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I’ve had this blank page staring back at me the past few days. Want to write, know that I do, but about what? I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

My head is spinning with a thousand questions, so much so I won’t allow myself to even take a step back and appreciate how well the past three weeks have gone. I’ve not weighed myself at all and I don’t feel as much of a need to. Part of me thinks that shows massive progression but the other part tells me its because I’m scared to see the number, that I’m bound to have gained weight.

Every time I think I’ve made steps forward that voice simply tells me I haven’t. It downplays my success. I’ve not purged for more than 3 weeks…but that’s probably because I’ve been with other people, not because I’ve gotten stronger…

He wants to be with me. Says that he does. Says that he really likes me. But I don’t know. What if I’m setting myself up for yet another failure. Am I weak for going back? Or am I making the right choice by trying to work through whatever happened? But what did happen? I don’t know. I still don’t get it, I still can’t process it because he hasn’t given me a reason as to why he did what he did.

And my head keeps spinning.

When I’m with him, its perfect. As though nothing happened. But when I’m alone I just think of all that pain he brought to that Sunday a few weeks ago.

He said after a really long (and I mean really long) relationship he’s scared of picking the wrong person. He described it as akin to a mental health issue, that he panicked and almost couldn’t control the things he was saying. I can half understand that, even though none of my friends do.

But surely that means I’m the wrong person? I mean, of course I am. No matter how many steps I move forward nor how many achievements I make, I have so many failures and broken pieces of me that can never be forgotten.

Failures and broken pieces that are rooted in a bastard of an eating disorder.

Of course I would never be right.

Of course, each time someone ‘genuine’ comes along, they soon enough realise I’m not right.

Why would I be?

Does this mean he’s just going to end it another day in the future? Right now, he is right for me. I don’t believe its healthy to look too far into the future regarding relationships too soon but am I just here, making him better for the next one to come along? Just like always.

Always setting them up to treat the next one better.

For once I thought I was finally getting treated better.

I just don’t know anymore.

But he does treat me right. One stupid afternoon, one epic mind fuck but everything else feels incredibly normal and perfect. I can’t spend a relationship second guessing everything…just like I can’t spend my recovery second guessing every step forward that I make.

No more second guessing, back to going with the flow, I suppose.


Twitter: @elenip92

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A Beautiful Paradox

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She was broken but never hopeless. Alone but never lonely. Her eyes reflected pain but projected courage. She was a beautiful paradox

I really like that quote and feel like I can massively relate to it. It always feels weird to have people say things to me like, ‘I love how confident you are, you don’t take crap from anyone!’ when deep down, I know I’m filled with self-doubt.

The look on people’s faces when they realise what I’ve gone through and what I’m currently going through can really say it all for me. They genuinely have no idea the happy, chatty girl with the infectious smile can be so broken inside. The problem is, I’m not pretending to be that happy person, I know that person is me. It’s just that beneath it all there is the girl struggling to glue herself back together.

All it takes is one nightmare from that night…one glance from a girl skinnier than me…one more family argument, to tear down that smile and the tears come running. I really am a confident person, definitely personality confident and definitely NOT body confident but I really am getting there with being comfortable with the way I look.

I met the other trainees this week and they were so skinny. They really were, no lumps and bumps, no chest like mine and I felt so huge. They were like sticks and there I am…most definitely not a stick. I felt so self-conscious…I’ve not felt like that since i was half-naked in a swimming costume. They were all talking about how great their lives were and are, their family background and their wonderful boyfriends. DOn’t get me wrong, every single girl would have been through similar shit like me and to be honest, they were lovely and I don’t think I met a single person I disliked. No one commented on my looks or weight, or made any hint or suggestion.

No one except me. I was so down that day and I relapsed when I got home.

The next day my latest gym delivery arrived, protein etc. and a new (complimentary) gym top. Its silly but new gym kit? That is most certainly the way to motivate you to go! I felt so good, I went and worked out for an hour, did my weights and finished with a run and I looked in the mirror and felt…proud. Staring back at me was the girl who (yes, I relapsed) but woke up today determined to continue on my journey of becoming the best possible version of myself.

And I was not skinny.

But I looked strong.

#StrongNotSkinny seems to be trending lately I suppose

And it felt good.

I want to be so skinny at times but I’m also happy to be strong.

I feel so inadequate as if I don’t deserve anything or anyone but I also believe I deserve special because I do believe I am special.

I want to be loved but I know I still don’t quite love myself so…as my favourite drag queen quotes… If you can’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love someone else!

Haha here I am quoting Ru Paul (she is the best though).

I really am happier. I’m getting less focused on skinny and more focused on strong. My housemates seem to love me for me…I’m sure my new friends will love me for me and I’m sure that one day someone else will love me for me.

I really am a paradox. I feel simultaneously not good enough and too much. I suppose I need to keep journeying for the happy medium where the outside smiles and confidence truly reflects the inside smiles and confidence.

I’m not broken anymore, because I’ve already started to put myself back together. I am simply currently undergoing my re-construction.

The best of me is yet to come.

Working It Out

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Today’s been a bad day but on the same hand one of my better ones. It’s so contradictory, I know but I’m pleased with where I am right now in this very moment.

As usual my day started off with the standard family stress but today I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m in the middle with my mum breaking down to me on the phone and my dad pressuring me to send him all my money. We had an agreement that I would look after that money so me and my brother could have deposits for houses in the future but now he’s trying to take it and I will happily support my mum but I’m getting fed up of my dad. Strictly speaking he’s been paying for that whore for 14 years…14 years of his and mum’s money being spent elsewhere…14 years that has led to him taking mine and my brother’s savings, the inheritance meant to help us start our own families one day.

I feel like I can’t cope with it anymore. When I hung up on mum I ended up crying in the middle of the street and I couldn’t stop. I tried to find a place that was quiet so I could try hide from the masses around me but I couldn’t and I felt like I was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe in this crowd and I was fighting to keep the tears from falling but in the end I couldn’t. They burnt and they stung my cheeks as they started to come and I desperately tried to find an empty corner or side street to run to but there wasn’t anywhere, so I lowered my head and made my way home whilst the tears kept running.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope with this stress, I want all my family to leave. I want them to stop pressuring me, I don’t want this financial stress, they can take the money and fight between themselves, I don’t want anything to do with the money anymore, its caused so many problems sitting there and I wish, oh i wish I could just fuck off and leave them all behind. That’s my inheritance…my mum’s hard-earned cash and savings that is meant for me and John but dad is trying to take it and once he takes it, it’ll go to that fucking whore.

I was sick. I didn’t even try not to be. I just went to the bathroom and put my fingers down my throat. Its so bad that its not even to be skinny…its turning into a coping mechanism again. Something to take all the pain away because its the only way I know how.

But then, I went to the gym. I went to the one a few streets down and opened a membership and after 2 hours I went for a bit. I only managed 30 minutes cardio but considering I’ve not been able to do any real exercise for a long time I think that’s alright. I do know its not the best idea seeing as I purged. But I went to the gym, made sure I drank a lot and afterwards I went for sushi. Expensive food for my bank account right now but at least I ate something. At least I exercised. At least I got the remainder of my anger and pain out on the treadmill and not down the toilet.

And I’m proud that I finally went. It’s silly but because I feel so fat most days, I’m almost embarrassed to go to the gym. It’s so contradictory, we go there to better ourselves but it also acts as such a self-conscious environment. I’m pleased with myself. I’ve drawn up an exercise plan for the rest of the month and yeah, it might be too much, but hopefully I can find where my fitness is and start building myself up again. Not just physically but mentally too.

 

Letting go

I admit I’ve made some massive mistakes the past 7 days but I know I wasn’t fully to blame.

I’m ready to let it all go. I’m ready to make sure I am never that person who got into such a vulnerable position ever again. Hating myself won’t work. Only when I love myself truly will I never be that vulnerable.

Loving myself is the greatest thing I can do right now.

But why is it so hard?

Why can’t I love myself the way others do?

I’m ready to try. I’m going to be on my own next week when I move to London and although I’m so excited to move…I need to really develop my self-love and self-worth to enable that I’m strong enough to never hurt this way again.

The biggest demon is my scales.

I can’t seem to let them go.

I’m ready to throw out so much stuff that doesnt mean anything to me, or makes me feel bad due to the memories or I simply don’t need on my journey into this new chapter.

So why is it so hard to throw out the one thing that has never been my friend? Why can’t I throw out the sqaure that shows me a number and teaches me to hate myself?

Its only hurting me…but I can’t let them go.

Be mine

I feel terrible saying this because of what happened last week. I tried to talk about it but it was still too raw, and he felt I was justifying what happened. I do understand that.

But I want to go out. I want my boyfriend to come with me.

To be proud to come out with me. To want to be seen holding my hand.

To show everyone that I’m his.

I hate going to parties and the like without him. Everyone asking why my boyfriend wouldn’t come with me.

I want to have romantic meals, or a walk in the park.

I want him to show me off to his friends and to let me show him off to mine.

I want to go to a party and dance with my boyfriend rather than dancing on my own.

I hate seeing other couples there, holding hands, dancing, cuddling, kissing.

I love him so why does he not want to come for a drink with me, to a party, to a BBQ. He doesn’t even have to pay for it.

Just come with me. Be with me. Outside of the flat.

I want to go to a party, have a drink and a dance but with him. Not with my friends…not having to stop guys from trying to dance with me.

And the more I drink the more I wish he could be there with me, dancing, holding my hand. Just there with me.

So I drink more.

I drank more.

But I have no argument. No leg to stand on. Not any more.

I want to be looked at as though I am the most beautiful girl in the world. I want him to hold my hand on the walk home. I want to be treated like I’m not something to be lost. I want him to be there and just know that he can’t be without me.

I want him to meet my friends and I want to meet his.

I want him to show how proud he is to be mine…

How proud he is, for me to be his…

The C-Word

I know I could be overreacting. I know the doctor told me not to panic, but they mentioned that word today. The C-word and now I can’t stop thinking about it. All the what-ifs. And I’ve never felt so scared.

They tell you not to worry, they’re just concerned about something and want to run tests for cancer. Of course I’m going to worry. There’s been something wrong with me for 7 months and my GP wouldn’t listen. She told me it was nothing. Bleeding was normal. Took me ages to get her to even consider sending me to a gynae, and now I’ve been and gone, and true to ‘That girl’s’ form….I have unusual and concerning symptoms.

I got so upset at work last night, a few hours after they told me. My box showed up 3 hours late, so I just stood doing nothing, and then I was so rushed getting their food because they’re ‘VIP’ that I was unbelievably stressed in the kitchen, running back and forth, wasn’t allowed my break or my dinner, and at the end of the night they stayed so long even my supervisor was getting angry. At the end of a shift we need to restock the boxes and we have to go to the cellar, every time I did that, they kept opening more, even when I explained they could go to the bar…otherwise I keep having to go to the cellar. But in all honesty, it distracted me. It was when they were finally leaving that I got upset. In all fairness, they’d been nice to look after, but the woman had been so overly kind to me that it got me upset when they were finally leaving and I wasn’t thinking about work anymore.

I just sat in my box and cried. I’ve never felt this scared before and it puts everything in perspective. What’s a few pounds here and there, if this is the worst case scenario. Who cares what people think about my weight when this could be the worst thing to happen to me.

They said that if it is, the C-word, it will be very early stages…but this is me, everything fucks up for me, nothing ever goes well for long enough, nothing does, nothing lasts, I’m the girl with a list of things wrong with her as long as her name and I can’t cope with something else.

The abnormalities could be nothing, but they could be something and it freaks me out. I’ve never felt so scared. I can’t help thinking, what if. What if it is.

I know it could easily be nothing but what if?

I’m incredibly grateful to have these two to help me with whatever the answer to that question may be.

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Family

Family is more than just the blood that runs through your veins and its more than being related to those with the family name. Its hard to think about how certain people within your family aren’t actually family, whereas, some outside of the blood ties and relations are some of your closest family members.

I don’t consider myself to have grandparents. I never really have. My mum’s parents and dad’s father dead and the sole living grandparent I had left was simply not a grandparent at all. I used to get jealous when other girls would say they were going to their Gran’s. It always sounded so wonderful, away from the strict parents, being spoilt rotten like the way kids were supposed to be treated. But I got none of that. I was fat, an embarrassment to the family and stupid. First and foremost, however, I was a girl and entitled to derogatory treatment from birth.

Friends talked about their Granny taught them to bake. Mine slapped me for not stirring some Tzatiki quietly enough. Friends spoke about how their granny let them eat treats, mine poked me and grabbed my fat. She ridiculed me and would imitate chubby cheeks and a chubbier waste. Friends would speak about how they didn’t have to lift a finger at their Grandparents, all I remember was scrubbing the floors and washing the windows without being allowed any sort of break.

Friends spoke about how much they loved their Granny. I questioned how much mine actually loved me.

I wish I had that experience. I wish I had known my English Granny and Granddad because they would have treat me right. They would have told me I was beautiful and perfect and hung my pictures on their walls. They would have made visits enjoyable and taught me so many things. They would have made me feel more than accepted. I wouldn’t have ever had to question if they loved me.

But unfortunately, like many, I didn’t have that. I also had a stressed out (pretty much single) mum doing everything she could for me. An absent father who supplied the money but didn’t truly supply any love, only stigmas, and hate, and shame, and lies. Oh god there were so many lies. There still are and I don’t know whats true anymore. I don’t know who knows what or what secret is a secret between who. I just don’t know.

Me, Mum, John and the dog. Thats one reason I love animals. They don’t judge. They love unconditionally. They don’t question. They don’t care about your weight, disability, finances, or intelligence. They love you for you. And I love that.

I always thought that was all the family I needed and used to withdraw from people so much. It wasn’t until my 5th year of Uni I began to open up and it was the bravest but best decision I have ever made. My Muslim family. I’ve written about them before and I’m about to write again. They’ve truly helped me through so much and I genuinely care for them like family. I love the way they don’t once act as if there is a guest in the house. I love the way I just help with little things occasionally, like setting or clearing the table.

I love the way they seem happy to see me. I love the fact its not a lie.

I went through this weekend and two comments were made and I realised that not only do I see them like family but they see me as family and thinking about it from this two-way perspective made me unbelievably happy. I was asked to be part of a family selfie and although it seems like such a small gesture, it truly meant the world to me.

Family is where you walk through the door and you don’t panic about how you look or what’s going on in your life. Family is where you’re not judged for what food you do or don’t put on your plate. Family is when you feel so comfortable your best friend can leave the house and you’re not at all put in an awkward position. Family is when you go for a bike ride and come back to find the house empty so you just jump around on their trampoline without a care in the world. Family is where you don’t have to ask for anything because you know its going to be provided or you can get it yourself without asking permission.

Its not just them but its my friends too. I see S and E as sisters sometimes and not just my best friends. I’ve had to get used to not seeing them as much as I’d like due to third year and different lectures but when I see them and my face lights up and my heart gets all fuzzy I know I’ve missed them. Its that feeling when you’re randomly walking down the street and unexpectedly all three of you bump into one another and you scream like little kids. Its that feeling when you have no time but you see them and you make the time and in those 30 minutes you are just smiling uncontrollably.

Its that feeling of normality being restored. Happiness being restored. Nothing can bring me down when I’m with them. They make me stronger than you can imagine and I’ve learnt to truly cherish every minute I get with them now.

They’re all my family. And they all make me stronger.

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