Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Missing In Sight Theme

The Perishers, featuring Sarah McLauchlan

One may think we're alright
We need pills to sleep at night
We need lies to make it through the day
We're not okay

One may think we're doing fine
But if I had to lay it on the line
We're losing ground with every passing day
We're not okay

That's one thing I would never
That's one thing I would never
That's one thing I would never
Say to you.


Music says it best these days. I'm fading out of sight. I am a riddle, a rhyme, a cryptogram. If you can figure me out then you get to keep me. I don't want me, but maybe I'll be a good girl for you and you'll keep me. For now, something is missing and I'm all alone.

I sit with no satifaction. There is no saving what you have forgotten. At least do me the honor of a tear. Maybe someday you'll look up and realize I was really missing. Once I was sacrificed, there was never going back.

Get me out of here. I went willingly but I changed my mind. Once again, the pleas "no" don't mean "no". I ache all over again. I feel it over again. Please, just kill off what they started. We'll close our eyes and no one will ever have to know. Familiar words laced with booze. Fuck them.

I hate this nightmare that confiscates me. The more I try, the less I become.

Something is missing. Children sacrificed. You've forgotten, but I know how unimportant and insignificant we have been. Can't you tell we're gone? Do you even try for me?

I die to know that you could love me. You look at me and I breathe deep, (hoping), but you see right through me because we are missing in sight and it hurts like hell. Please forgive me.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Off my meds = on to a psych ward

So, since I have no psycho-iatrist, I have no meds. Since I have no meds, I am one heartbeat away from being committed to the psycho ward/looney bin/crazy tank. My emotions are all over the range. Sad, content, committed, depressed, excited, hopeless, frantic, ect... I am fighting with D. day and night. Not just verbal fighting but throwing things, explosive outbursts, and an apt to curse him out. Parts of me just can't control it. It builds and builds and builds. Tonight, I took my laptop to the living room to do my computer crap, blog, e-mails, etc... and I'm surprised I didn't hurl my laptop at him.

Instead, I gathered sweet foods in the house, took the carton of ice cream in the bathroom, sat on the floor, ate, and then gave the food to the toilet bowl so it wouldn't be hungry.

It's getting too hard to handle. I don't, don't, don't know if I can make it. Make it to anything or anywhere. My weight continues to slowly decrease. Painfully slow. I wish it would go faster. But never mind that. I had chest pains today. Scared me for the first time because I wasn't working out when they occurred; I was just watching a movie. I find it ironic though that as intense as this relapse is appearing I actually applied for a summer job and have been called in for a mass interview next month. It's at a water park and I would love the job. I spent one summer as a guest at this water park and it was better than going away on vacation. So how cool will it be to work at the water park! I don't know if I'll be in treatment or not, but I'm going to proceed as if I'm not.

I reapplied to my university. I had to withdraw this same time last year because of the eating disorder and I am determined to go back this August. I miss the university setting and I love to learn and read and really want to be a teacher. We have so much to offer our future students, it would be criminal not to finish school and at least try and be a teacher. If it's too stressful, there are other jobs in the school system that would probably suit us just fine.

I came across this quote and found it thought provoking:

We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered. ~ Tom Stoppard

I don't know what to think of it, but I wanted to include it in my meaningless post. I guess what strikes me is about how we burn our bridges and have nothing to show for our progress but waste and want. It's a rather cynical take on the human condition and trying to get better. Does recovery mean all or nothing? Maybe it should. Anorexia has to be all or nothing. You can't have a little bit of an eating disorder and relinquish some of it, too.

I love quotes and songs and writings. One of my alters stores our words for us and for the past decade has kidnapped all the words that could adequately convey how we feel inside. Sure, we can say we're sad, but the woman with the words could say it in a way that would take your breath away and MAKE you feel through her use of words exactly how we feel and what we are going through. I know she's still around; what I can't figure out is why she isn't as vocal as she has been in times past.

Words from this alter would be just as helpful as meds would be. Words, whether in books or music, are very therapuetic and can save a soul. But I'm usually too zoned out to focus on the book, which is a fear I have of these postings: that they are random and unfocused and hard to follow.

No matter. Don't sweat the small stuff. I can only hope and pray that we'll gain better ground and be focused soon. We have to by August for school. It feels like this time it's all or nothing.

That's alot of pressure to put on ourselves. Gulp.

Monday, February 16, 2009

OUCH! goes the weasel and OFF go the blinders

OMG! So today I had to go to the Dr's office to get the final of three epidurals for my degenerative disc. Though they typically give me I.V. sedation for it, today they couldn't find a vein that would work. Said my veins were too small and not hydrated enough. So my smart-ass husband looks at me grinningly and asks, "Why are they having trouble with your veins NOW?" I knew what he was alluding to. I didn't respond. I don't think he's trying to be a pain; guys are just born that way.

So I'm told from the residential facility that it will be 2-3 weeks before they get a bed available, which, in residential speak, means 4-5 weeks before a bed is available. No problem here. I have to admit the first things my mind goes to is that I can lose more weight before I face having to put it back on. It would just be logical to not lose any more weight because putting it back on is a bitch. Why are we making it harder on ourselves by continuing to gain weight? D. likened us to a heroin or other drug addict right after the intervention but who continues to use all the way up to walking through the doors of treatment. We continue to exercise 2 hours a day, eat small amounts of food, and purge other times and will continue to do so until we walk, if we walk, through the treatment doors. It's not set in stone that we are going to res. tx. There are so many factors involved, especially money. It's a sad commentary when mental health in the Western world is dictated by insurance and mostly out of pocket expense.

So I'm lying on my back wondering how I'll be able to work out tomorrow. Usually the stiffness from an epidural lasts a couple of day, even with ibuprofen.

I'm heartbroken to read some of the blogs I follow through Google Reader and how people are having such a hard time. I feel more compassion for them than for me. My littles really want to color and put stamps in their stamp book but I have very little mental energy to facilitate that for them or ask others in the system to go forth and take care of things. An e.d. will cost you everything. I didn't realize it in treatment last year. I guess I've grown or am able to see things in a different light. My blinders, for the most part, have come off.

Last year in treatment I kept asking my nutritionist if I could just lose a few pounds I would be okay, could she help me do it? I couldn't bear to think of living life in a "normal" body. I now see what that line of thinking has led me to. Every day something else worse happens, i.e., I almost fall of the exercise machine from fatigue, I can't let my spouse see me naked for fear what he will say about my bones, my skinny jeans are now too fat, "safe" foods are becoming risky and rituals worsen, I am sleep deprived, and, worst of all, I am mean and cranky and irritable all because I don't feel well. I am too tired to even speak to my god-daughters. They call through Skype but I reject the call because talking to twin thirteen-year olds is exhausting.

I don't know whether I should sit down and speak with them of the misery of eating disorders, (though know where and why I was gone for the better part of last year...treatment facilities yeah!!! just kidding) so they will think twice before toying with their weight or just skip the subject altogether. C. always wants to look at the fashion magazine and, since she doesn't take ballet anymore, she, at thirteen, worries about her figure and getting back into shape. She seems to eat heartily, although she is now a vegetarian thanks to me. I'm hoping she'll grow out of it. She is just too vulnerable to be messing with her nutrition. And she always comments about how skinny I look and I'm, what SHE calls, a Fashionista. I don't know.

For a long time, anorexia and bulimia helped us out to cope, but not anymore. We don't need it. We've allowed ourselves to be robbed and ruined of what could have been a good life. Decades have been eaten alive, died, and been buried by some disorder or another.

It's just too much to bear.

Becca out

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Checking in...checking out

I'm exhausted. It's been a tumultuous weekend and I feel so dirty and unclean. Music is my salvation and is soothing and calming my soul as I type.

Though I have a lot to say, I am going to catch up with other blogs and post comments. I'll fill everybody in at a later point.

Take care and stay safe.

The Crew of Missing in Sight