With hope in your heart...you'll never walk alone... xxx

So having reflected on this alot over the course of the past few days, I've identified a number of factors which are essentially hindering me from attaining full recovery - both in physical and mental terms - from my eating disorder.

These are, as outlined further in previous posts...

1. Obsession with/compulsion to exercise.
2. Loneliness and isolation leading to depression.
3. My relationship with food as it is now. Because, if I was being really, really honest. Do I eat as a normal person does? No restriction, no holding back, no food rules whatsoever?                      

No, of course I do not. I still hold back when I should not. I still have fears about eating too much. I still have set amounts that I do not permit myself to exceed; certain rules which I go out of my way to follow. For example...this morning. I had my usual handful of nuts. I wanted, having finished them, to dip back into the bag of cashews and take out a few more. But I couldn't make myself do it. Same kind of situation last night: I made myself a gorgeous omelette with my favourite roasted baby potatoes and lots of veggies on side. Having munched on a few of these potatoes, relishing their golden crispiness, I realised that I really did want to have a few more. But no. I could not do it. One might lead to another, the voice whispered hurriedly, intent on warding the desire to have more safely away.

4. Uncertainty as to how and what to eat. Being unable to distinguish what is being sensible as regard food choices and what is essentially giving in to my eating disorder. Same goes for the exercise really: I'm unable to figure out what's healthy and ok for me right now.

5. And a sneaking reluctance - yes, I am going to admit it right now, as this is a very important one. To allow my body to reach its healthy set point, whatever that is. I'm at the minimum healthy bmi now, and I am, needless to say, terrified at the thought of gaining any more weight.

6. Feeling very much at the mercy of the constant deluges of the media and the internet about on obesity and healthy eating. It's everywhere and impossible to escape, and very, very hard to ignore.
And Im not saying one should ignore it. The trick is I guess to be aware of it, but not to be so heavily influenced by it to the extent you're sent down the path of self-destruction again. But how to balance healthy eating with non-restriction? It's something I've never managed to do successfully before; everytime I tried to do so resulted in me just losing weight and restricting all over again.

So first things first..the loneliness, something I reflected on in a post from last week.

And before I begin, I just wanted to offer my sincere thanks, to everyone who posted on here and gave me advice regarding my loneliness and my struggles with extreme hunger. Your comments really meant alot to me and I am forever grateful to you💗💙💕

So this is my plan - the first, of many!! 😊- to overcome this old demon which has been haunting me for so long. And too long. I want 2017 to be the year of the change. A change in my world and a change in my life. A change in both my soul and body. The change that will allow me to reach that beautiful pinnacle of full recovery.

Because it's true to say that permanent feelings of isolation and depression served to form a most effective pithole in my struggle along the path of recovery. In a way, it all acted as a vicious cycle. Giving into ED in the first place made me isolate myself, which then in turn made me depressed, and more inclined to give into my eating disorder. This was because I convinced myself that life was not worth living, and that I might as well starve myself. Disturbingly, I know, looking back now, I also clung to ED in the hope that thinness would help me make more friends. Completely distorted thinking, yes, I know. I can see it all now, as clear and as sharp as a glassy glacier, as certainly as the firmness of the ground beneath my feet.

Why are you eating? There's no point in eating. You're a loner, Em. Noone else in the world cares about you.

But now I have the strength to shake my head, whereas before I would just have nodded in submission. I would have pushed all thoughts of eating away from me, ignoring my stomach's desperate, wretched groans.

But I ignored every signal that my body tried to give me. Back then, I was too depressed and broken to eat. I would creep away with my books and papers, staring at endless sentences and words that were as meaningless to me as the intricate patterns of a Chinese puzzle, seeing, but not reading, or understanding. All I could feel was the hunger and that cold, bitter sense of being alone.

But now it is a different picture.

I no longer see not eating as a way to comfort myself in my loneliness. Neither do I see loneliness as a reason not to recover. In fact, quite the opposite.

I know that if I recover - mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually - I will be able to bring about the change that I desire. And the change has already begun, unfolding in shimmering, golden waves around me, trickling its warmth into my heart and very soul.

So HERE is my plan - informed by my own ideas on how to tackle this loneliness, and of course those of you, my wonderful readers! 😁💚


1. One of the first things that I know I really NEED to start doing is...dispense with the whole I am going to bother her by messaging her line of thinking.                                                            

I do this ALL of the time. With everyone. It doesn't matter if that person is someone who I KNOW could never be irritated simply because I decided to shoot her a message. It doesn't matter if that person is one of my closest friends; or even, my own mam. It's a familiar scenario: I write someone a little message on Facebook, asking them how they are and would they like to meet up for catch up sometime. Then, a few hours later - particularly if the person doesn't respond, or has seen the message but doesn't answer straightaway - I get anxious, fidgety, even afraid.I open up my laptop again, check the Facebook in a state of fretful agitation, clinging to the desperate hope that there will be a little red number above the messenger symbol at the top of the screen. Oh, God, why did I do it? I would groan, furious with myself. Now look at what you've done, you idiot! You just had to send her another stupid pathetic message, didn't you? No wonder she hasn't answered. Why would anyone want to spend time with the likes of you?                                                                                                       So it's true to say situations like this in the past have not done much to help me tackle my loneliness. In recent months, I've often put off messaging other people consequently. The loneliness was enough to kill me, but the fear of "upsetting" others was more than I could possibly bear. I convinced myself, at the time, that stewing in my own isolation was more preferable. 

                          

But now I am saying in a voice as firm as the steel-hard determination building itself up deep inside me. Now it is time to stop thinking like this. To realise that I'm not being pathetic and weak by messaging others..no, in fact, quite the opposite. It's a similar kind of thing, really, in choosing whether to believe ED or not when he's telling you that you're weak and lazy in choosing to eat more and exercise less during weight restoration. But no. You are being the exact opposite. By choosing to defy the Voice and to nourish yourself and rest your body...you are being not weak, but STRONG. And I know that the same could be said for me, in overcoming my demons and developing a sense of my own-self worth.

2.And so with this in mind, I am going to try my utmost best to not hold back from messaging people, trying to organise meet ups and catch ups, or to suggest doing something fun together. I admit, I know I will find this pretty hard. I know there's a very good chance people won't just decide to start answering my messages, just because I've decided to be a bit more resolute and confident in myself. It's true, I can't change that side of things. But there is one thing in my power, to change. That being the way I choose to respond to those no responses.                        

Instead of just jumping to the automatic conclusion that she doesn't care or she's annoyed with me, I know I need to stop taking people's silences so much to heart, and accept that the person in question is just busy. Because I mean, honestly, who would get annoyed simply for getting a message from someone? I know that the people I know would not. As with all my anxieties revolving round food and weight gain, the fear is, really and truly, all just in our heads.

3.I know that it's also important that I work on distracting myself from the loneliness when I feel as if it has become overwhelming. Instead of sitting around letting myself be consumed by the thoughts when they creep in, I know that I'd be much better off actively doing something. Whether that be going out for a blast with my furry friends, ringing my Gran, writing notes for Morokia, or digging out my cocoa stained apron. 

4.Get more involved in stuff in my community. And I'm pleased to say I've made inroads with this: a couple of weeks ago, I commenced my volunteering with my local Brownie (Girl Guides) Unit in Portlaoise. Unfortunately, they're finished for the summer now, but they start up again in September.

5.After the summer, I am hoping to be able to start doing some proper therapy, both for the anorexia and the depression. I know deep down that if I really want to achieve full and complete recovery, I am going to need to seek some professional help. Much as I hate to admit it, my consultant was right all along (as she was about everything!!😡)

6.And last, but by no means least; there is something that I really wanted to tell you about, and which might well need an entire blog post to itself so that I can give you the full details. It's something which, I know, has the potential to be something of a life-changing experience for me, and which I hope with all my heart will help me to further conquer my loneliness and change me, and my outlook on life, for the better.                                                                          

That being....the Ganache Elf finally has a job. A job?? Yes, of sorts. Just a temporary thing - five weeks this July - in the sun-soaked city known as Barcelona....😲

The title of this post is taken from the lyrics of the most beautiful little song that my dear friend Ange quoted in her post comment...thank you mo chroí 💚💜💛

We are not alone. xxx

God grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change what I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

This is the quote that a dear friend sent me in the past, upon one of the many days upon which I was struggling, and felt like I couldn't go on.

And last Wednesday was a day which felt vaguely reminiscent of those days. A day upon which the depression came back in force, creeping into my heart and extinguishing the candles of hope which had once burned there.

What I had hoped was an eternal sunrise, was in fact another sunset..

Not because of food, or anorexia in itself. Rather, I suppose, one of the major aftereffects which has been brought about through my illness. That being the loneliness, the constant feeling of isolation. I guess it was naive of me to assume that, once college was over, life would suddenly be as bright and as beautiful as a summer garden alive with roses.The reality, of course, was very, very different. On returning from my Gran's, the loneliness hit me again like a cold, strong wave smashing against the delicate sands of the shore.

It all felt very familiar, that Wednesday. I guess that's because I know that I've been to this place before. I've followed the exact same pattern as I did last year, in more ways than one. Gone from underweight to weight restored again; gone from being vaguely aware of just how lonely I feel, to an intense, razor-sharp consciousness of my solitude, my isolation, and the desolation that comes along with it.

While I was gaining weight, that sense of purpose in my mind seemed to take the edges off the pain of being alone. Once again I was lured into the trap of making naive assumptions about how ideal my new life would be like. I would have tonnes of friends again, somehow. I would be confident. I would appreciate every single moment of every single day, and embrace life with all my heart, as I never have managed to before.

But now once again I feel like the girl who got left behind. The outsider. The one destined to tread her own lonely little path. Do people think that I am happy like this? My heart beats its own desolate little rhythm. 

Please, no, don't leave me. I no longer want to be alone.

Every year of my illness was a lonely one, marked by tears of isolation. But it mattered less to me then than it does now. Because back then I had ED as my...soulmate. There's no denying the fact that I derived a sort of comfort from him. We danced together in what constituted a warped, twisted courtship; a relationship founded on abuse and subordination of the weaker other.

We knew each other so, so well. He knew all my strengths, all my weaknesses. In time, I learned to know his.

And it was then I began to fight back, to struggle to break free. My eyes had been opened. For the first time since the commencement of our relationship, I recognized him for what he really was. An abusive, sick partner who had broken my heart and very nearly broke my soul.

But all those years; all those years, of being alone, of declining invitations to social events, to turning down the friendly offers of former classmates to join in on nights out, to come along to the party, to pop over for pre drinks and nibbles.

Did I fear the thought of being the one left out; did I weep at the thought of being isolated? Yes, I did. But sadly, I feared the thoughts of eating, of anyone finding out my secret, even more. ED convinced me every time not to go, and that's what I always did. I would cry every time, wanting to go, but knowing I would not. And he would comfort me, telling me that whatever happened, I will still be here.

All those years sit heavily upon my shoulders now, as heavy and as crippling as shackles.

Because now I am no longer the girl who wants to be with ED. Now I want to dance upon dance floors, wear pretty dresses and eye-catching makeup, to flutter my eyelashes at boys. Now I want to love, and be loved. Now, I want to live, to grasp the quivering heartstrings of life with my bare, outstretched hands.

But now it seems to be all to late.

My college days are over and gone. I can't go back in time and relive them again; can't grab hold of those opportunities which I, back then, allowed to pass me by.

If only life could be like a dancer progressing from move to move, each one standing as a marker on her journey to success.
If you mess one particular move up, it's ok, you can go back to it. You can go back to it and do it all again. Then, when you have done it the way you really, really want, you can move on to what lies ahead. Learning, and getting better, and stronger. Working at each one until you get it just right.

But life isn't really like that, I know. I can't go back and redo it all again. I can only work with what I have.

But I have learnt. I have got stronger. And, I know, if I try really hard, I don't have to limp my way through the next few stages of my life journey. I hope that I can learn to dance. 💙

If we would only let it,
hope can spring forth, like a beautiful summer flower.💕



In my next post I will talk a little more about what I intend to do to combat this loneliness, and to further weaken the remaining bonds of ED. I hope that this will help all those who feel alone in this battle💙xxx

From Darkness into Light..

My hands trembled as I held out the blue answer booklet. The invigilator, having not noticed my shaking fingers, took it from me with a smile, and moved on.

I sat there dazed, not quite able to comprehend the feelings that surged in my breast, crashing against one another like the white tipped waves of the ocean.

I had done it.

I was here.

My time at Trinity was finally, finally over.

And so I stepped out of the stuffy, artificially lit exam hall, stepped out from that crowded space in which the dozens upon dozens of  excited human voices intermingled and wove into one another to make one confused, violent cacophony of sound. Stepped right out of there, towards the square of yellow light which led into the outside world. 

Another world, to me. I felt as if I was making both a literal and figurative transition, from one place to another.

Into a world of sweet and beautiful freedom; a world in which my sorrows would melt away like chips of sharp ice being thawed by the delicate kiss of the spring sun. 

I was free. I had done it. I had finished my college degree.

And it did not matter that my exam hadn't gone brilliantly, and that I had ran out of time on the question involving a discussion of two of the course texts' lack of human empathy. It did not matter that, when I had entered that very same exam hall two days before to sit my first exam, it had suddenly hit me, like a stinging blow to the face, that I knew not a soul in that place. I had felt like Robert Neville at the end of the I am Legend novel, looking out at the face of the brave new world and feeling totally, utterly isolated. That was what I had felt like. I don't belong here.

But now it did not matter.

Now, I no longer cared.

For I was free. Free to be me, to forge a new and beautiful future for myself, far separated from the pain and struggles of the past. I was stepping out from the darkness of my loneliness, stepping from that crowded world - a world in which I had been surrounded by people, but had always, no matter how many faces I could see, felt so, so alone, like a lonely, plain-feathered songbird struggling to fly amongst a flock of beautiful swans.

I was leaving behind the loneliness, the sadness, the pain of unbelonging. The constant feelings of not being good enough, that my existence was worthless to everyone and everything.

I was leaving behind that world, that day.

And so I stepped into the light.

And so I ran through the streets of Dublin towards my train, my hair streaming behind like wild uncurling banner, the late afternoon sunshine casting dapples of light upon my face as I passed beneath trees laden with the sweet green foliage of May. People turned to stare at me in surprise as I ran past, their curious gazes following me as I dodged between them like a minnow between reeds.  I suppose what they saw was sort-of  young looking girl, with a full, glowing face, purple runners on her feet, a black skirt with tiny roses, a white top which left her arms and shoulders bare and exposed to the sun. 

But over the past few months, that girl became wiser.

She learned quite a few new things. Things that weren't just related to the degree she was trying so desperately to achieve.

She learned things about herself, her world. Things about life. And ultimately things about her recovery.

She learned that she did have the strength to do this.

She learned to care less about what others think, and to just be herself.

She learned that she was strong and capable. That she has what it takes to achieve her dreams and goals.

She learned to take care of herself.

She learned that she didn't have to be the thin, skinny girl, whose potential to be loved by other is wholly dependent on the severity of her illness.

She learned to be the Real, True Emmy.

She learned that she could leave the thin, scared little girl behind.

And I think it was these vital lessons which got that girl through her exams, to the light beyond. It was these lessons which filled her heart with joy as soon as she stepped into that light and felt the warmth upon her face, felt the heavy, dragging weights being  lifted from her shoulders. It was these lessons that lightened her steps, that day she ran through the streets of Dublin, towards Heuston, and home. It was these lessons which taught her that she could be free. Free to break free from the crippling fetters of loneliness, pain, self-doubt. And to render ED ever weaker.

And though she still has some way to go, she learned that she will see this battle out to the very, very end.

There can only be two possible outcomes to this fight.

I can choose to let ED destroy me...or I can choose to destroy ED, and win the pure sweet freedom that true recovery inevitably brings.

And I've learnt now that I can make the right choice.

For it is time for me to be free, in heart, body and soul.💕

Back to Basics...

The swallows flit across an lilac-peach sky.

The sunlight slants through a canopy of leaves the colour of candlelight.

Flowers fall and blossoms wilt. The branches of the slender-limbed hazel shudder gently in a chill breeze which cuts into the flesh like a knife.

The rowan and the hawthorn hold aloft their garlands of deep scarlet berries. Some of the berries lie crushed upon the face of the earth, shining wetly like droplets of fresh blood.

And though the whole world changed around me,
I still...
remained ...
the same.

It's been a while since I last wrote. Not out of choice, of course; I would never willingly just abandon my blog and cease my weekly writings. But that week two months ago, there was a sense of change in the air; hanging heavy like winter fog in front of my eyes.

And ahead of me, the new college term loomed ominously over my head like a threatening storm cloud upon a grey winter's day.

And so my Morokia notes were tenderly gathered up and put away in the depths of my wardrobe; whereas my various favourite "reading spots" - which ranged in location from the front seat of Mam's Nissan to the petal-strewn table at the rear end of the conservatory - became frequented, not with my dog-eared copies of the Wheel of Time, but with college books and endless piles of refill pad paper covered front to back in my messy, spidery handwriting. The beautiful, golden summer finally had come to an end.

And on a breezy morning in late September, I found myself standing before that familiar arch in Dublin City Centre, the wind tugging sharply at my long unadorned hair as I gazed upon the structure's stony regalness.

Back again. But I don't feel any different.

I'm still that little lost girl at the gates of Brigidine, watching all the people hurry past me, feeling; so hopelessly inadequate, stupid, inferior.

And as I walk these bustling halls and corridors, I have never felt quite so alone.

I sit in the classroom and listen to the chatter of the other students around me. But it feels to me as if I am perched upon the pinnacle of the most desolate, lonely mountain. A mountain from which I can clearly see the signs of human life below me. So close, but yet; so far.

The one companion that I know is here with me - who is waiting for me, at every corner which I turn - is Ed.

Ed was here the first day that I stepped through the Front Arch of Trinity. Ed's been here with me ever since. Sitting in a lecture hall, trying to study in the library; walking through the bustling arts block and trying to avoid every stranger's eyes. Ed is there with me, breathing down my neck. I can feel its hand upon my shoulder, turning me to where it wants me to go.

And this year, I know, is no different.



There are times when I want to be like those falling leaves...

To be blown away with the chill autumn wind, to float gently across windswept moor, to be swept into the surging river, to be carried away, forever...

But no. I know that that is my depression talking; that somewhere deep inside there is a little seed waiting for the light to shine upon it so it can grow. I need to realise that I am not a helpless case. I need to realise that I can nourish that seed, let it push itself upwards, and let it...blossom...

But how?
How do I do it??

Well. I guess it's back to basics...

To nourish myself. And to hell with getting upset about college work I cannot do. Normal reaction: I cry, I weep, I berate myself and label myself as an imbecile. And then? I don't eat properly. My head becomes clogged up with thoughts like I cannot eat that because I know I will just think and think about it excessively afterward and well you will be sitting in that lecture room for a good two hours..you must eat less to provide for that, Emmy. Cymbals, crashing in my head. What I would not give, for them to be silenced.

Ed. Yes. It's time I talked to you. I starved myself for the whole duration of my teenage years and beyond. Because of you, Ed. And now what do you do? You tell me that I need to keep on eating less. That your body no longer needs this food, because you reached a healthy weight, and -

I know it's me and only me who can fight this fight; who can defy and resist these endless, endless lies.

I know that I have to keep on fighting.

Stumbling blindly along this long and lonely road.

So I know that now I need to be open and honest and reach out for support to my loved ones and my readers. To stop avoiding the scales and face up to reality.

And to remind myself, once again...

of why I chose recovery; and why, I chose to fight.

And so this is exactly what I am going to do...

• Get back onto my meal plan, properly, with no little missed bits or exceptions.
• Check my weight once a week, no more, no less.
• Make goals and weekly challenges in my notebook as I know I still have many fears to conquer and disordered behaviours to overcome.
• Get involved with something not to do with college which I think I might enjoy..and which will enable me to meet and interact with other people..hard and scary but I know I need to get out of my comfort zone and I think too that it will help distract me from the anorexic thoughts.
• Be open and honest and seek help and support. 
• Help myself by weekly journalling and self-checks, and try to use some of the tools which I learnt in hospital, but since then have long since completely forgotten about. But it's past time to dig out those tattered sheets and put them to good use.

I know I have said this so many, many times, but...it is the ultimate truth.

Each one of us will only be given one body.

This is the one and only body we will ever ever have.

It's not like an object which you use once and then dispose of. It's not an item of clothing which can be crudely fixed if it has been broken or badly damaged. The body is resilient and will do all it can to keep you alive. But there's only so much that it can take. There's only so much restriction and deprivement of vital energy and nutrition. There's only so much overexercise and starvation and lack of essential vitamins and nutrients. Sostop putting off what you need to start doing today. Today we choose recovery. Because there might well be no tomorrow for us. Tomorrow might just be that bit too late. <3 xxx

Should I surrender myself to solitude...for at least then I would not get hurt? :'(

I check my phone this morning for the twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth time. The screen is blank; the little envelope sign which tells me I have a message is glaringly, cuttingly absent. So I sit down with my laptop instead, in the hope that I might have a few facebook messages to read. But there is nothing. Nothing, except the pain, and the emptiness. No one to see or meet up with, noone to talk to. I am lost and alone on my little lonely ship, lost and alone on this desolate grey ocean.

It hurts me. It hurts me as much as a knife would slicing across my heart. I scrutinize the messages and search for something in them which might have somehow offended or upset. There is nothing; nothing that I can see; but this does not by any means soothe the anxiety crashing through my head. Then I consider as to whether it is the frequency or persistence of my messages which have somehow annoyed or irritated. I am so angry with myself that I want to pound my head with my own hands. I am so, so distraught that I wish I could just throw away the laptop and the phone and disappear from the world that I know, forever. But where would I go? Would anyone actually notice if I just disappeared? Probably not; a cruel voice taunts at the back of my head. tears crack my eyes and spill in rivulets down my face.

The loneliness, I find, is as hard and as difficult as recovery. I am stronger now then I ever was, stronger than ever against ED. But I suppose I foolishly allowed myself to entertain the notion that, as I made progress with my recovery and the battle against the Voice, that my life would change, too, for the better; that things would be drastically and wonderfully different and changed. but this has not been the case. I am still as lonely and as isolated as I was before. I write countless of messages in the hope that today, tomorrow, the next day, I will get to see those who I love with every piece of my heart. But I guess people are busy and that they have their own friends. Their lives have moved on: but for me, everything remains the same.

I feel such an..an oddity. I often wonder, how many texts and messages an average twenty two year old girl receives in a day. dozens upon dozens? A constant deluge of texts and messages and snapchats? this is not the case for me: My phone usually sits, dejected and forgotten about, in my room every day. I check facebook all the time, hoping, praying, pleading that there will be something from someone I wrote to. there is rarely ever anything. The wound is deepening in my heart.

And so today I wondered...maybe I just need, to stop. To stop being the one trying to arrange things, to stop being the one who always texts first. Because no answers just means more pain and despair for me. And I do not want to infect others with my depression; I would rather die then hurt their feelings, or impinge negatively upon them in the slightest or most minor of ways.

Should I surrender myself to solitude....

Is this the only way I can keep myself, relatively safe? Safe from the pain and the loneliness and the knowing; the knowing that people's lives have moved on, without me?

So I bury my head in my Morokia notes, and walk out alone along the boglands with Benny. He stops to snuffle the ground and I pause to place a kiss upon his head. I take comfort in the softness of his fur. For animals, at least, are not like humans: they, unlike people, remain unchanged.

Finding my little lost gemstones...:) xxx

And so I sit and look out over my sunlit garden, letting the warmth of that evening sun dance upon the contours of my face. A light summer breeze gently tickles my hair, carrying the heady scents of the brightly coloured flowers and the onion-like fragrance of the chives growing on the patio beside me. It is an evening which is just, so perfect: and there is no place on earth now where I would rather be.

At my feet lay several dog-eared notebooks: each one with a cover strikingly different from the other. One is red with white polka dots; the front containing a small, mysterious picture of what appears to bbe a short little man stirring something in a big steaming cauldron. The mysteriousness of the picture is perfectly complemented by the words printed beneath it. The Magic starts here. A notebook which was just made to be one in which I make my scratchy, barely legible notes on Morokia.

Also amongst this unkempt pile of books and paperwork is a number of thick cookbooks; their pages and covers worn and splotched with constant usage and accidental spillages. And then there is the little notebook with the title Lovely Thoughts written on it: one which I designate my little to-do-lists for each day, as well as recovery thoughts and reflections, and also possible dates upon which I will see my friends.

All these things that I love to do: whether that be baking, or cycling, or writing fragments of Morokia. Walking the mountains, and going out for the day with a friend. All of these things, I very nearly lost: for they were buried , buried by the cruel spades and hands of Ed. But now I am beginning to find them again. Now I am able to catch that fleeting glimpse; a glimpse of what life without an eating disorder is really, really like.

Because this is what recovery should be partially about, for you, and for me. To find those little lost gemstones. To reclaim the things that we loved and held dear, but which, in relinquishing to Ed, we allowed to be simply carried away; or buried deep in the cold, unyielding ground. But nothing is ever truly lost without hope. You can, and will, reclaim what is rightfully yours. And if you refuse to give up and continue to fight on with your held high and your heart open and brave...then you will find that special littleplace, again. The peak of the mountain; the valley with the beautiful meadow. The beauty of true recovery is indescribable, valuable, precious. The fake, corrupted ideas of beauty implanted by your eating disorder are nothing in comparison: They, in their totality, must be completely and utterly destroyed.

The one gemstone that for me that still remains to be found is, I suppose, the social life which I once had. well no; if I was very honest, I dont know if I ever had a proper, true social life. Ed has been with me since the very first day I started at secondary school, meaning that when other girls my age would be going to parties and attending teenage discos, I would have been sitting alone at home, head buried in a textbook as I tried to memorise page upon page of senseless information. I had glimpses of what life could be like; especially, after my Leaving Cert. My two close friends and I went out that summer, and danced like there truly was no tomorrow. but then my illness worsened; my friends, began to move on; to different cities and different lives.

Will I ever find that gemstone again? I hope so. I hope so with all my heart. It will quite possibly be the hardest of my stones to find; as it requires bravery and maturity in me; as well as, I suppose, a willingness to put myself out there; to conquer the fear and the shyness and the self-hate.

But for now, I keep fighting, and searching. The sky is paling; the sun slips down below the dusky forms of the mountains. But I do not fear, because soon, the stars will come out. Twinkling and shining like pure, sparkling diamonds; just like the hope that now shines forth in my heart. <3 xxx

The long and lonely mountain...

9 am, Thursday morning. My eyes skim over the two paragraphs of Morokia that I have just written; an excerpt which describes the feelings of my heroine Rachel as she watches her brother depart from Yuarentan Castle for one of his many sea voyages. At first, the feeling that tingles across my consciousness is one of real, pure pleasure. It is Morokia, my story, and bit by little bit it is getting written.

But then gradually, this feeling subsides, to be replaced by something quite different. My smile fades as I reread the paragraph again, my enthusiasm draining away like water leaking from a cracked glass. It reminds me of something; something, which is hurting. Twisting deep inside me like a dagger within my heart, embedding itself deeper and deeper.

For this paragraph reminds me...reminds me, of how alone, I really feel. And that transitory feeling of pleasure - stemming for my passion for Morokia, the story of that world and its characters which I myself created - also serves to remind me of how detached and separated I am from the real, human world. I am not a princess in a fairy tale. I am not in the same place as Rachel and Narcissus and Begonia, with their beautiful dresses and spirits of fire. They are brave and beautiful and noble; fighting for their freedom; their homes; for those that they love. I am not, and never will be, part of that world. A massive part of me wishes that I am, because this world, the world of the 21st century, feels like one in which I will never truly belong. And it is such a lonely, painful world. So painful it feels like I am lying on a bed of thorns. So lonely and so isolating, I might as well be standing upon the most desolate and barren mountain, a million miles away from any kind of human civilisation.

The hardest thing for me though is...I know, I have brought this on myself. Years and years of being sick with anorexia meant that I detached and distanced myself from my peers, particularly in my years at Trinity,when my eating disorder was as its worst. The old friends who I love are now moving on, moving away from me. And there is nothing I can do as I watch them spread their wings and fly; because I love them , love them with all my heart, and I want them to achieve their dreams, and be free. I cannot want them to think of me now; for why should they? They have their own lives, their own friends; jobs, boyfriends, a social life. They are free and they are happy. My heart feels like it could burst with happiness for them; while at the same time it feels like it could bbreak. For the pain of losing them; of watching them slowly and gradually begin to slip away from me.

If only I could reclaim everything which i have lost; ever since Ed entered my life, and began its never-ending game of all take and no give. Lost, and will never be able to retrieve. For I know, I will never be able to relive those years at trinity..years in which I should have spent socializing and trying out new things; meeting new people, making new friends, and, essentially, finding myself. Because that's how I feel, even though, having achieved so, so much with my recovery, I still feel defined by my eating disorder, because it laid its mark upon my life in ways which I feel will never truly be eradicated. Will I always be the lonely one? The one who is always on her own, cut off from all the others by those vast, fathomless gulfs of isolation? The shy, quiet girl, who can barely speak out of nervousness or anxiety when in the company of strangers; who feels so shy and awkward around boys, that she would purposely look away so they could not look at her in the eye? who spends so much of her time scanning her phone or her Facebook messages, hoping against hope that someone, anyone, has messaged her? Who spends so much of her time alone, burning the little candle of solitude?

I can only hope that things will change, for me. Change, in a way that means my life will change too, and that the sun will break through this suffocating fog of isolation; in which i seem so helplessly, futilely lost. But it seems like I have been waiting for this change for an eternity; waiting, and hoping, for such a long, long time. My road of recovery winds on and on, up and along that steep-sloped, towering mountain. A mountain which I know I must, and will, continue to climb. but upon which, no matter how high I ascend, I have never felt quite so alone.

You are stronger than you think...xxx

Recovery is...

like walking upon a windswept beach, a beach which is strewn with rocks and sharply edged pebbles; a beach which seems to stretch on and on and on towards the distant horizon. The tide rolls in as you walk along, white tipped waves crashing down upon the grey, gritty sand as the rushing waters advance towards you, roaring and pounding itself against the rocks of that lonely shoreline with all the wild, untameable ferocity of some monstrous, terrible beast.

And still the beach stretches out ahead of you. On and on and on, without end.

And as the waves break upon the shore at your back, icy waters surging towards you with terrifying velocity, it is all you can do to not let yourself be drawn back by the powerful, surging currents that are suddenly sucking away the sands to every side of you. Those waters are all around you, now; and your skin becomes drenched with icy spray off those furious waves. And those waves are so powerful, so strong. They will bear you away with them, out into that depthless sea.

A few months ago, this was what had happened to me. I was the leaf  lost in the gale; the tiny little stone which has been plucked away from the rocky path upon which it was precariously attached, to be tossed remorselessly away into the icy wilderness beyond.  I was the little lost girl who had allowed herself to be carried away from that lonely beach with all its sharp cutting stones. I had lost the strength to carry on. Those cruel, terrible waves, seizing the opportunity and revelling in my weakness, had swept me pitilessly away, out into that terrible grey ocean.

And that's how it remained, for months. Me trying desperately to swim back for the shore, but my weak and feeble attempts were powerless against the raging, irresistible torrent which forced my body further and further into the depths. I was sinking and crying out for help, but noone, not one soul of this earth could hear me; or reach me. My desperate fingers groped desperately, searching for an inivisible hand which would stretch out to me and pull me from this abyss. The sea, the ocean, the abyss which was my eating disorder...it had, once again, claimed me for its own. And that long, hard, lonely path along the shoreline, the shoreline which had been my recovery...now seemed to be a hundred miles away from me, separated by these endless expanses of cold, stormy, grey waters.

It was just...so tiring, so painful, so hard. And there did not seem to be any end to it. It felt like I had been walking for ages..ages, without getting anywhere. And there were so many sharp, cutting rocks. they were tearing my skin and leaving me bleeding; reminding me, over and over again, just how painful and difficult recovery really is. And that shore was just so, so lonely. at times; for I was the different one, the odd one; the girl who was isolated and cut off from the society into which she had been born. And so, when those cruel waves came, I found myself all too easily surrendering to their cold, coldembrace. Recovery is too painful, too hard. I am not strong enough to do this. I am useless. I am hopeless. I don't...I don't have that strength, to keep on walking upon the sand. I do not have the strength to reccover.

But the past few weeks I finally found the strength to push myself upwards through the cold, icy, raging stormy waters. I have finally found the strength to break free.

And as this newfound strength courses through me, I know I am becoming stronger and stronger; and I can see the beautiful light which burns upon the surface of the water. And though the waves still roar and crash all around me....

It is now my turn to be the stronger one. And I am learning to glide across those waves.

I need to believe that I can get back to this...and that I will be happy, and that I will accept myself, and my body...

I am now FULLY back on my meal plan.

I am nourishing my body every day by eating and enjoying delicious, yummy food that I love. I am bloated and full most of the time, but I am not letting this get in the way of what I know I have to do. I tell myself, every time the anxiety threatens to kick in, that my bloated stomach is my body's own way of protecting the vulnerable organs within, and that when, in time, my body is starting to trust me again, the bloating will not be as bad and I will not constantly be feeling so full all the time. I recognise and acknowledge that my body is trying to protect itself and accept that this is a direct consequence of undereating.

I opened up to my Mam about how much I have been struggling. There are now no secrets between us: everything has been laid out in the open. There is no more concealment, no more pretending, no more secrecy.  Mam is helping and supporting me with my meals and snacks and we are going to check my weight every Sunday.

I am giving my recovery everything that I have.

I am getting stronger and stronger every day.

I have found my way back to the shore...

And  I know now that not only do I have the strength to overcome those waves that tried to overcome me. But I have the strength to keep walking, too. And so do you. We CAN do this. And one day...one day, we will get there, together. At the end of that shoreline lies a beautiful, sunlit lagoon; a lagoon where peaceful waters flow.

The New Spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need to come alive again...

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

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

This is the Choice...the Choice which I have to make...

Choices. Something I have never exactly, been very good at. To say that I am indecisive, and that I struggle to make definite or concrete decisions regardless of what their context may be, would pretty much me an understatement. Especially, over the past few years. When it was possible, I would do my best to wriggle out of any kind of situation which would involve me making a choice or important decision, furtively hoping that someone else would do the deciding for me. Immature and irresponsible on my part, I know. But decision making made me afraid; for, no matter how hard I tried, I could not view the act of making a conscious choice as detached from the negative of damaging consequences which would be evoked through taking the wrong path or option. And then, of course, as was typical of me, I convinced myself, in my head, that I would always, without fail, be the one to make the wrong decision, and then those damaging consequences which I so greatly feared would come crashing down upon my head in their unbridled and terrible fury.

That much hasn't changed, for the past few years. Mallorca last year, going back to Trinity, deciding on whether or not to open up about my struggles or not. So many different decisions and choices, most of which involved alot of stress, alot of worry, alot of tears, even pain, because choosing, was just so, so hard.
So many, many decisions, so many choices...each and every one, which have impacted, in their own individual ways, upon my life.

But none of them, not one of them, can be equated to the one which faces me now.

It is the one which I know I cannot afford to hide from; one which I essentially cannot put off for another single day. And I know that there is no escaping it: or the hard, cold truth, of this one single fact. That this is the choice, the choice of which is going to have the biggest and most fundamental effect upon my future, my body, my life. Not just for short term. For years and years to come. For the rest of the days which I spend upon this earth as a living, breathing human being.

Late last night, when the rest of my loved ones had long retired to bed, I found myself still sitting up by the hearth in the front room, staring motionlessly into the weakly glowing, dying embers of the fire; a fire which had been so beautiful, so warm, so powerful in its former fiery vividness, with its golden-orange flames of liquid amber which leapt and danced upon the smoking logs. but yet now those flames had disintegrated into nothing but smoky, weakly glowing embers and sooty ashes; ashes which gave off as little heat as they did of light. A gradual chill began to descend upon the room, a chill which was pronounced and augmented by the now bare, empty corner where only just a day ago, the Christmas tree had stood in all of its regal glory, brightly lit and glowing, with as much warmth and radiance as that which had blossomed and bloomed in the fireplace, hours before the chill had began to tighten its hold.

But now there was no tree, no warm and blazing flames. My body suddenly felt so unprotected, vulnerable, fragile. I hugged my arms to my chest, feeling chilled to the very marrow of every bone.

But there was something else that was haunting me, then, freezing the blood in every vein,  I felt as if an ice cold, cruelly hand had tightened itself around my heart in one crushing, bloodless grip.

Because I know that, essentially, I have a  choice to make, now. A decision which I cannot put off for any longer; a choice, which can be made by no single other person but me.

Because this...this is it.

This is the choice I have to make. Right here, right now.

i can choose to recover, and reach, an accept, a healthy weight for my body.

Or...I can choose...to stay the same.

To stay the same. Entrapped, within the prison created by my eating disorder. To remain at a weight which isn't healthy for my body. To remain...sick.

And deep down, I know. I know what the consequences will be, if I were to take that path.

Depression, and despair, and isolation.
Ruined bones. A fragile, delicate, unhealthy body, damaged beyond repair. Too weak and broken to do the things that I love.
Dry, cracked skin. hair loss.
Exhaustion, fatigue, no energy to do anything.
Inability to focus, concentrate. Unable to think about anything, anything but those consuming, terrible, self-destructive thoughts.

And some of these, I have already experienced, for myself. Am experiencing. The days when I do not have this thick, heavy, suffocating black cloud of fogginess hanging over me, blocking out the light and enveloping me in darkness, are few and far between. I smile and try to put on a cheery face, not wanting my loved ones to see the pain that I conceal inside, locked away in the deepest and darkest part of my heart. Because of my eating disorder, I have become an extremely negative, self-conscious, lonely girl who is dependent on others to look out for her. College, once again, has proven to be a complete and utter disaster for me. I'm due to start next term on the 18th of this month, but to be brutally honest, I think it's highly unlikely that I have actually passed the first term. I have two essays to hand in next week...two essays, and to just look at them breaks my heart, because I know that they are not enough. Not enough, to reach the high standards demanded by Trinity.

And then...then, there is the loneliness. The isolation that my eating disorder has brought me...this is one of the hardest parts. Being in such a big, bustling university, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of bright-eyed, intelligent, sophisticated young people who appear to have the world at their feet. They go around in their groups of friends, talking and laughing and conversing, planning their next night out, arguing over where the best place is to go for lunch. But me...I am removed, from all that. To me, Trinity is a place of loneliness and bitter memories.

And it's true that ED is very good, at making me close my eyes to it. It'll be ok, Emmy. Sure of course being underweight has its negatives. But it's better than weight gain, right? I mean, look how ugly you looked over the summer..!

Because of ED...I couldn't accept this new, strange, different body..

And even if I were to make it manageable....a life, a life with an eating disorder. But what is to stop me, from falling, falling down, down and down into that yawning abyss, to hit the terrible, razor sharp rocks at the very bottom?

Do I want to live my life on a precipice?

And to go along that wrong path now...
Like the dying remnants of that fire,
I know that I will lose all my strength, all my light, everything that I have.

I am so, so glad that I finally found that inner strength deep within me, to make that decision back in November to fight for my recovery once again and prevent my relapse from deteriorating into something far, far more serious. Because that, after all, is exactly what could have happened.

I hope...I hope that through my recovery, I will be able to forge myself a new life path. One upon which I will be free from this loneliness, this feeling of inadequacy, of self-hate. One in which I will feel accepted by others as well as myself. One upon which...I will experience some kind of..freedom.

But I know that none of that will ever be possible, if I choose to remain the same, and not change. i don't know where I am really going right now, what 2016 is going to bring me. I might well fail college, and have to drop out. The loneliness might never truly leave me. Maybe I will be forever lost in these foggy, dark clouds. But all I know is...I am the one who has to make this choice. And I choose to give this recovery all I have got. I have made my choice and I have embarked upon that path, once again. The one which leads up this long, steep, hard, lonely mountain. And though the top of that mountain is distant, unknown, unfamiliar...I am prepared now to do what it takes, to get there. Because I know, without one shard of uncertainty, what a wrong choice right now will bring me. So I am going to stumble on right now, through the darkness and the fog...because I have made my choice, right now, and I am committed to it. because this, essentially, is a choice between life and death.

I have made my decision...
And this time, I will, no matter what, be turned back. <3 xxx

The maze and the mountain.

For me, one of the most difficult obstacles in my struggles against the Voice of my Eating Disorder has always been my lack of motivation to recover, on account that, aside from the love I bear for those in my life who are closest to me, that I always felt as if I had nothing to recover for.

This type of thinking got significantly worse when I started at Trinity. When I was at school, my eating disorder was kept in a state of semi-containment: i had a goal, a specific aim, in my head the whole time, which kept me off, to some extent, that bloodstained path of self-destruction upon which I suddenly found myself stumbling upon, that day when I left my home in September 2012. the day when I was all set to embark upon a new chapter in my life, away from the insular, warm, safe world of my home.

I have to eat as little as possible, now. Because being skinny is the only one thing, that I have left.
I am not smart, intelligent, beautiful, funny, athletic, studious, talented in any kind of way...

And now, you have lost that one thing that you did have...
you're no longer the grade a student...everyone here is a hundred times better than you. 

being thin, being the skinny one...that's all that I have left.

This was the kind of thing...that I told myself every day. And which I fully believed, heart and soul...which I recognised and acknowledged as the ultimate truth.

And so the two years dragged on, two difficult and painful years full of panic, anxiety, tears and relentless restriction. Because by this time it came so naturally to me; and not once did I stop to consider just what the consequences of my actions could be; stop, to contemplate for one instant, just how much damage I was wrecking upon my own body. And I no longer had that goal, that drive to propel me onwards. I looked no further than the present day, and perhaps, the day following that. And for one single, abominable purpose. my mind was wholly bent, on how, each day, I was would go about eating as little as possible; and how I would conceal my actions from the eyes of the world, and my loved ones. It fills me with shame to write this, but I know that it is the truth; that, for me, was my reality, every hour of every day. Whereas other girls my age in Trinity spent their time planning their future career prospects, perhaps, or where they would choose to go for their getogether on Saturday night... every thought, every priority, every motivation that ever really occured to me...it wasn't my own, it was Ed's. I didn't think about my future; as far as I was concerned, there was nothing really there, anyway. I didn't see where I was going. I didn't realise where this path of self-destruction really led.

Now, things are different. But yet, in a way, some things remain the same.

It's true to say that the realisation of just how much damage I actually caused my body...

What remains unchanged, though, is the fact that I still don't really know where I am going; I still dont really know what I am recovering for...

Because I still see myself, as a lost cause. I feel like a little scrubby dandelion weed, growing precariously upon the steep, barren slope of  some beautiful yet cruelly hostile mountain. The dandelion struggles desperately to grow; but the elements are too harsh, the ground too hard, for it to grow. Further away from the slope grow the other beautiful mountain flowers: tall red poppies and glorious purple foxgloves, regal and exquisite, dainty bluebells. They are strong and successful and flourishing. But I am not, and never will be, one of them.

                                          At times, it feels like as if my life has become as lonely and as heavy as a mountain...

Perhaps, in another time and another place, I would have blossomed; but this is the modern world, and it breaks my heart to say it, but...I will never be like the others. I'm 21 now, and have been for several months, but to be honest, you would not know, if you were to attach a camera to me, and monitor what I do and how I conduct myself on a daily basis.

I still need mam, to look out for me. If it was not for her, i don't even think I would really be here, right now. She was, and still is, to a great extent, the backbone to my recovery... without her, I know it would have crumbled long ago.
I still need mam to sit with me at dinner, because I know that without her I wouldn't have enough and that i would stop eating before I was full. And though I don't really think she is aware of it,in that I haven't really told her...but it is for her and through her that I manage to beat off the Voice and win my little victories with my meal plan. When I had my scone last Sunday, for example...I don't think I would have managed it, if it wasn't for Mam being there. And at that moment I was so, so torn...I wanted to have that scone, but even more than that, I wanted her to get it for me - I didn't want to have to be the one to perform that one simple thing...that simple thing, as small and as insignificant as a speck of dust on a windswept plateau...but yet, at the same time, as huge and as vast and as overwhelming, as the massive gulf that surrounds it on all sides.

Why am I so dependent on others...
Why am I so immature...
What am I really recovering for? Will I ever be able to find my way, in life? or will I just get lost along the way?

Because that's how I feel, at the moment. Just so lost...lost in a never-ending, disorientating maze. A maze which I see others passing through, from time to time. But they, unlike me, manage to find their way out. Some might struggle and some might falter, but in the end, they succeed. But I just stumble on, and on, and on, trying desperately to follow them out...not wanting to be, the little girl who got left behind.

All I know is...I have to keep searching, trying, and struggling up this long and lonely mountain. For my recovery journey is proving very long, and lonely, and hard. But I know I have to keep going. I know that I have to try.

The Girl who was Left Behind.

In my previous post from two days ago (The Child of my ED), I talked alot about my ED type immaturity, and mentioned that there was something else on Saturday, a so-called inner demon of mine, I guess; which caused me so much sadness and pain that night. It is at times like that night when I realise just how real these "demons" of mine are, how palpable an influence they hold over me. The other one is something which has probably been with me for the same duration of time as the immaturity, and has had the same kind of negative effect on me. This thing being, my own sense of inferiority.

For as long as I can remember, I have compared myself to other people around me and believed that next to them, I am more or less a nobody. I created an imaginary gap between myself and my peers, a gap over which I would never be able to cross; or even, reach over.

Like the majority of my problems, so it seems, this all seemed to evolve from my early days at secondary school. On that fatal first day when I first put on the cream-coloured blouse and green skirt of the convent school where it all began, I was a changed girl, in many respects. The difference between me and the girls around me was painfully obvious in my eyes. I was desperate, so desperate to make myself fit in, become one of them, to reduce this awful crippling sense of inferiority; a feeling that up to that point in my life had been alien to me; for in my primary school years, I was the confident, bubbly, smiling girl with limitless amounts of energy and rosy glowing cheeks, who did not, at any point, stop and contemplate about just how much better every one else was than herself. I felt equal, respected, and so, so perfectly content. But of course, this idyllic sense of tranquility was never going to last, and last it did not.

I didn't want to leave the happy, innocent little world of my childhood. But growing up is a cruel, cruel thing.

I did everything, everything I could possibly think of, to integrate myself into the new, unfamiliar, and undeniably frightening new world in which I now found myself, lost and alone and afraid, trying desperately not to drown. It was all I could do, to merely keep my head abbove the water, to stay afloat.

I rolled up my skirt at the waist so that it hung above the knee, even though I wasn't even really that sure why I was exactly doing this, at first: but all the other girls did it, so it didn't really matter if the meaning behind such an action was not clear at the present time: all I had to do was mimic them without question, and then, I believed, I would be that one tiny bit less inferior. I abandoned my childhood stories of animals and adventures which I had been working diligently on throughout the summer; projects which at one time had given me so much joy and pleasure. But, once that golden, glorious summer ended and my time at secondary school began, I forsook them entirely, terrified that such a hobby was plain babyish. I resolved to study as hard as I possibly could, anxious to achieve high grades and not become a class clown; desperate to make myself become more than the boring, ugly, stupid girl which I saw myself as being. Who I thought, that surely everyone esle was going to see me as, too, if I did not make some sort of radical change. And then...another thought, a seemingly so innocent, wonderfully simple, uncomplicated little thought came to me. How about if...if I made myself thinner? Then, perhaps, I would feel less inferior? If I replaced what I regarded as being my dumpy, unattractive, plump figure with one which was slim and toned and slender. Which was beautiful.

My eating disorder beckoned with a hand which was as inviting and as shiny as silver. Just as shiny, and just as cold. But I took that hand, and hence allowed anorexia to lead me along a path which appeared, at first, so smooth and shiny and oh, so perfect. But in reality, of course, that golden path soon became strewn with thorns which tore at my skin and left me bleeding. The world moved on, the friends and acquaintances I knew in school matured and grew and shone like stars. But I was the girl who got left behind, trapped on a road strewn with thorns and pain and tears.

When I left school and started my new life at Trinity, things did not improve, of course. If anything it got worse.

And now, I am haunted by this sense of worthlessness, inadequacy, inferiority. For example, on the very brief night out I had at the weekend, I was too deeply immersed in the depths of my own self-criticism to even begin to enjoy myself. And there was a boundary there, an invisible boundary which noone else could or would ever be able to perceive. In a way it feels as if I am in an entirely different world; trapped, isolated and alone, in a desolate, hostile universe of my own making.

It is so hard, so hard to even try to put my finger on it; to describe the way I feel. I suppose...it is as if the girl who is me, the girl who is Emmy, it is almost as if she should have been born in a different world, in a different time, in a different place. I probably should have come into being in an age when women and girls did not have the independence and the equality that they have now: as I am simply useless at taking advantage of those two things, for one thing. I am unable to make my own decisions - the Trinity one still hangs above my head, undecided and unresolved - and as for independence, well, its virtually non-existent; all because of myself. There is such an enormous difference, between me and other young women of my own age. My personality, my mindset, the way I think and feel about myself, the way I look, the way I live my life...it probably would have been more suited to a world like that protrayed in my beloved Morokia, or maybe even, that of Arthur Ransom's Swallows and Amazons, with the children playing innocently on boats and builidng fires and tents in the woods. A simple, tranquil, innocent world.

If only I could bridge that gap, that gap I have made for myself, from all those around me. But I - nno one else, just I, by myself -  have widened and deepened that gap so severely over the years. And I fear that I am too afraid to make that leap.