Hell is for children

I've been gone a while. Life is hectic. Even when there are no groups going on the mind keeps going like the Energizer bunny. It just doesn't quit. It's true though. Most of the therapy happens in the journals, the artwork, the secret blog that no one even reads but me. But that's okay. I have more freedom to write knowing no one will read it but me.

I miss school so much. I don't think I could go back right now. I don't know what I'm capable of. I digress.

Anxiety follows me wherever I go. There is no safe place. The head hurts. Not in the traditional sense. It just aches to be in my skin and I would give anything for the smallest amount of relief. I am trying to tell myself I can tolerate the uncomfortable feelings. Affirmations are not my specialty. I came totally clean with the treatment team. I turned in all the cigarettes that were used to burn the body, the two lighters, and two pair of scissors. I confessed all the eating behaviors I was still engaged in at the table: hiding food, spitting food back into my non-clear cup, visiting pro-ana web-sites, and other behaviors. I promised I would try for a week not to engage in any of the behaviors. I last almost three days until last night. We had fettuccine with Alfredo sauce and it was a trauma food. I forced myself to eat it but the slithering noodles down my throat and the white sauce sent me over the edge.

I had not planned the purge, but I was taking out the trash and that was the perfect opportunity to hide behind a bush and empty the sickening food out of my stomach. As memories come up, foods are starting to trigger reactions. Monica holds the eating disorder and she has trauma around her. That's why she won't eat. She feels food makes her dirty because of what she swallowed when she was little. It makes perfect sense Monica would want to throw up the noodles. All we could think of was everything surrounding the perpetrator.

We've been really depressed the last two days and completely withdrawn. With good reason. I hate myself. I abhor the face known as Rebecca. I hate being blank. What is my role other than to be the mask for the others. I want a life of my own. I signed up for priority registration for Spring semester but I don't think I'll be ready to go. It just felt good to be doing something school related. The parent are coming back from China and dared to call to offer to come see me the few weeks they are in the United States. I secretly want to see them and I am ashamed of myself for that. No matter how much they hurt me, I will always have a little girl in me thinking that this time they will be real parents, will love me, and will take care of me. I hate that she is disappointed every time...and me with her. I tried calling the birth parents back but every number I have for them is disconnected so I can't even tell them to come. And we have "family" weekend while they are in the States so it would be a good time to come. I don't know how to tell them. The time they called they didn't leave a call back number so how am I supposed to tell them when and where to come?

I am really depressed. I HAVE NO PLANS but I really want to die. The struggle is immense. I am really trying and staff says they can see it. I'm trying to work on the food rituals. I know it sounds stupid but when I don't engage in them I feel less in control and the food seems to have more calories. My nutritionist took away my P.M. snack leaving me with only three meals a day. I hate that. That means my weight has gone up so they have to pull back, which means I'm fat. They are giving me an extra session a week with the body image specialist to fight the feelings and beliefs I hold about myself. I hope it helps. No amount of therapy and recovery will work if I don't feel better about my body. We just go a new admit and she is nothing but a skeleton. She has nothing on her bones and I can't help but be so damn jealous. I should look like that. Part of me says just to do what we have to do to be discharged and then we can get back to getting our smaller body back. The other part of me knows that is not a good idea and to run from the idea. But I WILL NEVER be happy with my body. The nutritionist says I could even stand to put on weight, though she won't make me; she says I'll have a better chance of recovery if I am at a heavier weight. I say "hell no!" So it's not that I'm overly fat. But I'm not as thin as I want to be and I can't stand that.

I feel dirty, damaged, disgusting, and worthless. I hate myself and words are utterly inadequate at doing the sentiment justice. I feel like a failure.

We had equine therapy today. All I got out if was dirty hands and the smell of horse poop. It would have been cool to ride the horses, but we weren't able. Burns calories galore!

Lunch is in 9 minutes. Nothing ever prepares me for the hell I experience at the table. Not a worry rock (compliments of my therapist), not a matchbox car, not a cute nameplate or pictures of my family. Hell is hell is hell. I feel invisible and hopless. I hope someone can hear me, because I can't stand my own voice.

Till next time.