The Year that I make the Change...xxx

I thought today I would write out...my hopes for 2016. Because as I was saying in my post from a couple of days ago... I want 2016 to be my year. The year I beat ED....destroy it forever. The year I really make that crucial change and become the person I want to be.

because I know, of course, that there are still so many remnants of ED present in my life, clinging, like some sort of hideous, malignant, toxic fungus, to my identity. But there is no longer any part of me, which wants those remnants to remain. Rather, I want them all to be destroyed: wholly and completely, without one single spore or strain remaining.

This time last year, it was nearly the end of Christmas 2014: a year which had been so, incredibly hard for me, in a number of different ways. But the one thing that I had to hold things together, as the sparkling lights which had been lit in my heart by the joy and excitement of Christmas gradually began to dim to fade and die to be replaced by the heavy, oppressing darkness of January  - a January which promised, for me anyway, assessments and appointments ,and, very likely, imminent hospitalisation - was that one slender, flickering hope, that 2015 would be the year when I would be healed, completely and wholly, of my eating disorder. That the hospital would cure me of my problems and I would never, ever again allow myself to lapse into the deadly embrace of ED. I know that this was unrealistic and wishful thinking on my part. But it was all I had. I clung to my little, fervent dream like a drowning man hanging onto a piece of driftwood, in some wild, grey, hostile sea.

I read somewhere, though, that the gritty, hard, real work of recovery doesn't take place until after hospitalisation...which I can really relate to, in many ways. Because after all, that environment of the hospital, is one which is altogether unrealistic. I was cared for in there, made to gain weight, gently or not so gently prompted to eat my dinner, like a good girl. And so in I went, and they did what they had to do to me, what they were supposed to do. And then suddenly I was out again, in the real world: This was where the real work was supposed to begin. For this was the environment where my eating disorder had first been enabled to develop and evolve; and of course, here, there was no nurses watching my every move, no monitoring, no one constantly looking over my shoulder, making sure that I doing what I was supposed to do, eating what I was supposed to be eating, conducting myself in a way which fitted in with the hospital and their rules. No, it was just me, little lost Emmy, pitted against her eating disorder. Which the hospital, of course, had not magically whisked away, as I was hoping, so desperately, that they would.

No. ED remained, lurking in the darkest corners of my mind, awaiting its opportunity to slip silently from its hiding place like a lethal viper emerging from its lair, intent upon sinking its poison-soaked fangs into its helpless, unsuspecting,vulnerable prey.

Because yes, I guess that's the truth of it, even though to say so fills me with shame: I was vulnerable, I didn't suspect anything, and I was pretty much rendered helpless, again. What chance did I have? The hospital had pretty much given me a new body, a body I was unused to and could not bear the sight of. The comments made by others - oh, you've gained weight, you look well - were unbearable to me, as were the ones which made it sound as if I was fully better. Because deep down inside, I felt as if my heart was breaking. As I knew, without one shadow of a doubt, that I was no way near recovered. People would look at me, and smile, and make their comments, and see a girl who was recovered: but they didn't know, they didn't feel, they couldn't see the storm that raged deep inside.

But that was a year ago now. It's true: somethings, unfortunately, do remain the same. That being, principally, that I am not free. ED is still part of me, and ED still talks to me every day: pouring its poisonous lies into my ears; lies which, I know, are jut what they are - pure, senseless, lies. But at the same time, ED makes them so believable, reasonable, to me; and at times, when I am caught off my guard and let myself down. And then ED grabs onto that victory, shaking it in my face, telling me that there you have it, there's the proof. Proof of your own stupidity!! You are just worthless, you are never going to recover!! You might as well give up, right here, right now.

But this is when I stand up and say...No, ED. No...

Never, ever again, ED....

No matter how many times I fall over...

This time, I will never again allow that fall to break me...

I will never again turn back.

At least I can say that is one thing...that has changed; That being, my determination to beat this...thing, which has taken so, so much away from me. And that, whatever it takes, I won't ever allow myself to just give in, ever, ever again. Maybe I will struggle forever. Maybe I will relapse again. Maybe I will never get to that beautiful, distant mountain top, the one to which I can see, in the furthest corner of my mind..so bright, so beautiful, but so, so painfully far away.

But I am going to give it all that I have...I am willing to fight with every single breath.

And I am wiser, now. I have come a long, long way from the frightened little Emmy of a year ago. It's true to say that I still feel so afraid, so uncertain, so confused. But. I know that I am, in a way, alot wiser, maturer, stronger. I have proven that I can be strong. I have overcome so many obstacles and fought so many fears...and although I know, that there I still have a long, long way to climb along that hard, rocky road winding its way up that steeply sloping mountain; I know that this time...I will not give in. No matter what ED may say or what ED may try to do to me, I know that it will never, ever be able to rob me of the inner strength that I possess deep inside.

Yesterday I mentioned, how I was going to do some reflective work on what, specifically, I need to do and achieve, in order to make this crucial change.

• I need to develop my self esteem...Because after years of branding myself a worthless and useless failure, ir's now proving so, so hard for me to want to recover, as I continuously let this voice drag me back down. You are useless, you are worthless, noone cares about you. You are stupid and selfish and pathetic. What do you have to recover for? One thing I know for a certainty now is that, if I am to make a full recovery, I need to completely destroy this Voice. But how, essentially, am I going to accomplish this? I have a few ideas..more on this in my next post. ;)
• I need to separate myself from the "skinny identity". I need to recognise that being at a healthy weight for my body (ie around that which I was at on leaving the hospital) did not make me ugly, repulsive, fat, or unattractive. Rather, I need to find peace with my body...to fully and wholly recognise that ED's promises of the benefits of being skinny - that it will bring me happiness or fulfillment; that being skinny will mean that I look just a wee bit prettier...you will still be ugly, but maybe, not quite so ugly as you would be, if you were at what people call a "healthy" weight" - for exactly what they really are: nothing but manipulative, non-sensical, distorted and corruptive lies.

Before my relapse in the summer...

But though others would look at me and think I was recovered...they couldn't see the storm that raged,

deep inside my "recovered" body...

• I need to follow my meal plan and get back to healthy, strong Emmy, who enjoys her food as much as she enjoys cooking with it. I know that I love food. Food is awesome!! Why should I let a stupid voice spoil my enjoyment of it?
• To break every single one of the ED rules, in their various forms. I'm currently working on this long and detailed list which I will definitely share with you very shortly. 
• And all the other various Branches of my Recovery need to be properly tended with equal care and attention. Some are harder than others, but I am not prepared to neglect a single one of them.

The courage to be Me...

It was the day which I thought might never, ever come...

But here I am, sitting at home with my hot choc and laptop, a real, true smile upon my face as I write to you, a smile that reaches my eyes and makes dimples in my cheeks as I feel as if I could literally burst with happiness, excitement, and joy, at this precise moment in time.

Because yesterday, the 16th of July, 2015, I left the hospital for the last time..I am no longer a patient. I am free.

It took alot of courage for me to go in yesterday and tell the staff - the dedicated team on the ward who have cared for me, supported me, and essentially managed my recovery for the past six months - that I felt that the time had come for me to move on.

I know that my journey to recovery continues on from here, and that i am not fully recovered from my eating disorder. But today, for what feels like the first time in an age, I experienced a sense of freedom. I am no longer a patient. I no longer have to travel up and down to a hospital several times a week. I no longer have to go into the environment where I was first received professional treatment for my eating disorder. I am now free to move forward, leave the past behind, and forge myself a new future without an ed...

And I made it, I got through it all, despite all the odds, the uncertainties, the tears and the fear and the constant anxiety. I spent the first half of 2015 being in and out of a mental services hospital, both as an inpatient and an daypatient. And I survived; it didn't kill me, it only made me stronger. And though it was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do in my whole life - both mentally, and physically - I am glad that I did it, that I forced myself into that strange, unfamiliar environment, an environment which might as well have been a prison to me, despite the gaily coloured walls, the posters and pictures with their smiley faces and motivational quotes, the softness of the carpets and the warmth of the dormitories. I am glad that I went to the doctor that day, all those month ago, now, back in October, over the foot injury which would change my life forever; the injury which I now see as representing so much more than a normal, ordinary injury. No..I now see that that very foot sprain as being my body's cry for help. It was a message from my body to myself, that it could no longer keep up this battle, and that, if I did not act now,

And so, I am no longer a patient. I am free from the restrictions, the responsibilities, the obligations that I was forced to observe, being a patient of an eating disorder ward...

Now, all I have to do, is free myself, wholly and completely, from my greatest ever nemesis...the demon which placed its hand upon my shoulder all those years ago when I was only a young girl of thirteen. I was as helpless as the butterfly which has flown into a spider's web. Tricked into thinking that what I had just found - and this thing, this "friend" who had suddenly caught hold of me with a gentle, but vice-like grip - was something which would keep me safe, which would help me, which would give me everything I had ever wanted, which would make everything perfect, for me. But ED continued to spin its endless web of lies and deceit, continued to enmesh me tighter and tighter in its trap from which there appeared to be no escape. And from that day on, I was no longer free...ever since that day when I first felt its touch: so gentle, or so it seemed; almost like silk...but as cold and as heartless as death itself. No longer free to fly, I became a shadow of the girl that I once was, an empty, hollow shell.

But that was the past. Now is the time we take courage and break though those snares, spread our wings - our beautiful, free wings - and fly again...

I have began to find the courage to be me...not to be someone else...not to be the girl with the ED...

I know now, though, that with my new found freedom from the hospital ward, there is a new onus on me. I know, I have tofight harder than ever against ED, and take care of myself, so that I become the person that I want to be. Emmy. A baker, dog-walker, hiker, animal-fanatic, nature-enthusiast, cook, writer, blogger, medievalist, scarf-knitter,self-confessed chocaholic (or should that be...HOT chocoaholic?? Or maybe even both! ;) ). A girl who struggled, but survived, and RECOVERED, from her ED, and went on to help and inspire others to do the same!! <3 xxx

My Osteoporosis and Me.

I can't remember exactly when it was...it was a good few weeks into my inpatient treatment, anyway. Sometime in February. It was wet and dreary outside and for once I didn't have any objection to being enclosed within the stuffy warmth of the hospital.
it was just another week, really. Another week, probably my fifth or sixth or something, of my treatment as an inpatient at the mental services hospital in Dublin.

And as was customary on Monday afternoon, I entered into the interview room for my weekly meeting with my consultant. I was nervous, but that wasn't anything that unusual. I have always been nervous when it comes to meetings.

She was smiling and that instantly put me at my ease. Maybe she had some good news for me, maybe she was impressed with me for putting so much effort into recovery over the past few weeks. Or maybe...maybe even, she was going to give me some indication as to when I would be discharged. I sat in the little chair a few paces away from her and waited.

She asked me how I was and how my week had been. And then I noticed the official looking folder she had open on her lap - my medical record. It was open on what looked like some sort of graph.

"i have your scan results here, Emily" she said. she looked at me right in the eye. The room was as warm and as stifling as ever, but suddenly my whole body was icy cold.

"You have serious osteoporosis, Emily," she said, her voice not betraying one shard of emotion. She held out the graph for me to see. I didn't see much, save the black vertical line to the left hand side of the page, which appeared to be divided into three different coloured zones: yellow, orange and red. Alongside the yellow area was written "normal bone mass"; alongside orange, "osteopenia", and then, finally, next to red was the word "osteoporosis".

"This is you, here, Emily" she explained, resting a long-nailed finger on a little dot drawn onto the graph. "You have serious osteoporosis, Emily...it has been there for many years."

I stared at the little graph in silence as she continued, her face expressionless, her voice clear, crisp, unemotional. I didn't hear, or understand anything she said, after that. Every words that she spoke rang in my ears, muffled and incomprehensible, as if my head was stuffed with cotton wool, or as if I had been pulled beneath the surface of a still, deathly calm sea and was unable to save myself; to pull myself free of those icy, icy waters...

So this is what it has come to...

Osteoporosis, at 20 years old.

Osteoporosis is a bone disease which causes bones to become weak, brittle and susceptible to fracture. It occurs mainly when there are insufficient levels of calcium and vitamin D in the body; but can develop for a variety of reasons. Diet, exercise, smoking, hormonal imbalances, age, the menopause. These are all factors which might have had a role in the weakening of bone in humans.

Of course, for me, there's no mystery surrounding the circumstances behind my own osteoporosis, of course. I know all too well what has caused it: my eating disorder, of course.

because of the pattern of restriction and overexercise which my eating disorder imposed upon me, for most of my teenage years - the crucial period as far as bone development is concernned - my bone mass was reduced critically. With one single trip or fall, I might break my femur or my wrist; I could fracture my spine. And I will never be able to cure it.

It is so tough, and horrible, being diagnosed with osteoporosis, at an age when you find people tellings you that you are "young and have your whole life ahead of you". And unfortunately for me, as I have mentioned before now, there are certain things which I am prevented from doing, because of the weak condition of my bones. Things which at some time, I would have liked to have taken up, or have the experience of. Things like horseriding, or skiing, or running, or gymnastics. When my consultant told me I would never be able to go horseriding again, I wept fresh tears anew, as a long time ago as a child I had ridden a little white pony and had loved every moment of it. I had longed to take it up, again, sometime in the future. But because of my osteoporosis, bbecause of my eating disorder, I know that this is no longer possible..

But the most important thing for me to remember here - for us to remember here - is that osteoporosis does not at all mean that the Voice of your eating disorder has won.

Rather, being diagnosed with osteoporosis should stand as a fundamental motivating factor to fight back against your eating disorder harder than ever.

Because now is the time when you need to start nourishing and caring for your body again. Because there is still so, so much hope. and I know this too. because even though I will always have osteoporosis...I know that there is still ALOT I can do to helpimprove my condition. I can help to strengthen my bones and make them as strong as I can under the circumstances. I have osteoporosis, but...it needn't be "serious" osteoporosis, forever. i can, we can, take action now to help strengthen the bones and prevent them from deteriorating and weakening even further.

As the sad and inevitable truth is, that this is what will happen; if you have osteoporosis and continue to restrict and starve yourself. In a way I feel incredibly lucky that I found out about my osteoporosis, when I did. because if I didn't know...I could have just carried on, the way i was...and I could have ended up breaking my leg, or snapping my wrist, or even, fracturing my spine, and ended up wheelchair bound for life.

And so now, I am actively taking steps to improve my osteoporosis. By caring for my body, by giving it the nourishment and care it needs. By eating foods rich in calcium and Vitamin D, and beginning to do exercises recommended by my physiotherapist which will help to build up my bone strength.

But I know, without one shard of a doubt, the best thing I can do to help to improve my osteoporosis and reverse some of the damage done to my bones, is to fight my eating disorder and go against that Voice in my Head...before it takes anything else away from me... <3 xxx

neither ED, or my osteoporosis, will take away special moments and experiences away from me. And if I keep on fighting, I know I will still be able to do many of the things that I love - walking Benny, hiking with my family, swimming in hot weather, cycling in the warm golden glow of summer sunshine...<3 xxx

Day 2: What have you done to help yourself with your eating disorder?

For eight years, all through my teenhood, I did absolutely nothing to help myself with my eating disorder. I was in denial, and did not seek or look for help, let alone accept it when offered. And this was how things remained, all through my school years and then into the beginning of my time at Trinity...restriction and denial and starvation, overexercising and anxiety and depression. But all that time, I did nothing to help myself, because I believed that this was the way it was meant to be...that I didn't deserve help, and that I was unable to help myself, and I did not need help, anyway...

I didn't want anything to change...

But in May 2014 I finally acknowledged to myself that I had a restrictive eating disorder...that now was the time to reach out for help. I knew, that this was not a life that I was living...that on the contrary, is was a living death. And one thing had to die...me, or my eating disorder.

I knew, that I couldn't do this alone.

So I threw away the mask that I had worn for so, so long and told my Mam...of everything I had done, everything I was still doing on a daily basis, that I was scared and exhausted and frigtheended and was in desperate need of her help. She was shocked, upset, and extremely concerned, but she was not angry. And then she hugged me and told me it was going to be okay. That we could beat this thing, together. And from that day onwards, something changed, deep inside me. I knew it was going to be a long, hard, difficult road...but it was on that day, of that month, in the year 2014 when that girl with an eating disorder started to help herself, by fighting for her life and her recovery.

I gained weight by myself over Summer 2014. I managed to increase my bmi from a dangerously low 13 to just under 15. I was still underweight, of course, but I had just managed to pull myself off a brink which could very easily have led to my own death.
Though I was still underweight, I was out of the danger zone...but I was not recovered. I had started the climb up that mountain which is recovery...but at that time, I was still not quite prepared to give myself the help that I needed to reach the top.

In January 2015 I went into hospital to commence my treatment as an inpatient in a mental services hospital. It was one of the most difficult times of my life ...but by putting myself in such a rigid environment in which I was closely monitored on a day to day basis , I was helping myself flight my eating disorder in a way I would never have been able to do alone.

I gained weight during the whole course of my hospitalisation, to reach a much healthier bmi, a bmi which allows my body and mind to properly function. Though I still have an eating disorder, I know that my body is in a much better state than it was this time last year...and though the battle is far from over, I know that in this regard I fought and won a great victory.

I fought the compulsive urges of my eating disorder to exercise for over 2 hours a day when I started to work on recovery. This, for me, was one of the most difficult habits to kick. My walks with Benny in the morning and afternoon were my escape. They seemed to be the only way in which I could quieten the furious, manipulative Voice that occcupied my head every single day. But in the initial stages of my weight restoration, even my walks with Benny had to be curtailed, and this was very, very difficult for me, to refrain from something which gave me so much joy, so much happiness, so much pleasure. But I did it,because I knew that I had to, to help myself fight my eating disorder... and now I am back to walking my beloved springer in the beauty of the Irish summer, in a way which is not unhealthy or obsessive.

For so many years, my eating disorder was my deepest and most darkest secret. I did every single thing in my power to keep it concealed from everyone around me  - my family, my friends, fellow students at school and college, my teachers, my tutors, my counsellors. I put off going to the doctor's about my total absence of periods, reassuring myself that nothing was amiss and I was just later starting than others. I never opened up to a soul...not even those who I loved the most - the closest of my friends, my sister, my Nan, my Mam - noone knew. and though, at times, I was desperate to let them in to this bitter, destructive, harsh world of my own creation...but I couldn't. I told myself that they wouldn't understand.

But things have changed, since then..I have changed. I know that to help myself, it is absolutely crucial that I reach out, that I ask for help and support, that I voice my feelings and share my fears and concerns and anxieties with my nurses, doctors, counsellors and my loved ones.

I want to help everyone out there with an eating disorder. I want to help all those with anorexia, with bullimia, with EDNOS, with a restrictive eating disorder, with an undiagnosed eating disorder. I want to help all those out there who are struggling with this horrible, horrible disease which destroys lives and ruins countless others. I want to help them all to recover, to fight their eating disorder, to be free...

But I know that I will never be able to do that unless I help myself...unless I help myself to fully recover, to fully let go of my eating disorder...

The transition...

And so on the 23rd of March of this year, my consultant told me that yes, the time had come for me to go home. It was the words that I had been waiting for for what felt like a lifetime. Weeks and weeks had flitted by until it almost felt like I had been enclosed behind the grey walls of the hospital for the entirety of my life...as if I had never been to school, had never been to college, had never visited America or Spain or had travelled by myself a couple of times in the past. The hospital had almost become my home.

This point leads on nicely to the first piece of advice I am going to give you below...the aim of this post today being to offer a little advice to anyone who may be, or will be, making that same transition which I myself did, on that day in March. or rather, this advice can in a way be relevant for anyone in any stage of recovery. I also thought I would tell you a little about my own personal experience of leaving the secluded inpatient setting of the hospital, and the fears, anxieties and challenges I faced.

When my key worker first mentioned to me that discharge was being negotiated amongst my care team, I experienced a rush of different emotions. This was it. This was the moment I had been waiting for…for so, so long, But alongside the relief and the shock and the soaring, incomparable feeling of joy that pulsed through my body…this is it, this is finally, finally it. After nine long, hard weeks, I am finally going home…

There was something else, too…something which I had never, not for the whole time I was in hospital, anticipated. I was afraid, very, very afraid. Because I knew once I stepped out through those sliding doors at the front of the hospital…that Iwas on my own, in a way. It was up to me to keep my eating disorder at bay…my life and recovery was essentially now in my own hands.

ut this is something very, very important to bear in mind in recovery. Many eating disorder sufferers, including me, are filled with fear and apprehension at the thought of change. They avoid it if they can and take steps to minimise any sort of changes in their life. but what is important to realise here is that change is an unavoidable and essentially fundamental part of the human existence, and that we will all have to face up to and accept the various different changes that crop up during our lifetime.

Anyway, my point here is that it is important not to get "stuck" at any stage of recovery because you are too afraid of the enormous, seemingly overwhelming change that awaits you, if you dare to step out of your comfort zone. But I can't stress enough how important it is that you do this. Take me for example...before I went into hospital I was absolutely terrified of the unfamiliarity and rigidness of the environment that awaited me, as well as the drastic changes I knew I would have to make in my own life. But I put myself out there and made those changes, and here I am now. I breathe, I think, I open my eyes and see the world in a whole new different light than I did before...and I am still fighting. Making that change didn't kill me. It only made me stronger. And so it was when I left hospital, too. I had, in many respects, bbecome "settled" into that safe, warm, but essentially unrealistic environment.  Butmy care team knew it was time for me to move on, and spread my wings a bit. I needed to make that change, as the world of the hospital was not my home and neither did it provide an adequate representation of the real world, either. And the true test really does come when you go out into the real world and start working on creating yourself a  world of your own, a world and a life free and uncontaminated by an eating disorder...

Keep track of everything that is proving difficult for you. Self-monitoring is absolutely CRUCIAL. As is having support and someone to talk to. Whatever you do, DON't bottle in your true feelings. Look out for the early warning signs of a relapse. I might do a more detailed post on this, but some of the ones to look out for are:

• Secrecy/deceitfulness around food, what you are eating and how much, exercise etc
• Not being able to relax and feeling very restless and guilty for sitting down.
• cheating on your meal plan
• Not finishing what you should be having even though you think you might have room for it
• Throwing away food, in a way which is secretive and you fear getting caught doing it
• Being defensive or angry if your loved ones pick up on an old habbit you've taken up again
• telling yourself it's "okay" to skip something

Remember...catch it before the urges ge stronger. Once an old habit you thought you had kicked sets in again, it becomes very hard to get out of it once more, so don't  give the ED that chance. <3 xxx

The daisy-covered fields of my home. <3 xxx

Looking back...my 20th year.

April, 2014...
I turned 20 on the 17th of April 2014. lectures were over, and I was in the middle of the study period before the examinations, supposedly revising. But I wasn't, of course. I was unable to.
Because nearly every single thought, of nearly every single minute of each and every day...was bent towards food, overeating, exercise, body shape, and maintaining my low weight.

This month I went to the counsellors at Trinity, knowing that I just couldn't, couldn't go on like this. I told them about my struggles in college, my inability to study, my fears about failing my exams and being unable to continue at Trinity.

But I didn't tell them what I needed to tell them more than anything else at that time. That I had an eating disorder, and I was bbarely able to keep my head above water because of it.

May 2014.

It was in the first week of this month of 2014, when I realised something which I had known, deep down, for such a long, long time.
It was this month when I acknowledged I had an eating disorder, and actively started working on change...

Summer 2014...this summer, I went to Mallorca, I travelled to England alone to see my Granny, I met up with friends and made jam and summery cakes and went for long walks with my family. And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime...I experienced a sort of happiness, a freedom I had never felt before. I was starting to break free from the bonds of my eating disorder. I felt invincible...I really, truly thought I had nipped this thing in the bud. But then the days began to shorten and the shadows began to creep back in, and college beckoned to me as that beautiful summer which was Summer 2014 was drawn to a close.

In September 2014 I returned to Trinity as a third year, to resume the course which I had always persued with such high hopes in the past, but had then, on entering the high flier's world of Trinity, had discovered that I hated every single thing about third level english studies.

In Octobber, on one of my many walks with my beloved Benny, I felt the first initial achey twinges in the instep of my right foot. I ignored it for two weeks...it refused to go away. It was almost as if my body was trying to tell me something, that it was crying out for help, that it wasn't long bbefore everything crumpled up again before my very eyes.

And then in November I returned to the doctor's clinic in Trinity which I had reluctantly attended back in october. And there I heard the news that broke my heart and brought tears of frustration, self-hatred and bitterness to my eyes. that I had been diagnosed with an eating disorder and that they were going to refer me, for "specialist treatment"...

Re Emily Snelgrove,

Emily has been attending the Health Centre with a significant medical problem and I have recommended that she go off books for the remainder of this Academic Year.

I have suggested a course of treatment and referred her for specialist intervention


Kind regards, (...)

(the email from my doctor to my tutor, to confirm that it was necessary I leave Trinity.)


What I had done, what I had thought I had achioeved...it wasn't enough, it was never going to be enough.

And so on the 21st of November I walked through Front Arch with the splendour and regal magnificence of Trinity at my back, wishing me a silent farewell. I knew that it was unlikely I would ever cal myself a student of that place of excellence and superb achievement ever again. I spent my 20th Christmas at home with my family and loved ones, and there, being surrounded so much warmth and love, I could almost forget about everything...everything I had done, everything that had happened, everything that was waiting for me in the months that would follow this bright, happy time with the twinkly lights and cosy log fires and colourful presents with the shiny ribbons.

And then on the 6th of January I went up to the clinic with my Mam and my sister...and it was there where I was told that I was to admitted as an inpatient.

On the 19th of January - that sunny, chilly Monday which i remember so well - Mam and Dad took me up in the car to Dublin, to commence my inpatient treatment in the hospital. And there I stayed, for nine weeks.

I lost count of the times that I cried, of the times when I would curl up on my soft little bed and tell myself, no, this can't go on. I am hopeless,  I am weak, I am the most stupid, pathetic, useless human being on this earth.

I truly believed that I would never, ever make it.

But nine weeks later on the twenty-third of March, I walked out of those very same doors...I had done it. I had survived, and as a result, I know that those things that I told myself weren't true...I'm not stupid or useless or pathetic, and I am most certainly not weak. Those few words which a dear friend once told me - "True strength comes in the moments when you think you can't go on, but you keep on going, anyway" - are so, so true.

And this applies, for everyone. When things get tough, when everything seems wrong and you feel like it al rests on your shoulders and as a result you should hate yourself, hurt yourself, starve or punish yourself...just please, remember this, and stop yourself right in your tracks. You are worth so, so much more than you think, and you should NOT feel like you should treat yourself in this way. You are strong and you do have the strength, the courage and the determination to go on. You are beautiful and you are one of a kind. there is and forever will be, only ever one of you.

Yesterday I turned 21. Im a young woman now, apparently. Haha. Well, at least this gives me the right I guess to say that yes I AM an adult and I  should in theory know what I'm talking about...and so you should all hear me when I say that You deserve life, love and happiness and that nothing on this earth has the right to take that away from you. <3 xxx

My treatment as an Inpatient...and a little Advice :) x

I spent nine weeks as an inpatient in a mental services hospital in Dublin. It goes without saying that it was one of the most difficult and challenging periods of my life, but I know, without one shadow of a doubt, that it was also an imperative and crucially fundamental step in the progress of my recovery, and a necessary one. I don't think I would have got any further up that mountain if I hadn't forced myself into the environment of a hospital.

Anyway, I thought I would write a little post about my experience as an inpatient before I go on to tell you more about my life as a day patient, as well as give you a few pieces of advice which I took from what I learnt there myself.

My treatment in hospital helped me in numerous ways. Firstly, it helped me to gain the weight which I was too afraid of putting on by myself. Yes, I had managed to gain weight alone at home, but it was  a massive effort which both drained and frightened me enormously while doing so. Also, my time as an inpatient forced to face up to many of my fear foods. I was prevented from doing any exercise. At first, the anxiety brought up by this sedentary situation was more than just a little overwhelming. It was so, so hard and I had lost count of the amount of times I told myself I can't do this. But then...then it became a little easier. A little, mind. It doesn't just disappear overnight. But I kept on telling myself that this wasn't forever and that, if I stayed strong, it wouldn't be long until I would be bak on the bog with my Benny in the summer sunshine, feeling the wind in my hair and the sun on my face and enjoying the feeling of movement in a way which was not obsessive or compulsive. And so I can safely say my hospital stay really did help me overcome my fear of resting and not exercising all the time.

My inpatient treatment also served to help me, in a numberof other different aspects of recovery which I know I could never have done at home. For example..I never knew that I was significantly deficient of many of the vital B Vitamins...and of course, the discovery of my osteoporosis was something I would never have discovered by myself at home, until it might have been too late, of course. 

I learnt alot there, on that brightly coloured, warm ward with the charming pictures on the walls, the squeaky clean floors and the flowery, thick curtains. I left the hospital on the twenty third of March 2015 as a maturer, stronger, wiser young woman. And from what I learnt I feel like now I have some advice to offer to you, regardless of whether you are an inpateitn or not, or what stage of recovery you are at. First bit of advice…when it comes to recovery, you have to focus on yourself. I know you might have heard this before but I’m going to say it again because honestly, it is so, so true. One of the first things I struggled with when I came to the hospital was comparing myself with the other patients there. What I ate, portion sizes, everything…it was very hard. If most of the other patients were having the fish and boiled potatoes for dinner, then I myself felt pressurised to do the same, instead of going for what I really fancied, the vegetarian option which was a cheese and tomato pizza with sweetcorn and a dressed salad on the side…like a sheep I felt compelled to follow everyone else. But then after a while I realised what I was doing was silly and wrong and wasn’t really getting me anywhere. Recovery from an eating disorder involves listening to your ody and ignoring that sneering little Voice in your head. It involves eating what you fancy, what your body is craving at that particular time. I think this is a very important thing to take on board in recovery, regardless of what stage of recovery you are at and whether you are recovering by yourself, in an inpatient setting or elsewhere.

Also…make a list of the things that you enjoy or which you find relaxing. Whenever the intrusive thoughts come in this list will be invaluable to you. So when you feel the anxiety bbegin to creep in, get stuck into doing something AT ONCE. For me this was always doing some work on my big personal collage. My friend had brought in a load of magazines and I could spend literally hours just going through them, cutting words, pictures, images, you name it – out and then sticking them onto my collage.

journaling is always quite helpful too I always found. Get those thoughts out on paper. It doesn’t have to be coherent or make any sort of sense. Maybe it’s just scribbles, maybe a long list of angry words. But the important thing is to get those concerns, those anxieties, those desperate, racing  thoughts out of you head and onto paper.

And remember...the nurses and doctors are there to HELP you, in every single way they possibly can. Therefore, it is so, so important not to bottle up and keep your true feelings and fears hidden and under cover. It's absolutelyt crucial that you open up to them. tryust is an important part of the recovery process, too. You need to start learning to trust others, while they need to begin to start to trust you. 

I plan on writing more about this stage of my recovery in future posts, as there is an awful lot to be said about it I suppose and I feel like I gained alot of insight from my experiences in the hospital which I feel compelled to share with the world. <3 xxx

You can't have a rainbow without a little rain...

This was something one of my lovely readers wrote in one of her comments on a previous post. <3 And, when you make that conscious decision to fight - fight for your life, fight for your freedom, fight for everything and everyone you love - in the battle in which you stand your ground against your own eating disorder...there's a number of things that you have to realise. This one single, simple little fact being just one of them. As I described in one of my previous posts...recovery is never easy. It's one of the most difficult things you might have to do in this short, fleeting span of time which we refer to as life.  But I know, that I can't just stand and look towards the horizon now and expect to see nothing but a pure brilliance of perfect blue. If recovery was as clear and as straightforward as that, God knows that there would not be so many people struggling with this horrible, horrible disease which wrecks lives and tears families apart.

I suppose I was the one who made that mistake, when it was me standing in that very same position, all those months ago, in Summer 2014. I thought recovery would be as sweet and as effortless as kneeling down to gather tender-stemmed, golden daffodils in a woodland fresh and green with the promises of spring. But you and I both know it's not like that.

No...rather, if we choose to stand now and gaze upon the skyline which is the horizon of our future...we have to open our eyes now and brace ourselves for the storm clouds building there. For recovery is like that...for all of us. The rain will fall, soaking you to the very bone. The wind will blow hard against you, screaming in your ear, howling at you to turn back. Sometimes, it might succeed. We might be keeled over by the force of that cruel, biting wind. We might fall and tell ourselves that we can't go on like this for any longer.

But what I want to emphasise is that the rain will not fall forever. We might slip and fall, and that's ok. We're humans after all. And if you believe it, if you stand up tall, shake off those raindrops and walk, slowly but surely, forwards - then those clouds can and will clear. The sun will shine through that rain, warming you and lighting up your path with a beautiful golden glow. Through the rain you will glimpse that glorious, dazzling rainbow. And then that very same sky which was at first so grey and dark will take on that glorious, rosy-pink hue of a brand new dawn.

In less than an hour, I will levae home to start my inpatient treatment at St Pat's in Dublin. It's the beginning of a yet another new chapter for me, in the story which is that of me and my recovery from an eating disorder. This weekend has been, quite possibly, one of the most turbulent in terms of my emotions since I started working on recovery. In the space of a few days, I've gone from intense, bitter wretchedness and tearful misery, intespersed with a desperate, overwhelming sense of fear and helpless uncertainty...to acceptance. Calm, almost peaceful acceptance.

I know that this storm will pass. I know that the rain isn't going to last forever.

So now it's time for us to hold hands, to step out into that rain. We might flinch as it first touches our skin, but then we become stronger, we move forward. And then, arching across the sky in front of us, is that beautiful, colourful rainbow that comes before the sun. :)



By the way...I just want to thank you all personally from the heart, AGAIN, for writing such lovely, touching comments on my post yesterday. No joke - reading them realy did make me cry...again. But in a good way!! ;) Thank you so, so much, you are all just so INCREDIBLE and I wish there was some way I could better express how much this means to me. <3

The Call.

A phone call...most of the time, it appears to be one of the most banal of things. perhaps it's that really annoying, persistent salesperson who has already rang you about ten times already today, and despite the fact you have told him every single one of those times you are not interested in getting  your front drive redone, the message just wont seem to sink in. It might be a call to your gran to see how she is, and did she win at bingo last night, and how she is faring looking after Tiddles next door while the neighbours are away. Or it might be even just a 20 second exchange with your brother who is ringing to ask you can he borrow your earphones as his own ones seem to have gone missing...again.

But sometimes, that one phone call which you might or might not be expecting...it becomes so much more than just that. You hear those few wrods on the other end of the phone, and, in the blink of an eye, everything is changed.

Hello?

Hello, can I speak to Emily, please? Emily Snelgrove?

This is Emily speaking, how can I help you?

Hi Emily, this is Michael, from the admissions department in St. Patrick's Hospital. I'm just calling you to let you know Emily, we have a bed available for you on Monday at 2.30...will you be able to come up to us on that day?

And in that split second...everything was changed.

I had my eating disorder assessment test last Tuesday. It lasted for about three hours. I talked to a psychiatrist and a doctor, both of whom were really lovely, kindly ladies who questioned me about many different aspects of my eating disorder; in particular, how I had felt over the past few months; and the history of the disease which has lived with me, all through my teenage years and the time I had spent as secondary school, and then my first two years of college, right up to the present day.

When we were done, the kind-faced psychiatrist looked me in the eye and quietly began to describe the procedure usually followed when they were admitting a patient to St.Patrick's.

I returned home that afternoon with Mam and Liz, curled up on the back seat of out Nissan X-Trail, my eyes staring out at the cars that zoomed past us on the M50, though not really seeing, or comprehending, anything at all. Even the voices of Mam and my older sister passed over me like ripples on a calm sea. But this time, I wasn't crying. My eyes were dry, my whole body motionless. I felt like a piece of ice - hard, cold, and - for the present moment, anyway -  unfractured; whole. But just like those glassy, crystal-like pieces of ice which glisten on the roads and in the fields in the dead of winter - all it takes would be just one more bblow, and that ice will crack. Shattered to pieces, it will bleed, the frozen shards weeping out droplets of moisture as they melt and seep into the earth.



As I replaced the phone upon its stand as Micheal hung up on the other end, my fingers shook violently and I sat down there on the cold tiles of the kitchen, as if my whole body was melting away beneath me; as if my world was, really and truly, crumbling up into nothingness. I cried and cried and cried. All those tears I had held back that day of the assessment; the day when I felt as if I was made of ice. But I'm not. I'm not cold and indifferent and unmovable...rather, I'm the opposite of these things; and if, on that day, I had pretended to myself that there was nothing, after all I had been through, that could break me so painfully again...well, I most certainly was not under any false pretensions now that that was so.

And then Mam's warm arms were around me, one hand gently stroking my hair as she soothingly whispered to me it was ok; everything was going to be alright. "i can't do it, Mam," I sobbed against her shoulder. "I can't do it. I should never have gone to the doctor's that day about my foot. I wasn't happy then, but anything's better than the way things are now. Oh Mam, please, please don't make me go into hospital. Please, Mam, I can't do it, I can't do it. I can't..."

You can, Emmy. You once told me that the ED has robbed you of so, so much. Are you going to let it take away everything? Your willingness to beat this? Everything you love, the life you want to have...your courage and determination to succeed? To find the real Emmy, the Emmy without her eating disorder. Are you going to let the ED take all that away...and steal away all chances for the real Emmy to blossom and grow?

My Mam...my amazing, beautiful, inspiring, wonderful, wonderful Mam. Ever since that day I went to her, wretched and miserable, tear after tear streaming down my face, to pour out the terrible and appalling truth that I, her daughter, had an eating disorder, and had spent the past few years lying to her, deceiving her, keeping secrets from her, builiding wall upon wall around herself and shutting her, and everyone else, out completely so it seemed as if all that was left was a mere shadow, a ghost, of what she once was - ever since that day, she has been there for me, every step of this long, hard, painful, seemingly never-ending journey. She has reached out a hand to me every single time I have fallen, and gently pulled me back up again, and has made me realise that yes...I do want to go on. I do have a chance at recovery, I do deserve to live; I am not a lost case, I am not a failure. That phone call I got yesterday...yes. It has changed everything...but it is a good change. I now have the chance to completely and fully defeat my eating disorder. At St.Pat's, I will be given the care and help  I need to eradicate that ED-type fear of gaining any more weight - the weight that my body needs to become healthy and strong once again. At St.Pat's. everything about my eating disorder that I was unable to fix by myself - those ED habits that still lingered despite my very best efforts to remove them; my obsession with exercise;the fears and anxieties that revolve around mealtimes and going up a clothes size...all of those, and more, will be fully dealt with and treated by a team of dedicated, caring, and committed team of health professionals who are specially trained to treat and care for those with eating disorders.

I am no longer afraid. And no, my eating disorder hasn't taken away my courage, my determination; my identity; my sense of who I am and what I am going to fight your eating disorder....you are always going to be a warrior. Just making that crucial, definitive first step, no matter how small it may seem, is something which requires, in itself, immense courage and strength.

I am going to do this for Mam, my family, all my loved ones. I am going to do this for my readers.

And then, one day, I will realise...I need to do this for myself, too. Because that is something that we all need to acknowledge, in recovering from an eating disorder. You have to realise that you DO deserve to live. That you DO deserve to recover. That phone call was made for YOU, noone else. People love you, people want you to be happy...they want you to get better, to be healthy again, to smile again and laugh and reach out and grasp that life you want in both hands.

But noone else can make that crucial, imperative realisation for you..it's YOU who has to sit up now and know it, realise it.

And together, we will be the proof that eating disorders can, and will, be beaten...forever. <3 xxxxxx