not be able to see the internal damage, Em, but you know all too well that it's there. 
• I won't feel so tired and listless and lifeless all the time. Gaining these final few kilos will give me the energy to laugh and smile again, to live.
• And last but not least. It will be in my best interests to get my weight up for my new job in February. It's by no means an office job or anything like that, by the way - it's quite a physical job in which I will be on my feet alot of the time. I'm not saying I'm an unfit person, but I'm not exactly what you would describe strong and vigorous, either. But, to get my weight up beforehand, will mean I can work at my very best, physically and mentally.

So now I have some new goals, new priorities. Which I am going to fix right in my head, now. Time to step up to the plane door, take one deep long breath, and step out.

That terrifying step...
But one I need to take to save myself.
Because one day this plane I'm riding will crash, and burn; with me, along with it.

Time to go, Ed.

Time to go.

I'm gonna take this jump and you're not coming with me. This time, you stay behind, old friend.

This is my own step, which I alone can take; for myself.

For me and for my life, and for all that recovery stands for.💗

Yesterday I finally plucked up the courage to approach Mam and ask her for help. I told her everything: my current struggles with Ed, my aspirations to try and gain a little more weight and my fears around having to do so, and my difficulty in dealing with people's comments as regards my current shape and weight.

Mam listened as I knew deep down she would. And it felt, right then, that the enormity of taking that huge, overwhelming step had lessened.

I know Mam can't take this big step for me. But to know she is there - ready to give me that gentle, yet firm push forwards whenever I can feel myself faltering - has given me so much comfort and has made me feel both safer and braver. Now I'm ready to jump without once looking back. My courage roars defiance in my breast like a lion facing the retreating hunter with his net. Oh yes, ED. I'm ready, now. I'll be your captive for no longer. 

Thank you, Mam. I dedicate this post to you. 💖💕💗 

Thank you also - SO much - for everyone who has commented and wished me well over the past few weeks. Your words mean so so much. I am honoured and humbled by your sincerity and thoughtfulness. Thank you 💗

Letting Go...

So here are some facts.

Some facts about Emmy Snelgrove that the world does not know, or see.

But these are the cold hard truths that press down upon my shoulders each day, as heavy and as grey as the severe, ice-capped mountain, and equally just as bleak. If not more. There is beauty in that mountain, but every inch of these facts are ugly.

I am 23 years old, though looking at me, some might think I'm alot younger.

Yet despite having the outer semblance of a girl, I have the skeleton of an old woman.

I have osteoporosis.

I don't get periods and I never have done. Sometimes,when I lie awake in the darkness of the night, watching the twilight patterns upon the creamy ceiling of my room, I wonder if I ever will. Whether my ovaries have simply given up, or have been permanently damaged through years of restriction.

And of course. I've had anorexia for 11 years. For eight of those years I was significantly underweight; for the most part of that eight, severely so. And then, for the other three. Consisted mainly of my weight bobbing up and down like a slung yo-yo upon a tight string.

So those are some facts about Emmy Snelgrove.
The facts that she doesnt want the world to see, but yet, at times, feels like screaming out loud. Especially to, well, you know. The oh you look well or healthy comments.

I'm currently maintaining between 41.8 - 42.5 kg.
Meaning that my bmi is around 17.7 to 18.

I suppose, for some people, this bmi's ok.
But I know deep down for me, it is unlikely that it is. As I type, I remember my consultant's parting words to me. On my last meeting with her, within the mental hospital's stifling grey walls.

I would advise you, young lady - given the severity of your osteoporosis and total absence of periods - that you get your bmi to above 19, preferably 20 or above.

I had smiled meekly and nodded my head. I was listening, but not to her voice. A different one inside my own head.One which, as soon as those numbers had left my doctor's mouth, had aroused itself, a restless wraith awakening from a fitful sleep.

19.
19!!
Who the f*** does she think she is, Em??
Don't you worry, Em. You won't listen to her. She clearly doesn't have a clue what she's talking about. 

There's no way on this earth you are going to let yourself gain until you get a bmi of 19...
And 20?? You'd rather die, right.

And I had listened, and agreed.
With Ed, that is. Not with my consultant, with her many, many years of experience and knowledge, working with and treating those with eating disorders.

A couple of years later, and here I am.
Wishing, once again, that I had chosen to listen to someone else; and not the ever-spouting wisdom of ED.

But. At least now I have the strength to say I can get beyond the minimum healthy bmi, if I choose to.

I know I can do it. If I just let myself do so. It's just the letting - the letting go - part. It's just - so bloody - hard.

For me, the fear of letting go now is akin to that I would feel if I were hanging off the edge of a cliff face overlooking the sea: under which, raging waters churn and roar, more fearsome than a wild beast.

My fingers are latched in a white knucked grip to this cliff edge to which I've  been attached to for as long as I can remember. And yet despite the fact that this hostile crag has torn me and broken me countless times, I still have this fear of letting go. The sea below is so dark and terrifying, as unknown and as frightening as the blackest abyss at the furthermost corner of space.

But somehow -

sometime -

I need to realise that it's long past time, to let go.



And so this is the meal plan that I've been studiously following, ever since I got back from Spain in late July.

Your thoughts. What do you think about it? It's true to say I like this particular eating schedule very much - the variety of foods, the frequency of the times that I eat, the inclusion of all the foods which I love and the exclusion of those that I don't. But it is enough to gain the final bit of weight that I need?

Given my current lifestyle, I don't think so.
I walk twice a day with my doggies and go for the odd cycle sometimes down to the local village. I don't sit around. I'm a busy girly. So I guess this is why I am maintaining on this instead of gaining.

Breakfast

1. 100 ml milk + cereal (usually Weetabix or ready-brek)
2. 1 slice spelt/wholemeal toast + spread
3. 30 g cheddar cheese
4. 2 tbsp peanut butter

Morning snacks

1. Half a multigrain/wholemeal bagel + spread
2. 1 egg, boiled or poached
3. Handfuls of sunflower seeds (I dont really measure them)
4. 30 g mixed nuts
5. Milky hot chocolate.

Lunch

1. Chicken/tuna mayo salad with spinach, vegetables, tomatoes, roasted peppers and dressing.
2. Banana/apple/melon

Afternoon snacks

1. Cereal + 50-75 ml hot milk
2. toasted crumpet + spread + 1 tbsp peanut butter.

Dinner

1. Main course: varies depending on what we cook but it's usually the basic protein + carb + veggies
2. My all-time favourite dessert: chopped banana, lots of hot custard, and a bar's worth of chocolate on top with the odd cadbury's chocolate finger or whatever's going begging.

Bedtime

1. Milky hot chocolate.

I have a few ideas of what I could do to make it better; if you have any, please do feel free to share them here. Hearing the advice of my readers really has helped me so, so much in the past and continues to do so, every day.💗

But for now, I'm going to sign off, and focus on what I have to do. The thing I want more than anything else in the world, but yet of which the mere thought of strikes real fear into my heart like a knife blade been thrust through flesh.

Letting go. One of the hardest, most painful parts of recovery. But let go, I will and must.

I have to face the pain and the fear now, or spend a lifetime having to cope with a different pain; the pain of regret.

The regret of knowing that I could have changed things, but chose once again to hold on, and put off.

But now it's time to let go.

Let go I can, and must.

She learned to conquer the Fear...

It was the Tuesday after my birthday that I got the Skype call that changed everything.

I was sitting in the lounge - or the "sun room", as I like to call it. My writing room. The frontermost room of the house which the sun's first light spills into every morning. As that golden orb ascends into the sky, it casts golden shafts of sunlight through the brooms' enormous east-facing window, illuminating the faces of my loved ones' pictures upon the walls, causing the polished oakwood of the little oval table to shine and gleam with an almost fairytale-like quality. It's one of my favourite rooms in the house. It's here where I retreat to every morning to immerse myself in my own little world; that being, of course, Morokia.

But on that morning I was not sitting there with such a purpose in mind.

Besides me were bundles of Morokia notes I had brought with me to look at while I waited for the Skype app to ping. Pages upon pages of dog-eared A4 sheets, covered from top to bottom in my messy, scrawly handwriting that noone can ever decipher apart from me. Truth was I was unable to really read them, of course. The words would float like thin, wispy clouds in front of my eyes, drifting away whenever I tried to grasp them tightly to my quivering, pulsating consciousness. Yet at that very moment I wanted to be like on of those clouds, in the sky. Graceful, airy, suspended in that blue infinity forever, without any duty or obligation, any pain or regret.

A few months ago I had done something which I had never, ever done before.

I had applied for a job. Not just a local parttime job in a cafe or local store, all of which I've tried to get into before. It was a summer camp job, based in the renowned city of Barcelona on the South Spanish coast. It still makes me smile at the randomness of the way in which I found out about this job. I was walking out of Trinity through Front Arch, wrapped up, as usual, in the comforting folds of my daydreams, when a sudden chilly gust of wind reminded me that I hadn't got my gloves on, so I paused, slipping out of the way of passerbys to stand directly by the Arch's Wall. As I scrabbled in my bag for the gloves that I hoped I hadn't left in some random place as I am often wont to do, I suddenly realised I was standing by a billard plastered in dozens of small, typed notices and adverts. And I don't honestly know how and why, but one particular slip of paper called out to me. Spanish summer camp seeking young English teachers for July. Apply with cv. There were other details, all of which I read and committed to memory.

The old Emmy would have just smiled, and walked on. The Old Emily would have thought to herself how wonderful that would be, but that she would never be able to do it.

But this Emmy applied for that job. And a few weeks later, she had her first Skype interview.

I remember the feelings which coursed through me while I waited for my interviewer to call. Self-doubt, and disbelief, and scorn. You honestly think that you, of all people, are going to get this? As if they'd pick you. You'd be absolutely hopeless!! And alongside that there was the slimmest glimmer of hope. Please, may it go ok. Please may I get this job.

But alongside that hope throbbed a beating vein of fear. That fear wrapped itself like a snake around that thin thread of hope, crushing it in its heavy, suffocating coils. No no. Please don't pick me. I don't want to go to Spain, on my own. I would be useless at that job. Please God may she not pick me.

And then the Skype pinged and my trembling hand went to press accept. Then I remembered. There was another time, when I accepted a phone call. One that I knew would change things, forever. The one of the day they told me my bed was ready at the hospital.

And hadn't I felt fear and trepidation that day? Hadn't I felt surrounded by vast currents of terror; currents which tore at me with the ferocity of hunting lions, ready to bore me away and tear me apart?

And yet I faced that fear and thrust myself into that current, felt it ripple and surge around me, its power. And I realised that I was stronger and more powerful than that fear, if I chose to be. I need not be anymore the girl who drowned in her fears. Rather, I could be the one who fought those tides of self-destruction.

And this time neednt be so much different.

I could learn to conquer the fear.

And yes, I was offered that job, much to my shock and disbelief. And yes, I did accept it. The months passed like young damselflies skimming on the surface of the water, and before I knew it, it was time for me to go. To leave my beautiful home, so beloved, so familiar, so precious to me.

If I had felt fear at that day of the interview, the terror I experienced that Thursday when I left for Dublin Airpot, was that multiplied tenfold. What it would be like, would the people there like me or not, how would I cope in an actual proper working environment for the first real time of my life. And then of course there were the ED fears, forcing themselves insistently to the forefront of the others to blare out at me like high-pitched, wailing sirens.

But yet this time I refused to submit to them.

2017 has been the year of the change for me. This year I have overcome more thn I could ever have thought possible, or imagined. I gained weight by myself for the second time, nd this time found a level of acceptance for my new body which I never could put claim to before. I put my recovery first even though I was at college, and struggling to get through the finl last curucial term of that degree which had caused me so much heartbreak.

And then there was this. Barcelona. Another thing I could never have thought of as being possible.

I am learning to conquer my fears, not give in to them. And I know that I can use this strength to beat every single last one of my demons and let my light rise like a diamond bright star into a ebony black sky. And one day the clouds of depression which remain wrapped around me will part and fall away, and the final few chains of ED. They will weaken and I will take them in my hands, snap them like brittle kindlewood between my now strong and capable fingers. No longer a prisoner. No longer a girl with an ED. ED will become a thing of my past, a thing that was fought against and overcome, just like those fears which I faced.

Blind Faith

Thursday afternoon, 2pm, saw the enactment of a isolated personal drama in the sitting room of just  one of Derryguile's well-dispersed houses.

The crisis involved only one hapless subject. That being me, needless to say. Like some sort of bizarre scene in a soap drama, music played gaily in the background as I crept into Mam's room and took the scales out from under the bed. Shoot me down, but I won't fall. I am Titanium. Mam, listening to Sia in the front lounge. After lunch, she had left me sitting rigidly in my little chair in the conservatory, surrounded by towering white mountains of page upon page of study notes scrawled in my messy, untidy hand.

I had felt a sharp jolt of cold, hard guilt as the ice-cold steel had met my probing, nervousfingers. You shouldnt be doing this, a little voice had chided at the very back of my mind.

But stronger than that there was another voice, urging me on. Oh yes, you do. You need to see how f -

No, not fat. I answered, trying to sound firm, resolute. Not fat, no. Im gaining weight, and I need to -

No,  no, no. 

It was there again, stronger than ever.

you're just becoming fat. There's no point trying to deny it...

No! No, I am not! I am not. Leave me alone. Leave - me - ALONE!!

Yes, yes, yes!! you are, just look! Look at your stomach and you'll see the proof...!



A sound escaped from my throat: half snarl, half sob. Stumbling like a blind man, I fled from the room, the scales tucked under my arm.

I placed it upon the wooden boards of the sitting room and sat back on my heels, staring at it for a few moments. Such an ugly, unsightly thing, these scales. I hated them. I hated them with a bitter, throat-clenching, tangible type of loathing: one which seemed so palpable that it was as if I were able to clutch that hatred with my very bare hands.  They represented, to me, an abhorrent instrument of torture. A bloody rack upon which a victim would be placed, to be torn and broken and wracked with indescribable agony.

Yes. That's how I feel every time I step on that horrible, horrible square of blue steel.

This was my torture; and ED, of course, was the torturer who would turn the bloody cogs into motion.

But I knew that I was going to do it. I knew what I was going to feel when I stepped on it; knew, all too well, the sensations that would ripple through me as I watched those numbers flash upon the screen. I knew I was going to be  plagued by screaming, relentless tormenting.



I place one foot forwards as if I was stepping right into a pit of vipers. Reluctantly, the rest of my body follows. I don't want to look at the digits appearing between my toes. More than anything, I want to walk away right now. To step off that hateful implement and bury myself in those papery hills of notes. Even driving myself to irritable distraction trying to memories points about Beowulf's androgynous heroism was more preferable, to this.

But I knew, sadly, that to flee to those hills would afford no escape for me. No escape from the Voice, ever whispering in my head.

What do you weigh? Oh, I bet you weigh four times the amount that you did the last time. Just look at yourself in the mirror, and you can;t deny the proof...

I looked. And as soon as I did I wanted to cry. Instantly my head was the scene of the violent, ear-shattering explosions as the Voice let rip to its anger.

What!! Oh my God!! That makes you a bmi of .....!!

No, no!! That can't be right!!It couldn't have gone up that much since the last time..!

It's 3 kg more than the last time I got weighed at Trinity...!!

Oh god, oh god!! That means I've gained...gained...gained at the rate that I did when I was an inpatient...

On and off, on and off I hop like a flustered bird, stepping on, stepping back down again; all the while peering down to that cruel numerical screen between my agitated, jerking toes; my emotions escalating between red hot anger and desperation, to fear, ice-cold fear, to utter, crushing misery. Ive gained weight, ive gained weight, and its much, much more than I had thought it would be...oh, no, god, please..calm this storm inside my head, please. I cant do this, I cant do this....

When Mam came in about half an hour later, I was still there, in the exact same place, my body trembling like a leaf in a gale, my face streaked with hot, bitter tears.



Since that day, I have not been near the scales. Mam talked to me, calmed me down, and quietly suggested that we "leave the weighing to your nurses at Trinity".

Different scales, different weights - that's what she and others have reassured me; and this is what I am now making myself believe. But that moment has remained with me, lying on the very edge of my memory like scummy residue upon the surface of a pond.

Testifying the extent to which I am still terrified of gaining weight. I am doing it; that much I do know: but the fear remains as immense and palpable as it did, all those years ago, when I first embarked upon my journey to recovery.

So many different, separate fears which branch off this one; all of which are intrinsically linked to it; all of which I am as helpless to escape from as an entrapped fly from the spider's web.

What will happen when I am weight restored? What if I just keep on gaining?

Will I be able to pass my exams? Having prioritised, for the past few months...not college, but recovery?

How do I eat when I'm weight restored? Do I have to cut out stuff? Can I eat the same? What do I have to change?

Will the weight ever distribute? Or will I just have this...this..stomach...forever?




How long, how lonely, this journey of recovery. Sometimes I feel immobilized with the fear; the uncertainty, of just what lies ahead.

 It's like stumbling in the darkness of a seemingly endless, winding tunnel. Not knowing how, or when it will end. Not knowing at where, once you have reached that much longed for, sought for opening, just where will be that place which you have been searching so hard for.

How? How to get through this? How could we possibly take such a terrifying leap; when our eyes cannot see, just where this path may lead?

It's blind faith.

Learning to trust, and believe, in the process of recovery. To have faith in everything that recovery stands for, and to take on those fears with that fortitude beating in your heart.

In recovery, you have to have that blind faith. You have to do the thing which frightens you the most; choose to commit yourself to a process which will fundamentally undercut the ED-implanted beliefs about your identity and your body. A process which will change you, both physically and mentally. A process which necessitates you to draw every day upon every single ounce of your courage, determination, and strength.

And the most terrifying thing about  recovery is that none of us can possibly tell just where this journey will take us; or how and when it will end. So many unanswered questions; so many whats and what ifs.

My thoughts and prayers are with each and every one of you now. I reach out to you and hope that you will derive some strength from these words.

Have faith. Have faith in recovery; have faith, despite all those fears and endless spinning questions. Have faith, no matter what lies the eating disorder may throw at you. Have faith that this road - this hard, long, painful road - is going to take you to a place where storms will no longer rage.

From the little seed grew a strong, beautiful flower...

And from such small, tiny steps... a long, incredible journey is made. 💖

My journey began some time ago. But I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember the tears that I cried as Mam looked at me, the pain and denial in her own dark green eyes striking daggers of steel into my own weary, bleeding heart.

I remember the sense of self-hatred, the shame. The guilt that felt like a lead weight in my chest; threatening to pull me into the unfathomable abyss of despair. The recognition which we both felt, then. That I had anorexia.

But yet, most of all, I remember the warmth of my mother's arms as she enveloped me in a hug, holding me like she would have cradled me as a baby, when I was so young and innocent and untainted by the world's cruel pressures: when I knew nothing - and cared for nothing more - but the palpability of that love which is a mother's love for her child. The scent of Nivea lotion, wafting gently off her skin; entering my nostrils to soothe my thrashing heart. The words that she whispered to me, gently and softly as if I were no more than a baby girl still. It's ok, Emmy. We are going to get through this. After 8 long years, we finally knew it all. That I had anorexia, and had been actively starving myself, on and off, ever since that fatal first day at secondary school, at the tender age of twelve years.

And that's when my journey began. 

Upon that day a tiny seed was planted  inside me. A tiny, minute, miniscule seed: so small and weak and non-descript; so easily, blown away by the wind. But then that seed took root and started to grow. Now pulsing and vibrant, it pushed its tender shoots toward the weak sunlight above.

So many times though the growth of that brave seed was hampered, impeded, damaged. There were storms which bore rain, soaking the tiny seed's weak, newly developing tendrils, forcing them to curl backwards and turn back into the soil. There were weeds which wrapped themselves around the budding stem, pinning it down to the ground with their cruel, unyielding tentacles. There was cold and ice and jail, beating down upon that tiny, vulnerable shoot.

But yet, despite all the odds...that seed did not stop growing.

Recovery is just like that. There will be countless storms; countless setbacks. But know now - as I do - that you are capable of anything. That there is no limit to your strength, your courage, your journey.

I am now approximately 1.2 kg off the "minimum" healthy weight. (But as I said before I do not want this to be my target at which I feel as if I should make myself "stop" at.) As I've mentioned before, this relapse wasn't as severe as that which I fell into last year - I lost about 3 kg, at the most - but I'm not going to write it off as not being a relapse, because I know myself well enough to know that, before I checked myself short - I was falling back into some very, very bad habits and behaviours; and had thoroughly slipped into the mindset of oh, the little, the better. So no: it was a relapse. But I - through the help and support of my readers, my Mam, my Gran and a couple of my dearest and closest friends - managed to get myself firmly back on the right track. Leaving up the mountain, and not back down. And now I feel as if I am finally, finally climbing, rather than just inching my way slowly along the rocks and crevices. No. This time I can be the stronger one. Like the mountain lion which prowls the stony mountain path. Though the way is steep and drop beneath her immense, she is not afraid to fall. As she believes now in her own strength; her perseverance. And with courage in her heart she leaps and scrambles her way up the slope.

Now today I made a plan. A plan to further help me to get to the summit of this mountain. As I mentioned above I'm..well, almost there, sort of, if you are judging recovery from a purely physical perspective. Point is though that I'm not. I want to do this thing right this time. As I outlined before in several blog posts...throughout my weight gain, I found it too hard, too scary to make a concrete reduction of my exercise. Everytime I attempted to reduce it, I panicked. The anxiety hit me like a punch in the face; I found myself tottering, and, in the rush and fear of the moment, I gave in. So much pleasure, but yet, so much sadness and bitterness and frustration. Because I WANTED to do the weight gain this time the proper way. As in, eat 3000 + cals, and consciously reduce my walking/bike rides. The eating I have been managing, sort of: I don't calorie count, but I've been sticking to the meal plan which I was on when in hospital, with my own little alterations, of course ;) . And just over the past couple of days I upped it a little more by adding in another toast at breakfast (yay!! 😊) and some extra protein at lunch or breakfast.

But the exercise..ahh, that remained a stumbling block. But today I sat down here at my kitchen table, and instead of spending an hour doing college work, I said screw that for today I'm going to fix my mind on something which is going to benefit my health and my future. What did I do? Well, I made a plan, of sorts: a little day plan for a typical day at home/college (even though college is nearly over...four more weeks of lectures, and then study weeks and exams....)of how I am going to allot my time in order to successfully manipulate ED and reduce my exercise, for now. This is something I've been meaning to do for some time now, but which I kept on putting off - but no, no longer. And yeah, I know I don't have that much left to gain, technically. But. Who said the minimum is my target? ED? Well, since when was that fecker ever right about anything??

So no. I'm going to keep on going. I'll post my "plan" in my next post, and also my meal plan with all the increases (I hope that doesn't make it too boring for everyone 😞) and if anyone has any comments or feedback or suggestions about either I would be so, so grateful 💓. Now. Before I go. I just wanted to extend my thanks to a number of people who inspired me to write this post. To my two dear friends who have helped me so, so much with their advice and support over the past few weeks (I hope they know who they are 💚) and also all of YOU - you, my readers. Your comments and helpful advice means so, so much to me. I want to thank you with every piece of my heart. It's because of you all that I have made it this far in my journey. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And now I am going to go outside with Benny and Daisy, my camera in one hand. Not for a powerwalk, no: not for now. A gentle 30 minute stroll in the golden sunlight of the sweet new morning.

For today I feel truly happy to be alive...

And that I allowed my seed to grow, that day.

Grow, to become a flower...💚

One of the March daffodils growing in my garden. <3 xxx

The Little Light in the Darkness...

I knew it would never be easy. I knew, that this path was going to be a hard one. The hardest journey that I ever will make. But never did I anticipate just how...how dark this road was going to be. Especially at this exact place: the place after weight restoration.

I often liken the recovery journey to a scramble up a long and lonely mountain. And that is what it is; to me. But halfway up that mountain, the  path winds into an impossibly dark chasm. A chasm which I have no choice but to step into, stretching out my fingers as I try to feel the way. I cannot see here; I might as well be completely blind. There is no way of telling what lies ahead of me, or what traps and holes might open up beneath my feet.

That glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Sometime it winks mockingly ahead of me, the faintest speck in the blackness of this cavern. But then, as I start towards it desperately, it winkles out and ceases to exist. I know it is out there somewhere, beyond the pitchblack darkness; but I have no idea how I will get to it; just how exactly I am going to proceed.

Because this is truly what they call blind faith. Walking a tightrope with your eyes closed, precariously balanced with your hands thrown out to either side. A thin little leaf clinging to its twig, which with every puff of wind is almost cast off and blown away. I feel fragile, vulnerable, unprotected. And, above all, I am more afraid than I have ever been in my entire life.

So easy to turn back now; turn back, and try and flee from whence I came. Back to that familiar, seemingly comfortable place behind me.

But that was the place which almost killed me... 

And then I know that I have to go on.

And so I step into that chasm and then I close my eyes. because with my eyes open I can see the darkness, trying to close all around me. But in my mind's eye I can paint a completely duifferent picture: images which glow with soft, golden colours. Colours which serve to warm the very blood in my veins.

These images are simple enough; to anyone else who might have seen them at the time that my eyes did. But, to me, they are more beautiful than the sparkling stars of a clear winter night sky; more precious than the most priceless of gemstones in the vastest of treasure hordes. And their beauty and value have caused them to be forever inscribed to my heart; never ever to fade or be taken away. And this darkness cannot touch them.They shine like stars; they glitter like diamonds. But stars and diamonds, to me, are worthless in comparison to what these images contain.

These little images show people as well as words. There is my mam enveloping me in a hug, that very first day when I set out on my battle against my eating disorder. Here are the words of the comments of my readers on the day of my previouis blog post; when I felt like I was drowning in despair; that because of the way that Ed has broken so much of what I had, life appeared so empty and broken and hopeless. There is the memory of I and my best friend, screaming our lungs out as the Cú Chulainn rollercoaster, having reached the crest of  105 m, plunges down towards the ground at the speed of a plummeting stone.

And so I let these images fill me with strength. Because they remind me that I am not alone; that I was not, that I never will be, alone along this long and difficult path through the chasm.I know that this is my battle; one that I and I alone can fight. They cannot carry me; they cannot fight for me. But I know that they are there beside me. I know that they will help to guide me towards that beautiful glimmer of light.

That little light in the darkness is just there in the distance now; seemingly so small, so far away, so distant. But this time I will not cry out. I can dance through this darkness now if I want to, spinning and gliding over all those holes and pitfalls. Ed need not touch me, or catch me. He might try to take hold of my hand and lure me to join him in his own seductive dance. A dance which I know the steps all too well now; a dance which I have trodden before, in the certainty that I could not cross this darkness on my own, to step my own way.

And before I knew it Ed was spinning me to his own tune again. A tune which led me right back down, back through the tunnel, to that familiar, familiar place...

But I know that, deep down inside me, there lies the strength and the courage to to break completely away from you...

And so I step lightly forwards into the darkness, letting the love that radiates from those images pulsate through the blood in my veins. And in the distance I see the little light in the darkness ahead of me. At times its brightness dims and winks out; at times it might appear a million miles away; like some beautiful faraway star suspended in the vast infinity of the heavens. But though the stars of our galaxy may not always be visible to me, I know that they are never truly gone. Just like my little light in the darkness.

And I know that if i keep on believing - that if I never allow myself to lose hope - that one day I will find my way to that shining star. That I will reach the end of this dark and lonely road; and step into the beautiful valley, where soft grasses and sweet wildflowers do grow.

Thank you so much for always being there for me..I mean every word of what I wrote here..your words fill me with strength and hope and give me the courage to strive on with this fight <3 xxx

We have the Power to Break Free... xxx

It's over two weeks now, since that crucial Sunday in late February. the Sunday which changed everything, for me. the Sunday which saw the tables turn on my eating disorder once again; the day upon which, having struggled and floundered in the dark, icy sea for so, so long, I finally achieved what I initially thought would never truly be possible; and which enabled me to firmly and decisively takes the reins of my recovery back into my own hands.

As I outlined in my post from last week, sticking to the meal plan no longer represents any major difficulty for me, now. As I mentioned before..a few months before, it was a completely and utterly different scenario altogether. And I remember it; I remember exactly the way I felt. How I would lie, on opening my eyes each morning, as the faint light of the pale new dawn would steal through my window to illuminate my room with a faint rosy glow,  and ruminate about how much I so desperately yearned to make that vital change; to eat what I knew that my body needed, to follow my meal plan; to smash the chains forged by ED and to break away from its cruel and deathly cold embrace. To reach out to my loved ones, to allow them to reach me; to let them into this cold, harsh, desolate world in which I had become so hopelessly lost.

Every smile that I would fake; was like a shard of ice breaking through my skin, slicing to the bone and causing bright red droplets of blood to ooze to the surface. Every lie that would escape my lips; was like the pain that encases your fingers and your hands on being exposed to the chillness of freezing winter air; a chillness that freezes the blood in your veins and creeps into the marrow of every bone. I'm fine, Mam. I am okay. I feel grand. I ate my lunch. I had toast and cereal before I left the house this morning. Yes, I made myself dinner. No, I don't want anything to eat. Of course I haven't lost weight. 

Lie after lie after lie. The chill had seeped from my veins into my heart. My whole body became numb with the cold, so numb, that I could no longer feel anything. It had become a way of life for me. hopelessly I allowed myself to succumb to its icy embrace, so that the cold water filled my lungs. I knew I was going to drown, but I would not, could not, find the stength to reach out.

But despite that initial pain and fear and anxiety; despite that crippling, all-consuming, overpowering sense of self-loathing, and the belief, as hard and as solid as concrete, that I truly cannot, and will not, ever be able to do it...

Did it, I did. 

and no.  There was no magic medicine or miracle pill that I had to take, in order to make me finally take that terrifying huge leap forward. No. What it took was an incredible amount of willpower, courage, and determination. And the love and support of my Mam. Thats what finally gave me the strength to pull myself out of that icy black sea; that's exactly what it took to give me the power to break through those chains. And since that day I have not looked back; not once. Following my meal plan is more or less habitual to me now. There is no longer any inner debate, on any particular day, over whether I will have my morning snack or not; whether I feel "hungry" enough to prepare and eat breakfast; whether I have "earned" a proper lunch or a scone with my hot chocolate. It's just something that I know, I absolutely have to do.

And now, I know that I have passed through the most difficult early stage of refeeding - the "bloaty", constantly full, nauseousfeeling type stage. If you are currently going through that stage right now, please, please please please - and I know I am repeating myself here. Please DO hang on in there!! I swear, it DOES get easier but you just have to stick with it. I understand all too well how hard the first stage really is. It's not just hard; its god damn fucking awful and it really, really sucks. But. You just HAVE to take a long, deep breath and say to yourself, when you feel as if you can't keep going and just want to give in right there, saying, "surely, restriction was better than this...I felt so much better when I was hungry.." NO. Snap that thought right out of your head.  You have to keep going, keep on eating as much as you can, following your meal plan and fighting, fighting the Voice in your head. And as I say..persevere, and your efforts will be rewarded. And that comes from a girl who stuggled enormously with this phase of recovery. If it wasnt for mam being there to comfort me, and perhaps for my own sense of determination. I don;t think I would have made it through. But i did AND SO CAN YOU. I can truly say it is so worth it. It's actually quite a nice feeling to get your hinger cues back  - again, a little daunting at first, but we need to welcome and embrace this sign of the bodily systems getting back to normal after having been suppressed and deprived of vital energy for so, so long.

And so on that note..its time for me to reflect on this. I'll talk abit more about this topic tomorrow, but I wanted to mention it here, and having written that wee motivation testimony above, I thought it might be good to include here in order to prove to you that ultimately, eating DOES get easier and your body does adapt to it, even begin to feel hungry, as in my case,. So much so, that I now feel ready and prepared to take the next massive step.

The decision: is it time to up my meal plan a bit more ?

I suppose this coming Sunday might be the ultimate determinant in finalising this decision. Thus far my weight has been going ok, I have gained; but I know from experience that there often comes a time when the body requires that extra bit of energy to reach its setpoint; meaning, of course, that the intake of food that it needs has to be increased once again.

Anyway..if anyone could give me any thoughts or advice on this, please do let me know, I would appreciate it so so much <3

I thought that perhaps I might write a few advice posts giving my thoughts and tips of how to cope with just some of the things I have struggled with, and overcome, so far in my recovery. Now I am not in any way saying I am an expert on any of this and please do not assume that I am - that would be a mistake! But that said, I feel as if I do have something of value to offer to others who are going through a similar struggle or experience, and I really want to reach out now and help those in any way I possibly can. <3 xxx

Now I'm a very sleepy and groggy Emmy - so it's on with the fluffy dressing gown and off to the Land of Nod with me..good night everyone, my thoughts and prayers are with you all <3 xxx

The one, and only one, that I will ever, ever have...

This morning after breakfast saw me sitting at the table in front of my laptop screen once again, gloomily pushing my memory stick into the side of the computer with not the slightest degree of enthusiasm. The reason for that being, this particular memory stick was the one upon which I have saved my two 1500-2000 word essays due in roughly a week's time. Writing essays like this, or anything really to do with my college course, is something which, for me, more likeable to being tortured with hot pincers than having to compile a supposedly engaging and stimulating piece of writing; something which my fellow students in English would probably have no major difficulty in producing, at all. But that's not the case for me, of course. Because I am the girl who is different. I am the girl who is different from everybody else.

I scanned the various sentences and paragraphs upon the pages before me, and felt tears of frustration prickle my eyes. It's...crap...it doesn't make any sense. There is absolutely no chance that it is ever going to get past the pass mark. 

I had been sitting there for almost fifteen minutes now, and I had not written a single thing. My hands slowly began to tighten into fists; and a steady bludgeoning began to reverberate through my skull, resonating along every artery and every vein. My whole body became taut with tension, a tightly wrapped coil which has been stretched to its absolute limit. And then...then, there was the Voice.

I desperately tried to calm myself, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly through my nose, straightening my spine in my chair; pushing back my hair from my face in an attempt to cool down my flushed, hot cheeks. It was a mammoth effort. Like trying to push an elephant up a mountain; like scrabbling, in futile desperation, for the coin that has slipped from your fingers to tinkle away down the dark, greasy plughole. That's how it feels like for me, sitting there, trying to write my third year English essays. The words, the sentences, the arguments that I want to make, come floating towards me like wispy, paper-thin clouds, so close I could almost reach out and grasp them; but then, they always, always slip away. Leaving me fumbling around in the emptiness, groping desperately from the words that are there, so close to me, but always, always just out of my reach. 

And this is what I know is proving to be such a massive, enormous, soul-destroying struggle for me. Trying, struggling so desperately to get through my college degree, pushing and pushing relentlessly until my head feels like it is going to split open and my whole body cries out with the fatigue and the pain of knowing that it is not, and never will be, ever enough. This is my second attempt at third year English Studies at Trinity, and I know all too well, that this course was not and never will be made for me. And it is a struggle. Every single day. There is no escape from the shame, the razor-sharp pain of regret which cuts into you like a knife, embedding itself into your very soul, like a thorn which has wedged itself into your foot. knowing that I chose to take the wrong path, the wrong course. It presses down on me every day, making me feel stupid and useless and selfish, naive and pathetic and deplorable.  with the workload I receive every week, and never, ever get done. And then there are the essays...

Unfortunately for me, the return to college last September was one of the most significant factors in triggering my relapse. I have spoken before about how, in going back, it suddenly hit me hard just how far I really was from real recovery; and how deeply and hopelessly entrenched I still was, in my eating disorder. I had tried to kid myself into thinking that I was ready to go back to studying at a third level institution again; that things would be better, this time. And the fear of the hospitalisation would keep me safe from Ed. But I was wrong. so very, very wrong.

It wasn;t long before I found myself in an all too familiar situation. Crying my eyes over a blank laptop screen, as I fumbled desperately through the empty recesses of my brain; clawing for the right words, the right sentences, hating myself with all of my heart and soul, branding myself as useless, an ineptitude, the dumbest and most stupid person on earth, for not being able to compose what my fellow English students, no doubt, would have produced as effortlessly and as easily as water passes under a bridge. but I was wholly incapable of that. The Voice in my head seemed to have taken over me: it had became so loud, so persistent, so deafening. There was no escape from its cruel dictations; no hiding from the malignity of its penetrating gaze. It knew all my weak spots and vulnerabilities; and took great pleasure in exploiting them. And before I knew it, the restriction had began in earnest again. A skipped lunch or a conveniently forgotten breakfast; a polite shake of the head on being offered a free biscuit by my lecturer who always had them in her classroom. Ed, as it had once before, had become my coping mechanism.

What choice do I have? I would silently weep into my pillow at night when everyone else was asleep; when there was no chance that the stifled sounds of my sobbing could be heard by any living soul. I clutched the lifeless forms of Ducky and Peter Penguin to my shuddering body, sprinkling their soft fur with the moisture of my tears. There's...there's no way out of this. If I choose not to eat the Voice is satisfied; the storm in my head is silenced. But deep inside it's like my heart is breaking; the guilt is tearing me apart; and then, there is the hunger...just...so...empty. But then, if I choose to eat. My head...exploding. The storm raging...I can't focus, I can't do anything. There's no way on this earth I could write a 5000 word essay, like this...can't...escape...the storm in my head...

But that all changed that day two weeks ago now, when I promised Mam that I would never let her down again; that, from that day onwards, there would be no more lies, no more deceit, no more secrecy. That I would give everything to my recovery; and that, no matter how . But before I made that promise, I had grasped her strong brown hand and had whispered to her that I couldn't do it. Im going to fail college, Mam. I cant recover and study at the same time. I cant let you down mam..But I cant waste anymore of your money.

I felt so torn then, at that moment. so lost, so broken, so afraid.

but, like she had done so many, many times before, ever since I was a little girl, Mam was there for me to hold my hand in her strong, warm one. And to gently and firmly turn me onto the right path. So I knew, exactly then, what it was I had to do, and where I had to go.

The road to recovery...

One day, we will make it there, together. <3 xxx

But I guess, since that day, I now realise what is truly important, in this life.
recovery should be, for each and every single one of us, something which should be made our top priority. For, think about it this way...

There will always be another chance in life, to go back to college or take up that degree.
There will always be another job. Another degree, another place at university.

But we only have one body.

This is our Recovery...We can Take this Leap Together... xxx

Hi everyone!! :)

I know I have been blogging in a somewhat haphazard, fragmented sort of way the past few weeks, and I am sorry about that. The reason for this being, is that I have been struggling immensely wit my college work, and I guess I felt obligated to set aside the time I usually designate for blogging in order to get a much of the reading as possible done. Which I absolutely hate having to do: I hate being separated so to speak from my bblog, especially now that I truly feel as if I have made some real and concrete progress in my recovery. No, more than that...I have taken some huge, gigantic, and abbsolutely terrifying steps over the course of the past few days. But I know, without one shadow of a doubt, that it was absolutely crucial for me, to take those few tentative steps: which, in themselves, constitute the ultimate leap of faith.

As I mentioned in my last post, last weekend marked a critical turning point in the ongoing and ferocious battle between me and my eating disorder. As I have openly and honestly reflected and spoken of here on my blog, the past few months have been far, far from easy for me, as I fought tooth and nail to overcome my relapse and find my way back onto the steep and rocky road towards true recovery.

It was a difficult and painful time for me. I was barely keeping my head above the water at college: slipping quietly into lectures with my head down and my eyes fixed to the ground in the hope tht noone would notice me. Sitting there at the very back of the room, trying futilely to focus on the lecturer's voice as she outlines the influences Burke's Philosophical Enquiry was to have to future Gothic writers, inviting us to share our own thoughts with the class. I instinctively twine a couple of strands of my hair around my dry, chapped fingers as soon as she mentions the words share your thoughts. trying to swallow the hard lump of anixety that has already entered my throat. my own thoughts run wild like antelope upon a a plain; A voice, screaming triumphantly from a distance with a sort of terrible malice, you are dumb, you are stupid, you should't even be here. Why are you here? A Trinity student, yeah right!!

And this has been, once again, my third year college experience.

I was torn, torn with the fear and the pain and the guilt.  It was like trying to pul yourself up a steep, vertical rockface, a rockface lined with thorns and jagged outcrops which tear your feet and hands at every opportunity.

And I knew, that what I was trying so desperately to achieve - that being, to recover from my eating disorder, an eating disorder which had been with me for almost half of my life and which had come so, so close to totally and utterly destroying me - while being at college, without the proper support, treatment, or therapy clearly, should have been indispensable to me at this time, was, after all, proving to be a virtually impossible feat. There were days when I felt so alone, so trapped, so helpless. As if I was the last person left on earth; as if I was the one girl left behind in the devastated shipwreck, wave after icy wave washing over me as I slowly began to lose my grip on the slippery piece of driftwood which seemed to provide the one slim, fleeting chance I had of staying afloat in that terrible, unfeeling ocean.

Ever since September - the month when I suppose, the relapse really did begin in earnest - I had purposely concealed from my loved ones the reality of what was happening to me, covering up the tracks that I left along the bloodstrewn path of my own self-destruction with layer upon layer of pure, impermeable deceit, letting lie after lie escape my faltering lips while deep inside me, I felt as if my heart were breaking, out of the pure pain and the guilt and the shame. It was a state of bbeing which was all too familiar to me; and a path  which, while being so horrible and alien, I knew I had trodden so many, many times before.

But then last weekend changed everything.

Now, everything has been laid out in the open. The rockface in front of me is still there, of course..ut now, this time, I have kind and gentle hands reaching out to me, tenderly enveloping my palms in their own warm ones. Picking me up whenever I cry out that I can't do it. And in those hands I can feel a warmth thatI know that those hands cannot make this climb for me...I know, that the real hard work has to come from me. But they are there for me, they are with me every second of every minute, every hour of every day.

never, ever be afraid to ask for help.

there may be anger and there may be tears. But they can and will forgive. <3 xxx

I love this picture..it always reminds me of how much my mam loves me and wants me to be happy and healthy. It was taken at one of the dinners out in Mallorca last year. My anixety levels were shooting sky high at first and I felt really nervous on edge..but mam was there for me, and calmed me down and told me everything would be ok. And I actually enjoyed myself, after she talked to me. She is always, always there for me.. 

There is just so much I want to say, so many things I want to blog about; at times I feel so happy, I want to leap through the air for that pure joy, like the young deer leaping through the thickets of the forest; but then, alongside that, at times I feel so, so scared, so overwhelmed, so completely and utterly helpless: like riding upon a nail-bitingly high rollercoaster, a rollercoaster with no seatbelts or safety bars. All we can do is hold eachother's hands now as we go over the edge together. And it's true, what they say, Recovery is one of the scariest, most challenging, most difficult thing we might ever have to do in this life. But. We must take this massive leap together; we can, and will, ride that terrifying rollercoaster.

Because this is our life...
This is our Recovery...

And we can't just let ED take anymore away from us. ED will take and take and take until there is nothing of you left. ED will take everything from you and never give anythingback.And it will take and take and take somemore, until.
there

is

nothing

left

for it to take.

And so here is a rough idea of what my current intake looks like now. Depending on how the weight goes over the next few weeks, I might need to increase it again soon.

Breakfast: 7.30 am: Slice of multigrain toast, buttered, with 1 tsp peanut butter with good bowl of cereal (2 weetabix or a cupful of maltwheats/shreddies etc usually..I have a wee cup for measuring it and all ;) ) with at least100 ml milk (usually hot...mmmmm ;)

Morning snack: Any time between 10.00 - 12.45 am.  Hot choc number 1 of the day (heehee more to follow!! ;) ) made with full fat milk and lots of heavenly tesco drinking chocolate powder. with 1 medium snack: usually, big handful nuts (about 30-40g ;) ), or 1 piece toasted spelt bread with peanut butter, or scone + spread, a muesli bar, half a multiseed bagel and peanut butter...etc etc.

Lunch About 14.00 Brown submarine roll/soft crusty roll/baked potato, buttered with protein filling(egg mayo/cheese/tuna mayo/ham etc) with vegetables/salad (tomatoes, spinach, sweetcorn, beetroot etc). with portion of fruit (apple/banana usually).

Afternoon snack Any time between 16.30-17.45 Hot choc with medium snack: usually crumpet + 1 tbsp pb , scone + spread, hot cross bun + spread, etc etc etc

Dinner 19.45 varies from day to day..usually its the basic protein + carbs + vegetables
Banana pud <3 21.00

Nighttime Hot choc 22.00

Honestly...a few weeks ago, I truly believed that I would never, ever be able to follow my meal plan and eat like this every day without fail. I had so many probblem areas and weak points...it virtually seemed like an impossible task. but, well...here I am now, and since last weekend I have not strayed from it, not once. And I know you can do it too...

This is OUR Recovery...

Let's take this leap together. <3 xxx

Inside that tiny little seed...there lies the greatest and most palpable strength...

So small, so fragile, so delicate. So pitifully and pathetically vulnerable. A tiny, scrubby little shoot, isolated and alone upon the desolate, windswept plain. A cruel, uncaring,  hostile world.

The wind catches it cruelly, maliciously twisting that tender little stem. And then, the rain; the terrible, relentless rain. It pours down without mercy, soaking the thin petals, weighing down each fragile bud, causing them to droop downwards out of shame or painful agony; an agony complemented y the glistening, jewel-like beads of moisture upon every petal. Beads that glisten and then fall, trickling down like tears upon each shivering, paper-thin leaf.

And will the crocus fall? Will those beautiful petals shrivel and curl in on themselves; will it resign itself to death and decay and destruction: to be broken, subjected to total annihilation, to be laid low and trampled down into the cold, dark soil.

And there are those who pass by on their way, affording the form upon the ground a fleeting, momentary glance, before shaking their heads dismissively and turning away, expressing their incredulity that that piteous  thing could possibly hope to survive this long, terrible winter. A winter which has brought so much pain and agony and death.

But what do they know.

What they fail to realise... is that...

inside the seed of that tiny, minute, seemingly helpless little plant....

Lies the strength and endurance of the towering, exquisitely beautiful, impossibly regal stone mountains which rise from the face of the Earth; crystal-topped pinacales and soaring glassy peaks stretching out towards a glowing skyline the colour of creamy candlelight, spiralling their way upwards to gently finger their way through the floaty, cotton-like wisps of soft lilac clouds. In that seed, in that tiny little flower, resides a beauty that will never, ever fade; for it is as long lasting, as infinitely untouchable, as the endless reaches of time itself. That's what lies at the heart of every one of us... So much hope, so much beauty; so much strength.

If only we could just see this with our own eyes; recognise it as a truth, deep within the soul.

We have to move beyond the doubt and the fear. The uncertainty, of what it is going to be like: that life which, which right now might seem to be so far away - that distant, diamond-right star, twinkling, in all its silvery radiance, so far out of our reach in the endless, blue-black velvet of the night sky. But, in fact, that life, that beautiful star...is waiting for us, waiting for us to find that strength deep hidden deep within that pulsating, vibrant seed deep inside us. Waiting for us to grow and blossom...reach out to that beautiful light. We have to let go of the uncertainty and the fear. The belief that we cannot do it.

Because deep inside us lies the greatest and most palpable strength.

The strength to reach forwards now and say, that now is the time to be strong.

That now is the time to say Yes... Yes. Yes, I CAN.

If you are struggling...please know you are never alone...

I was going to entitle this post, something to do with Christmas...but I stopped myself in doing so, after having sitting with my laptop for a little while, gathering up my thoughts and running through, in my head, what I actually was going to write. And that original title seemed, somewhat out of place here, because I am not going to use this post to talk about how special, how beautiful, how precious Christmas truly is. I could easily write page upon page about the wonder and the joy which can only truly be found at this time of the year, for I adore Christmas, and I always have done..but no, that is not what I am going to talk about today, and that is not what this post is going to be about.

No...this post is for everyone out there, who is struggling. My heart and soul go out to you now. My thoughts and prayers are with you. Just please...if there is one thing that you must never, ever forget, it is this: Please know you are not alone. You might feel as if you, and only you, are the only person out there today, on the 26th of december,2015, the day after Christmas as we know it...who is struggling, who is feeling lost, alone, trapped in despair. You are not alone. I am right there with you and I am struggling, too. But together,we can and will get through this.

Through believing in ourselves and finding our inner strength. Through refusing to give in, no matter what the storm may hurl in our faces. No matter how many times we fall. Through facing those fears directly, tackling them head on. Through telling that Voice, when it tries to tel you that this is it, you can't go on, to go and f*** itself, and that, for every hit and buffet it may give you, you will pick yourself up after every single one, and come back fighting, stronger and harder than ever. This is what I am telling myself, making myself believe, sitting here writing to you today..and I want you to believe it, too. Recovery is never going to be easy. But if there is one thing that I know now, it will be worth every single fight.

If you're ever feeling lonely, if you're ever feeling down,
you should know you're not the only one, because I feel it with you now. (A line from one of my favourite Kodaline songs <3)

As I had sort of expected, the past couple of days have been hard, for me. And another reminder, of just how many rules and regulations, constructed by ED, are present in my life; and of the extent to which they have such a powerful and extensive control over me. So many rules...after dinner yesterday, I felt so angry with myself, that I sat and wrote down every single little one of these rules...rules which I hadnt even realised were a rule, until now: now , it seems perfectly obvious, and I berate myself, again and again and again, for having not acknowledged it before.

It was after dinner, and we were about to have dessert. as usual, Mam had done me one of her amazing, utterly irresistible banana and custards - my alltime favourite dessert, and something I indulge in every evening, without fail. And this evening, it was m and s custard <3, lots of oreo chocolate, a couple of celebrations and a cadburys chocolate biscuit, all crushed up and scattered on top in one melting, heavenly bliss. Was the food the problem? No...on this occasion, not in the slightest. It was rather...something else. My custom after dinner , is always, always to go and sit by the fire with my divine dessert and to enjoy it while reading my blog or looking at something on my laptop or journals... and this was what I went to do, yesterday evening. Even though everyone else was still sitting at the table. Why didnt I just stop and think..hang on, Em. Why are you going to sit alone, whereas everyone else is still sitting together, eating their dessert and enjoying eachothers company?? But it didn't...it didn't even occur to me, that what I was doing was essentially wrong. I instantly got chastised for it, and told to come and sit with everyone else like a "normal " person. I felt like crying: I did cry, afterwards. I felt so stupid and babyish, but I felt like I had ruined everything, again.

A stupid little rule, I suppose, unconsciously made by ED? That I always have to eat dessert alone? But why..just, why? Why does it do this to me..why did I listen to it? Why didnt I see, at the time, that what I was doing was just plain rude and weird and stupid?

So many rules, so many chains: I feel so small, so stupid, so lost. like a little beetle, staring up at the massive, impossibly tall mountain, a mountain of sides so steep they appear almost impossible to ascend, a mountain whose beautiful top is so distant and so far, seemingly, so out of my desperate reach.  to knowing how hard, how long, it is going to be, to get to the very top. But to the top I must go. I must try. I must try. Christmas Day 2015...tenth Christmas with ED. It's been too long. Too long. I have to break every single one of these chains.

So anyway...I have made my Christmassy goals..the first of which I have already achieved :D and I absolutely enjoyed it so much <3:

My Chirstmassy Goals :) <3 xxx

• Make TEACAKES <3 and toast them over the open fire..mmmmm <3 (we did this yesterday afternoon...og my goodness they were gorgeous. mam had told me before about how she used to go over to my great grandmother Capel when she was a small girl, to have toasted teacakes y the open fire. It was quite a hair raising feat, toasting them on the fire with a barbecue prong - but mammy did us all proud with her amazing efforts here!! :D
• To not let ED spoil..anything. to try and be bright and talkative at mealtimes, even if I am struggling with any anxiety. To eat the food which I want and which my body is craving. To enjoy this special time, at home with the people that I love. <3
• maybe try some new things over christmas, if i get the chance to.
• Spend some time thinking...about what it is I need to do, to make a real, true, concrete change. I am most certainly going to spend some time with my recovery "stuff" today ( I have numerous journal and folders!! :o
• Take full advantage  of there being a lot more people around (granny, little bro and big sis are all home with me at the moment:) ) in maintaining my meal plan and sticking to it properly. No more meals/snacks etc eaten on my own. I also directly asked my mam to look at it yesterday evening...so she knows exactly what I need to be having, now, and at what time. I have decided to add in the morning snack as I was contemplated doing a few months back. It wil be hard and scary at first, I know, but I am determined to persevere.

I am not going to allow ED, to mess up the next few days for me. I know, I just need to be on my guard. It is just so, so easy, to fall into there are so many traps, so many pitfalls, and before you know it you have placed your foot into one to be knocked over, crying out for help.

But don't let one single stumble in the road, be the end of the journey.

One fall does not make you a failure. What matters is that you don't just lie there and see yourself as defeated; that every shard of hope is lost. What matters is that you get back up again and carry on, in the belief that even if the road is hard and bumpy and long., if you persevere; keep your head up, and refuse to give in, no matter what...it will not last forever.

My Christmas Wish for you, and anyone who is struggling...

I wish you all the strength, courage, and love in the world.

to overcome anything, which has ever tried to destroy or take away, your happiness, your freedom, your life. <3 xxx

The Breaking of the Chain...

It's so strange to think...that this is essentially my twenty second Christmas...and that, in a few days time, we will be bidding 2015 a final farewell, and welcoming in another new year.

 and, on a sadder note. this will be, in the twenty first year of my life...my tenth Christmas, with ED.

Because I know, after all, that for me, Christmas has always been different in many ways, then it might be for a happy, healthy person. Then it might have been if I was Emmy, not Emmy with an eating disorder.

But I am absolutely determined, this year...to give me all into making this the Christmas as special and as precious, as I have always wanted it to be. <3

I wish with all my heart that I knew, that I wasn't going to struggle with anything and that I would experience, during this magical and infinitely precious time of the year, that pure and untarnished happiness which I remember feeling deep within my heart, all those years ago when I was little more than a child.
But I am not a child, anymore...though there is a sharp, aching longing deep inside me, wishing that I could go back to that time. Wishing that I had never left those happy, blissful days of my childhood, and that everything had just stayed, the same.

But I know, that this is not a fairy tale, and that I am not a princess, and that the deepest and most longed for wish of my heart will never, of course, be granted.

But I know that by wishing and regretting, I will achieve nothing. All I can do now is to face this fear, this storm, head on. But it is just...so hard. I do not, in any way, feel any way more mature then I did all that time ago, when ED first came into my life. I still feel as small, as afraid, as lost.  and unsure of where to go. So...confused. It as if I am walking around in a fog.

I want to recover...but not for myself.
I know that I should gain weight...but the thought of that terrifies me..
I want to let go of ED, for ever...I want to be free, so badly...
but I don't know, if I can...because every single attempt I have made, every single time that I tried, it remained with me, dragging me down. ED and I, me and ED...tied together by strings of iron; a bond so deeply enmeshed, so , it would seem that they were never, or will never, be broken...

But I just want this all to be over. I sometimes catch tiny, fleeting glimpses...of what it was like, when I was free. What it could be like, to not have this storm inside my head...to not have these chains across my heart, pulling me down. Nothing could ever possibly be as heavy, as the weight of that sorrow, that pain, that despair that ED brought to me, with its snares.

I want 2016 to be the year...the year that I make that change.

But even as I write these words, my eyes become prickly with unshed tears, because I know, that this time last year...I promised myself the exact same thing. I thought 2015 would be, my year...the year when I freed myself, from ED. I truly believed that the...hospitalisation was going to end everything. that i would go in, and it would be hard, and horrible, and painful  But...but it would be worth it, in the end: because, it was going to heal me. I would come out...recovered. A new Emmy. But months later and here I am, and, though its pains me more than anything to say so, I know I am not recovered...that that all those months I spent there, did nothing, really, to heal me. That I am still Emmy with an eating disorder, and that, as I gaze upon the road of recovery which is now stretched out in front of me...I know that I still have a long, long way to go.

But I can't afford to lose hope...

Because even if life isnt a fairytale...that does not mean, that dreams can't ever come true.

And I know that I have everything I need to make this change and make 2016 my year..the year when I can prove to my eating disorder...that our time together is well and truly over. I know I have everything that I need, to do this. I have identified and recognised the branches of my recovery. And now I know, I need to put everything which I have learned, all of my insight and my strength and every shard of my determination...into beating, into defeating, once and for all, this monster which has long since stolen away so many individual parts and segments of my life: which has taken away, without remorse, so many years and so much happiness so many and has gave me nothing in return, but a broken heart, a broken body, and a broken soul.

But now it's time for me, to be the one who does the breaking.

For now has come the time for me to break those chains and cast them away forever...

And I know that with the destruction of those chains..those snares which have held me down for so, so long...I will be able to realise my dreams, become the person I want to be. And even though right now the dreams that I have, seem so tiny, so impossible, so far away..I know, that there are within my reach...but my hands have always been held back, by these chains...

But I know that we can, and will, break them...

We are stronger then we might think...

It is time to break the chain...

Another of my favourite memories from the year which was 2015...
me and Benny, free together in the daisies. <3 xxx