Near-Exhaustion

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The pain cuts deep. It stings and it burns and I simply can’t hold back the tears that fall. Taken back to hospital just when I thought I was okay. Just like always, the hope comes crashing down, once relaxed but back on guard.

Always seem to be falling. Always dragged backwards against my will. Weighed down, feeling like I could drown.

It hurts more than the pain that has brought me back to hospital.

It hurts more than the pain I felt from June 18.

It aches and it hurts.

The word that there is something else wrong with me.

Another diagnosis, another condition, another something or other wrong with me.

Another broken piece.

When I feel ‘fixed’ I get broken again.

Whether it’s by family, friends, boys or myself…just constantly being broken.

And I am so tired. I’m exhausted.

‘Damaged Goods’ – that’s what I am and you can tell me I’m not but it won’t change how I feel right now.

Taken to surgery, kidney fixed. Endless list of medication for the time being and review booked in. It wasn’t even too serious; I’ll be better by the end of the month. But a month off work, a few weeks away from my best friend…it’s hard not to feel broken and lonely when that’s all that you can relate to.

I wasn’t able to eat – the illness took care of that. I didn’t have an appetite for 3 weeks and if I ate, my body couldn’t keep it down. Such a triggering situation and I’m working to keep it away. To not relapse over those feelings of ’empty’, the feelings I used to crave.

They said it’s likely to happen again but there’s not much I can do. Just drink excessive amounts of water and they’ll monitor the rest. Just when I was getting a grip on so many things, getting so much happier in myself, just something else. Always something else.

Dragging me back to reality.

My reality that I’ll never be normal. That I’ll always be a burden to those who have to help me. That I’ll always be ill, disabled…used…abused…broken or worse.

Wouldn’t it be nice to eat and drink without fear? To not have the nightmares? To not be rushed to hospital at 4am? To not have to have emergency surgery?

Give me a week and I’ll know it’s not true. I’ll realise I’m tough for dealing with all my crap. I’ll smile because I’ll be proud of every step I’ve had to take in my pretty shitty life.

I know what I’m like…I’ll feel awesome in no time.

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Twitter: @elenip92
Instagram: @elenipapa92

Times Like This

Woken up 4am Thursday morning with a pain in my left hand side. A stabbing pain that made me scream and cry and call out for my flatmates.

8 hours later and the hospital sent me home. Hand in hand with some paracetamol, they couldn’t work out what had happened to me and said I remained a ‘mystery’. Forever a mystery, even a friend commented that I am ‘always in hospital’. Times like this make me feel numb, never knowing what’s wrong other than that there is always something wrong with me. Times like this make me feel broken.

5am Friday morning and the pain was back. So was the hospital and the doctors claiming there was nothing wrong with me. I cried. My boyfriend was there to hold my hand this time and he held it tight as I cried. All of the pain, all the exhaustion and all the stress of being told I was ‘fine’. I’m always fine…

They sent me home with codeine this time and it seemed to do the trick but on Friday the pain never left and neither did he. He stayed the day and rang the doctor who told us to go back on the evening. And so we did. He held me tight and he took me back. He held me when the pain came back and he wiped away every tear. He held my hand whilst they did all their tests and he really helped that fear. He calmed me down. Though I could tell he was panicking, he knew what I needed and he stroked my hair, held me again trying to help me sleep.

Saturday morning, 2am, and the doctors had found me a bed but he wasn’t allowed to stay. That was the first time the fear came back and each time the pain woke me up I felt more scared, more lonely. Counting down the hours minutes and seconds until 2pm so that he could come back and hold me.

On regular morphine now, they ran more tests and eventually found the cause. Inflammation and water on my kidneys along with this teeny tiny 3mm stone. So again, but with an appointment for a specialist next week, they sent me home.

I didn’t expect him to stay. 3 days of hospital was surely enough but he spent Sunday evening with me. Helping me with every little thing. The smallest things that mean the most. I could tell he was worried but together we got through it. He kept me distracted when I needed it the most and he held me when the pain made me cry all over again. He set alarms on his phone to make sure I had medication at 12am, 4am and 8am. He even worked from home at my flat on Monday just to keep an eye.

Times like that make me realise just how much he cares. I’ve always known it, always sure of it but times like this make me feel loved. Spend so much time feeling worthless and unloved and times like that make me feel so wrong. Telling me he ‘wanted his Len back’ made me realise how much he really does. How much he wants me to get better in all aspects . Feeling cared for, loved. All I could want but it means so much more than it did before.

Right where I needed him when I needed him and yet he went above and beyond what I could have ever expected.

Times like this make me want to get better with my ED. What if that ‘one last purge’ made me this ill? It’s been a while but kidney damage can be caused by bulimia so what if…almost not worth thinking about but it is additional motivation.

Times like this, thanks to the illness but mainly thanks to him, make me want to become even healthier.

 

A Badge That Says ‘I’m Different’.


I was given this badge. This nice blue badge which, now that I mention it out loud, is appropriately coloured. On this lil blue badge is the London Underground sign with a phrase stating: ‘Please Offer Me a Seat’.

I was born looking normal, I grew up looking normal (well to the extent I hid my arm) and I definitely still look normal. No body can see the pain I’m in. Friends wouldn’t really know the extent of the pain I’m in on a daily basis.

Why? Because I don’t want to be that one who complains all the time and nor do I want to feel like a burden to anyone. So I smile and get on with my pain treating it as and when I need to.

I wish that method could apply to my mental pain, but I digress.

Standing up on a packed tube where I’m too small to reach any poles to steady myself is painful. All my effort goes into trying to balance and it hurts. My leg is throbbing from morning all the way through til that tube journey home.

And so I was given a badge. In the hope that people wouldn’t question my invisible disabilities and allow me to sit.

And most of the time they do. The rest of the time, I’m probably way too small for people to even notice me in the first place and that’s fine. What’s also fine, is those who don’t give up their seats because they could be like me.

It hurt me though, when I got it. I felt like I was given this great big blue badge that screamed ‘I’m disabled!!!’. I felt ashamed that people would look and question what could possibly be wrong with me that warrants me having such a badge.

I felt broken.

It represented this huge feeling of being broken. Of having something wrong with me. Of not being normal.

It reminded me of those feelings of shame for having physical issues growing up. The feelings of hurt when no one would believe I was couldn’t do things or was in pain. The memories of being bullied for being different.

I still get embarrassed. I see people staring but I know they’re going to. One person was cruel but that was one in god knows how many hundreds I’ve come across on my tube journeys this past month.

But being able to get a seat for most of my journey has really helped reduce the pain I get in my leg. Just like writing helps reduce the pain in my head and heart.

It’s nice to feel less pain in my legs.

It’s nice to be writing again.

I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last wrote anything and it was an unexpected message that actually got me wanting to write again.  It’s not been plain sailing since then but I’m sure I’ll start telling you all everything that’s happened soon enough!!

Thank you for that message ❤

Instagram: @elenipapa92
Twitter: @elenip92

 

 

 

Knowing a Feeling 

I learnt the hard way to not get my hopes up. Always let down, always dropped, always left a little bit more broken than before. Family, friends, coaches, GB team staff and, of course – boys, would remind me why I was ‘stupid to think that this time would be any different.’

So yes, I learnt the hard way not to get my hopes up. I learnt to not look too far into the future, to not see ‘meaning’ in anything and to expect the worst until I saw something confirmed on paper.

And yet, deep down, my hopes always remained high.

And I suppose my hopes are still high. My optimism gets commented on frequently and those who know everything will comment they can’t understand why.

Why, after everything would I still be the girl who is still so full of happiness and hope that one day, everything will be okay?

Thing is, I could easily be the cold-stone-hearted-ice-queen after everything and everyone would understand but it would be allowing those experiences to deprive myself of  potential happiness. Yes, people have hurt me in some of the worst ways imaginable but I don’t want that to prevent me from finding future happiness and inner peace.

But the beautiful paradox continues to exist. I still fear the worst. I simultaneously drag my hopes down just as I start to put my faith in them. The thing is, what I know and what I feel are unfortunately two extremely different things.

I know developing an eating disorder wasn’t ‘my fault’ but I feel ashamed and disappointed in myself for having one.
I know my friends would do anything to help me but I feel that I’m a burden they will wish they didn’t have.
I know my boyfriend wants to be with me but I feel that he’s bound to prefer someone with less issues. Less damage. Less of a past she couldn’t control.

know that three meals a day won’t make me gain weight but I feel incredibly fat for wanting to eat, let alone even eating.
know I’ve not purged for more than four weeks but I feel like that doesn’t truly mean anything.
I know in the past I have found ways to purge in secret when surrounded by others but I feel like that doesn’t mean anything regarding these last four weeks.

In his words, I’m ‘kicking ass’ and I know that I am but I feel like I’ve achieved nothing.

I’m still working on developing my self-compassion that my therapist and I worked on. Allowing myself to appreciate that there will always be days where I do get hurt and need support, or days I fall down and need people to pick me up but none of that makes me a failure. Loving myself for the things I know rather than hate myself for the things I simply feel. And of course it’s difficult to not believe the awful things people have made me feel, but if it was easy then it wouldn’t be holding me back right now…

It’s potentially the hardest part of my recovery (in the necessary circumstances) feeling what I know rather than only knowing what I let myself feel.

At least these people always help me work out the difference:

Twitter: @elenip92

Instagram: @elenipapa92

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Almost There

My 25th birthday yesterday and to celebrate my quarter-of-a-century-ness the opticians delivered my first ever pair of glasses. Seven years of reading and writing and reading and writing and reading some more at university has left my eyes a little bit worse than where they started off.

Perfectly lovely birthday even if I did panic a little bit at the restaurant we went to. More than an hour in the queue but between you and me, totally worth it. Even lucky enough to be given one of the best tables in the room. Luckier to have pretty awesome company.

I got my exam results today.

I got a distinction in my degree.

That means I’ve kept my job.

That means, after all this time, after all this hard work, after everything that could go wrong and did go wrong, I’m finally going to be a Trainee Solicitor.

At one of the top law firms in the country too.

I really messed up one of my exams, I knew I did and I was worried the mark was going to cost me my job but turns out I passed it. Only just mind; I passed the exam by 5 marks and God did it bring down my average, but, I passed.

And even though it was my lowest mark I’m incredibly proud of it because though I majorly struggled I tried my damned hardest to learn everything I needed and coming out the exam I knew I was close to the pass mark, nothing more but potentially a lot less.

But it doesn’t matter how much I got past that pass mark because I got past it. All I needed to do was get over the pass mark and I would still be employed come September. The firm could take my job away if I didn’t get a certain mark in my degree but they can’t because I did it.

I made it.

Well, almost…

I still have a week to finish the business masters the firm wants me to do and I’m half way through. The finance element has killed me mentally, I’ve never cried over work but that made me cry four times. However, I currently have 2,432 words of my education left, so I suppose I best get back to it…

For once, it’s not really been a bad week in my world.

Twitter: @elenip92

Instagram: @elenipapa92

Welcome Home 


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

Instagram: @elenipapa92

Concrete Walls 

It’s been eleven days since you broke up with me for approximately 30 minutes. Eleven days since you spent an entire day changing your mind and messing with mine in the process. Eleven days since you planted the worlds biggest mind fuck into my head and not a single day out of those eleven has passed where I haven’t thought of what you did to me.

I’ve had a great eleven days here in Peru but they’ve been riddled with doubts and fears and tears.

My mind tells me it’s because I’m ‘too much’. With all my different illnesses, and one illness in particular, of course I would be a burden to anyone. I know it’s lying to me but my heart believes it right now. My heart believes my mind when it’s telling me that I am damaged goods once more.

Nobody wants what is broken.

I’m already second guessing your words and actions since I’ve been away. Something I never had to do because you never played games. You never messed me around or mind fucked me…not until now, anyway.

I put all my savings into this trip and my one at the end of summer because you insisted I stay with you. I can’t even afford a hostel when I come back to London because you said you wouldn’t accept rent money off me. You want me to stay but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be there whilst my mind is already playing cruel tricks on me.

Tricks and lies that you have helped create.

I had to get weighed today because I was flying over the Nazca Lines in these tiny rickety planes and I felt unbelievably scared. I knew that knowing the number wouldn’t benefit me and so I didn’t look. You could say that’s a massive step forward for me and I wanted to talk to you about it but I can’t. 

The trust has gone.

The damage you have caused isn’t irreparable but it’s there for now.

I want to trust you but you’ve really left me a mess.

My brain and my friends think I shouldn’t go back but my heart wants to trust you. It wants to trust your words and actions these past eleven days but my brain and friends are trying to protect my heart from what happened to it 5 years, 1 year and even 9 months ago. 

I am so tired of crying.

The walls are up but that doesn’t mean they won’t be brought down once more. 

Right now, I don’t know if they should come down.