A Perk of Recovery

When I arrived at the hospital, skeletal, lifeless, dead as a doornail, I couldn't move any of my joints at all - I was in that much pain. But I didn't care, because that voice controlled every aspect of my life back then. Now all I hear are thoughts, and even those are diminishing, slowly, just as time is ticking away day by day. It will still take an incredible amount of persistence, strength and time for those thoughts to ultimately disappear - just like that red handkerchief always does when the magician flicks his wand and says a spell.

As I was incapable and unfit to even move from one side to the other on my bed upon arrival here, you could say I was pretty much unable to move at all. But now, as I am slowly gaining my health back, the perks of recovery are definitely becoming visible. At the beginning, all I did was sleep. Now, I don't, obviously or I wouldn't be writing this, ha. One thing that hasn't change is that I still have strict bedrest as my weight is still incredibly low (I am only allowed to leave my bed for my daily shower, or with the physiotherapist). But I'm trying to change that willingly and so I've accepted that bedrest is the best option for me right now, as I know that weight gain is a slow and tiring process.

Now, I am able to not only blog here; I am able to have proper conversations again without forgetting what I've said a minute before, or not hearing part of someone's question - always an embarassing thing, especially when it happens to you when speaking with a doctor; I can make friendship bracelets; I read; I can do things. That's the most important thing. I'm not lifeless anymore, I am finally able to move and live again.

Today in physiotherapy I managed my first 1 km on the stationary bike with no resistance - I feel on top of the world writing this down because it shows how far I've come. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it's a milestone for me. I was unable to even take a step five weeks ago, don't forget, and now, here I am, biking a whole kilometer! Bizarre. I loved every minute of it, I cherished it greatly. Tomorrow I'm supposed to play table tennis with my physiotherapist, we'll see how that goes. One thing's for sure, I'm looking forward to it!

A Little Pampering Never Hurt No One

Should there be a quota in regards to pursuing recovery; doing what is considered necessary in gaining a semblance of a life back? It could be based on reaching and taking appropriate recovery steps in the right direction. Who wouldn't love that? Being treated for doing the right thing once, twice, or even several times daily - which comes with quite a few favors free for one to use to their advantage. Achieving this quota countless times would enable a whole spa day, using each 'ticket' - one could call it - for a different activity such as a manicure, pedicure, massage, etc. Realistically talking though, as much as I would want this quota to exist as it would be heavenly, recovery is something one should go about handling for themselves. Recovering for favors, for goodies, for one's parents, one's boyfriend, whom or whatever, it won't work as the thoughts are too strong and you too weak, succumbing to their demands. The first time I gave recovery a go, I was under the impression of being able to wing this by wanting to recover for someone else. That idea backfired, to say the least as it got me here. Well, now I know better and am going through this process by myself, for myself, my body and my health. Now I'm not saying that rewards aren't something not to have or look forward to, one just shouldn't base their recovery around them.

So, here I am, typing this as part of my nightly ritual here, being given a head massage by my mom, whom I adore and love unconditionally - to the moon and back - and enjoying it, but for the right reasons.

Go Hard or Go Home

Everyday there seems to be some sort of information that finds its way - oozing slowly across the horizon until reaching the northern star - being documented, manipulated as knowledge in which to simultaneously create a storyline too, as well as recorded in dire times. Yet I find that the time is never desperate enough, and that there's always a teensy spark left and hope to give before the end of the day; to be able to end the day with a bang. Like my mom said today, Go Hard or Go Home. And that's the truth.

For all you chocolate lovers, sweet tooths, or simply those with a hearty appetite calling for that sweet, delicious pastry that you just wholeheartedly enjoyed every bite of, down to the last crumb, be proud. I can now successfully label myself as someone who ate not one, but two typical Austrian Germknödel - yeast based dumplings with plum butter placed inside; served with melted butter and poppy seeds crushed with sugar. Although I still have ways to go and eons to reach before finding pleasure in consuming deserts and not have them be labeled as fear foods, I'm doing my part, taking initiative.

A typical Austrian Comfort Food - Germknödel.
I used to love this as a little kid, and will successfully have conquered this as a fear food soon.

Learning to live. Wanting to live. Needing to live.

That's what it comes down to. I want to be able to tick off deserts from my list of fear foods, which includes not only the process of consuming a piece of desert but the thought process that goes along with it, as part of my recovery. Yes, I get sick, dizzy, stomache cramps, headaches, you name it, after a meal - not to mention the thoughts that start to try and tear me down - but I pursue and stay strong. I finish the desert successfully and live with the results, knowing that one day, those will all be gone. 

First Whole Meal

Today was hectic to say the least. First off, it's Monday, the start of the week. And secondly, the nursing team, including all doctors, psychologists, etc. needed to be informed on the occurences of the weekend - which took eons, just like mountains slowly changing shape over time, for each of the eight patients here. 

Usually this morning ritual ends at 10, today it ended just before lunch arrived. Stressful you say? You're most definitely right. Imagine Times Square in New York at its peak hour - having millions of people scramble all over the place, hurrying from one shop to the next, the traffic, the noise, the lights; simply everything - it just gets very overwhelming.

To make matters worse, and to add to all the already built-up anxiety, I was informed that I would, from now, eat WHOLE meals instead of simply half of a meal. The additional calories over the nose tube would remain though.

And I managed to get rid of that voice.

I successfully ate a whole meal even though I was anxious all day.

I overcame my fear of eating once again.

I defeated that little devil up there.

I tried to enjoy my food.

I used all the encouragement and support from everyone to keep going, because I know that my body needs all the nourishment it can get to heal and get healthy.

Another Step Taken In The Right Direction

There comes a time when we start to feel anxious, scared, frightened, or even haunted by whatever thoughts are going through our mind at the current occassion. Hopefully we don't fall into that state often. If we do, it would be just as horrendous as having to acknowledge every single one of ones co-workers, either with a nice gesture or greeting, every morning - even the ones we despise. It is a painful and agonizing process that one really doesn't need to go through on a daily basis; or even weekly for that matter.

But we do, and that's life. The way we deal with these occurences is what distinguishes our character; whether we give into our mind or fight and stand tall, like the Statue of Liberty. No one is positive 24/7, but the willingess and eagerness to try to achieve that supportive mindset is what sets one apart from the rest, showing one's strength in character.

For me, right now, I am in this situation seven times a day. Seven. Seven times where I have to argue with that devil, that awfully painful voice - just like a chalk that is being dragged across a blackboard in a slow and agonizing manner, creating the most horrific sound - and trying to conquer it. After evrey occurence, I know that I will only grow stronger. Although my mind persistently tries to interfere with my state of mind, I have been successful in conquering it at all meals today.

Today marks the first day in which I ate everything I was given. Not even crumbs were left behind on any of the three meal plates nor was there a single drop of the supplement drink left unnoticed at the bottom of the syringe for the other four. What a success.

Being me, I had to document everything I ate today, so that I am in fact able to remind myself just how far I have come since my admission here. My three regular meals today consisted of

Breakfast: apple, fruit yogurt, muesli, butter, whole wheat bread

Lunch: italian vegetable soup, polenta patties, courgette-tomato stew, salad with yogurt dressing and a brioche croissant

part of my lunch

Dinner: herbs soup, tomato-basil spread, one roll, one whole wheat bread, a tomato and cheese

Writing down all the nutrients that I have generously given my body today, making it healthier, makes me realize just how far I have come mentally. Although I felt horrible during the process as well as after, I survived. I'm still here, fighting.

Like the title says, it's another step in the right direction. It can only go upwards from here.

One Month

Today, I will keep it short, simple and to the point, as I am too ecstatic to sit here and blog the night away as I have a reason to celebrate - like your sixteenth birthday, something that everyone simply looks forward to as it is a sign of growing up. I've alluded to being admitted to this station on Friday, September 7, 2012 several times. That's some important knowledge I tell you, so please - from now on - remember that date, engrain it in your brain to ensure that you will remember it for an eternity; or at least until I am finally healthy again. 

September 7. That day will always remain in my mind. It is the day that changed my life for the better. I was given another chance at life, who doesn't want that? Who doesn't want to be able to live, to enjoy themselves, to just have a good time with friends? No one, that's who. And that's why today is a reason of celebrating my process of regaining my life back. As today is Friday October 5, I have been here exactly a month today. One month of fighting, of battling that demon - like Spiderman man does continuously, day and night - is what I have been able to achieve with all the help, support and encouragement.

I'm thankful beyond belief that I've basically been given another chance at life, and have just completed my first month. And boy does it feel good, like one of those nice, soothing foot massages that everyone secretly craves and longs for. 

Having had bed rest the whole month, I have begun to enhance my creative outlet by a ten fold. It's because it helps me relax; it rids me of all plenty of my negative thoughts - just as if I were taking a hot bath and simply relaxing, clearing my mind and enjoying the warmth. I find that by doing something creative - instead of being on the laptop, of sleeping, of breaking rules and not following your own personal treatment plan, or worst of all, constantly thinking and giving into that voice up there, telling me I'm too fat and worthless to live - I calm down. I'm able to push away those thoughts, little by little, helping me relax and even enjoy myself at something, while not being immersed in eating disordered behavior and thoughts.

So to quickly recap, I've been given another chance at life exactly a month ago and I agreed and couldn't be more exhilirated. I can't wait until the day I'm completely healthy again.

My creative outlet that is retained in my  little night, thatthankfully  keeps me company and occupied during the day. It includes: DVDs, friendship bracelets, crocheting, a jewelery making kit, magazines, books, games, a cross stitch picture, my laptop, my phone, stuffed animals with words of encourgament and a self-make photo-album - as well as other things not included in this beautifully crafted image and portrayal of most of my possessions here.

Comfort, that's all I crave

It’s hard to be all alone when times are rough, whether it be about the fight you just had over the phone with your boyfriend, accusing him of cheating, to laying in bed at an intensive psychiatric care station where you are bawling your eyes out, crying yourself to sleep every night. Nobody deserves to be left alone with their feelings, ever, and if the opportunity presents itself to call loved ones, please do so, as the feelings of being loved are magically radiated through the phone, leaving you with more courage and willpower than before.

At this intensive psychiatric ward, the best in the country, people don’t come here willingly, usually. They are forced to be brought under through court orders and all that jazz because they are in severe danger of themselves and/or others. 

But I came here willingly, that is the main difference in distinguishing me from the other 7 patients here. Only these specialists, at this unit, have the knowledge and the know-how to nurse me back to health. I am fully accepting recovery as I want to be able to live again, to run around carelessly through the meadows with friends on a warm sunny day, enjoying that nice little picnic as the sun sets over the horizon without having to worry about the numbers that have destroyed my life last year - weight, calories, and BMI.

As the other patients were forced to be brought here, they obviously don't want to accept the treatment that would however, benefit them tremendously; giving them the satisfaction of gaining their life back as well, regardless of which mental disorder, such as major depressive disorder, a different type of eating disorder, or bipolar disorder, they have fallen victim to. Like previously said, what distinguishes me from these 7 other people is that I am accepting the treatment and cooperating, like the Spanish soccer team does when facing opponents, continuously passing the ball successfully and communicating efficiently, like a team, with the experts here; slowly gaining my life back. 

The others, especially new arrivals, scare me to death and do not share my current state of mind. They often have to be chained to their bed so that they cannot run away like a deer would, if it noticed that it were being hunted. They are brought here under court order, and are given medication upon medication to try to get them to quieten and eventually fall sleep. And hopefully, through a long and agonizing process, not only for themselves but the others in the room like me as well, as we have to witness this madness, they too will realize that they are ill and need these specialists to get better.

The new arrival from yesterday was especially tough on me emotionally. Not only were extra strong male helpers from other stations notified and brought in to lock him down on his bed while the newly arrived, six foot tall man, just stood there standing colossal, ready to embrace the challenge - like one of the villain’s in those children’s movies that always ends up failing - yelling and screaming in a gibberish of really foul swear words and German with a heavy Russian accent. The good news is, he’s finally asleep, as he has been forced to have a vast array of medications. Yet the worst news is that he lays opposite of me in this four bed jail-like looking room. Thank God for the curtains that are capable of dividing the room into four, saving me from witnessing something so horrid. 

This all happened this night, shortly after visiting hours were over at 8 pm, so no one was there to console me, to tell me that things would be fine, like a mother comforts and solaces her youngest after she misplaces her barbie somewhere in their lovely family household. 

I had no one, it was dark and nighttime. I was, and still am, scared of this patient lying across from me. I’m scared of how he will act, of what he is capable of doing; that I’ve been crying nonstop, with tears jotting down my cheeks like waterfalls. I wanted to leave, to be with someone I trust as the situation was anything but pleasant, yet I know that I need to be here because of what I have put my body through this past year.

I was stuck.

I am now sitting here in my bed, alone, crying, having anxiety attacks and simply being scared to death to say the least; I was emotionally worn down to the extreme. Yes, I was alone with regards to the people around me, but my favorite stuffed animal never leaves my side, and while it may sound childish and immature, it gives me comfort when I need it most. I finally feel at ease holding onto my favorite, worn-down, big, fluffy stuffed animal with dear life, inhaling his scent, like a child who runs to his mommy, for reassurance that everything is going to be okay. 

Friedolin, My Savior

What I get when I cuddle Friedolin, the loveliest carrot stuffed animal there is, is coziness, support, comfort, and I finally feel at ease and the idea that everything will be all right begins to settle in my mind; that it’s worth it to keep going with recovery, even when times are tough. Because Friedolin gives me the comfort and reassurance that I so desperately crave and long for, like a chocolate-lover and his obsession with anything chocolate covered.

Friedolin lies next to me in my bed every night, being my comforter for when I am all alone, enabling me to doze off into a deep slumber, only to wake up fully refreshed and positive for the day to come, to not only get healthier but stronger as well.