Cloudy with a Chance of Hatefullness

I don't know what to say, but my heart is so heavy I feel like I must say something, anything. We had a session with Therapist today. They seem to get harder each time. An impression of sadness has followed us around our portion of the world since we left his office. The eleven year old with the eating disorder was listening in on the session and her heartbreak was palpable. Getting through the afternoon and evening has been difficult. The pandemonium in the head has not subsided and we crave sleep, eight hours of medicated sleep, if only to give our mind a chance to rest from the marathon of switches today.

We restricted today. We tried to think of Therapist's words about coping strategies that we could utilize instead of using eating disorder behavior. We got our eleven year old a movie, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, but have been too ill to watch it. We skipped lunch, an easy thing to do when therapy is right at noon. There's so much trepidation inside. One minute, we collectively agree to try new things for her, the next minute we take it back out of our own fear.

She's not the only one who benefits from restricting. While I don't know who else capitalizes on the hunger, I know the edict has gone out from others to lose weight. We aren't safe as we are.

As a whole we hate ourselves. We are worthless, talentless, weak, despicable, fat, loser, whore, dirty, sickening, abysmal. Our badness is immeasurable and incurable.

I'm sad because I don't think we can change. I'm sad because we hate ourselves. I'm sad because it just feels right.