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.