This post is solely about death but about death and depression. I've been depressed again today. the words fail me. The Woman with the Words is not around. I don't have words or thoughts for them to steal. I've been in bed all day, although I've had the best intentions of getting up and working out for an hour. Excessive maybe...but effective.
I'm on some tranqs. right now. The voices and chaos inside were getting intense. They probably want a different view from that which is under the covers and the inside of my eyelids. I feel completely overwhelmed, debilitated, and incapacitated. I hate feeling this way. Of course!!! duh. Who would like it? I just can't seem to escape it
Certain thoughts come to me about death. If I didn't think it would hurt my husband and crush my godchildren, there would be no debate. Most of the posts I subscribe to and others I peruse are about looking back at '08. Save two months, I was in-patient the whole time. Had to withdraw from school. So now it's time to look ahead to what I can do differently in '09. I know what I want to do.
- Wallpaper the bathroom.
- Return to school.
- Get out of bed before 10:30.
- Paint the hallway.
- Make a homeade recipe at least once a week.
- Get and keep a job.
- Perform upkeep and maintance on my yard.
Those are only a few things I want to do. The list could go on almost infinitely and I don't want to bore readers with it. I would really like to get back to writing poetry but The Woman with the Words has run off and depleted me of a rich, diverse vocabulary and now I have writer's block. When I look back over posts I notice how flat and less than dynamic they are. I find myself to appear completely unintelligble.
It all seems insurmountalbe. I have but one hope and that is that one day I can move to Charleston, South Carolina, USA. Without that hope I might find it in me not to breathe. I have everything I need in places that no one could find. I'm not saying I'm suicidal because I'm NOT. We all know people can want to die or think of death without acting out on those thoughts. Other than Charleston, it is my remaining comfort.
Is that selfish of me? I have a great parnter. He would do anything in the world to try to help us, but I don't let him. Most of me loves him. I know there are members who don't love him. That makes it all the more complicated.
I feel like I'm just rambling. Sorry.
Welcome to Missing In Sight. You may call us Becca. We deal with Dissociative Identity Disorder, Anorexia, and more. We want to share our experiences, hope, and inspiration with you so we all know we aren't alone and suffering by ourselves. We're here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and sometimes in between, but you can reach out to us by leaving a comment, tweeting us, or using Facebook. The links are on this page.! We're glad we found each other! Let's talk!
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Friday, January 02, 2009
2 days into the New Year! &^*%#
I was just catching up and reading everyone's blogs and posts for the New Year. Impressive. In comparison to others, I find myself alone because I don't want to look back. I don't want to look at the year 2008. Maybe that's my problem, besides always comparing myself to others.
Without retrospection there can be no introspection.
Nevertheless,I spent New Year's Eve at an American football game, trying to cheer my college team on and it didn't work. They were dominated by the opposing team. My husband and I left at half-time, which is something he NEVER does. He says he doesn't want to be a fair weathered fan. He wants to support them during the good games and the tough games. But this game was abominable. They were massacred. So we braved the cold, windy night and made our way out to his truck. The only fun part of the evening was that tailgaters had deserted their food and equipment and as my husband and I were walking past a table I grabbed some hot dog buns. It was stupid and silly and childish and I never steal, but when I look back on it now I giggle at stealing 79 cent hot dog buns.
The last two days have been depressing. I haven't gotten out of bed for almost anything. Last night the chaos was so compounding in my head. I could feel my alters right behind my eyes and it was so disconcerting. I wish someone out there would let me know if you experience it this way or not. I was trying to read a book but couldn't focus on it because I kept switching over and over and over. It was incessant and rampant. I asked them to step back. I had a conference with them and promised them everyone would get to do what they wanted if I could only finish my book. The littles could color, the teens could watch a movie, others could do puzzles or watch football on t.v. It seemed they were agreeable to settle down but as soon as I got back to my book they started up again. So I went and journaled. I don't know what it says. I have journaled since. I do know it mentions cutting. The times before when I could not bring my alters under control I would cut and they would go away, so I decided to cut. It wasn't much. I won't give out details so as not to trigger or give war stories; but the wounds are fine and I told my husband about them later.
Ironically enough, the alters calmed down and my mind got quiet. There was no more switching. I don't know what else I could have done.
I've been in bed all day. I only got out of bed to purge and shower.
So I'm not much in a mood to ruminate on my prior year and see how far I've come and what's left to work on. The current moment is sucking me in as a whole.
Without retrospection there can be no introspection.
Nevertheless,I spent New Year's Eve at an American football game, trying to cheer my college team on and it didn't work. They were dominated by the opposing team. My husband and I left at half-time, which is something he NEVER does. He says he doesn't want to be a fair weathered fan. He wants to support them during the good games and the tough games. But this game was abominable. They were massacred. So we braved the cold, windy night and made our way out to his truck. The only fun part of the evening was that tailgaters had deserted their food and equipment and as my husband and I were walking past a table I grabbed some hot dog buns. It was stupid and silly and childish and I never steal, but when I look back on it now I giggle at stealing 79 cent hot dog buns.
The last two days have been depressing. I haven't gotten out of bed for almost anything. Last night the chaos was so compounding in my head. I could feel my alters right behind my eyes and it was so disconcerting. I wish someone out there would let me know if you experience it this way or not. I was trying to read a book but couldn't focus on it because I kept switching over and over and over. It was incessant and rampant. I asked them to step back. I had a conference with them and promised them everyone would get to do what they wanted if I could only finish my book. The littles could color, the teens could watch a movie, others could do puzzles or watch football on t.v. It seemed they were agreeable to settle down but as soon as I got back to my book they started up again. So I went and journaled. I don't know what it says. I have journaled since. I do know it mentions cutting. The times before when I could not bring my alters under control I would cut and they would go away, so I decided to cut. It wasn't much. I won't give out details so as not to trigger or give war stories; but the wounds are fine and I told my husband about them later.
Ironically enough, the alters calmed down and my mind got quiet. There was no more switching. I don't know what else I could have done.
I've been in bed all day. I only got out of bed to purge and shower.
So I'm not much in a mood to ruminate on my prior year and see how far I've come and what's left to work on. The current moment is sucking me in as a whole.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The devil is in the details.
I always hold my breath when I read over previous posts. I never know, or seldom know, what they will say because I don't always know who is contributing to the blog. I thank everyone who had comments; you probably know how it feels when someone just at least reaches out to say, "I'm hear." It's hard for me to offer feedback to others because I have nothing wise or profound to say. But it's a valuable lesson learned. Sometimes it's good just to hear someone say they are listening.
I thought I might share a little about me, JUST A FEW DETAILS. I will go back later and revamp my header and personal profile, but I feel compelled currently to share it in a post, to let others know more details. I wonder if that is a good sign that I'm trusting others.
I'm in my mid-thirties and have long blonde hair with proud streaks of pink in it. I have blue eyes and black eyelashes that stretch for miles. My skin is fair and creamy white and is insanely and helplessly covered with scars from cutting and burning. The looks and stares from strangers are humiliating. I live in the southern United States. I'm G.R.I.T.S., Girls Raised In the South. I love being southern; the pleasantries, chivalry, friendliness, and getting smiles from strangers. In the south, or at least the old south, everyone was family and your house was always open to friends to stop by for cards and Jack Daniels. The good 'ol days.
I'm not working right now. I stopped working 2/08 to enter residential treatment. Docs are talking of sending me back. I'm married with no children, just two dogs that are my babies.
I want to be an English Education teacher. I want to start out with teaching middle school, then high school, and as I eventually get my post-Bacc degree, I want to teach college. I love English. I can't remember a book that I didn't like, some more than others!!! I don't know if I'll ever make it to teach English. I'm not done with my under-grad and as I keep stopping and starting school it's becoming sad.
I conspicuously left out details regarding the abuse. Baby steps.
Well, enough about the small details of me. I went to Walmart today to get the littles some big, fat crayons because their little hands have so much trouble holding the regular crayons. Walmart scares the hell out of me. I got so flustered and overwhelmed I had to just leave and not get anything I needed.
I feel my drugs finally kicking in, soothing my nerves and making the chaos in my head less dramatic. I'll ramble later.
I thought I might share a little about me, JUST A FEW DETAILS. I will go back later and revamp my header and personal profile, but I feel compelled currently to share it in a post, to let others know more details. I wonder if that is a good sign that I'm trusting others.
I'm in my mid-thirties and have long blonde hair with proud streaks of pink in it. I have blue eyes and black eyelashes that stretch for miles. My skin is fair and creamy white and is insanely and helplessly covered with scars from cutting and burning. The looks and stares from strangers are humiliating. I live in the southern United States. I'm G.R.I.T.S., Girls Raised In the South. I love being southern; the pleasantries, chivalry, friendliness, and getting smiles from strangers. In the south, or at least the old south, everyone was family and your house was always open to friends to stop by for cards and Jack Daniels. The good 'ol days.
I'm not working right now. I stopped working 2/08 to enter residential treatment. Docs are talking of sending me back. I'm married with no children, just two dogs that are my babies.
I want to be an English Education teacher. I want to start out with teaching middle school, then high school, and as I eventually get my post-Bacc degree, I want to teach college. I love English. I can't remember a book that I didn't like, some more than others!!! I don't know if I'll ever make it to teach English. I'm not done with my under-grad and as I keep stopping and starting school it's becoming sad.
I conspicuously left out details regarding the abuse. Baby steps.
Well, enough about the small details of me. I went to Walmart today to get the littles some big, fat crayons because their little hands have so much trouble holding the regular crayons. Walmart scares the hell out of me. I got so flustered and overwhelmed I had to just leave and not get anything I needed.
I feel my drugs finally kicking in, soothing my nerves and making the chaos in my head less dramatic. I'll ramble later.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Diametrical and contradictory dessimation
How am I to know what to say? I've scoured through dictionaries, thesauruses, classic novels, young adult books, and the every Conde Naste magazine to find the right words and images to unveil to you my broken.
I fall short everytime.
You see, I have failed. I wanted this blog to be about our recovery, not out well-rehearsed death. I want to live and succeed, but something always gets in the way.
I was so happy tonight. I thought I was going crazy. I was switching alot. My members wanted to come out frequently and were bearing down on my eyes and wouldn't give me peace. My usual mode of operation is to cut or purge. I did neither, but I couldn't read or watch a movie or do puzzles. I eventually journaled and asked the members what they needed from me, why they were being so persistanant. After a brief journal session, I felt so good about myself. That was the first time that I have EVER, EVER held off them off so effectively. Of course, later I did purge and used food to destruct, but I'm trying to hold on to that small piece of evidence that if I can experience that then perhaps I can do more, IFFFFFFFFFFFFFF I want it.
What brings me to the second point tonight. I've felt so guilty lately for even having this blog. I want it to be an honest, organic, interactive blog that reveals what I and my members are going through daily. That way people in society can benefit by our experiences when their loved ones too can't get out of bed or cuts thenselves to shreds or refuses to eat or can't remember how to get to the place they've worked for five years.
But the site doesn't seem helpful. I think it's because I'm having another relapse. I lie, lie, lie to my husband. "No, D. I didn't throw up. I just had to pee for ten minutes! [sarcasm included]) Over the holidays, I ruined our plumbing. I'll spare the general audience the details.
And now I'm tired. My arms are too exhausted to wash my hair and I love it. It means I'm losing weight.
This is the part I don't like. I feel like a phony, a hypocrite.
Let the reader know, I try everyday to live among the principles of good health, self-care, and living one day at a time. But it's all the other moments in between that are killing me and bringing me down.
And now I don't know where to go or what to be. I feel like I've a good angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, each telling me what selfish or angelic things to do.
I want to be good. I want to work hard on building a community with my members, meeting their needs through positive means, and spoiling the littles. I don't want the eating disorder anymore.
I pump my fist and rise in the air. I don't know what to do, but I'll keep trying everyday. Something has to fit sooner or later.
I fall short everytime.
You see, I have failed. I wanted this blog to be about our recovery, not out well-rehearsed death. I want to live and succeed, but something always gets in the way.
I was so happy tonight. I thought I was going crazy. I was switching alot. My members wanted to come out frequently and were bearing down on my eyes and wouldn't give me peace. My usual mode of operation is to cut or purge. I did neither, but I couldn't read or watch a movie or do puzzles. I eventually journaled and asked the members what they needed from me, why they were being so persistanant. After a brief journal session, I felt so good about myself. That was the first time that I have EVER, EVER held off them off so effectively. Of course, later I did purge and used food to destruct, but I'm trying to hold on to that small piece of evidence that if I can experience that then perhaps I can do more, IFFFFFFFFFFFFFF I want it.
What brings me to the second point tonight. I've felt so guilty lately for even having this blog. I want it to be an honest, organic, interactive blog that reveals what I and my members are going through daily. That way people in society can benefit by our experiences when their loved ones too can't get out of bed or cuts thenselves to shreds or refuses to eat or can't remember how to get to the place they've worked for five years.
But the site doesn't seem helpful. I think it's because I'm having another relapse. I lie, lie, lie to my husband. "No, D. I didn't throw up. I just had to pee for ten minutes! [sarcasm included]) Over the holidays, I ruined our plumbing. I'll spare the general audience the details.
And now I'm tired. My arms are too exhausted to wash my hair and I love it. It means I'm losing weight.
This is the part I don't like. I feel like a phony, a hypocrite.
Let the reader know, I try everyday to live among the principles of good health, self-care, and living one day at a time. But it's all the other moments in between that are killing me and bringing me down.
And now I don't know where to go or what to be. I feel like I've a good angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, each telling me what selfish or angelic things to do.
I want to be good. I want to work hard on building a community with my members, meeting their needs through positive means, and spoiling the littles. I don't want the eating disorder anymore.
I pump my fist and rise in the air. I don't know what to do, but I'll keep trying everyday. Something has to fit sooner or later.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Fantasy or Reality?
It's Christmas. What can I say? I don't celebrate Christmas. Never had. I wasn't brought up that way. I was brought up to curse and swear, hate my body, turn a blind eye when my daughter gets raped, yell at everyone in the house, and pretend to the world we are a most loving family. Happy Xmas.
Not that I want to take anything away from anyone celebrating the holidays. I have a member that wishes to pain that she was right there with you, having a family to visit, waking up to bacon and eggs on Christmas morning, a fireplace with stockings hanging and goodies inside, a plethora of presents under the tree for me and my members from people that love me, and a big Christmas dinner where everyone in the family comes and eats and has happy conversation and good food and there is no awkardness or silence or fighting at the table. That is my grown up wish.
I see it happen in the movies and on t.v. Do families really celebrate the holidays this way? Is it all sunshine and roses like it appears to be? I really want to know. Am I missing out on what is only an idea, a fantasy, or am I missing out on the real deal where families do get together in love and support one another?
I've been really sad and depressed lately. I've tried working on the blog, making it more appealing. But I'm sad. I feel so fat I can't stand being awake and so I've stayed depressed and in bed for the past few days, just trying to sleep away the cognizance that I'm imperfect, fat, lazy, worthless, and that I will never escape. I gained much from residential treatment, but the eating disorder is the hardest to manage. It is so maniacle and deliberate and hateful. It's tentacles are in me and won't let go. I can't even breathe.
I digress and weaken the struggle against the octupus. Squeeze me till there is no more.
Not that I want to take anything away from anyone celebrating the holidays. I have a member that wishes to pain that she was right there with you, having a family to visit, waking up to bacon and eggs on Christmas morning, a fireplace with stockings hanging and goodies inside, a plethora of presents under the tree for me and my members from people that love me, and a big Christmas dinner where everyone in the family comes and eats and has happy conversation and good food and there is no awkardness or silence or fighting at the table. That is my grown up wish.
I see it happen in the movies and on t.v. Do families really celebrate the holidays this way? Is it all sunshine and roses like it appears to be? I really want to know. Am I missing out on what is only an idea, a fantasy, or am I missing out on the real deal where families do get together in love and support one another?
I've been really sad and depressed lately. I've tried working on the blog, making it more appealing. But I'm sad. I feel so fat I can't stand being awake and so I've stayed depressed and in bed for the past few days, just trying to sleep away the cognizance that I'm imperfect, fat, lazy, worthless, and that I will never escape. I gained much from residential treatment, but the eating disorder is the hardest to manage. It is so maniacle and deliberate and hateful. It's tentacles are in me and won't let go. I can't even breathe.
I digress and weaken the struggle against the octupus. Squeeze me till there is no more.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A little inspiration
I'm really starting to love this song. Whenever I'm feeling down, I listen to this. It's so happy and upbeat, you can't help but smile at the charming lyrics and upbeat tempo. It's called 'Lovers in Japan' by Coldplay. Love it!
Friday, December 19, 2008
Affirmations
I love this post by Katie Goode LMFT on creating affirmations. Affirmations do not sit well with me and even remind me of fingers on a chalk board.
For those struggling with affirmations it's worth checking out her post.
For those struggling with affirmations it's worth checking out her post.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Scrambled brain on the side...
I am not okay. Right now the others are bearing down on me and I don't know what they want. What are they trying to communicate? The headache has been horrible. I took several tranqs; what else could I do? I hate it when it gets this chaotic. I haven't allowed any blogging or journaling and I think they might be pissed off about that. We've been following everyone else's blogs and ignoring our own. I can feel them right behind my eyes and all I want to do is just cry; I don't know why I want to cry or what I need to cry over, but there is a burgeoning need to pour my tears out.
I've stayed away from blogging because I didn't want readers to know how shitty I'm letting us be. The eating disorder is back, full blown. What justification could I have for that? I miss being in residential treatment. That was the only time I've ever felt that any real connections to the eating, sexual abuse, and the members has been made. I felt like I made progress there. I come home to a crappy IOP and lose the foundation I built in res. treatment. I eat one home brought meal to this IOP and stay for one group. The person who did my intake doesn't want me staying too long and stressing my system out. Too late!!! I couldn't be anymore ungrounded than I already am. I am off the charts!
...and I'm ashamed. Yesterday I did 95 minutes of cardio; today I did 65 minutes. And there is something masochistic and self-destructive in doing so much cardio. My chest hurts and I get cold sweats. A smile breaks out on my face because I know I'm running my body into the ground. How about using my voice instead of my symptoms? But what would I say? I don't know what the hell is wrong with me!!! I can't get in touch with my members like I did in res. treatment. It felt so safe there, and then I come home and I don't think any of the members knew what to do. Our res. therapist was the first one we shared things with and the world feels so unsafe and harmful.
I'm going crazy and out of my head. I can't speak. I just revel in the knowledge my clothes are starting to get looser and hang on me. I'm ashamed. Ten months of intensive treatment and I can't get us together.
And I'm in a panic! I feel them scrambling in my head, spinning around, crawling over each other to get out. They're still behind the eyes.
They are overcrowding me, yet I feel so miserably alone.
I've stayed away from blogging because I didn't want readers to know how shitty I'm letting us be. The eating disorder is back, full blown. What justification could I have for that? I miss being in residential treatment. That was the only time I've ever felt that any real connections to the eating, sexual abuse, and the members has been made. I felt like I made progress there. I come home to a crappy IOP and lose the foundation I built in res. treatment. I eat one home brought meal to this IOP and stay for one group. The person who did my intake doesn't want me staying too long and stressing my system out. Too late!!! I couldn't be anymore ungrounded than I already am. I am off the charts!
...and I'm ashamed. Yesterday I did 95 minutes of cardio; today I did 65 minutes. And there is something masochistic and self-destructive in doing so much cardio. My chest hurts and I get cold sweats. A smile breaks out on my face because I know I'm running my body into the ground. How about using my voice instead of my symptoms? But what would I say? I don't know what the hell is wrong with me!!! I can't get in touch with my members like I did in res. treatment. It felt so safe there, and then I come home and I don't think any of the members knew what to do. Our res. therapist was the first one we shared things with and the world feels so unsafe and harmful.
I'm going crazy and out of my head. I can't speak. I just revel in the knowledge my clothes are starting to get looser and hang on me. I'm ashamed. Ten months of intensive treatment and I can't get us together.
And I'm in a panic! I feel them scrambling in my head, spinning around, crawling over each other to get out. They're still behind the eyes.
They are overcrowding me, yet I feel so miserably alone.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I need help. I really need help. I know that we are the only ones who can help us, but those are empty words. I've played every inspirational song I can think of but nothing is helping. I'm already losing the ability to focus and I'm having chest pains.
We left residential treatment on Thanksgiving and since have lost weight. Today, somebody felt guilty for eating a 100 calorie English Muffin and so we purged it and went and exercised for an hour. When the husband, D., came home, we went and exercised with him for 45 minutes and that made the heart start to feel very heavy. We ate a decent dinner, I guess. I'm certainly overly and uncomfortably full from it.
It is so easy to berate myself for watching this demise again. But I was afraid this would happen and in treatment I didn't prepare myself well enough for it. I was supposed to go to the IOP but that fell through. Insurance is trying to find me a new one but the only other IOP in my area is a little bit of a drive and it scares me because I would have to get on the Interstate and I don't like that.
But I ABSOLUTELY need something to fill my days. I called my old boss because I was technically never terminated, even though I was away from work for ten months, but they never said a word. I tried to keep in touch with her during my treatment but she would never call me back. Now that I'm home, she will have to deal with me. I would rather go back to work than go to IOP. At least the eating disorder would rather me go to work because I can keep us busy and forget about food.
I could tell from working out how weak we've gotten. Didn't phase me. I've exercised through extreme fatigue before. I really want to start school up again but know this is not a wise choice. The best thing for me is to do the damn IOP. I just don't want to drive. I will know on Wednesday, Dec 10th whether I'm officially going.
Another reason I hate myself is that I'm doing NOTHING that I learned in treatment. The members are not being contained and we are having images and flashbacks. The switching tonight was so awful I wanted...well, I was really upset. Constantly, over and over, they fight to gain dominancy. I hate it. It makes me off balance and as I type this the emotion is pouring through my fingertips and I fear I will emotionally erupt. I take so many medications to counter the anxiety but none are working. I'm a mess in progress.
I need a joke.
We left residential treatment on Thanksgiving and since have lost weight. Today, somebody felt guilty for eating a 100 calorie English Muffin and so we purged it and went and exercised for an hour. When the husband, D., came home, we went and exercised with him for 45 minutes and that made the heart start to feel very heavy. We ate a decent dinner, I guess. I'm certainly overly and uncomfortably full from it.
It is so easy to berate myself for watching this demise again. But I was afraid this would happen and in treatment I didn't prepare myself well enough for it. I was supposed to go to the IOP but that fell through. Insurance is trying to find me a new one but the only other IOP in my area is a little bit of a drive and it scares me because I would have to get on the Interstate and I don't like that.
But I ABSOLUTELY need something to fill my days. I called my old boss because I was technically never terminated, even though I was away from work for ten months, but they never said a word. I tried to keep in touch with her during my treatment but she would never call me back. Now that I'm home, she will have to deal with me. I would rather go back to work than go to IOP. At least the eating disorder would rather me go to work because I can keep us busy and forget about food.
I could tell from working out how weak we've gotten. Didn't phase me. I've exercised through extreme fatigue before. I really want to start school up again but know this is not a wise choice. The best thing for me is to do the damn IOP. I just don't want to drive. I will know on Wednesday, Dec 10th whether I'm officially going.
Another reason I hate myself is that I'm doing NOTHING that I learned in treatment. The members are not being contained and we are having images and flashbacks. The switching tonight was so awful I wanted...well, I was really upset. Constantly, over and over, they fight to gain dominancy. I hate it. It makes me off balance and as I type this the emotion is pouring through my fingertips and I fear I will emotionally erupt. I take so many medications to counter the anxiety but none are working. I'm a mess in progress.
I need a joke.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Slipping by and away
I can barely speak the disgust in which I feel towards myself. It does no good to berate myself over my eating. I've been restricting lately, but that is not the reason I'm upset. My husband, D., has been getting suspicous since coming home from treatment and so I hate some cookies today that I normally would not have. The thoughts of guilt and fat just churned inside my mind over and over and over. I felt so guilty I had to was it away through purging, so I ate some icecream and more cookies in front of him. To be blunt for the reader's sake, I also took food into the bathroom of which he does not know and sat on the bathroom floor and ate it so I could throw up more easily.
Now my throat is raw, I have no energy, and I feel ill. I feel like I'm headed to the condition in which I was in before I entered treatment. I've always told D. that my suicide would not be impulsive. It would be a well thought out decision. I'm not claiming I'm suicidal right now because I'M NOT!!! All I'm saying is that there are certain behaviors being undertaken and it is leading down a road that has a logical and rational and justified conclusion.
I'm disappointed that I'm not interacting much with my other members. Emily came out today. She makes me sleepy and as D. was driving us to therapy she swallowed me and I became so sleepy and fatigued. I dialogued internally with her and she backed off. But other than that, we really aren't talking. It's so much harder to be focused on recovery outside of treatment. I'm disappointed the IOP fell through. It would have been a difference, I do believe.
I've been out looking for other blogs by people with eating disorders or dissociative disorders and the screem starts to swim. I know of Something-Fishy (who doesn't know of them) and I've gathered some ideas for how to spend my time now that I'm out of work, out of school, and mostly out of options. Next week I start completely on my own and I worry for myself. If I can restrict and binge and purge with my husband by side 24/7, what can I get away with when he goes back to work?
I know it's not about the food. I know what it's about. I just can't look at it anymore. The transition from residential treatment to home is a bitter one. I'm starting to feel a little hopeless. Fuck. It's not about the food.
Now my throat is raw, I have no energy, and I feel ill. I feel like I'm headed to the condition in which I was in before I entered treatment. I've always told D. that my suicide would not be impulsive. It would be a well thought out decision. I'm not claiming I'm suicidal right now because I'M NOT!!! All I'm saying is that there are certain behaviors being undertaken and it is leading down a road that has a logical and rational and justified conclusion.
I'm disappointed that I'm not interacting much with my other members. Emily came out today. She makes me sleepy and as D. was driving us to therapy she swallowed me and I became so sleepy and fatigued. I dialogued internally with her and she backed off. But other than that, we really aren't talking. It's so much harder to be focused on recovery outside of treatment. I'm disappointed the IOP fell through. It would have been a difference, I do believe.
I've been out looking for other blogs by people with eating disorders or dissociative disorders and the screem starts to swim. I know of Something-Fishy (who doesn't know of them) and I've gathered some ideas for how to spend my time now that I'm out of work, out of school, and mostly out of options. Next week I start completely on my own and I worry for myself. If I can restrict and binge and purge with my husband by side 24/7, what can I get away with when he goes back to work?
I know it's not about the food. I know what it's about. I just can't look at it anymore. The transition from residential treatment to home is a bitter one. I'm starting to feel a little hopeless. Fuck. It's not about the food.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Itchy brain
My eyes hurt. There is a lot of activity in my head tonight. I wish I could just get real with it. But it seems that I just want to push it away with tranqs and analgesics instead of dealing with what lies beneath.
I fear that this post will be a toasted, scrambled rambling collection of disparate words.
I can't say anything other than how much I hate myself and I hate my husband and how badly and deeply and quickly it is falling apart. Okay, we've been out of treatment for ONE week and the m*fer is already asking about sex. I hate myself if I do, I hate myself if I don't. One is taking care of ourselves and one is punishment. I throw my hands in the air with a side-kick. Send it to hell...express.
my brain hurts
we cut last night. nothing big. but we bought the littles a gift, some kind of magnetic dress up dolls. eveything was going okay until then, but for some reason it offset the system. we wrote about it in the journal and i don't know what was written but it was significant. bottom line, we were in a state of hysteria. we just cut the tiniest little bit. but buying the doll set really had a huge impact on the system. so we've put off opening the littles the gifts until the older ones can reconcile it with themselves that it's okay for anyone who wants to can play with the dolls. but we were a mess.
doesn't it always start out that way...with the smallest lapse?
i always end up here.
we were able to dialogue with some members and that was spectacular because we hadn't dialogued since being discharged from treatment. i know where the f*ing Barbie house went. But that's my little secret.
i wish this could be easier for you, readers. I wish I could type out our story and make it comprehendable and connective; it's not that there is no wish to, but we have to keep in mind that we are just trying to jot down the random bits of information in our life so that hopefully if you or a loved one has a dissociative disorder you will know what they are going through. I don't have the necessary man power to keep the brain functional and write coherently.
the husband and i are fighting more. i'm getting really tired of his attitude regarding my behavior since returning from treatment. they are always going to imagine the worst, even if there is no cause for alarm. could i be doing better? sure.
but cut me some slack, jack.
we just got back.
my brain hurts.
I fear that this post will be a toasted, scrambled rambling collection of disparate words.
I can't say anything other than how much I hate myself and I hate my husband and how badly and deeply and quickly it is falling apart. Okay, we've been out of treatment for ONE week and the m*fer is already asking about sex. I hate myself if I do, I hate myself if I don't. One is taking care of ourselves and one is punishment. I throw my hands in the air with a side-kick. Send it to hell...express.
my brain hurts
we cut last night. nothing big. but we bought the littles a gift, some kind of magnetic dress up dolls. eveything was going okay until then, but for some reason it offset the system. we wrote about it in the journal and i don't know what was written but it was significant. bottom line, we were in a state of hysteria. we just cut the tiniest little bit. but buying the doll set really had a huge impact on the system. so we've put off opening the littles the gifts until the older ones can reconcile it with themselves that it's okay for anyone who wants to can play with the dolls. but we were a mess.
doesn't it always start out that way...with the smallest lapse?
i always end up here.
we were able to dialogue with some members and that was spectacular because we hadn't dialogued since being discharged from treatment. i know where the f*ing Barbie house went. But that's my little secret.
i wish this could be easier for you, readers. I wish I could type out our story and make it comprehendable and connective; it's not that there is no wish to, but we have to keep in mind that we are just trying to jot down the random bits of information in our life so that hopefully if you or a loved one has a dissociative disorder you will know what they are going through. I don't have the necessary man power to keep the brain functional and write coherently.
the husband and i are fighting more. i'm getting really tired of his attitude regarding my behavior since returning from treatment. they are always going to imagine the worst, even if there is no cause for alarm. could i be doing better? sure.
but cut me some slack, jack.
we just got back.
my brain hurts.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
What the fuck?
So here I am, at home, away from residential treatment, away from all support, so it seems. Yesterday, I saw the first person who is supposed to be on my treatment team and her reaction when she saw me was how great, strong, and healthy I look. What the fuck?
All she had to do was go to About.com and read under "What Not to Do" that you never comment on appearance. Fatal mistake.
To anyone with an eating disorder those words translate to mean one thing: I look fat.
I couldn't believe her. What was she thinking? I'm still livid. To all the readers who have loved ones who are recovering from any type of eating disorder, do not ever tell them they are looking healthy or happy or strong or better. It translates to one thing in the mind of someone with an eating disorder: FAT!!!!! She should know better. It only makes me feel so much guiltier for eating food.
So all the plans that were supposed to materialize for my aftercare have disintegrated. Maybe that's just pessimistic thinking. Fuck it. The IOP that I was to attend does not have enough members committed so they are offering me a hospital type setting for an IOP. Hell to the NO!!!!! First of all, I can get away with much more in an IOP outside of a hospital. They are seriously mistaken if they think I'm not going to lose weight, and I know what a hospital type IOP will lead to. The IOP will become a Partial Hospitalization Program which will become inpatient treatment which will turn me right back to residential treatment...not that I didn't love Yoda (my name for the all-wise therapist).
I am so pissed off!
All she had to do was go to About.com and read under "What Not to Do" that you never comment on appearance. Fatal mistake.
To anyone with an eating disorder those words translate to mean one thing: I look fat.
I couldn't believe her. What was she thinking? I'm still livid. To all the readers who have loved ones who are recovering from any type of eating disorder, do not ever tell them they are looking healthy or happy or strong or better. It translates to one thing in the mind of someone with an eating disorder: FAT!!!!! She should know better. It only makes me feel so much guiltier for eating food.
So all the plans that were supposed to materialize for my aftercare have disintegrated. Maybe that's just pessimistic thinking. Fuck it. The IOP that I was to attend does not have enough members committed so they are offering me a hospital type setting for an IOP. Hell to the NO!!!!! First of all, I can get away with much more in an IOP outside of a hospital. They are seriously mistaken if they think I'm not going to lose weight, and I know what a hospital type IOP will lead to. The IOP will become a Partial Hospitalization Program which will become inpatient treatment which will turn me right back to residential treatment...not that I didn't love Yoda (my name for the all-wise therapist).
I am so pissed off!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Before and After
We're home. Home. That has no meaning anymore. Being gone for nine months in treatment, it is understandable that this does not feel like home. Being home for fourteen hours, this feels really dangerous. Though it doesn't feel like home, it is familiar, and that is spot on dangerous. I keep telling myslef and reviewing the tools that we learned in treatment: mindful breathing, containment, safe place, and grounding are just a few. I feel like a rubberband, any minuite I can snap back to my previous mind set and skip my lunch, drink too much coffee, shave a few calories here, something like that. I admit the temptation is there. When I came home I found medication in my drawer that I didn't know I had, medication that would cause a timely and peaceful death. The rubber band snaps.
I miss my residential therapist. My littles one don't understand the concept of not going back to see home. I told them to color him a picture and we can send it to him along with the cookies Tina is supposed to make him. That's the job Tina thinks she wants: to bake. Maybe she'll cook for us becuase I sure as hell don't know how. I know one of us used to cook gourmet food a long time ago. We had every kitchen gadget and would make the most elaborate dishes.
I feel very disconnected and am listening to music while I type. I feel numb. Last night when we first got in it was bad. The mood was savage. We took a shower and saw the razor blades that belong to our husband. They look sweet and we imagined the ribbons of flesh we could pry away from our flesh and the blood that would swell up in its place. We didn't cut. We thought how pathetic we would be just getting out of treatment and immediately reverting to our behaviors. But I suppose the smoothie we had for lunch/dinner would constitute a slip. Fuck it.
I don't think anyone really expects this "recovery" to stick. It would be good to make it last. I want that; I really do. We accomplished more than I thought we would. Made important connections. The little ones shared part of their individual trauma to our therapist and the group. It was difficult to bear her story and feel the full force of her feelings and the physical aspect of her story. That was harder than eating the food, but in the end it made me closer to my system.
Feeling compassion and love toward every member of the system is something our residential therapist always encouraged. He said we would never heal and the members would never evidence themselves if I wasn't compassionate towards them. So I got that out of treatment. I now view the system as a blessing, even though I'm not happy with my job. I am only the face of the system, a member of the system itself. The child died and is held by one of our members. The res. T. said she could be reborn but the others disagree. They would know better than he, but, then again, he was right about so much when they said we'd never get better and we got a little better.
I feel hungry. I love hunger pains. I must wait thirty minutes. It's on the half hour right now and I need to wait to the beginning of the hour.
I texted some people from treatment last night but only one texted me back. I hope they are all just immersed in their Thanksgiving family fun. Either that or they are having a difficult time, too. Point is, I did something new and reached out for help. Even though only one person texted me back, it's okay because I can't put all my eggs on one basket.
So now I'm trying to figure out how to feel my days. I start an IOP on Thursday. That's too many days away. My husband has taken off work to "baby-sit" me during the transition. In real words, he's making sure I eat. Fuck that. I'll do what I want. I'm getting my hair done on Tuesday so I'm glad he's taking me. It's in an area of town that has alot of traffic and I hate driving in traffic. I'm getting the pink taken out because it's dulled itself now. But I bought a new box so when she highlights it I'll come home and rebrighten it. ME loves having pink hair!!!
I bought the littles a Hello Kitty pez dispenser. I hate Hello Kitty.
So, before treatment I was a wreck. A suicidal, cutting, starving, purging mess. After treatment, I'm more grounded and willing to work on serious issues. The eating disorder is still a problem, but I am nothing like I was.
What I see giving me the most trouble is reconciling the "new" me to the "old" me and my "old" surroundings. Things in this house have to change or I will go back to what I was.
One of my infamous migraines is coming on. My parts are stirred up. I love them anyway. I'm trying to figure out what to do now that I'm out of treatment. Do I go back to work, to school, or do I just lay low and get through my IOP? I don't know, but I know I can't be idle. My time has to be structured or I will fall flat, and right now I'm leaning.
I miss my residential therapist. My littles one don't understand the concept of not going back to see home. I told them to color him a picture and we can send it to him along with the cookies Tina is supposed to make him. That's the job Tina thinks she wants: to bake. Maybe she'll cook for us becuase I sure as hell don't know how. I know one of us used to cook gourmet food a long time ago. We had every kitchen gadget and would make the most elaborate dishes.
I feel very disconnected and am listening to music while I type. I feel numb. Last night when we first got in it was bad. The mood was savage. We took a shower and saw the razor blades that belong to our husband. They look sweet and we imagined the ribbons of flesh we could pry away from our flesh and the blood that would swell up in its place. We didn't cut. We thought how pathetic we would be just getting out of treatment and immediately reverting to our behaviors. But I suppose the smoothie we had for lunch/dinner would constitute a slip. Fuck it.
I don't think anyone really expects this "recovery" to stick. It would be good to make it last. I want that; I really do. We accomplished more than I thought we would. Made important connections. The little ones shared part of their individual trauma to our therapist and the group. It was difficult to bear her story and feel the full force of her feelings and the physical aspect of her story. That was harder than eating the food, but in the end it made me closer to my system.
Feeling compassion and love toward every member of the system is something our residential therapist always encouraged. He said we would never heal and the members would never evidence themselves if I wasn't compassionate towards them. So I got that out of treatment. I now view the system as a blessing, even though I'm not happy with my job. I am only the face of the system, a member of the system itself. The child died and is held by one of our members. The res. T. said she could be reborn but the others disagree. They would know better than he, but, then again, he was right about so much when they said we'd never get better and we got a little better.
I feel hungry. I love hunger pains. I must wait thirty minutes. It's on the half hour right now and I need to wait to the beginning of the hour.
I texted some people from treatment last night but only one texted me back. I hope they are all just immersed in their Thanksgiving family fun. Either that or they are having a difficult time, too. Point is, I did something new and reached out for help. Even though only one person texted me back, it's okay because I can't put all my eggs on one basket.
So now I'm trying to figure out how to feel my days. I start an IOP on Thursday. That's too many days away. My husband has taken off work to "baby-sit" me during the transition. In real words, he's making sure I eat. Fuck that. I'll do what I want. I'm getting my hair done on Tuesday so I'm glad he's taking me. It's in an area of town that has alot of traffic and I hate driving in traffic. I'm getting the pink taken out because it's dulled itself now. But I bought a new box so when she highlights it I'll come home and rebrighten it. ME loves having pink hair!!!
I bought the littles a Hello Kitty pez dispenser. I hate Hello Kitty.
So, before treatment I was a wreck. A suicidal, cutting, starving, purging mess. After treatment, I'm more grounded and willing to work on serious issues. The eating disorder is still a problem, but I am nothing like I was.
What I see giving me the most trouble is reconciling the "new" me to the "old" me and my "old" surroundings. Things in this house have to change or I will go back to what I was.
One of my infamous migraines is coming on. My parts are stirred up. I love them anyway. I'm trying to figure out what to do now that I'm out of treatment. Do I go back to work, to school, or do I just lay low and get through my IOP? I don't know, but I know I can't be idle. My time has to be structured or I will fall flat, and right now I'm leaning.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Complete, hungry, aching desire
Hours, minutes, seconds like this I just want to disappear. Is that suicidal ideation? So what if it is. I think it is more like resignation, a sigh that the eating disorder is my definition, my salvation, my comfort, my punishment, my everything. And I want to go home, but how many times have we established we don't have a home? I sit in Panera, sucking up their free WiFi and letting their Hazelnut coffee become my breakfast, A.M. snack, and lunch. My time for residential treatment is almost over and what insights and tools have I gained. That's a question and an exclamation. At times I think we've gained nothing, other times it's more clear.
I won't go in to details as to what I've worked on in therapy or what I've gained. I will say that we've discovered why food has always seemed dirty (explains the eating disorder.) You would think someone with a dissociative disorder might know intuitively know or make connectios, but you can know things cerebrally but not emotionally and this journey in residential treatment has been about learning emotionally. I didn't need treatment to tell me that I hate ALL uncles, ALL neighbors, and ALL brothers.
I don't know. Perhaps I'm rambling. I can't believe I haven't posted in so long. In the stepdown house I'm in we have no Internet access so I can only post from my Blackberry and that doesn't always cut it. At least my Obsessive Compulsive Internet shopper can't indulge herself. I love her dearly, but she's put me in debt.
So I'm looking at being discharged from residential treatment on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day. My therapist and I know we aren't ready. The parts that hold the eating disorder and protect the system (mostly myself)....there's a block there. Can't finish the sentence. All I can say is that we aren't ready to go in two days. More work needs to be done on the parts that hold the trauma. Even in treatment we've been able to restrict, purge, and/or binge and purge on a daily basis. If we were to be discharged now, we wouldn't stand a chance. The key to the eating disorder is through the parts that hold the trauma. Some of the parts have told some of their story already, certain events, and it's horrible, at least that's what our therapist says. I guess for protection, the parts don't give me the emotion full blown. I just have to trust my therapist that it was horrific.
I begin a IOP on Monday and I have an outside therapist that I worked with before treatment. I don't have a psychiatrist, yet. I don't know if this will work. I'm extremely trepidatious (Victoria is helping with words. tx). I feel sad, too, because I was just beginning to form closer relationships with the other six ladies in the house. One of the women could potentially be a close friend when I leave. In treatment, we all make plans to keep in touch but we never do. This lady and I will. I love her like I would love a sister.
I've been looking for a friend that I could be real with, that I could be uncouth, improper, crude self with and she fits the bill. She's that way with me. It's nothing for us to walk in on each other in the restroom and not care about it all. And that may be TMI (too much information) for you readers but what the hell! I have to let myself be real.
My husband flies into town tomorrow to have a few couples sessions before we go home, if we still go home. Our current therapist is going to ask for more time. Did I mention that? Anyway, D. is coming and it will be good to see him for many reasons. A lot of eating disorder reasons. When he came up last time and we had to go out to eat for dinner I told him I wanted a smoothie from Planet Smoothie. They have a delicious smoothie that's only 300 calories, so we went there. He's easy to take advantage of, but I think our current T. is going to give him the heads up on our tricks.
I know I'm rambling on and making this one long post. I just don't have anywhere to go. I'm sitting inside the restaraunt watching people eat and wondering how do they not go crazy; how do they not get anxious from eating that fruit cup or vegetable soup? I want that. I can do that. I need to work on the trauma and unburden my internal family, my members, and then we can be free.
We've had urges to drink again. When we left in-house residential all our old urges came back full force. We've gone to Alcoholics Anonymous again. It was like going home. I miss going to AA meetings. Doesn't matter what city you're in, they are all the same: a bunch of drunks just trying to get through the day. I'm one of them. And I find a lot of the principles and beliefs are applicable to eating disorders. I don't think EDA is appropriate. I wouldn't work the steps for an eating disorder. Even though there are similiarities, with alcohol you can just avoid it. It's easier gettting sober from alcohol than it is from food because you have to eat everyday.
I was offended in group yesterday by someone who has D.I.D. and was presenting her parts map. Of course she was emotional. As she was explaining her parts, she said she wished this wasn't her. I got angry, although I didn't say anything; but I thought, who would she wish this hell happen to? This is the apex of misery. It doesn't get worse than this. I only wish this hell on perps. I've never cried I wish this wasn't me, because if it wasn't me then it would be someone else and the only ones who deserve this hell are sex offenders. I abhor their existence and wish they had parts that drove them crazy, cut them, burned them, starved them, and drank them to death.
Whatever happens in my case, whenver I'm discharged, I'll have to make the best of it. I have my members and I view them as a blessing. Even though our coping skills are at times maladaptive, they are for protection. And I have to feel sorry for them and for me. It hasn't been anything close to an easy life. Every step has been arduous. But here I am, with nothing but the desire to get better. I may not have the motivation to do it, but I have the desire to have the motivation, and, for now, that has to be enough.
I won't go in to details as to what I've worked on in therapy or what I've gained. I will say that we've discovered why food has always seemed dirty (explains the eating disorder.) You would think someone with a dissociative disorder might know intuitively know or make connectios, but you can know things cerebrally but not emotionally and this journey in residential treatment has been about learning emotionally. I didn't need treatment to tell me that I hate ALL uncles, ALL neighbors, and ALL brothers.
I don't know. Perhaps I'm rambling. I can't believe I haven't posted in so long. In the stepdown house I'm in we have no Internet access so I can only post from my Blackberry and that doesn't always cut it. At least my Obsessive Compulsive Internet shopper can't indulge herself. I love her dearly, but she's put me in debt.
So I'm looking at being discharged from residential treatment on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day. My therapist and I know we aren't ready. The parts that hold the eating disorder and protect the system (mostly myself)....there's a block there. Can't finish the sentence. All I can say is that we aren't ready to go in two days. More work needs to be done on the parts that hold the trauma. Even in treatment we've been able to restrict, purge, and/or binge and purge on a daily basis. If we were to be discharged now, we wouldn't stand a chance. The key to the eating disorder is through the parts that hold the trauma. Some of the parts have told some of their story already, certain events, and it's horrible, at least that's what our therapist says. I guess for protection, the parts don't give me the emotion full blown. I just have to trust my therapist that it was horrific.
I begin a IOP on Monday and I have an outside therapist that I worked with before treatment. I don't have a psychiatrist, yet. I don't know if this will work. I'm extremely trepidatious (Victoria is helping with words. tx). I feel sad, too, because I was just beginning to form closer relationships with the other six ladies in the house. One of the women could potentially be a close friend when I leave. In treatment, we all make plans to keep in touch but we never do. This lady and I will. I love her like I would love a sister.
I've been looking for a friend that I could be real with, that I could be uncouth, improper, crude self with and she fits the bill. She's that way with me. It's nothing for us to walk in on each other in the restroom and not care about it all. And that may be TMI (too much information) for you readers but what the hell! I have to let myself be real.
My husband flies into town tomorrow to have a few couples sessions before we go home, if we still go home. Our current therapist is going to ask for more time. Did I mention that? Anyway, D. is coming and it will be good to see him for many reasons. A lot of eating disorder reasons. When he came up last time and we had to go out to eat for dinner I told him I wanted a smoothie from Planet Smoothie. They have a delicious smoothie that's only 300 calories, so we went there. He's easy to take advantage of, but I think our current T. is going to give him the heads up on our tricks.
I know I'm rambling on and making this one long post. I just don't have anywhere to go. I'm sitting inside the restaraunt watching people eat and wondering how do they not go crazy; how do they not get anxious from eating that fruit cup or vegetable soup? I want that. I can do that. I need to work on the trauma and unburden my internal family, my members, and then we can be free.
We've had urges to drink again. When we left in-house residential all our old urges came back full force. We've gone to Alcoholics Anonymous again. It was like going home. I miss going to AA meetings. Doesn't matter what city you're in, they are all the same: a bunch of drunks just trying to get through the day. I'm one of them. And I find a lot of the principles and beliefs are applicable to eating disorders. I don't think EDA is appropriate. I wouldn't work the steps for an eating disorder. Even though there are similiarities, with alcohol you can just avoid it. It's easier gettting sober from alcohol than it is from food because you have to eat everyday.
I was offended in group yesterday by someone who has D.I.D. and was presenting her parts map. Of course she was emotional. As she was explaining her parts, she said she wished this wasn't her. I got angry, although I didn't say anything; but I thought, who would she wish this hell happen to? This is the apex of misery. It doesn't get worse than this. I only wish this hell on perps. I've never cried I wish this wasn't me, because if it wasn't me then it would be someone else and the only ones who deserve this hell are sex offenders. I abhor their existence and wish they had parts that drove them crazy, cut them, burned them, starved them, and drank them to death.
Whatever happens in my case, whenver I'm discharged, I'll have to make the best of it. I have my members and I view them as a blessing. Even though our coping skills are at times maladaptive, they are for protection. And I have to feel sorry for them and for me. It hasn't been anything close to an easy life. Every step has been arduous. But here I am, with nothing but the desire to get better. I may not have the motivation to do it, but I have the desire to have the motivation, and, for now, that has to be enough.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A big random mess
What a week! And it's only Thursday! We are so looking forward to Friday and the weekend! It's been a difficult week so far, which is why we've been offline. We've moved officially into the Stepdown house and the transition is a hard one. Although we know all the ladies in Stepdown, we are still the new kid on the block and it makes it hard to find our niche. Everyone goes through this and gets through it, so I'm sure we will too. The only way through it is through it.
We've been told we've done some really good work, although I don't see it. We've been told we don't dissociate as much and we seem co-concious most of the time. I wish I could tell my T. that I've already bought a scale and I am already restricting. I'm not restricting too much, but just enough to fuel the addiction and obsession about how to burn calories, how to avoid calories, and what lies we can make up so that we can avoid eating with others. It needs to stop now.
Funny thing is, we've connected the eating disorder with the trauma...mostly. Most of us in the system believe they are connected. We won't go into detail, but we've thought that if we process the trauma and find resolution in our story, we don't need to hide behind the eating disorder. When those thoughts first started being processed, it felt like such a relief. But our eating disorder parts are fighting back mad and hard. I suppose the more we work on the trauma the more the eating disorder parts will feel the need to come up and do their job.
Part of me loves the eating disorder. Why wouldn't I? It protected me all this time from feeling the pain and despair of being traumatized at the earliest of ages. I need to find a different job for the eating disorder. Rather, the parts that hold eating disorders need to find new jobs. I wonder if cooking would be an appropriate job. I would worry that since it is still food related it might set us up for failure. I don't know. What I do know is that if I left residential treatment today, and I've said it before, the eating disorder would swallow me whole. I do think if we stay in treatment a little longer and do more hard trauma work that it MIGHT, ALMOST, COULD BE, MAYBE POSSIBLE that enough of the treatment could hook us and we wouldn't fall on our face out of treatment. We just need to be hooked in and I don't know how long that will take.
Anyway, so now that we've got freedom, we have a whole weekend to plan out and since we don't have Internet access at the Stepdown house, we will be off-line. Perhaps I can write again before I leave in-house today. I may go to a coffee house this weekend that has Internet access. I was thinking of taking the littles to Build-A-Bear. They have two already but the last one doesn't count. I think I might go to the movies by myself. I've always liked it. I know some people feel self-concious going to the movies alone but I like it. My favorite summer was two summers ago when Pirates of the Carribean At Worlds End came out. I went to the movies every week to see that film. And it was especially fun once the movie had been out a while and we would go during the day. We were the only ones in the theater.
My mind is dwelling on school. I sadly think that if I was still in school I would be finishing my Practicum right now. I would almost be finished and would be a teacher. *sigh*
I've written enough of a big random mess. Till next time.
We've been told we've done some really good work, although I don't see it. We've been told we don't dissociate as much and we seem co-concious most of the time. I wish I could tell my T. that I've already bought a scale and I am already restricting. I'm not restricting too much, but just enough to fuel the addiction and obsession about how to burn calories, how to avoid calories, and what lies we can make up so that we can avoid eating with others. It needs to stop now.
Funny thing is, we've connected the eating disorder with the trauma...mostly. Most of us in the system believe they are connected. We won't go into detail, but we've thought that if we process the trauma and find resolution in our story, we don't need to hide behind the eating disorder. When those thoughts first started being processed, it felt like such a relief. But our eating disorder parts are fighting back mad and hard. I suppose the more we work on the trauma the more the eating disorder parts will feel the need to come up and do their job.
Part of me loves the eating disorder. Why wouldn't I? It protected me all this time from feeling the pain and despair of being traumatized at the earliest of ages. I need to find a different job for the eating disorder. Rather, the parts that hold eating disorders need to find new jobs. I wonder if cooking would be an appropriate job. I would worry that since it is still food related it might set us up for failure. I don't know. What I do know is that if I left residential treatment today, and I've said it before, the eating disorder would swallow me whole. I do think if we stay in treatment a little longer and do more hard trauma work that it MIGHT, ALMOST, COULD BE, MAYBE POSSIBLE that enough of the treatment could hook us and we wouldn't fall on our face out of treatment. We just need to be hooked in and I don't know how long that will take.
Anyway, so now that we've got freedom, we have a whole weekend to plan out and since we don't have Internet access at the Stepdown house, we will be off-line. Perhaps I can write again before I leave in-house today. I may go to a coffee house this weekend that has Internet access. I was thinking of taking the littles to Build-A-Bear. They have two already but the last one doesn't count. I think I might go to the movies by myself. I've always liked it. I know some people feel self-concious going to the movies alone but I like it. My favorite summer was two summers ago when Pirates of the Carribean At Worlds End came out. I went to the movies every week to see that film. And it was especially fun once the movie had been out a while and we would go during the day. We were the only ones in the theater.
My mind is dwelling on school. I sadly think that if I was still in school I would be finishing my Practicum right now. I would almost be finished and would be a teacher. *sigh*
I've written enough of a big random mess. Till next time.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Another day, another death
I feel a crippling sadness seizing me tonight. I'm moving to a lower level of care. It is still part of the residential treatment facility I'm in, but it will not be as intensive and we will have more autonomy, which I know we are not ready for. I'm sad because there were only two things we wanted accomplished when we left treatment and that was less chaos in the head and not to be so preoccupied with food and weight. Neither of those things have happened. We will always be mentally ill. I just find it rather sad and pathetic that someone who people said had so much potential is just going to waste away inside her own pathology.
There's not much else to say. I really wish I didn't feel this way. I'm trying to remember that we aren't discharged and we aren't going home yet. We've just moved to a lower level of care. We still see our T. three times a week.
But it hurts. Some how it seems odd that just as we our getting into the crap that defined us we get moved to a level of care that we need more of. I wish they would just discharge me. Get it over with. I know what will happen when I leave. I will start restricting again. What is stupid is that I know the eating disorder is related to early trauma. I've at least learned that. I just always thought I needed to lose weight because I was a big fat blimp. At least now I know I'm a big fat blimp with an eating disorder related to trauma. Ha ha! Whatever. I cut myself short when I minimize what we've been through and that was very disrespectful to the ones who underwent the trauma and I apologize.
At least the members and I are getting along better, except for one. I don't know her purpose but she is always making me sleepy at the most inopportune moments. She is a protector but I don't know against what. She doesn't respond when I try to dialogue with her. I don't know what she wants. Before, she only "drugged" me and made me feel tired around food. Now it's throughout the day. I don't know if she is trying to keep us from talking or what. I have compassion for her, even if I don't know who the hell she is.
My life is going off the tracks. I'm scared to death. The world is going silent.
There's not much else to say. I really wish I didn't feel this way. I'm trying to remember that we aren't discharged and we aren't going home yet. We've just moved to a lower level of care. We still see our T. three times a week.
But it hurts. Some how it seems odd that just as we our getting into the crap that defined us we get moved to a level of care that we need more of. I wish they would just discharge me. Get it over with. I know what will happen when I leave. I will start restricting again. What is stupid is that I know the eating disorder is related to early trauma. I've at least learned that. I just always thought I needed to lose weight because I was a big fat blimp. At least now I know I'm a big fat blimp with an eating disorder related to trauma. Ha ha! Whatever. I cut myself short when I minimize what we've been through and that was very disrespectful to the ones who underwent the trauma and I apologize.
At least the members and I are getting along better, except for one. I don't know her purpose but she is always making me sleepy at the most inopportune moments. She is a protector but I don't know against what. She doesn't respond when I try to dialogue with her. I don't know what she wants. Before, she only "drugged" me and made me feel tired around food. Now it's throughout the day. I don't know if she is trying to keep us from talking or what. I have compassion for her, even if I don't know who the hell she is.
My life is going off the tracks. I'm scared to death. The world is going silent.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Dysfunctional family weekend
I can't believe how long it's been since we've written. There isn't much time to update everyone on what has been going on.
We miss our home in Georgia very much. We just had "family weekend" at the residential facility I'm in and it was such a joke, at least where my "family" is concerned. They didn't know it was family weekend and without my permission decided to fly here to see me. My therapist kept telling me to tell them not to come, but even if I had the courage, (which I don't) there was no phone number to reach them by nor do I have their e-mail. So when they showed up they were in for a surprise. My therapist set up an appointment with them, for which they were typically 30 minutes late. The therapist told them there was no point in them staying because the whole weekend was about family therapy and he didn't think they're staying would contribute anything useful. They came back after the day ended, but I wish they hadn't. We all sat around staring at the elephant in the room and talking around the elephant in the room, but no one speaking of it. I told them goodbye, lied and said I loved them, and now I probably won't see them again for six months.
My head is splitting open it hurts so bad. I drove my car for the first time tonight since February, when my incarceration back into the mental health world began. There is talk of me leaving in a month. I hope so. I'm ready to get back to my dysfunctional world, lose all the weight, and become suicidal again. Well, I guess I'll leave the suicidal part off. But I'm not interested in keeping the weight on; I've been honest about that from the beginning. I've restricted all weekend. Only dinner. Tonight, my defunct husband thought it would be a great idea if we had a smoothie from Smoothie King for dinner. I was and still am addicted to the one that is 336 calories, 6 grams of fat, 8 grams of protein, and 11 grams of carbs. It is delish. Back when I could exercise I would have them put frozen yogurt in it. But I can't afford that 100 calories now.
As for recovery, I am interested in working with my members, establishing better communication, giving them more of a say in the everyday matters of our life. Right now, a new member has evidenced and she is a protector. I find them all fascinating...sometimes. This member protects by making me sleepy. Usually comes after any meal and she puts me to sleep. Maybe so I won't feel the guilt of eating, maybe so I won't purge it, I don't know.
Well, time to take something for this splitting headache. Hope the world spins well for all who read. Take care and stay posted.
We miss our home in Georgia very much. We just had "family weekend" at the residential facility I'm in and it was such a joke, at least where my "family" is concerned. They didn't know it was family weekend and without my permission decided to fly here to see me. My therapist kept telling me to tell them not to come, but even if I had the courage, (which I don't) there was no phone number to reach them by nor do I have their e-mail. So when they showed up they were in for a surprise. My therapist set up an appointment with them, for which they were typically 30 minutes late. The therapist told them there was no point in them staying because the whole weekend was about family therapy and he didn't think they're staying would contribute anything useful. They came back after the day ended, but I wish they hadn't. We all sat around staring at the elephant in the room and talking around the elephant in the room, but no one speaking of it. I told them goodbye, lied and said I loved them, and now I probably won't see them again for six months.
My head is splitting open it hurts so bad. I drove my car for the first time tonight since February, when my incarceration back into the mental health world began. There is talk of me leaving in a month. I hope so. I'm ready to get back to my dysfunctional world, lose all the weight, and become suicidal again. Well, I guess I'll leave the suicidal part off. But I'm not interested in keeping the weight on; I've been honest about that from the beginning. I've restricted all weekend. Only dinner. Tonight, my defunct husband thought it would be a great idea if we had a smoothie from Smoothie King for dinner. I was and still am addicted to the one that is 336 calories, 6 grams of fat, 8 grams of protein, and 11 grams of carbs. It is delish. Back when I could exercise I would have them put frozen yogurt in it. But I can't afford that 100 calories now.
As for recovery, I am interested in working with my members, establishing better communication, giving them more of a say in the everyday matters of our life. Right now, a new member has evidenced and she is a protector. I find them all fascinating...sometimes. This member protects by making me sleepy. Usually comes after any meal and she puts me to sleep. Maybe so I won't feel the guilt of eating, maybe so I won't purge it, I don't know.
Well, time to take something for this splitting headache. Hope the world spins well for all who read. Take care and stay posted.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sadness over chaos
I wish I was sad, then I wouldn't feel so chaotic in the head. The members are all crawling over each other like puppies nudging up to the mama to nurse. I wish I could explain it all, but I can't. There is so much resignation right now because we hurt so bad. We are still in residential treatment and taking more chances than we are used to. Everything hurts so badly. There are definite links between the eating disorder and sexual abuse. We still have only a small cluster of parts/members, fifteen or so. Some that have been in hiding have recently come out. I find it fascinating that there is one member who is a protector and when things get too difficult she lulls us to sleep and then another member who gives us thoughts and feelings and can also take them away. I don't know how much longer we will be here. I should find out more on Wednesday, October 22.
We assembled a Communications Map, showing how the parts communicate with each other and communicate with the outside world. We listen more closely to each other, at least when another will talk. This is progress, because before we need listened to anybody but ourselves. Most recognize the need to better communicate with each other and work together in order to achieve an inner and outer world that is workable for us.
We have a protector member who is made of much anger and sadness but lately she has been able to tolerate the idea that there might be more to her than just her anger and sadness. She takes care of our littles and has a most important job, but it would be nice to lift some of the heavy responsibility off her shoulders. It would be nice if she could feel some happiness and joy. Same goes for all the members. Shielding each other from the abuse is a heavy responsibility and it would be nice for everyone to know the littles are safe and they are free to pursue things that would make them feel happy. As for the angry member, it's all justified and she's done an incredible job at keeping the littles safe. Our residential T. keeps telling us the world we grew up in is not as dangerous as the world that necessitated our beginning. I want to believe him so badly.
Life in treatment is extremely hard and I am so homesick. I haven't been home since February.
Even with all this treatment it is still a battle to lose the anoretic mind set. We have someone in treatment with us who is probably 65% of her ideal body weight. She is skin and bones and some of us long for that. Not everyone is on board with staying at our current weight. They also feel that food is dirty, obscene, disgusting and makes us unclean, impure, and damaged. It is irrational; how can food make someone dirty? But that thought is there and it screams at every meal to the point we want to shower after meal.
We had psycho drama today that was really heavy. I was playing a role as the eating disordered daughter of a chaotic Jewish family who are degrading to women, argue about business affairs at the table, and shun the daughter who is lesbian and bulimic. They way they were "therapeutically" talking about women sent me out of the room. I felt retraumatized and victimized and objectified. I felt violated.
I guess another area we have progressed in our treatment is our vocabulary. We now use the real words for sexual assault. I won't type them here. Even though we use them it's not easy.
The level of chaos is decreasing in the head. There were some important things I wanted to write about but Victoria is taking them away.
My husband comes to visit next week. I can't wait to see him. The littles are excited because they are going to get stickers for their sticker book.
I hope some of this made sense and that it offers comfort or identification for someone out there. Life is hard. Life with an eating disorder or a dissociative disorder is almost unbearable. I am waiting to exhale. I hope I get there soon. I miss life.
We assembled a Communications Map, showing how the parts communicate with each other and communicate with the outside world. We listen more closely to each other, at least when another will talk. This is progress, because before we need listened to anybody but ourselves. Most recognize the need to better communicate with each other and work together in order to achieve an inner and outer world that is workable for us.
We have a protector member who is made of much anger and sadness but lately she has been able to tolerate the idea that there might be more to her than just her anger and sadness. She takes care of our littles and has a most important job, but it would be nice to lift some of the heavy responsibility off her shoulders. It would be nice if she could feel some happiness and joy. Same goes for all the members. Shielding each other from the abuse is a heavy responsibility and it would be nice for everyone to know the littles are safe and they are free to pursue things that would make them feel happy. As for the angry member, it's all justified and she's done an incredible job at keeping the littles safe. Our residential T. keeps telling us the world we grew up in is not as dangerous as the world that necessitated our beginning. I want to believe him so badly.
Life in treatment is extremely hard and I am so homesick. I haven't been home since February.
Even with all this treatment it is still a battle to lose the anoretic mind set. We have someone in treatment with us who is probably 65% of her ideal body weight. She is skin and bones and some of us long for that. Not everyone is on board with staying at our current weight. They also feel that food is dirty, obscene, disgusting and makes us unclean, impure, and damaged. It is irrational; how can food make someone dirty? But that thought is there and it screams at every meal to the point we want to shower after meal.
We had psycho drama today that was really heavy. I was playing a role as the eating disordered daughter of a chaotic Jewish family who are degrading to women, argue about business affairs at the table, and shun the daughter who is lesbian and bulimic. They way they were "therapeutically" talking about women sent me out of the room. I felt retraumatized and victimized and objectified. I felt violated.
I guess another area we have progressed in our treatment is our vocabulary. We now use the real words for sexual assault. I won't type them here. Even though we use them it's not easy.
The level of chaos is decreasing in the head. There were some important things I wanted to write about but Victoria is taking them away.
My husband comes to visit next week. I can't wait to see him. The littles are excited because they are going to get stickers for their sticker book.
I hope some of this made sense and that it offers comfort or identification for someone out there. Life is hard. Life with an eating disorder or a dissociative disorder is almost unbearable. I am waiting to exhale. I hope I get there soon. I miss life.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
They took the duty of taking out the trash away from me. I was purging when I would take the trash out for this eating disorder treatment center. I have no explanation for myself. I can say I was working really hard on the rituals, i.e. lowering the amount of salt I use, not cutting my food into the tiniest of pieces, not taking small bites, not using the salt to hide the tast of the food. I guess once I stopped doing that the purging urges took over and they are fierce. I would purge when I took the trash out, purge behind a bush or behind the swimming pool. No more. Part of me has to think of a new place where I can purge. Does it really come down to two parts: to engage in purging or the rituals. We signed a contract saying no e.d. behaviors and were doing well until we hit this snag. Now all motivation is lost and we just want to go home.
We know if we go home that we will just lose the weight but that's what we've wanted all along. I really don't think we can heal. Although I figuratively keep getting slapped in the face by a memory one of the eleven year olds had. Without sharing details of her trauma, there were always certain foods that couldn't be eaten. Now we know why. So if we can hold on to that kernel of hope that we are solving the puzzle and we can deal with the rules around food then we can try to escape the solid death grip the eating disorder has on us.
It's been a bad weekend overall. We did go out on the Saturday outing and that was good because all we wanted to do was stay back and sleep. We made coasters that have inspirational sayings on the (I love recovery quotes!) and let the littles find a stuffed little bear they could color with sharpies and embellish with shiny shapes. They had fun.
I've isolated all day. Just tired of playing this same old game. I got on the web site to my university to find out what is going on and when we register. I don't know if we should try to go back for Spring or Summer. I can't even complete my assignments given me in residential treatment, how am I going to finish assignments by professors? And for that matter, do we still want to teach or should we get our degree in English and then go for the Masters to prove ourselves wrong? People say there's time to figure it out, but I hear the clock loudly ticking away my middle age.
We know if we go home that we will just lose the weight but that's what we've wanted all along. I really don't think we can heal. Although I figuratively keep getting slapped in the face by a memory one of the eleven year olds had. Without sharing details of her trauma, there were always certain foods that couldn't be eaten. Now we know why. So if we can hold on to that kernel of hope that we are solving the puzzle and we can deal with the rules around food then we can try to escape the solid death grip the eating disorder has on us.
It's been a bad weekend overall. We did go out on the Saturday outing and that was good because all we wanted to do was stay back and sleep. We made coasters that have inspirational sayings on the (I love recovery quotes!) and let the littles find a stuffed little bear they could color with sharpies and embellish with shiny shapes. They had fun.
I've isolated all day. Just tired of playing this same old game. I got on the web site to my university to find out what is going on and when we register. I don't know if we should try to go back for Spring or Summer. I can't even complete my assignments given me in residential treatment, how am I going to finish assignments by professors? And for that matter, do we still want to teach or should we get our degree in English and then go for the Masters to prove ourselves wrong? People say there's time to figure it out, but I hear the clock loudly ticking away my middle age.
Friday, October 10, 2008
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.
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.
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