Sigh and sigh alone

Potential triggers: Read with caution.



I hadn't planned on posting today, but the urge hit me, so here we are. I'm exhausted physically and mentally. Still in PHP. I sigh because things aren't going the way I want for my recovery. We've been doing well up till now when we are starting to be non-compliant. It's baffling, but so is my eating disorder. We were 100% compliant with the meal plan while in-patient; now that we are responsible for evening snack and breakfast we can't seem to get "it" together. Having poor body image sucks. I know others can relate. Life would be so much easier if we could eat healthy but not gain weight. Pardon the pun, but I want my cake and to eat it to. Why can't I have it all? In this case, I can't and that has to be a reality. I must choose recovery and try to get everyone on board with the plan.

So we've noticed weight gain. Clothes fit differently. The hollows of the cheek are now filled in. We aren't as weak and dizzy as we were before. This is preached about as progress. It sure as Hell doesn't feel that way. I don't know where to go from here. If I'm in recovery I need to stop listening to my inner critics. The truth of all truths is that I hate the way my body is shaped. The weight never goes to my chest, but it settles all along my ass, thighs, and hips. I hate it. How can I love something so offensive? How will I every get better?

There are at least two members that have the eating disorder. I would bet money that they are the ones perforating me with negative comments. I can't hate them; they are coping the only way they know how. But I feel the 2 and 1/2 weeks I spent in patient they were more "inside" and they only criticized. Now that we are out and have more freedom, the alters have rebounded and are exerting their influence over our food by restricting. I've tried to talk with them, allow them to use the journal; I don't know what to do anymore.

What can I say? We are a work in progress, and there's no shame in that. Times like these I abhor myself and hate myself for even breathing. I feel like a screw up and can't find anything nice to say to myself. I can't counter the intrusive thoughts. I get angrier at the fact that I've lost time. So many gaps during the day. Pardon the pun...again....but my plate is full, full of hateful words and libel accusations. I hate myself and I don't know why. I want this post to be over with. And so it shall.

Excuse me! I know you how?

Not once, not twice, but three times today did somebody say they knew me and I have no recollection of them. This is quite a disconcerting feeling. Granted, all three ladies were in the same support group for eating disorders, and, according to the three amigos, they say they were all in treatment with me last Spring. I hate this feeling. It's almost like being out of control because you, rather I, don't remember these people from Adam. This isn't the first time it has happened. Several years ago I ran into someone and they asked me how I was doing and to give his or her best to my "parents." Again, I didn't know this man from Adam.

It is one of the worst feelings in the world; it's almost an embarrassment because people remember me but I don't them. It almost seems rude. In any event, I could have met the Pope last Spring and not have remembered. I was struggling so much over my eating disorder that I was never well and didn't have brain cells to remember them.

I have a new but relatable crisis on hand. I'm losing pieces of time. I'm in a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) and I find myself not remembering group therapy or not remember if I had my snack or not. I lined up today to go to lunch and was informed that we had lunch five hours before and we were going down to dinner. It's embarrassing and dehumanizing. That's the only way I can describe it.

To make thing at least a little more difficult, there is an alter that has been dominating time outside and I am not sure why this alter is there. Was she chosen? Did she volunteer? I don't have the answers. All I can say is that this alter has made my life in PHP dreadful. Her words get jumbled and tongue tied, She never can relate the point she wants because she loses her thoughts and she can't articulate anything. This has only been a new problem. I don't know who this alter is. I'm trying to get to know her by tuning in to what she's doing and leaving the door open for any communication. I don't know what else to do. I don't hate this alter, but I hate how we look to the outside world, at least my therapy groups. We look ignorant, stupid, and like what we have to say is invaluable. This must be a new alter that hasn't "come out" yet.

We've been doing so good with our meals. Some actually enjoy going to the hospital cafeteria. Seems silly but it puts a smile on my face. So, yes, we've been doing better, at least when we were inpatient. We completed 100% except one snack. Now that we are in PHP, we have to take care of eating breakfast and evening snack. To be honest, we haven't had it in the three days we've been PHP. I am reminded of last year and how miserable we were. I don't ever want to go back there.

I'm too scared to go forward and staying behind in my eating disorder is not an optional. But some of my behaviors act as if it is an option.

My thoughts are starting to crumble. I'm crashing into the calming, wonderful world of sleep meds. The ultimate escape.

Ramblings of an unquiet mind

I've let my friends down. I've let myself down. I've let my members down. I can preach up and down the Mississippi River but none of it matters if I don't head my own advice. The truth is I am non-compliant with my meal plan. Just my evening snack and breakfast is all I am missing, but even that is too much. I did so well in the hospital. I completed 100% every day, every meal, every snack. I didn't have to be supplemented once. But now that I'm in the Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP), I am responsible for my own snack and breakfast and I've failed miserably to eat it. In fact, my stomach is growling and empty and I like it a lot. Hunger pains are my drug of choice.

Perhaps I am being too hard on myself; maybe not. With an eating disorder there is no margin of error, especially if one is underweight. My dietitian says I am still underweight but I only see myself as being disgusting, fat, and ugly. I can give people in my group all the feedback I can, but if I don't heed my own advice what good has come? I know I'm in the wrong; I know I should eat my snack and breakfast; I know to trust the treatment team. But I hate myself more than is possible. I feel ugly.

I know it's so much easier to focus on the food than the real issues at hand. Out of respect for the readers I will neglect elucidating on my "real issues". I just know I feel fat and, while fat may not be a feeling, it sure as hell feels like one. I can tell I've gained weight and I'm not happy with it. With my clothes not fitting loosely anymore, the mirror reflects a person who isn't happy with herself.

I think a migraine is coming on.

Thanks to all of you who e-mailed me or posted a message on my blog. I genuinely and authentically appreciate it.

Take care to all of you who stop by to read how we are missing in sight.

Back from the looney bin!

Watch out world! We are back home. Yeah, me!



We were inpatient for a little over two weeks. I must admit that it wasn't as bad as I had predicted. The group of ladies I was with are phenomenal. We formed a bond so close that it will continue past our time in treatment.



Any way, it's good to be back home and on the computer. Computers were not allowed on the unit so I couldn't keep in touch with other bloggers. I had almost 300 entries that needed to be read!



So, now what do we do with ourselves? Well, we aren't discharged completely. We are doing a partial hospitalization program (PHP) for at least another week. The structure of the hospital made it possible to get our eating back on track. We were 100% compliant the whole time. I know that should be motivation for praise but it's still hard. This is the closest we've ever come to recovery. It's scary and hopeful all the same. I want recovery to stick this time, but something inside me feels differently. It's always the same old push/pull. Part of me wants to get better, part of me doesn't. But I have to fake it till I make it. I always say "Do the right thing and let your heart catch up later." I have to keep trusting my treatment team to make the right decisions for me and in our best interest. Giving up that control makes it scary as hell. I know some where deep inside that is what we need, but there is always another voice to take it's place.



Well, that's all for now. It's good to be back.