"A Tiger Doesn't Lose Sleep Over the Opinion of Sheep"

I was browsing the web earlier on today and stumbled upon this picture with the quote "A tiger doesn't lose sleep over the opinion of sheep." I agree with the saying full on. A tiger simply does not waste any of his energy worrying about his prey because he has better things to do in his time, such as taking a stroll through their territory in the jungle, spending time with their cubs, etc. It's safe to say that tigers have better things to do to occupy their time with.

Words of wisdom

And that got me thinking about where I am at with my thoughts, especially in terms of eating. Just like the tiger, I shouldn't waste any spare moment thinking about food, calories, weight; the list goes on. I should enjoy myself, just like the tiger. 

This is one of the goals I have for my stay here at the station: to be able to think and worry about matters that are not related to food and my disorder. I want to become one of these fierce, ferocious tigers. I know I can become one, slowly and over time - requiring lots of patience. It has greatly improved already, with the thoughts diminishing, yet they are still there and I know that with time, even those little thoughts will start to disappear and fade into the background, transforming me into a tiger.

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.

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.

Encouragement and Support

Today’s been a rough day to say the least - one of the worst for sure - like one of those school days everyone dreads, where the time just does not seem to pass, and you are stuck there for ages, robbing you all of your energy and zest for life. I am emotionally drained, incredibly anxious and am most likely getting a virus.

The day started out amazing, but now, at night time, I’m not in a good and positive mindset at all because I am genuinely scared of the night nurse, whom I have never seen here this past month, and am probably getting an infection as the evening ritual of checking one’s blood pressure, temperature, pulse, etc revealed that I have acquired a mild fever. In most cases, it means nothing, something that you simply have for a day or two because you over-exhausted yourself and need to rest. But for me, in my condition, it’s not good. I already receive antibiotic medication twice daily, which is generally used to lower one’s temperature. But now, with 37.4 C and all other symptoms, I am scared that it will lead to setbacks in my recovery process as my health is still in a critical condition. Panic-stricken, that’s what I am, like the children in the well-known movie Monsters Inc  in which the ‘monsters’ creep into children’s rooms while they are in deep slumber -  dreaming of their fondest moments they have experienced thus far in their short little lives - scaring them to death. I want to get better, to get healthy. I really do not need any more complications. Tomorrow, the doctor’s will be informed and hopefully I’ll receive excellent news, that it is simply my body adjusting and that it is normal to happen; like a student eagerly running home with the biggest grin on his face, showing his parents a report card with the best grades possible. We’ll see. And I promise that to who ever reads my daily thoughts and vents, I will inform you. I’m hoping for the best.

I genuinely hope that by journalling and writing down my thoughts, that I can clear my mind and get rid of that wretch up there that is so dominating right now it is almost unbearable; just like having a big, strong, muscular and tough looking man bawl at you, and scrutinize you only with foul language without stopping. It’s horrible, trust me.

This morning I was finally able to take a shower and now my hair is finally bearable again - conditioned, taken care of, the whole lot. It honestly felt like I was sitting at the hairdresser, getting my hair pampered by getting the best hair cure treatment known to man. Realistically, I know I didn’t, but boy it felt good to finally be able to wash and condition my hair again. There’s even better news: I walked the ten meters to the shower by myself, without the help of a nurse - completely wobbly on my feet - but still. And that’s all because of starting physiotherapy yesterday. It seems like a miracle to me - like witnessing a shooting star soar through the horizon in a flash before it disappears before your eyes - being able to not need someone else's support to walk a short distance in such a teeny span of time. But I did it, I managed.

Then, at the daily round of the nursing team and doctors that occurs everyday at 10 am sharp, like clock work, I was informed that my meal plan would change abruptly. I would now have 1/2 of the typical portions for breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as being fed over the tube, still. Pure horror. Not only that, but I wasn’t told in advance, so I couldn’t mentally prepare myself and try to rationalize with my mind that it is what’s best for me, for my health, and that the experts know what they are doing. And guess what? I managed most my meals today  - with all the help, support and encouragement that I have from everyone around me.

Although regular patients here at the hospital, are able to chose from three different selections for all three meals, I was simply given three today, robbing me of my freedom in a sense. But again, I managed. I was so anxious, so afraid of the food - the voice in my head was screaming like it hadn’t in ages - because it wasn’t things I wouldn’t have chosen to consume. Noodles; I don’t remember the last time I had noodles - it seems like a decade ago - as they became a fear food for me that I avoided at all costs during the depths of my eating disorder; but I achieved to eat almost the complete half portion successfully. At lunch, the psychologist sat with me: comforting me, reassuring me that it is necessary for my body, my health - to try and eat as much as possible from the portion I was served - and was able to distract me from those horrid thoughts nested up there like a bird, still making itself feel at home. But slowly and surely, the voice is diminishing. At dinner, my mother was with me, and she basically did the same as the psychologist. In regards to eating, today was a success I must admit, most definitely.

And then it clicked. I realized how many people are here for me, supporting me through these hard times that I have to endure at the moment. I receive so much encouragement from everyone around me that it astounds me; I am speechless -  just like a woman that finds out she is pregnant and will start a family with her beloved.

So I dedicate this bog post to everyone who is there for me, supporting me in whatever way they can - whether that is by simply reading my blog, messaging me over facebook or another site, as there are so many nowadays that one really can’t keep track, to visiting me and sitting beside me while I eat. So thank you. I never realized how many people cared about me; but I realize now that I am surrounded by loved ones who would do anything for me. Take my parents for instance, they alternately travel halfway across the world from Tokyo to Vienna to ensure that I am never alone. Not to mention all the visitors I receive, bringing me small little gifts - to be honest, it feels like christmas whenever I receive a lucky charm, a card, a drawing, etc; whatever, as everything, no matter what it is, is a sign of love. And that, that alone, knowing that I have so many people rooting for me, gives me the strength to pursue with my recovery.

My window shelf, displaying things brought by people who have visited me thus far 

A lion I was given by elementary school friends that has the saying "Get Better" on it's scarf that I received today, that will now occupy my bed for the remainder of my stay here.

The hospital book that I started in which everyone that visits creates a page of their own,, writing words of solace and encouragement; that I will then forever keep.

Thank you everyone, for all the support. It means the world to me and helps me continue to fight.

First ‘meal’ in more than a month of being nose fed

Last night was a highlight in my recovery process and a milestone in eventually pushing anorexia nervosa out of my life for good, like you would an ex-boyfriend after finding him cheating on you several times with different girls out of sheer boredom he claims, even though you were always there for him, loving him dearly and comforting him in times of solace; almost like an eating disorder voice, only instead of whispering soothing phrases into your ears, it looks down on you, scrutinizing every flaw that you have as a person - both personality and body wise. “You’re a fat pig, you don’t deserve to eat that.” “Do you really need to eat that last bit of carrot? It’ll only end up on your thighs and make you fatter,” You disgusting fat cow deserve nothing.” Having to battle this voice continuously twenty-four-seven requires strength and endurance, like serious athletes training for the Olympics. It’s agonizing pain and tough work that I have to endure on a daily basis. 

The meal I was about to scarf down - as I was anxiously anticipating the doctor’s final approval of being able to eat something - if you could even call it that at all, was cauliflower soup with one piece of rusk. Both were things I loved to eat before my eating disorder. It is a special light diet I am on, as my eating regiment here is being monitored very precisely, even several times daily. 

The importance here is that I chose to eat this willingly and without being forced to, astounding not only my father but the helpers as well. That was last night’s enormous victory; mostly for my mentality, as it showed how strong and determined I have become through my stay here; especially after my ‘rebirth’ on September 18, with the whole idea behind 2 days, half a body that shocked me to death, and still does.

Finally, real food I thought; something other than being tube fed. I felt a sense of relief, of ultimately doing something against these hunger signals that have been foreign to me since August 2011 when this all started; that I’ve been having these past few days. It was another baby step in the right direction, definitely.

The experts here have told me countless times that the time will come when I can eat on top of my meals that I am given through a nose tube. For the past four weeks, I had gotten my meals - breakfast, lunch, dinner with three snacks in between - via this tube that I so desperately wanted to get rid off at first, as I was not fully choosing to recover until September 18, my new beginning, like a pup wanting to rid itself of its cocoon only to evolve into a beautiful, breathtakingly butterfly. 

All I want is to enjoy and feel normal around food again, which will take its time. During these past few weeks, I have been having very few hunger signals, yet wasn’t allowed to eat anything as the re-feeding process is very complicated and there is plentiful of monitoring involved - my blood work, organs as well as the calories and the amount of liquid that my body is allowed to consume don a daily basis to ensure that everything is heading in the right direction and that no complications or drawbacks arouse. I am not saying that drawbacks haven’t happened, as they have, but I have full faith in the experts here.

So yesterday night, I was informed by the doctors that I finally reached the critical weight where I am allowed, not forced, but allowed, to eat a light diet in addition, that solely consists of one piece of rusk with my morning meal, and soup and another piece of rusk for both my lunch and evening meal. It might not seem like a lot to you or anyone else, but that fact that I chose to eat this willingly on top of my regular portion that I receive through the tube for my main meals is unbelievable; so much that my father started crying as he was unable to comprehend what was happening, Me, who has fasted fifteen days at times, was choosing to eat even though the need was no there; but I’ve been having hunger signals for the past few days - which, have been nonexistent for as long as I can remember - and I want to get better, so I sporadically decided to challenge not only myself but my eating disorder as well. And that my friends, is a huge step in my recovery process as I won and my eating disorder lost once again, like the Portuguese soccer team when they face the unbeatable Spanish team with goalie of the year, and one my favorites, Ilker Casillas. 

It felt amazing to be able to eat real food again after such a long time of being fed via this tube - that not only makes me look like an alien, with it hanging down from my nose while being fixated on my right cheek, but it also means that I have made enough progress on the gaining front to not only rely on the tube anymore - and the meal itself was quite delicious if I may say so. 

As previously mentioned, my father was sitting next to me while I ate - watching my every move - on my bed, as bed rest is still an issue, completely incapable of grasping the situation; of my sheer willpower and determination to stand on my own two feet again without needing the constant supervision and daily lab work that needs to be done here. The same can be said for the helpers who were here for their night shift. They were tremendously proud of me and I couldn’t believe how delighted they are of my mindset for being so willing to accept treatment, unlike many of the other seven patients here.

The reason behind being solely nose fed for such a long timeframe is because at the hospital I was in prior, they started to put my body through what is known as the ‘re-feeding syndrome’ in which it is very likely that you end up in a coma and die. As part of the re-feeding syndrome,  you are given a certain amount of calories via a nose tube on top of regular meals and portion sizes that your body is unable to process this correctly. Your inner organs, all their functions and your blood work are so destroyed because it they been used to nothing for so long and the sudden dramatic influx in calories leads to the coma. Had I not gotten one of the eight beds here, I would not have survived; which I later found out through the doctors here and that information is completely hard to take in still, and tremendously shocking to think about how close I came to dying. They gave me two days, at most, if I had stayed at the psychiatric station there. I mean, I would have never seen my mother, or brother, or any other loved ones for that matter, ever again.

It’s been three weeks yesterday that I thankfully received a place here at the intensive psychiatric ward, the best in all of Austria. Only here are they able to nurse my body back to health; it is nowhere near healthy still, but I am no longer under a complete life and death situation; it is still life-threatening though. Blood tests, careful calorie and liquid counting, ECKs, ECGs, as well as daily talks among the four doctors that specialize in anorexia nervosa with two of the top dietitians in the country, occur on a daily basis to ensure that everything in my recovery is moving relatively smoothly.

Upon my arrival here, my caloric intake over the tube was lowered immediately that I continued to lose weight, but was a necessary step to avoid the outcome that would’ve occurred had I not been brought here due to the previously mentioned re-feeding syndrome that had started at the other hospital. Over the course of the last three weeks, my weight as well as everything else regarding my body, has been monitored several times a day to ensure that there are no signs of major complications. 

Also during this three week period, the caloric value that I received increased several times, I wouldn’t know how much or when, as the words weight and calories are strictly prohibited to be talked about between these specialists and me, like the word Voldemort is generally avoided in Harry Potter; they are simply not mentioned. I find it beneficial as I haven’t thought about my weight or how many calories I’ve been consuming. 

This process has been horrible for that eating disoedwe voice up there, yelling, screaming, cussing at me that I’m only getting fatter and am a failure, a worthless piece of blob that does not need to exist. But you know what? Those voices can go down the drain, because again, ever since September 18, my mentality has witnessed a onehundredaandeighty degree switch and I am now fully accepting recovery and the agonizing process of waiting it out here in this psychiatric ward, and to diminish the voice that remains, talking down on my twenty-four-seven - nothing but horrid images, thoughts and demands to me - as much as I can through distractions. 

It is unsure of how long I still need to stay here as weight gain and how fast your body heals and recovers after such a life-threatening situation is unknowing, it is unable to predict and say exactly how long I have to remain here. At least I have reached the first step, and to think that took three weeks is unfathomable, but I am now allowed to eat the given small light diet portions previously mentioned to my main meals that I get via the tube. The next step is to weigh enough to be able to not have bed rest anymore. That’s all I know for now, as the doctors don’t want to promise me anything unrealistic as to my dismissal, so they only let me know what the next step is. It is an agonizing process, but one I need to endure, even when times are tough.

Maybe my blog makes it seem easy to choose recovery, because I try to stay positive on it. It takes so much strength to fight and endure this long and agonizing process, but I know that it is worth it in the end, for I will gain my health and life back. Being on bed rest for three weeks and more to come; having your phone taken away; only being able to communicate through internet; limited space for personal belongings, that need to first be checked by the team in case there is something they consider detrimental in any of the patient’s recoveries; to only having a little night stand; to being forced to wear lumpy old potato-sacks when you are stuck on bed rest; the other patients here, where some, like the ‘new’ arrival that was in my room for a night that I mentioned, scare me to death that I continuously cry myself to sleep; those are the conditions that I deal with on a daily basis.

The purpose of this blog is for me to vent my feelings regarding my recovery. For me, it is a form of therapy as it helps get all the thoughts out of my head and onto paper, or in this case, the blog. 

Recovery is anything but an easy process, if it were, the death rate of anorexia wouldn’t be so incredibly high. But right now, with my mindset, and the baby steps that I am so courageously taking and making, I can sometimes already see the light at the end of the tunnel. And that’s something I’ve not been able to say since August 2011, when this all started to ruin my life.

Night Time

It gets worse as the day starts to end, when even the birds decide that it’s late and return to their nests. That feeling of lust and the generosity that the day has distributed, are diminished by the oncoming darkness of the moon; making appear dimmer and darker. No longer are the shopping streets overcrowded with tourists, shopaholics and the occasional spouse that is desperately looking for a present for his beloved. Only a few remain, struggling with their already large stacks of bags to venture through the last few stores. On the road, traffic dims down tremendously, where also only the last few vehicles prevail, delivering the final meals to families too lazy to cook. Everyone else is home bound, longing for that cozy and warm feeling that spreads throughout one’s haven. 

That leaves me. 

Only me; all by myself.

And it’s dreadful as the voices get louder and harder to fight off.

I have no one to talk to, left alone on an empty road, with dimming lights and nothing but a few meager unidentifiable small creatures.

It could be worse, couldn’t it?