This time, it has to be different...

Reflecting upon the first blog post that I made earlier this month, i realised that what had happened to me over the later part of 2016 stands as the fourth time that I had slipped into a"relapsed" state since I started my degree at Trinity. Each one of these relapses has been marked by a return to college and a resumption of restrictive behaviour patterns; and a consequent drop in my motivation, mood, and then of course the weight.

Each of them followed what I suppose can be viewed as being a "good" period in terms of my illness - being at home, during the summer, with Mam there to keep an eye on me; with no outward pressures of essays and assignments or of just fitting in at Trinity. I say good, but really, I know it has never been exactly...ideal. My weight has dipped and gone up again more times than I care to remember; but my mind, I know, has remained entrapped, all that while, in a state of static, unchanging bondage. My weight was always changing, but my mind remained the same.

 And though this year's relapse was certainly no way near as bad as previous ones, I'm aware, all too aware, that if it had not been for Mam keeping an eye on me; and for the fear of the weekly weigh ins starting again, then things might well have gone a whole lot worse. But, as it happened, me and Mam seemed to "nip it in the bud" just in time: allowing me to tentatively tread back onto that path again; a path I have been treading now, for over two years which have fleeted by like darting dragonflies.

But I mean, I know it is wrong; that it is because of other people that my relapse was not as severe as it could have been. And it is just another testifier to the extent that I am no way near recovered. As is the fact that I was feeling painfully nervous at the thought of going out last saturday night to the restaurant down in Emo. It was mam's birthday and everyone else was looking forward to the evening; everyone, that is, except for me. The only feelings that I had was fear and desperate anxiety; alongside the enormous and crippling guilt that, on Mam's special evening, all I could think about was my own terror.

 Everyone else's exchanges about what to wear and what they were going to order that night floated above my head like little wispy clouds - so distant, so picture-perfect, so far, far removed, from me. How I would love to be able to chat excitedly about going out for a meal like that.

And I wonder, if..
if I ever really will.

Because I said last year that this time would be different.
But yet, ED lingered, and I remained the same.

Every time we went out for dinner in Mallorca,

I never enjoyed a single moment of it.

Now all I can remember of those nights was the fear, the anxiety.

ED took away memories I should have made with those that I love.

Last Saturday night I sat with my sister and her boyfriend who had come down to stay with us for the weekend of Mam's birthday. We chatted and chatted long into the night; about a variety of things, really, including my eating disorder and countless phases of weight gain, then relapse.

Seeing them go the next day was enough to break my heart, as I know it might be some time before I see them again; though I know one thing that will remain with me today is all that we spoke of that night.

It;s me, and only me, who has the power to save myself.

Others can advise you and motivate you and guide you gently back onto the right path. But ultimately it is you who has to fight this battle. No one else can do it for you. The power, the determination, the strength and the defiance in the face of what might be the most harshest of odds. It has to come from you. You have to become your own soldier,because at the end of the day, it is your life which is at stake here. Your life, your body, your health and your future.

"Postponing" real recovery till after I have finished college is more or less pointless. Because when college is over my eating disorder will simply seek out another "reason" to put off what I have to do for another day or week or month or year. The time is now and anyway, I am more than aware that, for me, time is running out.



And so.

Here is a question for you, Em, I said to myself as I sat at the table with my fingers resting poised upon the laptop keys. What's to stop this time round from just being merely a repeat of your last failed attempt to beat this sh** once and for all??




It's blind faith. Like stumbling through a tunnel. A tunnel that winds and winds in endless spirals and disorientating loops; a tunnel lined with sharp stones which cut and shed blood. A tunnel which seems like it has no end; only a beginning, a beginning which leads back to a place in which you have stood for so many days, months , years - looking in. Looking in, yet too afraid to step forwards now and embark into that yawning chasm of darkness.

There was familiarity there, at the place before the tunnel. Comforting, safe familiarity. A familiarity as cold and as final as death.

Because that's exactly what that place was.

And like all things, that tunnel has a beginning, and an end. An end which might seem like the glistening moon of a clear night sky: so beautiful, so distant, so impossibly out of reach.

But there was someone who dreamt of reaching that moon. And he stopped at nothing till he had achieved that dream.

A beginning, and an end. I do not have much, but, I have a beginning, and a dream.

This time it has to be different...

And so this is where I begin.

• Continue to follow my meal plan to the letter, and consider increasing it even more if I feel that I am ready to do so. I've already made a couple of increases over the past few weeks; both of which were hard to make, but..I did it. And now I know I have to Stick to my meal plan, every hour of every day, and allow myself to eat MORE than this when I can!!
• Now, this second thing...is going to be one of the hardest. That being to reduce exercise and physical activity while regaining the weight.                                                                                   Just to explain: during my last relapse-recovery, I continued to walk and cycle every day. I'm not going to make speculations about how and why this happened as to be quite honest I don't know enough about all the sciency stuff and I don't want to mislead anyone. But I knew deep down that I really, shouldn't have been doing it - or at least, not quite as much as I was. My biggest difficulty is that I love it; both walking  my beloved Benny (and now Daisy) and riding my bike through the sweet countryside are two things which give me so much pleasure; especially at this time of the year, on those crystal-clear days; when the leaves are crisp beneath the feet and the sun slips through the sky like a rosy pebble drifting through the still blue waters of a lagoon.  They give me so much joy.                                                                                    But it's true to say that I do feel "compelled " to do it sometimes, even if I don't really have much time on my hands, or if the weather is more than disagreeable, or, in the past, if I had a foot injury - I would still do it. And that, I know, is because of my eating disorder, and its constant and relentless drive to make me burn as much calories as possible.I would find myself prioritising going for my walk over many other things; and that, if I did not do it, I know my anxiety levels would go through the roof. But at the same time...I know it is something that, deep down, I know that I need to do, and that I would benefit enormously from if I were to. But more on this in my next blog post. 
• This past year, just as I did in 2015, I restored my weight (to a minimally acceptable bmi) only to then immediately start to restrict again by consciously reducing my food intake. Both of these times, I was led to believe by my eating disorder that  my metabolism was damaged and that hence I would continue to gain weight on reaching my "target weight" if I did not revert back to restrictive amounts. And so. This time. This time I have to be wiser, smarter. Smarter than Ed. Stronger than the Voice. And on reaching that weight target I know that time time I have to keep on fighting , fighting harder than ever. It's true to say that that is quite possibly the hardest part of the path leading up that mountain; the darkest section of the long, winding tunnel. Because I know, this time, I have to continue eating, continue nourishing, continue to fight and allow my body to find its healthy set point. I don't know what this is and that in itself is terrifying. But I know, ultimately, this is what I have to do. Or I will never be able to improve my osteoporosis; or properly repair the damage that 11 years of anorexia has reaped upon my body.
• And finally, a few other practical things which I believe will help me to make this year different. These include writing a book of which I have been deliberating for some time(more on that later) and continue to blog (which I knowwill greatly assist me in keeping and staying on track through my sharing of progress with my readers - and , most importantly of all,the continuous love, support, encouragement and motivation my amazing readers they share with me every day. <3 xxxx
• And then..what I am hoping to do next year: a year out, in which I might try and get a little job, but also to set aside the time and energy that the hardest part of recovery - that being, of course, the mental part - requires. I would really like to be able to attend proper counselling and get my mind to the right place.

Together...

let's make 2017

the year that we make the Change. <3 xxx

Relighting the candle.. :) xxx

Hello everyone. <3 xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for helping me to reignite

That beautiful, golden, radiant little candle 

which for so long remained hidden from me...

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

That little candle that has a very simple little name.

Such a small little word

for something so incredibly powerful.

That candle is called hope.

Like the twinkly lights that shine upon the Christmas tree,

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

Good night everyone. xxx

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

The Flames...

Wipe away those tears, Em. They aren't going to change anything.
They're not going to write this essay for you. They're not going to change the fact that you seem to have become a complete and utter imbecile...

A typical day in the life of Emmy, Trying to write her English essays.

So I stood up then and rubbed furiously at my cheeks, angrily chastising myself for letting those tears fall from my eyes. Then, I reread the sentence again, pulling my jumper tightly around me, gripping the soft material with my fingers. The words float around in my head, echoing mockingly; grating together like knives being scratched across a steel plate.

there's that queasy, all to familiar sensation bludgeoning in my head; the subtle reminder that yes, I have been here before. The past few years have been all but the same.

What is wrong with me?

Have I become completely...stupid? Inept?

 I almost feel like reaching out with trembling fingers to scratch those hateful words upon the screen with my very fingernails. Fingernails which are short and worn, on fingers with skin the texture of sandpaper. How I am ashamed of them. Just like I am of everything about my own body.

It seems like forever since I wrote in my beloved blog; though college, of course, did not permit me to do so for the past few weeks, months, of the latter part of 2016. After such a beautiful summer, autumn took on a more darker shade for me. I became weaker and started to restrict again, reestablishing a familiar pattern which seems to be set in motion every fall of every year.

But then, at long last, came the crucial moment of realisation.

Not sure exactly when and where this little moment actually happened. Perhaps it was when I was walking with mam and she said to me, very tenderly, that I was looking just "a bit too thin" again, and I saw the pain in her dark green eyes. Perhaps it was when we picked up our new rescue dog Daisy, four weeks ago, and I took her out on the bog with Benny for her very first walk. I called her by name and she ran to me, placing her head in my lap as I crouched down to enclose her in my arms; wanting her to know that she was now safe, and loved. Noone will harm you here, I whispered. But her big brown eyes were penetrating into my own, as if she, too, was trying to convey to me an unspoken message.

I know that, Emmy. But you have to be well enough to look after me.

Daisy

Daisy is right. I have to keep myself well, to look after her. She is a two year old, jet black collie cross; and is, as the saying goes, as mad as a hatter. Daisy will need lots of long walks. She loves having someone to run and play with, to throw her sticks and then chase after them with her. All things that I want more than anything else to do with her. And which I have been, over the past few weeks. She has already stolen my heart.

But if I were to choose to give up now - to relapse, wholly and completely - than I know all too well that my health and energy will fall, and shrivel, like the fallen winter leaves lying dead upon the cold, hard earth.

My osteoporosis will worsen. the slightest fall or trip might well break an arm, a wrist, a leg.

And this second - or maybe not second; my weight has gone up and down on the scales now for as long as I can remember - has taught me a vital lesson about a fear which Ed had for me established as an undeniable reality.

I realise now that my fears about my "damaged metabolism" were, after all, just that. Fears. All these convictions that I would not stop gaining and that once I was weight restored I would have to revert to restrictive amounts in order to maintain and stabilise my weight. They were lies. Nothing more. From this weight loss I have been able to establish a fact.

Fact:

I can eat what I want.



Yesterday evening I sat by the open fire in the sitting room, watching the golden orange flames leap and dance in the hearth. Transfixed by their beauty, I pushed myself slightly forwards. The delicious heat of those flames drew me ever nearer  I stretched out my legs and wriggled my ice-cold toes. As I gently eased off my socks, though, intent upon feeling that warmth upon the bare skin of my feet, an icy shudder passed involuntarily through my body, brought on by what lay beneath the soft wool. Dry, cracked, broken skin; flaky to the touch, rubbed red raw on the edges of some of the toes.  I hate my feet, I had whispered to myself despondently, and had swiftly pulled back on the socks, so my eyes could no longer look. They are ugly, so ugly. Just like the rest of my body...

But this is Ed. This is Ed and what he has done to me. One thing he cannot touch is my strength and power of resistance. One thing he cannot take away is my resolve to carry on, no matter how many times I may fall.

Though on the outside, in the eyes of the world I was a "healthy", normal girl...

They could not see what I hid behind my smile, behind my healthy, weight restored body.

And that thing which was inside me made me despise what I saw in the mirror.

The storm continues to build. The thunder roils, the clouds bunching together into one thick, inter-penetrable mass. The noise drowns out everything. I cannot think. I sit in class and I cannot hear what the lecturer is saying. I drift in and out of the conversation, a tiny bloodless smile fixed rigidly upon my lips. I don't really understand what is being said. Psychoanalysis. Koros. Something about linear and cyclical time in children's literature. The words float above my head like pollen grains suspended in a summer wind.

There is just so much... noise, in my head. A crashing cymbal and a raging thundercloud. A tornado which keeps on revolving and revolving, threatening to destroy everything in its path.

But though the storm may continue to rage, I know I have to continue to fight on, Despite that bitterly cold wind which cuts into me like a blade; despite that icy rain running in rivulets down my face.

I said I'd do it in 2016. I will make a full recovery. I'll find the real Emmy. Not some twisted, skeletal version of myself. Not a girl who feels like she is dying inside. I'll make it there in 2016. That;s what I said, this time last year, as I desperately fought to pull myself from the wreck of my first major relapse.

But those sentences by this time sound so familiar; because I know I have said them to myself several times before.
In 2014.
And 2015. And now it's the end of yet another year.

I know alot has changed, since this time last year...

But yet, at the same time, one crucial fact remains unaltered.

I am no freer than before..
 This will be my twelfth year, with Ed.

You might as well give up, Emmy, that voice whispers to me. Give up. So much easier. So much more simple. You know you'll never get there...

In a way I suppose, succumbing to that voice will be like drawing so close to those flames in the blazing fireplace, so close that my skin is set alight and I am consumed and completely destroyed by the flames...

As that is what Ed has the power to do, ultimately. Unless I consume the food that my body needs...it will, quite remorselessly, consume me.

Unless I break free. But yet this is the thing that I yearn for so desperately, at the same time..there is that part of me which remains terrified, which wants to remain subordinate to this malignant thing which resides inside my head. And so. Breaking free. It will be no less as painful as reaching out and closing my open hand around one of the bright and beautiful flames in the roaring fireplace; before then proceeding to crush it, crush the hot flame within my clenched fingers. It will burn. It will singe the skin to the very bone.The pain, the sheer terror, will be unlike anything that I have ever before known.But I know here lies the ultimate, defining decision. I can choose to let it win; or I can choose to extinguish it. To destroy that thing which will destroy me if I do not take action first.

Every day...

just need to remind myself...

that recovery, not college, is my new priority now.

I must feed myself and destroy this illness...

Not feed this illness and destroy myself. 

So this is where I fell...

Yes, it was at this very place where I stand now...

A place upon my path leading up the mountain...a moor, where there are flowers trying to grow, but, beyond that, there is a precipice...a precipice I have to cross.

When I was at this place a year ago now, I was, as I am today, weight restored...

People would look and see a girl recovered...

But they did not know what pain I hid behind my smile...

But I was, and am, something else, too, something which other people cannot see. That being free; free from my eating disorder. I was not back then; and I know, that I am not now. Weight restored. A state of being which means that my body is now relatively healthy. But am I cured of an eating disorder? No, I am not. People might look and see a girl who is recovered; but that is where they are wrong, so wrong. How much I weigh is totally inept in measuring how healthy I am inside.

And the last time that I stood in this place, of weight restoration. there was a wretchedness; a bitterness which twisted deep inside my heart, unseen and unfelt by anyone else but me. And a hatred: a hatred of my new body. a hatred which was as audible, as palpable to me as the harshest of sirens: which could not, would not, be silenced.

The compliments that people would give me back then, would burn in my ears like acid upon the surface of the tongue. The words would roar sonorously through each and every passage of my mind; reverberating and echoing, repeating themselves over and over. No matter where I went, no matter what I did, the echoes were there, taunting me. The kind, loving words of my friends, my family: translated into the cruelest mockings by the cunning whispers of E.d.

She said that you looked well today...

she meant, of course, that you have gained weight, that you are fat.

And I believed it. I believed what it told me. And little by little, ed crept up behind me. It's ok to miss lunch, every now and again. You are weight restored, so it doesn't make a difference. It's ok to cut down on your carbs, Emmy, don't worry. Even better if you just eliminate them altogether.

And that is where I fell.

Fell into a place, which I had once sworn to myself I would never fall into again. But Ed is, and always will be, a trickster, a deciever, and a liar.

But now here I am again, at this place. It would be so so easy to fall, I know. The way ahead is as slippery as a glacier. As slippery, and equally as treacherous.

One false step, and I will slip, and fall over the edge. Just like I did the last time.

But since then I have changed, and grown...

The storm might blow over the tender little flowers, at first; seizing them and tossing them mercilessly to the ground. Because they were not ready, or strong enough, for those winds. All that is left then is a barren and broken landscape. Upon which, it seems, nothing can grow...

But there are some things that even a storm cannot touch. That is life, and hope, and the ability to start again.

And even though I fell before, I made myself get back up again.And I changed and grew and learned from my past mistakes. And now I know I am strong enough to face the storm. To stop it from causing me to fall.

And now I know that I do have what it takes to keep me from falling off that precipice...

And that this time, at the place where I last fell, I can be stronger than my eating disorder.

For starters, despite the fact I am weight restored, I am still eating the same amount, roughly, as I did when I was gaining weight.
I'm not going to try to pretend that doing this really scares me...but that, I have learned, is what true, real recovery is really about.

I have pledged to myself to listen to my loved ones, over the manipulative whispers of the Voice inside my Head. For I know what will happen to me if I let myself give in to that Voice. Now more than ever, I have to fight, and stay strong.

And in addition to that I am focusing on my weak points and feel motivated and determined to confront them. I am aware of exactly what they are; and that it will require true commitment and effort from me if I really am going to change. But I know that all I can do is try. If I do not try then I wil never be truly free from Ed.

So this is where I fell.
The same place; roughly, the same time of the year. The leaves of the beech trees are tinged now with the gold of early autumn. The flowers in the garden quiver gently in the soft wind. Their petals are vibrant, but some are already beginning to droop ever so slightly. The brink of another autumn: a time of change and transformation. And soon those golden leaves will shrivel, and fall.

But watching them now, my heart will not ache as it did last year, when I felt like one of those falling leaves; those wilted petals. No: this time, I see beyond the decay. I see instead the infinite beauty of nature; of a cycle which, in its never-ending rotations, there is always new life, new growth; and always, always hope.

So this time I will not fall. I will stand tall and strong  and will not falter. I will keep my head up and my heart strong, and I will continue my ascent of the mountain.

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

Hi everyone!! :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then last weekend changed everything.

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

never, ever be afraid to ask for help.

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

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

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

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

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

is

nothing

left

for it to take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighttime Hot choc 22.00

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

This is OUR Recovery...

Let's take this leap together. <3 xxx

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

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

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

My plan of action against ED. :D

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ED: You CANNOT eat your snack.

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

                                         yes, I CAN!!!! :D

If I don't eat that snack...

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

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

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

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

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