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.
(: