your IV and you hospital bed, this was no accident it was a therapauetic chain of events....

sitting in the hospital with an IV and tube is no fun.
it made me realize something, i fon't want this to become the rest of my life. my brother came in making jokes about how he thought i had it made with nurses doing everything for me and whatnot, but i HATE it. i can't even get out of bed. sure, this hospital is one of the best for refeeding, but it's no walk in the park. i get so bored that half the time i sleep.
what sucks the most is knowing that i'm spending christmas eve and christmas in the hospital. it breaks my heart that i can't be with my familys or friends. i can't even haveva phone in my sroom sstsos stalk to mmy family and friends. the dr's say that's a priveledge that i have to earn.
i donn't know... i'qm basically just ranted because i have nothing abetter to do aand i'm really upset that i'm here ffor the holidays. sorry for this..

deadline is coming...

I was talking in therapy with Eileen, and came to a realization- the deadline for my recovery is coming.
I've spent so much time in my eating disorder that I've forgotten how much time I've spent in it- 7 years.. I will be 18 in less than a year, and fully responsible for myself. Right now I'm fully responsible for my recovery... My mom has stepped back, my friends have stepped back, the rest of my family (excluding my grandma) have stepped back and said, "this is your battle now."
It scares the shit out of me to have so much responsibility for myself, to not have anyone to blame/excuse except myself. I'm left alone with God to figure this out. I'm making the shots here- making sure I get to my appointments, making sure my mom makes the correct appointments, eating (or not), asking for help, or choosing to suffer in silence. It's all up to me now.
This responsibility makes me want to sink into my ED even more to avoid the situation and the reality, but the more I do that the more I am making bad shots in my recovery, leading me ultimately to death.
My life is in my hands. It has always been, but I'm just now realizing it as I grow older.
So what am I going to do? I'm making the shots, what I say goes, what am I going to say?
I'm not sure yet, but i must decide soon because the deadline for my recovery is coming; I don't have much time left.

nervous

I'm sitting outside waiting for 3:30 to come. I'm so nervous that I'm becoming nauseous.
"what's it going to be this time," ED yells at me. I can't get him to shut up.
I feel like shit, literally. I've taken miralax so much that all I do is shit.
(too much info, I know)
I sit outside feeling the cool breeze and smoke cigarette after cigarette, trying to get ED to shut up.
ED is excited for the appointment, Erin is terrified.
I try to force myself to eat or drink something before I go so maybe it won't be so bad, but I can't. ED has to know the exact number.
I find it harder not knowing the numbers, because then I feel like I have to do everything in my, or more accurately, ED's power to insure that it doesn't go up.
I'm nervous again. what if it went up? what if it went down, what if it stayed the same? what if she doesn't even tell me!?
I can't think straight anymore. I know I have relapsed badly, and I can't pull myself out of it.
I think back to may and feel sick. that CAN'T happen again. but at the rate I'm going I know that's where I'm headed.. which makes me nervous.

what will my story be?

so i know i haven't written on here in a while, but i've just been kind of preoccupied.

i guess i have been sliding down a slippery slope from day one.

i am done lying to myself, i'm struggling... A LOT. like, probably more than i have before as far as restricting goes. i haven't purged since i got home, which makes about 2 weeks. but, i have been eating the bare minimum only when i have to. when i'm left to my own devices i just don't.

this is weird and different for me. i guess i'm so used to the restrict/b/p cycle that it's strange that i'm only restricting.

someone asked me the other day what triggered it, and honestly, i don't know anymore. i think it has just become pure addiction. i can't come up with a legitimate reason why i struggle anymore. i've been in therapy for years, i've been in treatment/hospitals 16 different times in the past 6 years, i shouldn't still be struggling. back to the being honest with myself- maybe i'm just not willing yet. i mean, i want recovery, but as my best friend said there is a big difference between wanting something and being willing to do something. i know my meal plan, i know my DBT skills, i know how to reach out for support, i know to rely on my higher power and work the steps, i know HOW to do recovery.. it's just a question of when. i know my body can't handle much more damage. i'm a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any minute. but why can't i stop? why can't i just fucking stop!?

i've seen so many people come out of this to lead successful lives, and i've seen so many die from this horrible disease. that leaves me with a really hard decision to make... i can be a success story, or a sob story.

rain

I sit out in the cold rain and cry. thinking to myself, "everyone is slowly giving up on me."
my heart is breaking. I never meant for this to happen.. I never wanted to lose all of my relationships and hopes and dreams. I never wanted my family to worry if I would wake up in the morning.
I'm stuck in this horrible addiction and I can't get out. I feel like the people I can now rely on are few and far in between. I feel so alienated and alone. and yes, I know I did this to myself. but it still fucking hurts. I know god has a purpose for my life but right now I don't see it. neither does anyone else. I just want to be "normal".
I want to go to school and drive and get a boyfriend and a job. I want my friends and family to not give up on me.
I don't know.. I'm just having a rainy, sad day. sorry for venting.

dissociation (TK)

i am found staring at the image reflected back at me. it's not alive, but it's certainly not dead. if i look closely enough i can almost see inside her. she seems so empty, and yet so full. i wonder where she's come from. she seems worn down and afraid. i wonder if i know her. she looks so familiar and yet so foreign. what was her past? what will become of her future? for i moment i feel like i'm no longer here; i'm there with her. and where might she be? everywhere? nowhere? anywhere? elsewhere? who knows. she remembers things that happened and i remember too, but we remember them differently. did they really happen at all? i'm back, and i realize who she is... me.

underwater (TK, august 29th, inspired by my best friend)

(the metaphor is that being in recovery is like holding your breath underwater, and ED is the air)

underwater. i feel like i'm holding my breath , begging to come up for air, trapped in a fat suit, unable to unzip it no matter how hard i try. i'm drowning. i want to come up for air so badly. i want to say i'll go home and lose a few pounds, somehow find a way to function with my disease. however, i know that won't happen. i need to come up for air, i can only hold my breath for a little bit longer. i know what coming up will lead to, and it won't be functional at all: IV's, feeding tubes, emergency rooms, attempting to run away, throwing up in bottles and hoarding them in my closet, stealing money and pills, crying in the back of an ambulance, passing out on the bathroom floor at 3 AM, sleepless nights spent in terror, bitter cold, falling at school, not being strong enough to walk up a flight of stairs, catheters, lost relationships, paper gowns, goal weights, supplements and gatorade, toilets that flush with keys, nightsweats, and ultimately, death. but i need the air so badly. i'll go back under when i get one more breath. i plead with myself in my mind just to come up for a few seconds, my lungs feel like they might explode. if i come up, i know i will never go back under. i know i can't live with one foot in this world and one in another. i want to live in the recovery world, but i don't think i can hold my breath much longer. i want to escape the fat suit and just come up for air, but i remember what that leads to- death. however, i feel like if i don't come up soon i will drown. i'm damned if i do, damned if i don't. but right now i'm still alive so i have to make a choice- do i breathe or do i drown?

the fatal question

on the way home from seeing the nutcracker and having lunch/dinner, my mom told me something that really struck a chord. she said, "i will be honest with you erin, there are 2 choices and only 2 choices. i have accepted it myself and you need to as well. you will either get into recovery, or you will die. so you need to figure it out so you can put me and the rest of the people who care about you at peace."
i was stunned. i didn't know whether i should laugh or cry. it seemed like such a horrible, and yet honest thing to say. that is one thing my mom has always been very good at- being brutally honest. however, i don't feel like i can just wake up one day and say, "i'm going to recover right now", nor do i think i am going to wake up one day and say, "fuck you all, i'm choosing to die."
and, my mom has a point. right now, for me, it is a life or death situation. i went into cardiac arrest in may. my body can't handle much of this anymore. i feel like i've been genuinely trying. i am restricting, but i've been purge-free for almost a week now. (which is good for me) i'm not taking diet pills, laxatives, or diuretics anymore, even though it's tempting. i know i'm not trying as hard as i could be, but i haven't given up yet.
i'm at a cross roads, do i sink or do i swim? it's heartbreaking to hear my mom say that she has accepted the fact that i will die if i don't get my shit together. especially after all she's done with our new apartment and how beautiful my room is. the other night i was debating on having a snack, and at first, i decided no. then i walked upstairs to my loft and saw that my mom doing this (decorating, getting new furniture, buying me all new clothes to replace the ones that were too small) it was all her way of saying "i love you erin alexandria collins. i love you and i want you to live. not just live, live happily."
now i'm not sure that's exactly what she was thinking, but through family therapy i have learned that she shows her love by service work. and i have to read things differently with her. she may not hug me every night before i go to bed, or tell me she loves me a million times a day, but she would go to the ends of the earth to do things for me.
so back to the snack thing- i walked upstairs and looked at my beautiful loft, and thought to myself, "what a shame it would be if i died." then i decided to eat the damn snack.
but this question is still really bothering me. i don't know what i want anymore. i know that i don't want to die, but i also know that i don't want to feel fat for the rest of my life.
i just have a lot of thinking to do.

Messy (TK)

my life, a jumbled up MESS. somehow everything fell apart, broke into tiny pieces, and scattered all over the floor. some pieces large and dull, some tiny and sharp.
i try to pick them up but its nearly impossible.
i walk around the room carefully, and yet i am still cut by the small sharp pieces. so now the floor is covered in shards of glass, my blood, and tears.
i try to remember when it all fell apart, but i realize that its been falling apart piece by piece forr years.
i could blame it on him, because that's when it really fell apart, but i won't because it's my fault too.
it's such a mess. but i don't know how to clean it up.
maybe, just maybe, I NEED HELP.

setting in.

it's all setting in now. the newness is wearing off. my mom and i made an agreement that as long as i wasn't purging i could eat however much (or little) i wanted. so today i've had what TK would consider one meal. not so bad, but not great either. i feel myself spiraling downward again. i mean, hell, i went to the ER the day before i was supposed to be discharged!
anyway... i went shopping today and got jeggings, and uggs and new bra's and it was really kind of triggering. my body has just grown so much over the past 7 months. it scares the hell out of me. all i want to do is lose weight. and yet, at the same time all i want is to be in recovery and not have to worry about all this shit anymore. it's so confusing and conflicting. i'm trying to rely on my higher power, but right now that's not doing shit for me. maybe i'm not doing it right or something. it's all just so frustrating. i have a whole new apartment and room and a brand new start and all i can care about is the size of my thighs and boobs. i'm beginning to feel like i will never become a normal teenager, whatever that is... i'm currently waiting for a bed to be open at carolina house. my mom wants it to be soon, but i would prefer it being a week or so more. i havent even gotten to see my grandma yet. :( ughhhhhhh idk, i'm just so frustrated with everything. sorry for the vent, just had to get it out.

Finally Free!

I finally got home from Timberline Knolls in Chicago.
Being home so far is amazing!!! i dont know how long the "honeymoon phase" will last, but i'm hoping for a while things will be good. i may be going to another residential treatment facility called Carolina House soon. so yeah, i just wanted to give a quick update.
(:

almost gone

this is not how i expected to spend my summer, sitting in a hospital bed, alone. my throat hurts reminding me that i have a feeding tube in my nose; just the thought of it makes me cringe. how did i end up here? how did i almost die a week ago? i remember lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, crying as the paramedics told me gently that i might go into cardiac arrest. i felt the slow pitter-patter of my heart in my chest and i sobbed. "i can't be dying," i said, "please don't let me die." the paramedics reassured me that they knew what to do if that happened and they wouldn't let me die. i told one of the paramedics how earlier i sat on my bed and begged god to not let me go to hell if i died. the paramedic questioned my faith, and then reassured me that once i was saved i would always be saved, and there was no way i could go to hell. that gave me a moment of peace before i lost consciousness. i thought i had died, but when i came to they were rushing me into the ER. outside the air was warm and humid, but inside the hospital the air was cold and frigid. the treatments i received in the ER were painful, and a bit traumatic- potassium IV, huge tube down my nose and charcoal, a catheter, etc. some of those things made me wish i were dead. i'd never felt so miserable before. by 4am i was transferred to Levine Childrens Hospital 8th floor, which is the progressive care unit (one step down from the ICU) that alone tells me how sick i have become thanks to this damn eating disorder. now i've been here over a week, and i'm preparing to go to treatment. i'm scared out of my mind, but i know now that there is no greater fear than the one that comes when you're about to die. this experience could've broken me down even more; allowed me to just sit back and become an invalid girl in a hospital bed. instead, it has built me up; given me motivation to fight, courage, understanding, and most importantly, a desire to LIVE.

joanna.

i clutch my tiny rainbow pony stuffed animal and think, i miss joanna. (i named it "jo" after joanna.) but when i really think about it, it's not really about missing joanna herself. while she was an important person in my life during my time at sheppard pratt, what she gave was more important- support, kindness, understanding, encouragement, positivity, compassion, love.. the list goes on.
she was the mother i always wanted but never had. she was my mom away from home. she was the person i went to when i was upset, or happy, or just because.
i often find myself missing her, but now i'm realizing that it's much deeper than that; instead i miss what she meant to me. i miss having that type of relationship with someone, a relationship that i swore i could never have. a relationship that actually scared the shit out of me because i knew that all too soon i would lose it.
and i have lost it, and it kills me. it cuts like a knife. it hurts like hell. i wish that i could re-create that relationship with my own mother, but somehow that doesn't work.
hopefully someday i'll find that relationship in SOMEONE; someone that i won't lose. someone who is meant to be a part of my long-term life, not just temporarily there.

too much to lose.

3 am. i wake up in dire need to go to the bathroom. too many laxatives and diuretics have now taken affect, making me miserable. afterwards i step on the scale- 89. somehow the fact that the number is one less than it was yesterday makes it all okay. but is it really okay? i'm beginning to ask myself this question again. i go back to my room, open my window and smoke a menthol marlboro. somehow it also makes everything seem okay. i listen to the music that drowns out the silence that is simply unbearable. my stomach rumbles and my throat aches from thirst, but i won't allow myself anything to eat or drink, especially not at 3 am. my tired eyes want to close and let me drift away to sleep , peaceful and calm, but my stomach and mind won't allow that to happen. and so i write, hoping that if i spill my mind out onto this paper everything will be okay, and i'll be able to sleep again. but why do i keep trying to convince myself that everything is fine when it's obviously not? why can't i just accept that everything is completely fucked up again? i'm not in denial, i just won't allow myself to accept the reality, but why? everyone else has accepted it, even my mother, who is amazing at denial. so why won't i just accept it? things are fucked up, and i'm going to die.
maybe it's because now i have too much to lose. before i had nothing but weight to lose, so it didn't really matter if i died. but now i have a lot more- a boyfriend, friends at school, school itself, babysitting, church, and a family that is trying harder than ever to support me. i had some of this before, but it didn't matter as much as it does now. my attempts to lead a normal life have screwed me over because now i have SO much to leave behind.

before it's too late...

i sit here, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee cup after cup. bad habit i know, but somehow it helps. well, i guess that depends on your definition of "help". for me it means that i'm able to starve myself. which leads me to the question, how the hell did i get back to this place? how could i possibly forget that day with carson that i cried in the car, begging god to not let me die? how could i forget sitting on the floor as the nurses searched my stuff and confiscated my contraband, crumpled up into a ball of manic sobs, pleading for them to help me. "i'm dying," i said, "joanna, please help me, i don't want to die." how could i forget standing up and having to hold onto the wall for dear life so i didn't fall over? how could i forget staying awake all those nights, fearing that if i went to sleep i would never wake up again? maybe it's not that i've forgotten because clearly i haven't, maybe it's just that my eating disorder won't allow me to believe it. the past year honestly feels like a dream, and though i know the doctors told my mom i wouldn't survive another relapse and re-feeding process, somewhere in my mind i can't believe it. i think even when i was sitting there, curled up in a ball hiding my face and begging joanna to not let me die, i couldn't really believe it. i said it, but i don't think i meant it. do i want to die? absolutely not. but there is still this part of me that likes to think that i'm invincible. that somehow, someway things won't end up the way they were last time. my eating disorder keeps kicking me for not losing "enough" weight, but honestly, i've lost quite a bit, and i shouldn't have lost any. i'm losing weight at the same pace that i did last time i left sheppard pratt, and i'm as symptomatic as i was the last time too, if not worse. i have stopped binging and purging for the most part, but i have replaced that with restricting, which logically i know only leads to binging and purging. i like to pretend that i'm okay, "i'm fine," i tell my therapist, "i'm perfectly healthy." however, i know that's not true. my blood pressure is lower, i'm orthostatic, i've lost a substantial amount of weight, and i'm sure my potassium and phosphorus levels are off. logically i know what is happening to my body, but emotionally i can't bring myself to fully believe it. which brings me to another question, what is it going to take for me to believe it? am i going to have to nearly die in a friends car again to realize that this is serious? i wish i could make my emotional mind believe what my logical mind does. logically i know i'm not overweight, i just FEEL overweight. logically i know i'm not a bad person, i just FEEL bad. logically i know i'm deserving of basic needs, i just FEEL undeserving. it's so frustrating. it's like i'm split in half between what i know and what i believe. so how do i start to believe what i know? i'm not sure, but what i am sure of is that i have to figure it out soon; before it's too late.

rubble

Yesterday was a pretty awful day. it started off well, but ended badly.
i stole miralax from my grandmother (a whole container) and i thought i had gotten away with it. well, after church my mom went out to the car and dug through my bags and found it. she was so angry. she came into my grandmother's house screaming at me, telling me how i was raised to know not to steal and that it wasn't acceptable. in that moment all i could say was "what the hell mom?" but inside i was screaming.. "you don't get it! i'm sorry i just had to. whatthehellcanisaytomakeyouunderstandthatiHAVEtodo it!?!?!?" it was so frustrating. then my mom started saying that i obviously didn't give a shit about any of their feelings, which is probably the farthest thing from the truth. there have been many times that i have sat, a lump of sobs and crimson liquid, and held the bottle of pills in my shaking hand. i wrote pages and pages of letters filled with heartfelt, 'i'm sorry's' and 'please don't blame yourself' and it was always their feelings that stopped me. it was always the thought of, "what will they do when they find me like this, cold skinned and wrists covered in dried blood?" it was always thinking about how they would feel that stopped me because i know i have already hurt them so much. i'm sick of hurting them, i HATE myself for it, but i know killing myself is not the solution. so you see, if i didn't care about how they felt i would have died years ago. but i DO care. sometimes i wish i didn't so i could just be done with this all.
the whole situation was just really upsetting. i felt horrible for getting caught, and for doing it in the first place. i felt so stupid and foolish. my grandma's words to me cut like knifes, "if you would've asked i would've given them to you, i just don't want you to die erin, please promise me you won't do it again." that hurts more than my mom's anger ever could. i promised her, knowing that i couldn't fully commit to that promise. knowing that when my ED takes over, erin checks out, and i don't really control what i do anymore. it's so frustrating because though erin is not in control, she is the one that has to take responsibility for what ED does. it's her body that is damaged, her mind that is tormented, her soul that is being slowly sucked out. she is the one paying the price for all that ED is doing. it's not fair, but i don't know how to stop it. i feel awful for what i did, but i can't guarantee that it won't happen again. i can't guarantee that i will eat. i can't guarantee that i will stop purging. i can't guarantee anyone that i won't just drop dead someday. i know it's possible, especially with purging, and though that's scary, i can't change. i don't know what's wrong with me.
it was like one day i was a normal human being, and the next day suddenly i was a monster. my eating disorder has turned me into a horrid monster that lies and cheats and steals. erin would never steal, but ED doesn't care what erin would do, or what she wants or needs. ED only cares about one thing, "thinner, thinner, thinner, you must get thinner" i recognize that my eating disorder is only trying to protect me, but it's not working. sure, emotionally it helps, but even that gets bad sometimes. i just wish i could take everything back.. go back to a year ago and not go to his house, go back to six years ago and not purge with my friend. go back 11 years ago and beg my daddy not to go to work. but i can't. the past is the past and i have to deal with what it's left me, and right now all that seems to be is a bunch of rubble.

short narrative

up way too early, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. she's in that place again. the nicotine and caffeine make the thoughts race. every now and then returning to one that is a double-edged sword, horrifying and yet somehow pleasant- she will die. she sits in her room and writes pages and pages of her daily life. she looks back on what she's written, and laughs. it's not funny, but it's easier to laugh than cry. she thinks about the past year and feels nostalgic, and hopeless. she misses all of her dear friends she met in treatment, but she knows that going back is not an option. she is disappointed with some of her friends at school because they let her down. she doesn't trust any of the friendships she has because the fear of abandonment is so immense. she also doesn't trust because she has been hurt and betrayed so much that she doesn't feel anyone could really love her. her faith in God barely exists anymore because of everything that has happened over the years. if God really did exist, how the hell would He let all of this happen? she doesn't know.

finding what's lost.

i couldn't really comprehend what had happened. it was something really bad, that was for sure, but it almost didn't feel real. i kept pinching my arm to try to figure out that it was real, and it was, but i felt like i was watching myself from afar. i stood in the mirror, staring at a body that didn't belong to me. staring at a very broken, hurt person. in the mirror, i saw the tears running down my face, but i didn't feel them. the only thing i could feel was the pain, which stuck around for a while to make sure i knew that it had actually happened, i wasn't dreaming. god how i wished i were. i kept praying, "please let me wake up, please!" but every time i opened my eyes i saw the broken person that i could no longer identify with. i sat down on the cold floor of the shower and turned the water on. i sat perfectly still and let the tears spill from my eyes. i listened to the beating of my heart, which reminded me that i was a person; i was alive. despite everything that had happened, i had survived, and that was going to be a good thing someday, just not today. the water eventually got cold, but i was so immersed in thought that i barely noticed. when i started to shiver i decided to get out. i found myself again staring at that person in the mirror that wasn't me anymore, and i remember thinking one thing, and one things only in that moment, "i have to lose weight, i have to find me again."

hunger

i'm trying to ignore it. my head throbs and the hunger eats away at my insides. i sit journaling at my desk, chugging diet coke to try to rid the ache deep in my stomach. however, nothing seems to work. suddenly all i can think about it food. no matter how hard i try i can't focus on anything else. deep down inside i wish i could be "normal". i wish that right now i could go get something to eat- something more than an apple or carrot sticks. i wish i could eat without shame or guilt. i wish i could make the hunger go away properly, instead of downing diet soda, coffee, and chain-smoking menthol cigarettes. it's times like these that i wish i could recover more than ever. but why can't i??

destiny unknown

yesterday was mothers day, and it was really difficult. i ended up not going to church or out to lunch with my family. they were going to a buffet after church, and i knew that it would be way too overwhelming, and so i told my mom the night before that i didn't think it would be a good idea to go. to my surprise, she was actually really supportive. she was very proud of me, but i wasn't proud of myself. instead of going and trying to manage the situation, i stayed home and majorly restricted. my whole family was proud of me, but i hated myself for it. i don't like that i'm still mentally not in a place where i can handle that situation. i'm also full of guilt for the fact that my whole family is so proud and praising me for doing well, and i'm eating no more than 400 calories a day and exercising all the time. i feel like a horrible person. i wish i could just be normal and go out to eat with my family and have a nice time, instead of worrying about how many calories are in the food or how it would make me gain weight or how i was wasting time that i could be exercising. my life is again completely consumed by this eating disorder. i would like to say that i thought things couldn't get worse than they were the last relapse, but at the rate i'm going it looks like it's quite possible. i've been home 2 weeks and lost 11 pounds, but the weight doesn't even matter to me. i mean it does because i have an eating disorder, but my eating disorder has become so much more than weight. it is almost a way of life- the only way i know how to live. i can't imagine myself without it, but i know that if i don't stop i will die. i'm 16... aren't i too young to die? but then there's a part of me that thinks, "hey, maybe that's what i deserve.." or, "maybe i'm just destined to die from this.." are people ever destined to just die? just like some people get cancer and don't make it, is it the same for eating disorders? or does everyone have the oppertunity for recovery? i mean, some people will die, but is that possibly because they were just one of the people chosen to not make it? i feel like if those people exist, i'm one of them.

i can't see through their eyes...

someone made a comment in first block that really stuck with me.. "you're just so tiny erin!" i stood there and stared at her, i'm pretty sure my jaw dropped. i couldn't believe it, me.. tiny? that's impossible. it was really frustrating.. not because what she said was offensive, because it definitely isn't, but more so that i can't believe it no matter how hard i try. i really wish i could see what they say. i feel like everything i see and everything i have ever believed is just a lie. it really sucks because i think that maybe, just maybe if i could see what they saw, i wouldn't have to do this to myself anymore. i don't know how to get to a point where i can see what they see. it also crosses my mind, maybe they're lying to make me feel better. maybe they say that because they know that is what i, or more my eating disorder, wants to hear. but in a way it isn't helpful. it 'feeds' my eating disorder. it gives me ammunition to keep going. i don't like my eating disorder, i really don't.. but i honestly feel like i can't stop at this point. things have gotten so far out of control that i can't go back to the way things were before this stupid disorder. i feel like such a failure for relapsing so quickly, but somewhere deep down inside i think it was inevitable. maybe that's a self-fulfilling prophecy, who knows. it's just really frustrating.. they call me tiny but i feel so huge. i really don't know how to challenge the thoughts anymore. my brain is spent.

playing normal

today has not been fantastic. not horrible, by any means.. better than yesterday, but still not good.
it's wednesday, which means a lot of 'playing normal'. i have to play normal all day at school, and then go to church and do it again. i'll admit, playing normal has become a very difficult thing to do here lately, but i have to.
i can't actually let on to how things really are.. people would think i was a freak. no one would talk to me. i would have no friends and no life. but in all honesty, i don't really have a life anyway...
my life was long ago consumed by food and weight and numbers and purging and exercise. even at school, i catch myself mentally saying, "i have to keep shaking my leg to burn more calories"
so you see, even when i'm playing normal, i'm very far from it. and i find it pathetic that i can't even play normal correctly.
when i'm at school, i only have one class that i actually have to take (English III) for the rest of the day i just sit in seminar and do random things. earlier i worked on my new altered book, now i'm writing a blog entry in the library. it's so simple, but i still feel so much stress for some reason. maybe it has more to do with ed and less to do with school, but it's really frustrating.
well, the creative juices really aren't flowing today, so i think i'm going to stop writing now.

forgiveness.

i saw her today, and had to work really hard to keep from completely going insane.
the girl that used to be my best friend.. the girl that knew everything about me, that i was completely comfortable with, that i would do anything for.. the girl who eventually hurt me more than anyone ever could.
we did everything together while we were friends, which was for several months. yes, i know it's weird to have a best friend after only a few months, but that's an issue i have. i get attached to people really quickly. i trust very easily. i should say, i used to trust very easily.
now i find it hard to trust anyone. because of her, because of him.
every time i see her face i freeze. it's like i'm paralyzed. i guess there is a part of me that blames her for what happened. i know she didn't make him do it, but i know that if i would have never been friends with her then it wouldn't have happened. and she wasn't innocent either; she took advantage of me too.
when i see her my world stops. a fear rises inside of me, making me shake and my vision blurry. for that moment as she walks by, i fall apart. usually once she is gone i can pull myself back together, but today it proved to be very difficult.
i had to text one of my friends and use grounding skills that we learned at sheppard pratt. i felt so stupid and small. not small in a good, eating disordered way, but small in a defeated way. so small that i can't defend myself. so small that i could easily be crushed. so small that no one can see me; it's a horrible feeling.
i haven't really been able to shake the feeling. it happened after first block, and now it's fourth. all day long i have been thinking about her.. thinking about our friendship.. all the 'good' times partying, sleeping over, and hanging out dowtown, and then the night when it all was ruined and erased. the night my life was shattered.
to this day, i believe she cared. i don't think she was a completely souless person.. i want to give her the benefit of the doubt. but i can't seem to erase the last thing i remember her saying to me, in front of the whole class, "what are you looking at, you fucking whore!?"
the girl who was supposed to be my best friend, saying something so horrible and so untrue. but after what had happened, i believed it to be true. i wore that label and couldn't escape it no matter how hard i tried.
i still find myself wearing that label from time to time, and i have to remind myself of the reality.
no one asks for that. no one deserves that. i am not a whore. sometimes i still find it hard to believe for myself.
and in truth, there is a part of me that misses her. well, not really her, more the relationship. honestly, i want nothing to do with her. a little detail i forgot to add, she got knocked up last year and from the looks of her today, i'm guessing she's either had her baby or had an abortion while i was gone. and i'm the whore? but that's beside the point.
i miss how i could go over to her house after school and escape my own home. i could talk to her about anything. she wouldn't judge me. she knew about my issues, even drove me to therapy once, and she didn't seem to think of me any differently. however, everything i believed about her was wrong. i was believing a lie. the relationship wasn't real. even though i hate her now, it was still a loss. i've already had so much loss in my life, it doesn't seem fair.
i'm just now realizing this, after over a year without being friends. i don't know why it has taken so long, but i'm glad it's over. the wound has been reopened, but i know that with time and patience it will heal. she can't hurt me anymore. he can't hurt me anymore, either. as much as i would love to blame her, it's not her fault. the psychologist, and good person, in me wants to help her.. wants her to have a better life. i do think she deserves more than what she's settling for.
but right now there is only one thing i want to do- forgive her. that is the only way i will ever move on. i don't think i'm ready to forgive him yet, that's still not possible. but i think i can forgive her. forgiveness isn't for her sake, it's for mine. and forgiveness doesn't make what happened okay, it makes ME okay.

a wave of depression crashes over me, and i'm suddenly reminded of the first time i tried to take my own life. i was in 7th grade, and had just turned 13. i woke up one morning to find that the scale was not in my favor, which at the time was the final straw. i took a full bottle of motrin and a full bottle of extra strength tylenol. unfortunately, i couldn't get out of going to school like i had planned. and honestly, i think a part of me really did want to go. a part of me was just longing to be saved; for someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me, "everything's going to be okay..." another part of me wanted to know how people would react, if they would care at all. a very small part of me actually wanted to die. i thought that's what i wanted, until i actually swallowed the pills. when i got to school i was only there for an hour or so before i started to get violently ill, which is when i told my teachers what i had done. they immediately freaked out and called 911. an ambulance came to my middle school, they called my mom, and i laid in the conselor's office crying. "i'm so sorry.." was all i could manage to say. the paramedics made me drink charcole, which later made me throw up more than i ever have in my life, which is a lot. the doctors at the ER said i was lucky that no damage was done, and sent me off to the psychiatric ward. i stayed 10 days, went home, and immediately relapsed into my eating disorder. my point is this, at that time i just wanted to know that someone cared. i just wanted to feel loved and appreciated. but now it's the very knowledge that plagues me day after day. people caring hurts. it hurts because i know that i am hurting them. if they didn't care about me my actions wouldn't affect them, they wouldn't mind watching me struggle. but they do care, and so it's difficult. i am not blind to the pain i cause them. i know how my family sometimes worries that i won't wake up in the morning, i hear the doctors to my mom to prepare herself in the best way she can for me to die, i hear my brother blaming himself for everything that's going on, i know my grandma just wants me to be happy and things to be better, and can't understand why they aren't. i see the many letters written,"we're praying for you.. please get better.. you deserve so much better than this.. i can't stand to watch you go through this..." while those used to be all the things i needed to know, they are now the things weighing me down and sometimes making it hard to breathe. sometimes when i look back on my life over the past few years i don't know whether to laugh or cry. right now i feel like crying... right now i'm wondering what would be more painful: a relapse and slow death, or an act of suicide. technically, it's suicide eithe way you look at it. one is just more sudden, quicker, somehow more simple. i can't help but contemplate the act as i write this... how simple it would be. almost like turning the tv off. swallow a bottle of pills before bed, and before you know it you're off. is it really that simple?

this isn't what i intended...

i'm going to die... i realize this at the oddest times. today i sat in english class watching 'The Crucible' and i again remembered that if things keep going the way they are going i will soon die.
i'm not losing weight as rapidly as i want to, which only makes my behaviors worse.
and logically i know that weight isn't the only factor in health. i have known people who were at their ideal body weight and still died from complications.
sadly, as soon as i write that i think to myself, "that better not be me... i better at least die thin."
how fucked up is that?
thinking about my thoughts makes me want a cigarette and a cup of coffee, neither of which i can have in school.
i look down at the time a realize that lunch is in 20 minutes. damn it..
i want to skip but the hunger is almost unbearable.
i start running through my head all of the possibilities i could allow myself to have, and the only ones i can come up with is fruit and salad. and if they don't have fruit or salad? nothing. or my eating disorder tells me that i could just purge, but i am so sick of purging. (no pun intended)
my thoughts spin out of control and i lose them and then find them again and try to put the pieces together but somehow they never fit. why is this happening to me? why does it have to be this way?
i never really thought too much about how i would die, not until this year anyway. i always had it in my head that i would die someday when i was old and after i had lived my life and done everything i wanted to do. i would have traveled the world, had kids and grandchildren, had a successful career, been happy. and when i died, i would die knowing that i had no regrets; that my life had been, for the most part, good.
however, that is not how it's playing out. the way things are going, i will die 16, miserable, and most of my life experiences will have been bad ones. i have not traveled the world, i have not become a mother, much less a grandmother, i haven't even graduated high school, and i have too many regrets to count. this is not how i want things to be... so why can't i stop doing what i'm doing?

murderer.

i remember that day like it was just yesterday. panic filled me; how could this be happening? i was too young, it was too wrong, i didn't deserve this... i had been through enough already, right? but somehow i deserved it all. being traumatized wasn't enough; i now had to deal with the horrible, and yet innocent, consequence of the humiliating act that i somehow provoked. obviously i had done something terribly wrong to deserve this, obviously there was something very wrong with me; god was trying to punish me. i didn't want to deal with it.. in truth, i didn't know HOW to deal with it. instinctively i made myself sicker to rid the "problem". i rationalized that it was okay because i couldn't handle it, but now i really regret doing so. after i knew it was over, i was overwhelmed with relief and tremendous guilt. that guilt still follows me everywhere i go. i found myself arguing with one of the nicest people i know, insisting that they don't understand, that i AM a horrible person that deserves to burn in Hell for what i've done. she said she understands, but i'm not so sure. i wonder if things would have been different if the situation wasn't a traumatic one. would i have still done the horrible thing that i did? i like to tell myself that the only reason it is okay is because of the circumstance in which it happened, but i still carry around unsettling guilt and shame. i feel like a murderer. i feel as if i don't deserve health and happiness. i feel like a huge part of me is missing. i can't overcome the feeling of loss. i wonder if i wouldn't have done what i did, if MAYBE things would be better. maybe that would have been the thing to motivate me to be healthy, and keep me healthy. but no.. i didn't choose that road. instead i chose to do something so selfish and immature. i don't think i can ever forgive myself..

accepting reality.

i just realized something... i'm going to die. as i sat here, locked away in my room smoking a bummed menthol newport, i remembered that i'm going to die. right now i'm healthy, but i know it won't last; not with what i'm doing. i'm already slipping away quicker than i anticipated. i barely made it through the last relapse; i know i won't make it through this one. i'll be lucky to make it to 17. it's hard to accept, but i honestly don't think i have what it takes to get better...

whispering lies

smoke filling tired lungs; a dizzy rush. with the exhale it is temporarily released. unsteady hands dispose of the ash. slowly the fire burns it away. along with it, sanity.
quiet music plays in the background, ridding of the unbearable silence. but the thoughts are never silent.
the cold creeps deep underneath thin skin, and nothing seems to warm it up again; almost as if the heart is pumping cold blood throughout the veins.
this heart, pitter-pattering slowly, then quickly, then slowly again.
breathing deeply in, and then calmly out; now softly whispering a comforting lie, "i'm okay, i'm okay, everything is going to be okay."
eyelids almost too heavy to stay open, but too burdened to close.
staring at the clock, the minutes tick by, but time means nothing anymore.
eventually limbs will grow weak, muscles will relax, and dark-circled eyes will close, finally allowing rest. the question is, when? and how? and for how long?
a quiet prayer asks for forgiveness, safety, and genuine rest. sometimes it cries out for help; deliverance from all of this chaos; freedom from the grips of the chains that seem to suffocate.
tonight, the shame is too heavy to allow this desperate plea. instead, mutters one thing- "i'm sorry"
for what? everything.
because tonight forgiveness is undeserved. freedom is too far away. and even rest seems impossible.
and safety, well safety doesn't exist at all anymore.
whispering the lie again, "i'm okay... i'm okay... i really am okay."
somehow, it brings safety back to existence for just a minute or two.
the world outside is dark and silent, asleep. how this happens so easily is envied and not easily understood. if only night could come that simply on the inside...
an emptiness echoes from deep down inside. constant denial has made it easier to ignore. constant fear has made it impossible to alleviate.
vision blurs and head nods, signaling that rest may not be as impossible as once believed.
the whispering lies have to be heard one more time, "i'm okay, i'm okay, everything is going to be okay."
because the uneven rise and fall of the chest, the unsteady hands, pitter=pattering heart, and swirling brain are saying otherwise.
before the frail body can drift into a silent sleep, the first line of a childhood prayer comes to mind...
"if i should die before i wake, i pray the lord my soul to take..."

scared to death

i cannot remember a time that i have ever been as afraid as i was this past weekend. it wasn't the fear you feel when watching a scary movie, or when someone jumps out in front of you.. it wasn't even the fear that comes when you are in a car and another car ALMOST runs into yours. this fear was different. it was deep, and unfamiliar. it swallowed my insides as i tried to pretend i couldn't feel it. it wrapped itself around my throat so that i could barely speak. everything that i had always known came flooding back to me. but suddenly it was more than knowledge, it was reality.

it all started when i went to spend the night with my friend. i guess technically we could say that it all started 6 years ago when i developed my eating disorder, but i'll leave it relatively in the present. we went out on friday and bought some 'contraband', which i now know was a really bad idea. we had done this before, but never with the same results. after that we went out to a restaurant, where we both ate and took turns purging in the bathroom, stopping when a woman with her little kids came in, resuming when she left. then we just went back to her house and watched the movie, 'Girl, Interrupted' until we were too sleepy to stay awake. i slept fairly well, waking up on my own around 8:30am. I ate breakfast, purged, and then took some of the 'contraband'. for the most part, i felt okay. my eating disorder was gnawing at my conscious, telling me that i had probably gained weight, and that i should really learn to control myself more. i couldn't quiet the voice because i didn't have a scale, but it wasn't something that i couldn't handle. i reassured myself with the knowledge that it would be impossible to gain very much weight from one meal, especially considering the fact that i purged. and if i did gain anything, it's only fluid. still, that knowledge never seems to be quite enough.
regardless, i got dressed and got ready for the day. i was excited to go to the mall, even though i didn't have much money left thanks to the dinner the night before. part of me wondered why i didn't just flush the money itself down the toilet... it's the same thing, right?
on the way there we stopped to get coffee; i got a sugar-free, non-fat iced vanilla latte and a diet coke. high off of caffeine and other things, i rambled endlessly and rapidly, saying almost anything that came to mind. i pulled my journal out of my purse and shared several entries with my friend, all of which were very deep and personal. but i didn't care because i knew that she was trustworthy, and had secretly been dying to share them with someone for a really long time. not to mention, i felt like i was on top of the world. i was suddenly happier than i had been in weeks, and more confident than i had been in months. it was as if someone had taken my old mind and replaced it with this new one. this mind was better.. it was able to look in the mirror and smile at the reflection; to acknowledge the beauty of the day, despite the cold wind; to feel pride for great accomplishments; to laugh; to be free. i didn't want this feeling to ever go away.

we got to the mall around 1:00pm, and met up with another friend of ours. she is doing really well in her recovery, so we avoided talking about anything we had done previously. her mom gave her money to buy us lunch and to pay for gas; we tried to decline, but her mother wouldn't allow it. after her mom left, she wanted to go get food. we told her that we had already eaten before we came, and weren't hungry, which wasn't a lie. i wasn't a bit hungry. the very thought of eating made me feel nauseous. i was really thirsty though, so i asked for a diet coke. my mom won't buy diet soda anymore, so i was taking full advantage. after she ate we walked around and window shopped for several hours. eventually we decided that we should probably get something to eat. i had started feeling really dizzy, and decided that it probably wasn't a bad idea. we got frozen yogurt, which wasn't a big deal. before getting the yogurt we went into a dress store called "Group USA" and found dresses that we really liked and wanted to try on, but at the time the line was way too long so we decided to come back later. the smallest size the store carried was a 0, which is what my friends suggested i get, but my eating disorder was telling me that i should get AT LEAST a 2. "there is no way that your fat ass will fit into a size 0, you will be lucky to squeeze into a 2!" the whole time eating my yogurt i tried to listen to the conversation, but couldn't help thinking about the dresses. what would i do if the 0 didn't fit? would people think i was fat if i had to get a size 2 instead of the 0? would my happy-confident feeling go flying out of the window as soon as that dress zipper got stuck? the thoughts raced on and on.
eventually we finished our yogurt, which brought to my attention how abnormal and slow my eating has again become. my friends just joked about it, saying things like, "and they said i was a slow eater.." i didn't really care. eating slowly looked much better than shoveling it into my mouth, didn't it? we left the yogurt place and decided to go back to Group USA to try on the dresses. i went into the 'petite' section and found the dresses i had chosen before. one was long, light pink, and had a lot of rhinestones. it was sort of low cut, with an open back and thick rhinestone covered straps. i held it up to look at; the waist looked rather small, and i prayed that i wouldn't rip the fabric when trying to fit into it. the other was a short strapless black dress with a pink bow on the front. i imagined how awful it would make me look, how i would see my hideous reflection in full-length mirror and decide to not eat anything for the next week. however, i still wanted to try them on. because even if i did in fact have to wear a 2 and i looked hideous, my eating disorder would at least have an excuse.
we went to try the dresses on, and i was kind of upset that they wouldn't let us share a dressing room like they had in the past. i was afraid to do it alone, i wanted the support of my friends just in case things went horribly. now i'm glad they didn't. i tried the black one on first. as soon as i zipped it and turned to look into the mirror, to face what i had been dreading for the past hour and a half, the dress fell back down to my ankles. "hmm.. that is weird," i thought. i tried again; same thing. i convinced myself that it only happened because it was a strapless dress, or the size was marked wrong, or the dress itself was just made weirdly. but once i tried on the other dress and the same thing happened, the truth became more clear to me. the constant, nagging voice that had been bothering me for the past hour and a half was right- the dresses didn't fit, they were too BIG. i put my clothes back on in disbelief. how could it be true, how could i be too small for a size 0? i put the dresses back on the rack and explained to my friends that the dresses didn't fit. they asked how so, and i told them that the dresses would not stay up. "really!?" they said, and laughed. i laughed with them, but deep down inside i knew that nothing was funny.

we left Group USA and continued window shopping for about an hour before we decided to leave. it was around 4:00pm, and we had already been to every store we had wanted to go to. once we got into the car i started feeling pretty nauseous and dizzy. i took slow sips of my diet dr pepper hoping that it would help me to feel better. i breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm myself and make the spinning stop. my heart beat irregularly and strangely. i took my pulse, which was about 42 at the time. earlier that day it was 80. i knew something was really wrong, but i tried to stay calm. i figured it was probably because the only thing i had eaten without purging that day was some frozen yogurt, and because i had only been drinking diet soda and coffee. i just kept taking slow sips of my drink, breathing, and telling myself that everything was going to be okay. however, as time went on i just kept feeling worse and worse. once we dropped my friend off at her house, i told my other friend that i felt like i was about to get sick. she directed me to the house and told me to go ask to use their restroom. i immediately declined, explaining that i wasn't going to go throw up in someone elses' house. so she drove up to the end of the neighborhood by a wooded area and parked the car. she had also taken the 'contraband' and wasn't feeling very well either. as soon as i got out of the car i started throwing up. it felt awful! people always question how i can hate throwing up, but purge 10-12 times a day without an issue. honestly, i don't understand it either, but it IS different. i threw up until there was nothing left in my stomach, which didn't take very long. my head throbbed, heart pounded, and the ground spun as i slowly walked back to the car. suddenly i wasn't feeling very much on top of the world anymore. i laid my head down in my lap and tried to making the spinning stop, but it didn't. all i could say was, "oh my god.. i feel SO sick!" my friend got back in the car and started driving again. we were still about an hour from her house. i tried to talk to her to distract myself from how awful i felt, but it was impossible. again i felt like i was going to throw up, so i grabbed a plastic bag and held on to it for dear life. all that came up was disgusting yellow bile. my hands started to shake and i felt like i could barely breathe. my friend asked if she should take me to the hospital, but i told her that it was okay, i would be fine. but eventually things got worse. i got this random tingling feeling in my hands, arms and legs, almost as if they had all fallen asleep at once. i felt sick again, and grabbed the bag. nothing came up, and so i went to put the bag back down, but i couldn't. my muscles in my hands, arms, and legs were completely paralyzed. i tried to open my hand, which shot a sharp pain through my entire arm. my whole body started to shake and i slipped in and out of consciousness. my friend freaked out, saying that i needed to go to the hospital. i told her to call her parents first. as soon as they picked up the phone she burst into tears. she told them everything that was happening, where we were, and how afraid she was. they remained calm and told her to just bring me back to their house and they would make sure i was okay. i wanted to cry and scream and beg for help, but i couldn't. in my head i prayed for God to make it stop. accidentally i said aloud, "please don't let me die.. i don't really want to die, you know?" my friend panicked at that statement, and told me not to think that way.
it was impossible to not think that way. for years i had acted on my eating disorder with the knowledge of all of the possible health consequences. for years i had starved, binged, purged, over-exercised, and used drugs knowing that i could die, but never believing it. i knew i wasn't invincible, but i still didn't think it would happen to me. but in that moment it WAS happening. for the first time in my life, i was honestly scared to death. i never really wanted to die from my eating disorder, or anything else for that matter. but now it was made very clear that death was not something that was within my control. yes, the actions that led to this experience were in my control, but the consequences weren't. images flashed through my mind- baby pictures, old home videos, summers spent by the lake eating fresh watermelon, my grandma wrapping her arms around me, my puppy playing with me on my bed, and finally my reflection in the mirror. is that how this was all going to end? 16 years thrown away because of a stupid mirror? my heart ached, not because i was sick, but because of the deep emotional pain i was feeling. here i was, barely 16, about to die in my friends car on the way home from the mall. that is not how my story should end!

we got back to her house and i sat down and drank some water. about half an hour later i started feeling a little bit better and her dad took me home. once i got home my therapist told my mom she should take me to the ER, but she just made me take my potassium, drink some water, and eat some dry cheerios. my mom is convinced that i just had a stomach virus. sadly, i wish she were right.

LONG story short, i have a new perspective on things. i really want to work towards recovery this time.. i want to go into treatment, do well, come home, and CONTINUE doing well. it is obvious to me that my body can't take much more damage, and that i could drop dead at any given time, and that is very unsettling. i don't want to spend the rest of my high school years wondering if i will wake up again. recovery is scary, but death is scarier.

2:14 am.

2:14 am; somehow i'm still awake. quietly i sit in my room, smoking cigarettes and thinking. my mind races as i try to write down everything going on inside of my head. no matter how fast my hand moves i can't seem to write fast enough. my hands shake and the room spins. i smoke to try to alleviate the aching hunger but it only makes me feel nauseous. my stomach is already in knots due to starvation, and the bad mixture of too much coffee and miralax. i know that i should be asleep because i have to go to school soon, but no matter how hard i try i can't seem to get any rest. all i can think about is weight and food, which is nothing new. i hear my brother in the kitchen getting food of some sort; there is a part of me that wants to join him, but a bigger, much strong part of me knows that wouldn't be a good idea. it would end badly, as it always does. and the thought of that is sickening. (no pun intended.) i've come to the conclusion that i would rather starve to death than to continue eating and throwing up. neither is ideal, but right now it is all i have. i'm 16... shouldn't i be worrying about boys, high school, and girl drama? shouldn't i be driving and having fun with my friends? instead i traded that in for a life of starving, vomiting, exercising, constantly living in fear of stupid numbers, and numerous other self-destructive behaviors. but how could i have know that purging ONCE 6 years ago would lead to this? i never imagined that at 16 instead of going to prom and football games i would be going in and out of eating disorder treatment centers, struggling to stay alive. it's really sad. however, i often forget how messed up it is. it becomes "the norm", something as familiar as breathing in and out. it shifts from being something bad i'm doing to something i just do. i find myself doing really pathetic, ridiculous things and justifying it as something that i just have to do...it's not THAT big of a deal, you do what you have to do, right? wrong. i think back to my childhood and wonder if this was just inevitable. i know that i've never been "normal" or even "okay". and i think if not this, it would have been something else- drugs, alcohol, some sort of other horrible self-destructive behavior. honestly, i'm not even sure i would know what to do with myself if i was "normal" or "okay". but that doesn't mean i don't want to be. knowing that i'm going back to treatment sometime in the near future is bothersome; something that often keeps me awake at night. i feel so much pressure to do it right this time. but i don't have very much faith in myself. i want to believe that i have what it takes to move on from this and be a better person because of this, but sometimes i really doubt it. all i know is that if this continues at the rate it's going i will never have the chance to find out. i've thought a lot about what would happen if i i died- what it would do to my family and friends, what i would miss out on in adulthood. but now i'm realizing that i don't have to be dead to ruin my life. i don't have to be buried six feet under a tombstone to hurt everyone around me because that's happening now and i am still breathing. but breathing doesn't necessarily make me alive; i'm dead inside. i want to come back to life; to wake up in the morning and be happy that i have been granted another day, another chance to witness all of the many amazing things life has to offer.. things other than weight, food, and size. will i ever get to that point? all i can do is hope...

going back inpatient..

as some people already i know, i recently found out that i will be going back to treatment in february; most likely sheppard pratt. while this was not a good thing to hear, deep down inside i know it is necessary. my life is being completely determined by my eating disorder. every waking moment is spent on it. my day begins when my alarm clock goes off, and i usually press the snooze button a couple of times before i realize that i should probably get up. why? to go to school and get an education so that i can be a successful member of society someday? no... so that i can see how much i weigh today. it sounds cliche, but what you hear every person with an eating disorder say is true for me as well- if the number is lower than the day before, it will be an okay day. if the number is higher or the same, the day will suck. but regardless of the number, the behavior doesn't stop. i still continue to restrict, purge, over-exercise, and use laxatives and diet pills no matter what the scale says. in school all i can think about is food and weight. what i'm going to eat for lunch; how i'm going to purge what i ate without anyone knowing; what i'm going to have for dinner; how much i will weigh when i get home; how much i weighed that morning; how much i hope to weigh tomorrow; will i gain weight if i keep my lunch down- maybe, so i have to purge; how much more weight can i possibly lose before going back to treatment; i wonder what they think about how i look, they probably think i look fat, i need to lose at least 10 more lbs; etc. the thoughts are endless. but somehow i manage to do my work, and make relatively good grades. but the eating disorder is constantly gnawing at my mind, reminding me of all the things i HAVE to do, and every imperfection. it's really hard to learn anything when all of this is going on inside my head. actually getting to classes is another story. my backpack probably weighs 25 lbs on any given day- about one third of my entire body weight. most days it takes everything in me to cart myself and my backpack up the stairs to get to class. by the time i get there, my heart is usually racing, my head spinning, and i feel like i can barely breathe. this would make sense if i was 80, but i'm 16 years old. i shouldn't almost go into cardiac arrest just from walking up a couple flights of stairs with a backpack and a purse. but i do, and it scares me more than anything. because i honestly don't want to die. however, i would rather die than live with this eating disorder. because what i have right now is not a life, it's a living hell. i feel so bad for having to go back into treatment. i'm going to have to miss another semester of school, putting me a year behind. i'm going to have to leave my family and friends again. i'm going to have to sacrifice my life in the 'real-world' for a life behind looked doors, filled with meal plans, locked bathrooms, hours of therapy, doctors, daily weights and vitals, limited showers and phone calls, and very little freedom. but as the days go on i realize that i need it. if i don't go soon, i will die; i can't deny that anymore. and i will definitely never be a successful member of society if i'm dead, right?

just keep talking

today has been a pretty slow day. i'm at school with my mom because school is cancelled yet again due to the snow, but she has a work-day, so i decided to tag along considering sitting at home all day by myself is incredibly boring. not that this is too much better.

being off of school has really give me some time to think though. i have been thinking mostly about what i want out of my life. ultimately i want to become a psychologist, maybe work at a private practice or a residential treatment facility, not sure which i would rather do yet. all i know is that i want to become a psychologist so that i can help people deal with the very thing that has taken control over my life and stolen so many years of my young life. however, i know that in order to do that i am going to first have to do some serious work on myself. i've always been rather insightful, so i know a lot about myself- the way i process things, how i am a 'deep thinker' and often times personalize things a bit too much. i know that i have many many faults, but i have also begun to see some of my strengths. i have a way with words, i can generally articulate how i am feeling and what i am thinking considerably well. i have an amazing memory, which sometimes can be a curse. i enjoy helping people and giving advice, and have been told that i am pretty good at it. i'm convinced that all of the things that have happened over the past 6 years were meant to teach me how to help others' going through the same thing. so really when it comes down to it, i'm actually very blessed. i know from having a therapist who is recovered from an 8 year battle with an eating disorder that having that personal experience really does help. it's impossible for me to play the 'victim role' with her, which is really challenging at times, but is probably the best thing that could happen.

the hardest part right now is getting to a place where i can do well again. right now things are pretty bad. not the worst they have ever been, but definitely not good. i really want to do well, and i know that i need to. i'm definitely not the thinnest i have ever been, but physically things are getting really messed up again. sometimes i do genuinely fear that i may not survive this. and it's really pathetic to be afraid for your life when you are only 16 years old. for the first time in a really long time, i am able to see the true underlying issues of my eating disorder. which is double sided- good and bad. good because i can work on resolving some of the issues and changing my behavior. bad because it's so freaking hard to deal with. a huge part of me just wants to use the behaviors to completely avoid everything that is driving them. i don't want to think about my relationship with my mom, the loss of my dad, traumatic experiences, the many insecurities i have, or anything else along that line. maybe i don't want to because if i do then i know i need to make changes and try to fix things. maybe i don't want to because i just don't want to feel all of the uncomfortable emotions that come with it. maybe i'm just too much of a coward to face it. whatever the reason, it's not a pleasant thing. i want more than anything to just be able to run away from it all and pretend like it never existed in the first place. but i know that is not possible, no matter how much i act on my ED or other self-destructive behaviors. i can smile and laugh and pretend like everything is okay, but at the end of the day those things are still there on my shoulders, weighing me down sometimes so much that i can barely move. and it doesn't matter how much i starve myself, that weight can't be lost. i know the only way to rid of that weight is to talk about it; allow someone else to take some of the weight from my shoulders and bear it with me. sometimes my pride is too big to let me do that though.

regardless of how uncomfortable it may be, i am going to have to follow the advice of a nurse named Danielle, who was one of the most helpful people at Sheppard Pratt. Her words to me were, "It gets worse before it gets better, but you just HAVE to keep talking." so i won't give into the silence. i WILL speak up. after all, what is left to lose?

procrastination.

i find myself sitting here writing the same thing over and over, as if somehow writing about it is going to solve the problem. it's pointless really. i guess the writing itself is therapeutic, but it certainly doesn't fix anything.
the main thing that i'm having a hard time dealing with is trying to avoid unavoidable emotions/memories/situations. logically i know that avoidance only makes things worse in the end, but there is this huge part of me that tries so hard to avoid everything anyway. it's SO much easier to act on symptoms, and basically kill myself, than to deal with the issues that drove me to do it in the first place. every day i tell myself that things will be better tomorrow, i won't restrict as much, i won't purge, i won't over-exercise, but then tomorrow comes and it's too hard to not give in. so i give in, and then promise that tomorrow will be different. the problem is tomorrow turns into next week, which then turns into next month, which turns into next year, and before i know it i have 6 years of this hell underneath my belt, with no hope of change in sight. and that is really hard to avoid, especially when it comes to purging. when you're restricting you can almost convince yourself that it's okay. it's just a diet, you're just cutting back a little, EVERYONE does it! but when you are forcing yourself to throw up anywhere from 3-20 times a day, you KNOW that is not okay. you can't convince yourself that doing such is not a problem. the sad part is, i know it's a serious problem. i know that i will die if i don't change my behavior. but for some reason, i just can't. i want to, i really do. but i'm just not strong enough to actually deal with the underlying issues driving my eating disorder, and other self-destructive behaviors. what's even more horrible is that i know what i need to do to get better, i just get stuck when it comes to applying it. i do believe that i can get better someday if i really work on it, it just doesn't feel possible at this point in time. but the next question is, how long can i procrastinate before it's too late??

it feels never-ending

i wake up in the morning, one more pound gone. sometimes knowing that i can weigh myself is the only motivation i have to wake up and get ready for school. i should be wanting to go to school, to learn something, to get back on track so that i can graduate and get my associates degree. but no, i just want to see if i've lost weight. when i do, it's a good day; when i don't, it's a pretty sucky day. my world is again reduced to nothing but food, weight, calories, exercise, etc. it's a pretty sad world. everything is completely black and white, no color exists. there is a wall built up between me and everyone i know and meet, leaving me feeling alienated and alone. the funny thing is, i did this to myself. i don't sleep well, and when i do i wake at all hours, still panicking as i try to escape the horrible nightmares, and remind myself that it's okay, i'm safe. it is really hard to focus in school because all my mind wants to focus on is ED. but i do manage to focus, i do my work, i listen to the teacher, i make good grades. but it's only the first week of school, and right now things are easy. i am really worried about the weeks to come though. i cried and cried when my therapist started threatening inpatient on tuesday. i explained to her through broken sobs that i just couldn't go back, i have only been out for 6 weeks, if i go back in it is just proof that i am a complete failure, i can't miss any more time in school, i'm okay.. really! of course she didn't buy any of that. she explained that with my potassium being low, and my continuing weight loss, that i would die if i didn't turn things around. of course i didn't, and don't, believe her. things aren't that bad, really. i have potassium pills, i won't have a heart attack as long as i take them, right? regardless, i'm not thin enough to go into treatment, not yet. i know that i really can't afford to go back, not now. and besides, where would i go? Sheppard Pratt obviously didn't work, Renfrew was a complete joke, Frye South Campus- also a joke, and Remuda was too damned expensive.. what's even left? i do know i need help, but i'm not quite sure how to get it. every time i go into treatment, i go in with the best attitude and intention possible, but by the time i leave it's all gone. and 6 weeks later i'm sitting there writing a blog or journal entry like this. will this ever end??

awesome and exciting things have yet to come.

i once walked around thinking of all the great things i would do when i got older. i would be an amazing writer. i would have great friends. i would be a successful student. everything would be nice and fairy-tale like. i would have a cute boyfriend who truly loved me... all of this sounds nice, right?

i think about this now, sitting here fresh out of treatment again. all of those wonderful things i imagined are not things that i own. i can barely hold my head above water at this point, much less be a successful writer, or good friend, or decent girlfriend. a nurse at sheppard pratt told me that i should go on to do awesome, exciting things. she knew that i liked to write, and she told me that she wanted to read my book one day, when i'm recovered. the other day i was looking through journals, piecing together the bits and pieces of my memoir that i'm trying to write, and i was suddenly overcome by this horrible sadness. here i am, 16, writing a 6 year memoir of anorexia and bulimia. of suicide attempts, drug use, self-mutilation, sexual assault, a father that died and a mother that completely distanced herself and made her young daughter feel unloved and alienated. a story of a girl who has somehow always been fucked up. the puzzle that never quite fit together, no matter how many ways you work the pieces. a teenager that now feels more hopeless than ever. a girl stuck in between child and adult, scared to go back and scared to move forward. a girl who has yet again completely relapsed, proved the belief that nothing will ever change, that recovery isn't possible, that she just isn't meant to be happy. i wish i could write pages and pages of hope and inspiration. i wish i could write that i am finding that recovery is possible, and that i learned a lot of really great things in treatment, and that i believe that life will be okay after all. but honestly, i can't. i can't write of happiness or inspiration that has yet to be found. i can't write that i feel better when every day i seem to feel worse and worse. i can't write that i am healing when i am still cut open and bleeding. i can't pretend to have my shit together when i can't keep myself from falling apart. i want to do awesome and exciting things, i want to make people proud, i want to grow up and have a career and have a family and be HAPPY. i just don't understand why it's so difficult right now. i know i'm supposed to be alive, otherwise i would have died years ago when i SHOULD have died. i know that God has a purpose for my life, and all of these horrible experiences that i can't fully understand right now. i just wish i could move things along a little bit faster. overcome everything and move on to become who i'm meant to be. i don't want to be this messed up girl any longer.