i'm not really free, am i?

i remember sitting there, feeling like i was some caged animal. i longed for the taste of diet coke, coffee, and gum. i wanted to exercise, or at least be able to walk around without being redirected. i wished i had my cell phone, and Internet access, so that i could talk to all of my friends. i wanted to be able to watch whatever i wanted on tv, wake up whenever i wanted. eat (or not eat) if and when i wished. i wanted the complete control that i had at home. in those moments, i felt so homesick and miserable. i thought to myself, if i had that, if i could just have those things to hold, and abuse again, then i would be happy. i would feel free. i wouldn't feel so trapped and alone anymore.

when i first got out, i felt this huge rush. i was finally free. i remember my first sip of diet coke. it tasted better than ever before. i remember my first cup of coffee. how minutes later i was completely hyped up and feeling better than ever. i remember the first meal i skipped, how it felt so liberating and rebellious. the hunger felt good. it was something i missed while being in treatment, because in treatment i was always incredibly full. i took myself off my meds, deemed myself emotionally stable, and decided that i didn't need them. the mania felt good. it felt like things were back to the way they were supposed to be. i could go to the bathroom whatever i wanted, and if i needed to purge i would. i got exercise at night, in secret, for as long as i wanted. i felt extremely happy when i lost weight. i could feel more comfortable in some of my clothes. my stomach didn't feel as bloated, my face became less round. but in all of this "freedom" something happened. i became more withdrawn. in treatment i hated the feeling of loneliness, but now i was creating exactly that for myself. i became completely isolated; almost afraid to go out and be around people. the physical affection from my family that i once desperately wanted was now something that i couldn't stand. the hunger i once viewed as good, as a choice, now felt like something that i had to have, that i didn't have the choice because starving was something i HAD to do. the taste of diet coke became almost sickening because i started drinking it so much. i started drinking so much coffee that i felt like i would throw up if i had one more sip. i felt like i couldn't talk to anyone about my feelings, even my therapist. as horrible as treatment was, i could talk to people. i felt close to people. i could trust them. i wasn't ashamed of my emotions, my quirky personality, or the mistakes i often made. because i knew that it was all just a learning experience, no one was judging me because they all had their own faults, they were all dealing with shitty situations just like i was. but now i am so self-conscious of the littlest things. i beat myself up over the smallest mistakes. in treatment i got used to not looking in the mirror very much, but now i look in the mirror so many times a day that i can't even keep count.

my point is, all of these things that i longed for and missed, that i thought would make me happy, that i thought were liberating, are the things making me miserable now. i feel more trapped now then i ever did in treatment. i may not be physically locked in, but behaviorally and emotionally i am locked in a barbed-wire cage and the key is no where in sight. my hands are tied behind my back. it's a struggle to breathe. i know that if i don't get out of this self imprisonment, i will die. i'm not naive. i don't still believe that i am invincible. i am not happy. i don't feel free. as hard as this is to admit, i would rather be locked in a psych ward than to be held down so forcefully by ED.

regret.

lately things have been really rough. i don't know how i got so off track. i hate to be so hopeless and negative all of the time, but i just feel like such a failure. like, i knew i was going to relapse as soon as i got home. i hate the fact that all i can think about is losing weight and being sick. i recognize that it is just an escape for me now. it allows me to focus on weight, calories, food and exercise instead of focusing on what is really going on. at sheppard pratt and renfrew, they basically forced me to focus on trauma and other underlying issues, which i thought made things so much worse. i didn't want to talk about that stuff. in fact, i wasn't ready to. but they didn't care. the only way i was going to be able to leave would be to talk about it. it put me in a really uncomfortable position. either i stay quiet (and sane) or i tell them everything they want to hear so that i can go home. it was a really difficult decision. but finally i just decided to talk. i was so sick of being there; it was like prison. but now i'm really regretting my decision. they told me that if i didn't make significant progress i could be there until christmas, which would have really been hard, but i think i would rather have that then bring up all of the stuff that is just making things harder for me now. before i started talking about it, i wasn't bothered by it. but now it's all i can think about at all. it's tormenting me so much! i wish i could just go back in time and take everything i said back. my life at home is almost exactly the same as it was before i went in. and i hate that! i'm honestly sick of being sick, but i just can't get control of the disorder. i don't know what else to do. i just don't know how i could be so stupid!!!

silence.

sitting here alone has made me think a lot. about life. about love, if such a thing even exists. about recovery. right now i am just at a stand still. i'm not sure what i want, do i even want to be healthy? what would that even look like? there is this huge part of me that feels deserving of sickness and misery. and even though logically i know that it isn't true, somehow i can't let the belief go. there are so many things that need to be said but every time i try to say them nothing comes out. i just stand there silent, looking like i have something important to say, but not able to muster up the courage to say anything. the other person just looks at me, puzzled. they too know that i have something i really need to say, and i think they know that i can't. because they don't ask. sometimes i wish they would ask, but what would i do if they did? i would probably just end up embarrassing myself. i think they know that. the silence bothers me though. i feel like there is some odd distance between myself and everyone i love, and no matter how hard i try i can't force myself any closer. maybe if i could speak, break the silence, tell them everything that has been holding me back for so long, maybe the distance will diminish. but i feel like i will never know because i just can't.