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|Saturday, July 24th, 2010|
Thank you all soooo so much for your feedback on my last post! I really appreciate it and will update about the situation very soon.
Before I update with anything else though I figured I'd post my intro stuff:
* Name: Jenn
* Age: 28
* Location: NYC
* An explanation of your e.d.: former bulimic and binge eater, currently relapsing with anorexic behaviors
* Have you received any treatment for it?: Was hospitalized in 2005. I see a therapist and nutritionist.
* Have you been in recovery?: Yes
* Do other people know?: Some family and friends. I also used to be very open about it in recovery because I used it as a message in the music I make, and I went back to my college to speak at events, so yes, I guess many people know at this point. But they know the recovered me.
* What do you want out of recovery?: Sense of self-worth, and no more fear...and a drive to really live.
* What holds you back from recovery?: Lack of worth...and subsequent temptation to "achieve" something.
OTHER MENTAL HEALTH
* Any other mental illness?: Anxiety / panic / depression
* Any medications?: No
* Any other self-destructive habits (like self-injury, substance abuse, etc)?: Former self-injurer.
* Are you currently in therapy?: yes
OTHER UNRELATED STUFF ABOUT YOU
* Are you in school?: I graduated in 2005.
* What kind of music do you like?: Singer-songwriter, rock, cheesy pop....jazz, classical...much much more.
* What's your favorite color?: purple, but when i was a kid it was yellow.
* What's a hobby you have?: my passion is music. i play the piano and sing and write songs.
* If you could live anywhere, where would it be?: right now? right here, my home, nyc. but travel to? so many places!
* Your favorite quote: Hmm gotta think about that one.
|Thursday, January 6th, 2005|
|Saturday, December 25th, 2004|
|what THIS jew did on christmas
Over the past two and a half days I have watched some or all of...
A Christmas Story
Its a Wonderful Life
an episode of Keeping up Appearances
an episode of Double Dare
Death of a Cheerleader
Bell Book and Candle
Inside the Actors Studio with Robin Williams
Miracle on 34th St
a documentary on life in the big house
Oprah interviewing Barbara Walters
Bowling for Columbine
Ben-Hur on commercial breaks.
two back-to-back episodes of Step by Step and sadly only the end of Full House
i'm still short of breath and all that stuff is fragile like coughing and congestion and all that throat stuff. i want to start having a normal break but anything more energetic than sitting still on the couch irritates it and makes me cough a lot which really irritates the asthma. did you know that a single cough is the equivalent of clapping your hands really really fast and just imagine all the damage that does to your vocal cords? explains why my voice is still shaky.
now i'm going to take my meds and go to bed and start over tomorrow.
|Friday, December 3rd, 2004|
i'm sick of having an eating disorder. but i don't feel valid in it as long as i weigh what i weigh. goddamnit i just need support here.
i want to scream to this campus that i am bulimic. the secret is out. this girl who you thought was on top of her shit and ambitious and going about her day like anyone else has a monster in her that no one sees. if only they knew...they'd be shocked. i want to shock them. i want them to know. i want them to go, "wow. holy shit. oh my god. i never would've thought....that is so sad. so so sad."
i can't tell a soul. a couple close friends know but they don't understand. if i told others, they would think it was ridiculous that i needed that much attention for it. and i'd feel embarrassed. i just want to go on my college livejournal community and say "Anyone who has an eating disorder or knows someone with one please contact me and maybe we can start a support group." but i can't do that. i can't do that.
i want to do that so badly you have no idea.
|Monday, November 8th, 2004|
Oh my god. i have a whole new perspective on life all of a sudden. i can't believe this. this is sooooo wonderful!!!!! okay. two people told me in the past two days, just came up to me randomly and told me that they saw me on the college tv station when i played and that they loved it. One girl said that she cried when she was listening to the cd in her car and that if i promoted it on campus people would receive it well. People keep asking me when i'm going to promote it and i keep saying i will i will....and of course its been because i've been so fucking depressed and into my eating disorder that i've lost all motivation, but the two things that slapped me in the face today were the girl who listened to the cd in her car, and a sort of friend/fellow board member of a club was very very very sad because her boyfried broke up with her (I wasn't supposed to know this) and it was the meeting where as a board we realized that the club was going to be defunct, and i stayed afterwards and talked with her, the coordinator and i just saw how terribly sad she was and i felt terrible (I am good friends with her boyfriend and he had told me earlier about this) and i gave her a tight hug and told her that she looked like she was going through a really hard time and to take care of herself and if she needs to talk she can, (she said "i dont' care about anything in life right now") and i left and went home and got a copy of the cd in which i thanked the club in the liner notes (its a collaborative arts club), hoping it would make her feel better, and i went right back and gave it to her. all that has made a light go on and suddenly i realize that i've been putting way too much pressure on myself to promote the cd and get it out there to this that and the other company and play this gig and that gig and of course all of that is so overwhelming i didn't want to touch any of it! but i had gotten so far removed from the simple fact that i am happier than words can say when my music touches someone, just one person, it could be anybody, and that that has always been the reason i played, and had goals as a musician, because i wanted to touch people, i wanted to communicate with people, and oh my god, what a gift to be able to touch just one person, so i am so fucking excited to touch as many people as i possibly can, and i want to try to do it a little at a time, and focus on just one person at a time, instead of my so-called eventual goal of "success." fuck success!!!! this is my chance to affect people with my music! people right here! this is the very first step of "promotion." god i hate that! i don't even want to look at it as promotion, i want to look at it as me finally getting a chance to have a tangeable item to give people alongside performances. i only want to make a name for myself so that people can know who it is that's reaching out to them, attach a name to the music, the music being the primary entity, speaking for itself, i'm just the person who delivers it. but its my creation and i need need need to get it out there immediately and allow it to speak to whoever may get affected by it. i can't just let it sit here, literally, in a box any longer! jesus what the hell was i thinking?!?!
|Sunday, November 7th, 2004|
i went over there again today and felt like a big fat burden. oh well. try another day. its my own doing. having the kinds of problems that i have is a luxury and i am one big fat asshole who has it too good.
|Thursday, November 4th, 2004|
more about therapy later though. i really want to write about it...
she's just really sweet. she told me what her hometown was today. i think i'm finally warming up to her after 2 years! ha. i just blabbed and blabbed and felt anger today and made a show of spelling out what i wanted to passively aggressively do to him in order to make him suffer, sipping my coffee in celebration of my pissiness. she smiled. she was proud of me. hellayeah. she totally validated me. this was grounds for ending the friendship with her here and now. (We're friends through living together and its only been a couple months). She told me exactly how to tell her that I don't trust her anymore and a friendship would've been nice but she ruined that. i told her (therapist) that i had to stop convincing myself that my roommate has actual empathy. that i've been giving her the benefit of the doubt for too long. some people are just cold. she is one of those people.
i like my therapist a lot. i was very snappy last week but not in a bad way, not personally towards her, and at the end of the session, i said in a snappy accusatory chicken-shit voice, "Listen. I don't think you understand how much i appreciate this." and then i ran away and cringed. and she had been telling me how she was trying to help me, and that i felt like i needed to prove my feelings, and we got really into this, and she went into hardcore, very thoughtful detail, almost in this finalizing, this-really-is-a-problem tone, and really listened to me, and we talked about it. i acknowledged it hardcore. i still couldn't cry though. i didn't try very hard. i almost always start to in the end of the session so i have to block it then. she's never seen me in the process of crying. i've walked in already having cried a couple times. i've cried the second i left. nothing in between. i feel so incomplete because of this.
i feel like we could be friends when we stop seeing each other. but this is what i've been afraid of the whole time; getting attached. this happened with my old therapist and it took me forever to get over her. she was the one i saw at the day treatment program so it had to end when the semester was up and i returned to school. i never thought i could like another therapist. now i do, and this one is closer to my age, and i could see us becoming friends, and i HATE that. yuck.
i can tell she really likes me and that bothers me. my gut response up until very recently was ew go away ew ew ew yuck.
she's kind of dry and i'm still a teeeeeny bit self-conscious. just a tad. my old therapist was very very warm, right off the bat. incredible. oozing sweetness, wisdom, intimacy. this one is a polar opposite. so its been very stiff for a good chunk of time, with periods of acknowledging our bond and our connection and then reverting back to stiffness and expressionlessness.
off to hang out with the roommies. the good ones. ignore the ickie one. all is dandy.
|Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004|
these have been the longest two days i've had in a while. and i think i've smoked more cigarettes than i have in the past week combined. therapy was sweet and i can't find my medication. the world thinks america is one big collective asshole and so is my roommate. i'm exhausted, i've officially stopped trusting my roommate and a guy i was briefly intimate with who was a friend as well. i am furious. my roommates are taking the loud emotional stance on the election, my other friends are sensible but sad, i am wondering if and when things are going to go down in manhattan, a half hour away. protests, terrorists, radicals who don't know why they're fighting and those who feel too passionate to think straight. hoping bush doesn't get assassinated since we'd validate what he stands for to the whole world. but he won't. so i hope there's not a draft. and there won't be. because we wouldn't stand for it. feeling sorry for my poor uterus, feeling sorry for gay couples who want to get married, who would like to be treated as equals by doctors, feeling sorry for a country whose leader values his own wealth over human life. all i can say is i'm going to stay informed and be as critical as possible. i want my voice to be out there over the next four years. i hope a mass of people voice their disapproval and let it be known to everyone that this is not what we fucking wanted. that we are change-oriented. i trust that john kerry isn't going anywhere. there is an inkling of hope. but there was a collective hazy sadness, a communal telepathy, all over campus, much like 9/11; you just know.
|Tuesday, October 26th, 2004|
i see you're thirsty now
lips dry and cracking walls
soon to be stones under thin sheets of ice in the winter cold
i can tell you're thirsty anabelle
just by the way you sit with your eyes in a daze
and your smile that's ready to crystallize
so long as you reassure the masses
its never gonna vacate this house, a premise
you abide by
and live by
surely you know, we couldn't have it any other way
and when you tell them it'll outlive their children they'll nod away, on the premise
that you honor your aliby
in their holy holy name
i see your burning up anabelle
is it because of the storm that came too quickly
for anyone to predict today
run for cover poor poor anabelle
its just another day that your pride couldn't change anyway
couldn't change anyway
come on out of the cushion where you invented all your distortions
they were born here, let'em go here, you've got better things to do with your time
thirst, she is a temporary state, these lines are bound to break
i said anabelle, your chapped and trapped in a hell that you and only you created, yes you did this to yourself
yes you did this to yourself
yes you did this to yourself
|Friday, September 24th, 2004|
Well what have we got here
any thoughts, any words for the near and dear
I'm an alley cat, I'm a tired young, tired young man.
And I hope you pray to your god that we go home, and I hope you pray to your god that we go home
And I hope you'll find the winter and a one-night stand
in a 70-year old electric chair
So perfect eyes, believe in lies, you sum it up
to break'n in a bullet, break'n in a gun
If only lies would've made you wiser
you might've let her go boy, you might've let her run
And I hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you'll find the winter and a one-night stand
in a 70-yeard old electric chair
I leave you this much to be erased
like fire on my lips, like a woman in disgrace
like a loaded gun, like a pioneer
I'm the chosen one, you are safe here
And I hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you'll find the winter and a one-night stand
in a 70-yeard old electric chair
But the prizes were deceiving
do you care to see them
full of diamonds and endless gold
but he passed in the making
and i hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you pray to your god that we go home
and i hope you'll find the winter and a one-night stand
in a 70-year old electric chair
|Thursday, September 23rd, 2004|
figured i'd update. been a while. and i need to go back to the community. i just feel like i've had no time or energy in addition to the fact that i don't yet have an ethernet card so i'm using the library computers, which doesn't quite give me the time or seclusion to sit and read and update for a while. and i need a good hour or two to go through everything, respond, and update.
before my next class, which is at 11:50, I have to call the eating disorder therapist whose running that group. which i will do.
its not going amazingly well. but i'm not thin so it doesn't matter. what a downer, eh?
cd is finished. here. in my bag, in my room, in my parents' apartment. 1,000 solid cd's wrapped in plastic and barcoded. let the games begin...
already i'm stressed about everything i have to do. it seems like an unfeasible amount of work to do. and some of it i'm not motivated to do, but i have to force myself. i'm here for a reason. i can't complain about all the work that i asked to be doing. that's just wrong.
|Thursday, September 16th, 2004|
I'm tired of the word "pretty." i prefer "beautiful." less masogynostic. less shallow. "Pretty" seems to set a universal expectation for women, a superficial expectation that should've been outdated years ago. it coincides with women's classic sophisticated sexually adhering to men clean-cut child-bearing slipper-fetching status of the 1950's. spotless. perfect. victimized and bound. eating disorders are a mockery of this standard. People starve and puke themselves into a state of restrictive versus uncontained frenzy. its an internal wall, like the yellow wallpaper. only this war is self-induced. society is far from keeping women contained as is visible on the myriad block-long billboards in times square. are women protesting this? are we containing ourselves for fear that we would otherwise be exploited? are we afraid that the opposite of containment is chaos and dispersion? The catalyst to the internal battle is a societal promotion of a modernized version of housewife and brothel whore. Women, in the glory of their victorious independence, are taking it upon themselves to move backward on the social feminist chain. Brothels are imitated in R&B music videos, like a trend circulating, like the 80's off-the-shoulder sweatshirts that are coming back, H&M-ified of course. "Pretty" puts women back years, in a period of standards and pleasing and gratifying others' temptations. we are "pretty" for others. we are "beautiful" for ourselves. "Beautiful" implies rawness, sustenance, contribution, pride, growth, imperfection, awareness, acceptance. It implies a face without make up, breasts not constricted by wire, legs void of the ocassional razor mark in a slightly less than perfect attempt at making oneself pretty. beautiful IS the so-called failed attempt, the flaw. Pretty is virtually unreachable, as it should be. Pretty is harsh. It doesn't allow us to recognize and value our imperfections. No amount of plastic surgery can beautify anyone. And what's the point of being pretty enough anyway? "When my nose is small/eyelids lifted/boobs are perky/tummy is tucked, I will have a RIGHT to have a great career/meet a great guy/walk down the street with my head high and a sense of ownership and entitlement. Life will be grand!" But when spotting our flaws becomes the focal point of our existence, and when fixing them becomes the perpetual cyclic cure, we are apt to live our lives in a never-ending feat of editing and re-editing our bodies, one fixated flaw prompting another, and yet another. When the focus is taken off of fixing ourselves, we can get let down our guard and note our beauty, not our superimposed attractiveness and charm. The face that we wake up with in the morning will suffice, will not make us better or worse than the way we looked last night. will not be the determinant of whether its going to be a good day or a bad day. The body, before it is primped and prodded, will do just fine, and will not be the determinant of our worth, sexual or otherwise.
She feels this way because of a boy. The Maria that others know is "polite and refined." But feeling pretty renders her insane. "maybe its fleas" she says. perhaps.
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any girl who isn't me tonight.
I feel charming,
Oh, so charming
It's alarming how charming I feel!
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I'm real.
See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!
I feel stunning
Feel like running and dancing for joy,
For I'm loved
By a pretty wonderful boy!
Have you met my good friend Maria,
The craziest girl on the block?
You'll know her the minute you see her,
She's the one who is in an advanced state of shock.
She thinks she's in love.
She thinks she's in Spain.
She isn't in love,
She's merely insane.
It must be the heat
Or some rare disease,
Or too much to eat
Or maybe it's fleas.
Keep away from her,
Send for Chino!
This is not the
Maria we know!
Modest and pure,
Polite and refined,
Well-bred and mature
And out of her mind!
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty
That the city should give me its key.
Should be organized to honor me.
I feel dizzy,
I feel sunny,
I feel fizzy and funny and fine,
And so pretty,
Miss America can just resign!
Funny, I didn't know a boy could have this kind of power. I wonder if I'D revert to my natural state of modesty and refinement upon falling out of love.
But nobody ever said anything about feeling beautiful...and if a boy could transform you so magically into feeling pretty, much like the way alcohol has the power to make one feel sexy, when the high is over, what's left? Beauty on the other hand, is not a cop-out, a casual remark, a temporary buzz. It is not materialistic or superficial or marked by the desire or attention received others. It is ongoing, and should be valued as such. Every woman reading this should tell herself today that she is beautiful, no matter what the circumstances in her life, no matter what on her face or her body she deems flawed. Your so-called imperfections do not define you, but they do contribute to your wholeness and keep the fact that you are a fantastically driven biological life force in tact. that is to say, we have a purpose on this planet. and the last time i checked, it wasn't to fit the mold of every billboard, it wasn't to appease the opposite sex, it wasn't an ability to manipulate employers into hiring us over the next woman because we're thinner and wearing a darker shade of red. I am going to strongly consider my purpose as a woman in this world, for the sake of feeling beautiful, for the sake of feeling honored, for the sake of generating a sense of self-love throughout my bones and blood and curves and flesh. I hope, for the sake of women, that we regard ourselves as an amazing, driven, liberated collective, honor the collective and the individuality it takes to create such a charismatic voice, fuck the prettiness standards that we have been conditioned to adhere to, and feel the beauty that resides in the stagnant, soulful roots of womanhood. not a lady, not a body, not a small voice of a trophy wife standing beside her man, but as incredible, immaculate, beautiful.
|Thursday, September 9th, 2004|
having a great time in school and a terrible time with the eating disorder. the two could not be at more polar opposites right now. I expect at any minute to self-destruct either because the great times are too good to be true or because the eating disorder is going to take me down.
but i got a hickey from a cute boy. :)
|Wednesday, August 25th, 2004|
I haven't written in a while...happenings have happened. muchly and nervously and i'm not having fun. i'm starting school monday. i move back sunday. i'm so scared but i have to pretend to be okay because I have so many goals...and i want to maintain some very important connections that i've made recently...i wouldn't want to put my new wonderful roommates in any awkward situations either...i'm going to try to my best to just be normal and eat like a normal person and forget about any changes in weight that may or may not happen. I'm at a normal weight but I hate it so much because I hate so much that I've gained and hardly lost any of it. Before the end of last semester, I had been binging and purging everyday for a month (before this I was restricting with bouts of bp'ing usually on weekends). There was a period where my esophagus didn't work and I couldn't purge, but during that time I couldn't stop binging. It was my worst nightmare come true. For some reason I had always feared that I would "forget how" one day, or that I just wouldn't be able to. And that had become a reality and it scared the living shit outta me. Anyway I ended school feeling uncontained, excessive, useless, horribly horribly guilty...in probably in shock that after all the craziness I put myself through to lose that weight, I had let it go, much in the same way you lose hold of a balloon and it flies further and further away from you with no hope of getting it back and eventually it bursts. There was a part of me that I abandoned...I turned my head for a second and she was gone. And I keep saying, "If I only hadn't..." Its such a load of shit. But in the weeks leading up to summer vacation I vowed continuously to myself (counting my incriminations and sentencing myself as I deemed necessary) and to my friends (in a vague determination) about how I was now on a path to "health." that as soon as school ended, the very first day of vacation, I would start clean. Vacation will be over in two days. I'd rather not think about what's happened in between, but let's just say my plan never fully went into effect. And that I'm pretty much in the same place as I was when school ended, a few pounds thinner, feeling just as uncontained and out of control. and feeling more dependent on the bulimia than ever.
From day one to day seven, I was on the border of restriction and normalcy. Then my heart acted up (probably because of the extreme change in such a short period of time) and I went to the e.r. I was scared. I'm sure I was rightfully scared: the doctor said that I had experienced symptoms of a heart attack. No damage was done, however, and it was just anxiety.
Working with my therapist, I managed to go two or three weeks eating slightly more with a binge purge approximately once a week. but overall I started feeling better.
Then I started getting nervous about Texas. I didn't make the connection at the time, but that along with a need to hold onto the bulimia and a fear of letting it go and being "void of an identity" took hold and I started binging and purging almost daily for a couple weeks, until I went to Texas which was from July 3rd to the 16th, during which I snacked a lot, ate out a lot, decided that since i was on vacation i would order whatever i wanted, smoked pot twice, etc...gained a bit of weight in texas. weighed myself in texas for the first time since april. had to take a minute...decided that "this moment was imperfect and that was okay, acceptence is a part of getting better...".
so much for getting better. When I came back to NY, my therapist and I decided that I should try Renfrew, so in all the planning that went into that, I held onto the bulimia tightly since I would "be getting better soon anyway" and i wanted to "live it up while i still could." hang onto it. whatever. well renfrew never worked out because of insurance reasons and we ran out of summer vacation time to find another program so I never did stop wanting to live it up while i still could. that sense of urgency and desperation never left.
One Thursday...in the end of July I think, my friend was dancing with her company in Times Square. I told her I would go see her. I had been looking awful, circles under my eyes, pale, weak, i'm sure at least one co-worker thought I was on drugs. I had been coming into the office early everyday to eat breakfast in my cubicle and purge. By the end of the workday, I'd thrown up twice and on auto-pilot i went to dean and deluca and bought stuff from there as i'd been doing, ate it on the train as i'd been. i forgot again that there were no napkins in the bag, i hadn't showered that day, hadn't washed my hair in two days. i ate the gooey stuff without napkins, without plastic silverware. my hands were gooey. i held onto my bags and took them on the train with me and continued eating, one thing after another. i was huddled in a corner. i'm pretty sure i smelled weird. because of food on me and because of purge smell i'm sure and because i hadn't showered. my hair was oily. i had taken off a bandanna because my coworker said it looked weird with my shirt so i got self-conscious. i never let my bangs free in the middle of the day when they're dry. they were totally out of place, sticking up and sitting in all the wrong places like i'd just woken up. i felt like a homeless person. i wasn't sure if people thought i was homeless. i got off the train, found a bathroom and purged. i went to my skills group. i went downtown to see my friend's show. i ate more stuff from the store on the walk down the block. the show was sold out. i ate dinner and more and purged. i knew i looked like an absolute wreck but was relieved that i'd had some time to go freshen up before i met my friend after her show. i was going to use a bathroom in the port authority and redo my hair, make up, put good smelling lotion on, put a sucking candy in my mouth, be good as new. well, i saw my friend and all her dancer friends standing outside the theater on my walk to the port authority. apparently the show had let out early. i passed them by at first, intending to freshen up, just quickly...but then realized i had to catch her now, she'd probably be gone by the time i got back. I said hi and half-hugged people (so unlike me) spent half the time with my head down, here were all these gorgeous dancers...I sat down on a ledge nearby and smoked a cigarette. i stood with them for a little while and went home. I thought maybe sarah sensed that something was wrong. i mean actually wrong, not that i was just a disgusting slob. but i'm not a good friend of hers, so i left.
Sometime in the beginning of August I'd decided that I'd had enough of. The binging and purging felt constant and every aspect of my life went on hold for it, was based around it. Everything felt unpredictable since life was based around what i would happen to eat next and where i would happen to purge. i was in starbucks one day making a list. this was a new low. a list of places to eat and a list of places to purge, just to be organized, you know. so i wouldn't have to think so hard everytime. then i got a call from a friend about going to the beach. that's when i decided this was enough. i decided i'd restrict until school started. i cried a lot that day. that was the day i was sitting outside of the church. i felt like i'd acknowledged something with someone. made some kind of a pact. for the next two weeks, I went back and forth from eating like a bird to eating like a person, and because of the glimpses i got of myself as a regular person, i started to feel a little better.
on a thursday i binged. on a friday i ate fatty food with a friend for dinner. i didn't feel guilty about it. things were still okay, this was the exception to the rule. well i binged saturday and sunday at home, where i don't purge so as not to upset my parents. i continued binging and went right back to purging on monday. its august 25th and with the exception of one day (one of the two whole days I was in Maryland with a friend), I've been binging and purging at least twice a day since. today it was three. should i shoot for four tomorrow? where am i headed? what is going to happen at school?
what is going to happen at school?
|Sunday, August 15th, 2004|
i have an eating disorder even though i am at a normal weight. I starved myself, got down to a much better normal weight, then got tired of starving myself and gained weight. i purged much more often but i still gained weight because i was binging more than purging. this is an eating disorder. i had one the whole time. i have one now. i have an eating disorder. i don't know what it is. usually i think its bulimia. but i binged this weekend and didn't purge. do i still have an eating disorder? just because i'm not thin doesn't mean i don't have an eating disorder. i have one. its very real. i'm constantly trapped inside it. this isn't normal. this isn't right. this isn't the way someone should live her life.
but when i get rid of the eating disorder, i'll still be the same shitty person i was before. the least, the very least i could do, is be that shitty person and have the eating disorder. i want to keep it here. it makes me feel safe. the purging, mostly, for now.
i shouldn't go back to restricting. i want so much to go back to restricting. i do sometimes. i just watched what i ate closely for about two weeks. i don't think i restricted. i think i was just so scared of binging that i was hypervigilant about what i ate. i tried to keep it on the restrictive side but couldn't, so my overeating was almost normal eating. fucked up and binged all weekend. fuck me. this isn't a life. but i'm so scared to go back to school i don't know how else to live right now. i go back and forth. its not a health goal that's driving not restricting; its weakness. what a cop-out. i'd rather it were health.
what am i going to do? do i have a right to be so sick of this? i haven't reached rock bottom. i haven't reached my limits. only when i reach my limits will i have a right to say, enough, i'm ready, i deserve to heal.
whoa...about a month passed by before i got the response and i had forgotten about it..then i got that and thought wow, for a woman who fought so hard...she had been sick for 12 years, binging and taking laxatives and throwing up...and one day she decided to kill herself and then my some miracle the neighbor whom she was going to ask for the gun (under a false pretense of course) wasn't home. she got a call from a friend from church who knew about her bulimia and her friend told her about this hospital and this doctor...and then she went. the doctors couldn't believe she was even still alive because of her laxative addiction, so she was close to death on account of that and her own suicidal urges. and then things slowly began to turn around and she came to terms with so much emotional turmoil in her life and just the accounts of all her relationships at the hospital ...its so touching and inspiring...and to think that after all that breast cancer jumps in and takes her away. i can't believe it! i had been wondering why, when i did internet searches for her, nothing had come up...but i never thought that she wasn't living anymore!
in any case...maybe in honor of that, i don't know...i'm not going to purge this last binge. i've been binging today, yesterday, and friday. well, mostly today and yesterday. friday i just ate a meal that was high in calories but i don't think it was a binge...and then a snack that was high in calories but i don't think that was a binge either. but the weekends are so hard sometimes...
i had gone approximately two weeks!!!! two weeks without a binge!!!!!
i hadn't even realized it, you know?!? it was so crazy, i wasn't even counting! i don't even know if it was exactly two weeks or what, but what i was trying to do was restrict to make up for the constant binging purging over the previous three weeks...and in my failed efforts to restrict...in my "overeating" from a restricting point of view...i think i may have actually been eating almost normally! almost. probably not entirely enough if i felt the need to binge the way i've been....but it was the most stabilized eating i've done in a long time, and i didn't even realize there was no binging until friday when i ate crappy food with my friend and thought, wow, hey, cool, okay, i *deserve* this then!
well no more little rewards for me.
apparently i was in way over my head. deserving that seemed like a rite of passage to a nonstop weekend binge. and i've been feeling the sense of urgency, the serious out of controlness....and i haven't been purging. which is crazy to me. but i know its just because i'm home. i still have some rules for myself. no purging at home, whatsoever. i used to do it, but i don't anymore. so i am convinced i still have some level of self-control if i can follow through on my rule.
when i binge i'm in a trance and nothing can stop me. i feel out of reach from other people. it happens as soon as i start letting myself feel. when i'm not wrapped up in work. i wrote a long thing about my parents that i plan on showing my therapist this week. and i felt feelings that i could not handle, so i binged.
I AM SCARED TO FEEL ANYTHING!!!!
why is taste so important? and why must i shove food into me the way i do? why do i blank out from the rest of the world? why did i need to not only buy the at-home binge food, but an in-hand binge food to have something to eat on the WAY home? (a block away). why was i so desperate to open it the second i got out of the store? why did i feel like i was putting on an act in the store? stay calm, don't show them how badly you want to tear open these bags while you're waiting on line...about how you have urges to just stuff the food in your bag and leave the store so you can eat it right this second, how you have no patience for these stupid customers taking their sweet time...don't they know you're HUNGRY!?!?
wtf, you know?
|Saturday, August 14th, 2004|
On Tue, 20 Jul 2004 20:23:35 EDT KolorMeHappyGirl@aol.com writes:
I am reading your book, "The Monster Within" and I just wanted to tell you that it has given me some hope. I am 22 and bulimic and am having a really hard time. Its so great to know that you are out there living life and helping others after enduring your struggles. You've already given me so much validation and I haven't even finished the book. I often feel so alone in this disorder and reading your book has made me feel less alone. I just had to write to tell you that its affecting me. I've started seriously considering inpatient care since I started it and I'm going to speak to my therapist about it when I see her tomorrow. I just want to thank you, Cynthia.
Take care and love life,
Cynthia went home to the Lord last August after an 18 year battle with breast cancer. We were married for 17 years. Cynthia would tell you not to give up, there is a cure and to seek an experienced therapist.
Mike Moore can be reached at email@example.com She would always sign her messages and letters "Courage, Cynthia"
Today was alright. I ate with a friend so it was fine and i actually didn't feel guilty. what a concept.
however i am scared shitless of going back to school. i hate change.
this thought relieved and shocked me: "I'm terrified to go back to school...but don't worry jenn, at least you'll have your bulimia. at least that won't change." and i let out the first genuine sigh of relief in a newfound peace and hope about returning to school. for the first time it really seemed like everything was going to be okay. like i had nothing to worry about.
it was similar to the feeling people must get when surrendering their power to a god. God will take care of them; trust in God, he's there no matter what.
i'm not religious, but i can imagine it felt something like that.
i still feel disgusting. sometimes i feel like life isn't worth this crap. and sometimes i feel trapped and terrified in mortality. when i think the former, thoughts that usually go along with are, i'm going to end up just like my parents. there is no hope for a different person. i'm becoming them more everyday. we're so insignificant; why bother? i am used to living life a certain way. by this age, nothing is going to change. my patterns have been embedded. and this will define the rest of my life. cycles of self-destructiveness, highs and lows, guilt and shame, and an absolute conviction that i am unlovable and untouchable. always questioning my childhood and wondering what my problem was and what their problem was and who went wrong where? always changing my perception of it based on other people's reactions, which are based on my descriptions. if others are appalled, suddenly it all comes together. i feel fascinated. i feel validated. i just want to hear more, more about how my parents were wrong and how that just explains everything so clearly and how could i NOT see it? and then if someone says that basically my parents were great and its obvious because i'm a good person, then the questioning and the guilt set in again. its ME. i'm just fucked up. no its THEM. they fucked up royally. i can very clearly connect their actions to mine. it is very clear to me. i can explain the scenarios, logically. but i cannot grasp that it was "bad." I can't attach a meaning to it.
In a nutshell, my dad was either self-destructive, verbally and sometimes (in minor ways) physically abusive, OR the nicest people-pleaser (to me in particular) in the whole world, which included trying to be funny and playing with me and being my friend more than my dad. he didn't know discipline. so when i was a kid, i either laughed, played tickle monster, took him up on his offers to do favors for me that ran the gamut of (overly eagerly) getting me a glass of water to buying me anything i wanted to driving me anywhere i wished; or I got screamed at with obsenities, told i was a brat, rotten, that he'd never do anything for me every again, don't you ever expect me to do anything for you, that's it, i'm done with you." or screaming similar things to my mom in addition to "get a job, shut your trap," and threats of physical violence; or throwing things, breaking things, pushing, shoving, pinning down, barging in, punching himself in the chest, (once he gave himself two black eyes, in front of my grandmother), sulking, giving us the silent treatment, making up with my mom, being funny and offering to take me places again.
may i add that some of the most prominent memories i have of my father have to do with food. Every Thursday we ordered pizza ("pizza thursday") and fridays we went out to dinner with my grandparents. i remember thinking about my father's interests like this: spaceships, science fiction, and going out to eat. he LOVED going out to eat. he got upset when we didn't. he always cleaned his plate. sometimes he licked the plate. at home and at the restaurant.
once during a fight between my parents i went into the kitchen where my dad was sitting, eating alone. i said, "Are you lonely?" he said yes. i felt obligated to sit with him so he wouldn't be lonely anymore. i also felt obligated to sit with him because i was afraid that if i didn't, he would get mad again.
i always had to be present when my parents fought. i'd take a spot somewhere in between them or beside them and just watch. i'd try to stop it however i could. "Mom, stop" (egging him on with loads of sarcasm - what i now understand as teasing him, suffocating him, just making his out-of-controlness worse. i know this because this is how i felt/feel when she spoke to me like that. absolutely no concept of boundaries. none whatsoever. constant sarcasm, constant interrogation, constant trying to win, trying to take control. of our feelings, explanations, what it is we really needed, what times we did things, when and what we ate, control with sleep). anyway, "mom, stop" only made mom yell at me and yell at him more and mock him more and just keep yelling and yelling which would just make him scream and scream more and then she would sit down and stop and just give him belittling looks and sometimes that would make him lift up the side of the couch she was sitting on and drop it, or break things. i have a memory of being very little, maybe 3, maybe younger, sitting on my bed. my dad stormed into my room and screamed at me, "don't you ever expect anything from me again, you're a brat!" and more that i don't remember. then he left and he and mom were standing in the hallway next to the bathroom and then i remember they were wrestling with each other. i remember that it looked like he was trying to hurt her. i remember she got out of his grip and went into the bathroom and slammed the door and cried hysterically. i recently confirmed this memory with mom. she said she remembered it too.
i remember being scared stiff when i heard my dad hit something repeatedly in the bedroom one night when he got mad that he had to go into work. (he worked nights, i guess this was his night off or something). i was absolutely terrified that he was hitting my mother. what terrified me more was that i didn't hear a peep out of her. i swear, in this moment i honestly did not know whether my dad was seriously beating my mother. i was more convinced that he was than not. can you understand the the trauma that a child goes through when she is fearing the worst? never mind whether or not it has any validity. but to earnestly believe something to be true i would imagine, in that moment, is almost as bad as it actually happening. just like the time he held a hard wooden brush up in the air and motioned to me as if he were going to hit me with it. similar things happened between him and my mom often.
but between these times, there was peace and laughing. i can't really remember the ratio of good: bad. but i don't think the bad was often enough for me as a child to think there was ever anything wrong. all i knew, without any strings attached, was that sometimes i got scared of my father. it was just very rational to me. when he wore sunglasses after he gave himself the black eyes, i just remember being aware of the reason why, but not really attaching a meaning. just explaining it rationally to myself. i secretly knew why he was wearing them, but i didn't really care. i just went on playing with my friends.
my mother was more verbally suffocating than anything else. but there was a ridiculous level of control there. it was demonstrated in just about everything. we were very close, and part of that closeness was secured with the control she had over me. it was very comforting to both of us. but it also made me extremely agitated and anxious. reactions to my mom often involved me getting unbearably tight knots in my stomach, pacing back and forth, pulling at my hair, wishing there was a way i could escape, fighting for the door, burying my head in my hands and screaming, being told when to eat, sleep (at night, or naps), do homework, play the piano (or mostly not play the piano), talk on the phone...some examples: pulling blanket off of me when i wanted to take a nap and she didn't want me to, sitting on top of me and pinning me down to the bed when she wanted me to tell her why i was crying, following me into the living room and pulling the blanket off of me then too, telling me i couldn't sleep in the living room, couldn't watch tv early in the morning, couldn't go on the computer late at night, couldn't play the piano before doing homework, sitting on the piano, telling me not to eat things (i often felt like i was sneaking food around), telling me i didn't need them, standing next to my bed with her hand on the lightswitch saying that if i didn't put down my homework right now and go to bed, she was turning out the lights. she wasn't going to bed until my lights were out. every time she walked past my room and the lights were on, she would come in and interrogate me for several minutes or a half hour and we'd get into a huge fight and i'd get terrible racing heart feelings and tightness in my stomach and that terrible instinctual biological feeling of needing needing needing to ESCAPE and that unbearable feeling stayed with me for at least a half hour after she had (finally) gone and i'd pace and cry and talk to myself and rock back and forth and not know how much longer i could take it until one day i finally cut myself and voila! thank the fucking lord i had a release. holy fucking jesus christ why didn't i think of this five years ago? from the time i was 11 or something i was looking for ways to destruct myself. it was a thought that comforted me when i was most anxious. i got all involved in being creative trying to think of things and i thought, okay, this time you really have to find something, you're gonna find something...the need felt impulsive. once i decided that if i sniffed lipstick the chemicals would get into my brain so i did that. once i thought about taking a bunch of pills. i had been hitting myself for a while (in the head, usually in front of mom because it was the only fucking thing the ONLY thing that released anything besides pacing i guess and it was my only pathetic attempt at communicating to her that she was driving me CRAZY!!!! and she did not respond to it whatsoever. same thing happened when i cried in front of her. totally ignored it. once i was crying and i said, why do we fight so much? and she said, "because you don't listen." when i needed to get out of the house and take a walk she would block the door and push me away from it every time i got near it. it was a little game. i would try to get to it while she wasn't looking. but that was hard because then i'd have to unlock it and she was quick. usually she got to me before i even got to the door but once my hands were on the locks, forget it, she'd struggle with me physically and eventually i gave up and went to my room and wished i could jump out the window. once i pretended to faint because she told me i couldn't go to my friend's party because i hadn't cleaned my room. i fell on the floor and she said, what are you doing, go back into your room. what's she doing, oh i don't know, she's this, she's that...i overheard many phone conversations with her and my dad telling him how i was misbehaving again...and when i wanted to talk on the phone she would barge into my room and stand there and yell at me until i got off. my friend would be talking and having no idea that my mom was in my room yelling at me and i would desperately be trying to listen to my friend and block out my mom and she would just yell and yell and i would feel like i was split in two and i could barely take it anymore because i felt so fucking humiliated and also ashamed that i couldn't be fully present for my friend. i wanted more than anything to be just in that moment, just with my friend, paying attention. i just wanted my mom to LEAVE!!!!! sometimes i'd signal to her, "Go! This is a serious conversation!" and she'd say she didn't care, i had this to do and that to do and if i didn't get off the phone right now she'd hang it up.
once i was in the shower too long and she said if i didn't get out right now she was going to turn off the faucet. that was recurrant actually.
and then of course, when we weren't fighting, we were affectionate, the best of friends. i loved her so much i couldn't bear it. she is epileptic and when she had seizures i felt like i WAS her, i felt like it was my job to protect her. just like in the fights, it was my job to end them so i could just protect HER. i was scared of my dad and didn't realize then how lonely he was and how much he too needed to be paid attention to, and let alone. not just out of my fear of him but for his well-being. but when mom had seizures, or when she cried (always as a result of our fighting, but the crying was very very rare) i felt in a way responsible, or i felt tied to her as if it were me doing the suffering, my heart sunk so low i can't even explain it...it was a shock. also a shock that she could actually lose control. i was so scared for her. i loved her so much. my dad, i never felt that kind of love for him. i feel guilty about that now because i can see how badly he still wants it. his idea of connecting with me is going out to dinner. so he tries that, day in and day out, and i keep saying no because i have a hard time with the eating disorder, and i know i always disappoint him, so now i just say yes and purge dinner.
|Monday, August 9th, 2004|
also, my cd is finished. i'm sending it off to be replicated tomorrow. this is the latest very good news in my life. today it seriously feels like its making up for the shit. Actually, here's what happened today before any music news happened:
I had eaten a normal sized breakfast, and four hours later, I wasn't hungry (physically) but out of nowhere, it seemed, i needed a very specific food from a specific store down the block that was triggering for me, and i needed to eat it and purge. i had done this everyday for almost three weeks at work. i'd get there early and eat in private and go to the corner bathroom where all was quiet and exit, proud - in a lonely kind of way - that no one had even noticed i was gone.
It felt like a trance today. I haven't purged in about a week, i've been either restricing or eating normally. i really felt like a character in village of the damned who had been put into a trance. i went through the motions in a very calm fog. told my coworkers i'd be back in a few minutes. grabbed my purse and walked out the door, i didn't look at anyone, just proceeded to the elevator, down the block, into the store. it occurred to me that i could still change my mind, but i remained indifferent to that option. i bought my food, went back into the office, and was greeted by a 60 something coworker who told me the other day that his father-in-law was dying of cancer. I asked him how he was. He told me he was okay, but things were not good. his wife's father had been moved into a hospice and was receiving no medication, just morphine. he told me he was touched the other day when i offered to listen and console him. I said hey, anytime jim, and he shook my hand. i smiled, he smiled, i walked away to my desk.
i thought of how selfish i was that i was creating all this pain for myself and here was a man who was in tremendous involuntary pain for his family. I thought before I ate and purged I would go smoke a cigarette. I went out on the fire escape and smoked a cigarette and listened to fiona apple's song where she sings, "You're all I need" and i thought about the bulimia. i got really fed up with myself for needing it so much. i put out my cigarette, went inside and checked my phone messages. The graphic artist had called. She was finished. She was excited. She said it looked so great. so much better than before.
i don't remember the exact moment i laid the food aside, still in the bag, deciding to put some other things first. and i don't remember exactly why i decided to cut it in half and offer the other half to a coworker, intending to eat my half void of guilt. But I did put it aside, and I did pick it up a half hour later, walked to the kitchen area, got a plastic knife, and cut it in half. put the half in the bag and walked to eddie's desk. "eddie, do you want half of this?" he mocked the way i gestured when i said it. i pretended not to feel slightly embarrassed and asked him again. (eddie is a nice guy and when he makes jokes it means he likes you. for a while he didn't make any jokes to me. that's because i come off as weird and people-pleasing in the work-place. but i've been much more laid-back as of late, and so he's been calling me by my last name and smiling at me and making fun of the way i - nervously? - gesture). I said, "I'd smell it before turning down the offer." "When did you buy it?" "Ahhh what's that supposed to mean? Its fresh!" "Well you told me to smell it." "That's because in case you were thinking of turning it down, you should know what you're missing." he smelled it. said, "I'll keep it for later, i'll have it after lunch." (After lunch! and i was scared to have HALF of it as a whole meal!) I said, "And just so you know, I bought it an hour ago." "If not, I know where you sit." "Ahh but Eddie I'm quick!"
and then i ate my half, went on with my work (that i love by the way) and some-odd minutes later became ill and ran to the bathroom and it came out the way mother nature intended it to. but my stomach and back had suddenly become painfully queasy and it was horrible! i keep teasing my digestive system. i think its starting to wonder whether to take me seriously.
|A lot of entries clumped into one
Since this is starting to feel like an actual journal, I copied a bunch of entries from my other livejournal account and pasted them here. why not?
I caved in and purchased the Tao of Pooh. I want to remain peaceful as a backbone to any kind of struggle, whether its internal or external. Pooh helps. But Eeyore's my favorite.
i just let out an obscenely long burp. sounded like it was coming from the depths of hell.
Being around Noop makes things a little easier.
Being alone is a challenge but I need the challenge.
The other day I felt like I was going to start crying so I went to the bathroom to cry in private. There was a mother and her little daughter in the next stall and the daughter was crying and going, "Mommy, Mommy, did I make a mess?" and the mom said "no honey its okay" and the daughter said "what are you doing to me?" and the mom said "Just cleaning you up, its okay sweetie" and the daughter said "Mommy...Mommy did I make a mess?" "No, its okay sweetie, come on take my hand, let's go, wash up..." and they walked out. This went on for a few minutes. Something about that conversation reeeeeally really touched me. i wish i could be so basic and pure. Listening to this I felt used up, wasted, regretful, old. That child's voice was music and I listened to it as if I were listening to a song. I cried to it the way I would cry to a song. I felt like she was me, but purified. me, getting a chance to do it over. expressing everything I felt void of in the most basic possible language. Receiving the reassurance that I need so so much, so innately, but am afraid to ask for. I was sobbing. I felt so alone and for a second the world seemed very clear.
I would love to eat and enjoy it and stop when I am full. However, I do not believe that this is possible for me. I sincerely don't. I do not trust myself one bit. I do not know what a middle-ground feels like. How how how how HOW on earth can ANYONE thoroughly enjoy a meal and then go on to do something else? How is it possible to sink your teeth into something and after two bites not be convinced that its the only thing in the world that will make you happy? not be able to conceive of doing anything else in the whole world, even if it meant just going into the next room and turning on the TV? borderline thinking. all or nothing. i'm a glutton for punishment. i set myself up but i don't know how not to. i mean this. i guess this is the nature of obsession.
I weighed myself last night. I had weighed myself once in Texas and freaked. So this was the culmination of the mess I had made the past few months. It was higher than I thought, but I didn't go into shock. I simply told Cat that I weighed myself in her bathroom and had gained weight and that this moment was imperfect and I had to accept that. And this was after I had gained and lost yet! I don't know what drove me to binge after that reality check.
I weighed myself last night and this morning too and I've gained since that day. Now I am scared. I'm scared of the obsessiveness that seems to be creeping in. If this heads in the same direction its headed in before, a few things will happen:
I will lose weight.
I will become obsessed with a number on the scale (that I only hid from out of fear anyway)
I will become obsessed with counting calories again.
I will become obsessed with burning calories.
I will become very disoriented at meals.
I will rather be alone much of the time, especially at meals.
I will have rituals when eating.
I will sleep approximately five hours a night and wake up from hunger. I will wake up at around 4 or 5 every morning.
I will be proud of myself, most of the time.
I will hate myself, inconsistently.
I will become uber-responsible and get everything done and have lots of energy.
I may become hypomanic.
I will be hungry a lot.
I will think about food all the time except when I'm distracting myself with other responsibilities.
I will secretly look for excuses to binge.
I will either feel the need to be around food, or take measures to avoid having it in my presence.
I will lose weight.
I will lose energy.
I will become dizzy and my heart will become scary.
I most likely will feel emotionally numb most of the time.
I'm hungry right now. I haven't eaten breakfast yet.
Over winter break I got out of my house as fast as possible so I didn't have a chance to eat breakfast. Then I would get something in the city. But I'm hungry NOW. But I don't deserve breakfast. Not after this awful weight gain. That's how this feels. That is how this is going to feel as long as I restrict and weigh and count and ruminate about food food food...and my body. I body-check all day long as it is. I predict it will only get worse if there are actual changes for the better.
One pound will change its significance if its gone up to it or down from it. a new low will feel like a victory, but losing a half a pound more and gaining it back will feel shitty. Same number. Its not about the number. Now THAT'S a novel concept! How fucking wise. I must just be a fucking genius and have it all figured out.
I never weighed myself at night. I know that the number is inaccurate. but i weighed myself last night and i weigh the same this morning. This may cause me to get into a pattern of weighing more than my old ritualistic one time daily. I don't know though.
I have no patience. I hate patience so much.
I hate the presence of my body sitting in this chair, touching the things around me. I can't even tell you how gross I feel right now. how gross i KNOW I am. I've really let myself go. hahaha. I just sound like a diet-freak. I sound like my mother, a woman who just hates her body by nature, still eats the cheesecake, and gets over it. in the long-term, feels she isn't pretty. berates herself silently and aloud. goes on a diet for a few months every once in a while, counts calories, loses weight, eats the cheesecake again one day though and gains it all back and maybe it doesn't ruin her world but its a little monster that pops up frequently, monotone, persistent and subtle, much like dysthymia. long-term, not that intense, but prevents her from having a lot of meaning in her life. I'm just a diet freak, a victim of society, a woman who *real* eating disordered people talk about as if I'm the norm and they emulate me to the extreme. I'm certainly just doing and feeling what most women in this society do and feel. I am an effect of its warping, a big girl ordering cottage cheese for dinner. People probably look at me funny. Think it's all an act and I must go home and gorge. I'm not the one they care about.
I bought a book yesterday in Chicago, nonfiction, about a woman who used to be a reporter who recovered from bulimia. The train left the station at 10:30 PM and everyone's lights were out except mine. I started the book and listened to Dido's "No Angel" which is what Cat and I listened to a lot in Texas, and then I put the book down, shut the light and just started crying. I don't know what exactly made this moment different. Maybe because I knew I wasn't fooling myself in Texas, maybe that Cat's never being hungry only made me jealous (she is a recovering anorectic) and that I felt like a pig half the time I was there, and that one line in her post (that I read the day before I left) about how she liked feeling her bones, even though it was said in a context which could totally be justified, triggered the hell outta me.
After reading it she called to me from downstairs, "What do you want for dinner?" I went downstairs and said I don't know. She showed me these beef taquita things, and soup, and sandwich options, and I stood there deadpan and hungry and scared. "I'm not hungry." "What? You haven't eaten anything today." "I had all that popcorn and those peanuts and cereal this morning." "Crap." "I'm really not hungry. It's okay. When I'm hungry I'll make myself something." "You better not talk to me about my eating." *sly grin*
i hid in the upstairs bathroom and cried, half-hoping she would hear me.
I smoked a cigarette and didn't ash it all the way and burnt a hole in a piece of paper after i emptied the ashes and freaked. I washed the piece of paper over and over and dug through the garbage at least 3 times to make sure it wasn't on fire and i found my cigarette which was clearly out but what if there was another one in there that I couldn't find? I apologized to Cat profusely and she said over and over its okay, nothing happened, nothing is on fire. calm down. here i'll put the garbage outside if it'll make you feel better." "but the porch is wood and that'll catch fire too." she put it outside. "if it was going to burn, it would've burned already. we would've smelled it by now. i put out whatever teeny tiny spark there was...you know what this means, right? i should be a fire fighter." "or an arsonist." laughs.
I said (because I wanted her love and affection so much I couldn't bear it):
"I read on the forum that choices are hard to make, like dinner."
We watched City of Angels and I fixed myself a sandwich and we went to bed.
I thought Texas would push me to put things in order, I thought I was going to be watched like a hawk. How stupid of me. I munched a lot. No real routine. No jump start to health like I'd envisioned. Why do I always put people on pedestals? especially older women?
As I was saying some light years ago, I don't know what made this the last straw...and then I realized it could be that as much as I pretended that nothing was wrong with me in Texas, it came right back to me as soon as it was over. The drive is internal. It proved that its existence had simply gone into hiding. layers. pot helped me not care (twice. I didn't care twice). gave me an excuse. layers like friendship and dancing and swimming forced it under. like the red blanket skylar and kelsey threw over my head when they attempted to tie my shoelaces together and everybody laughed like hienas. when it was over the fear still existed, and when I was alone it manifested there.
I guess that's when I realized that I deserve help. If I step away from myself and watch all of these intermingled thoughts and emotions and actions taking place, and if i get rid of the excuses and fears for a second, it becomes very clear to me that I need help and warrant it. Of course, once I step back inside myself I feel like a royal fuck and how dare i think i deserve help? who do i think i am? certainly not medically unstable enough to just HAVE to stop this right now or else. I've GAINED weight and feel like a loser. No one would take me seriously if I "wasn't the very picture of sick" as some triggering writer wrote in a book that conveniently became my bible earlier this year.
but the woman reporter who wrote this new book was actually overweight then as well as now.
A while ago, when I was heavily restricting, my therapist put the hospitalization threat over my head. I was not underweight but I was experiencing terrible heart irregularities, pounding, palipations, every day but especially at night when I tried to sleep. I was terrified to sleep. I had to tell my body, don't worry, you will eat in the morning, you can last until the morning. shhh. it wasn't the physical hunger that bothered me. it was my heart that scared me. what scared me more was my logic: quiet the fear with hunger. more scared to eat than to be sick. it was very clear to me.
that all ended when i started the other cycle. all that comes to mind is, rotten, filthy, out of control, uncentered, disgusting, fat, fatter, by the day. i stopped weighing myself. i was terrified of that number. that terror usually "whipped me back into shape" but this time the fear was even greater than that, so great i thought i might go into shock.
so i went from feeling like i was going to pass out all the time (feeling in control) to feeling heavy and gross and sick all the time (out of control). in about a minute's time. the transformation happened during cultureshock weekend. all along i'd had bouts of it twice or three times weekly, sometimes more, sometimes less, but this time it was real and i felt the least control i'd felt yet.
My therapist said, "School is almost over. At least this is happening now. When summer comes, we'll fix this. Whatever it takes. If we need to put you in the hospital, we'll do that." very strange sadness and hope there. i felt like i was losing all my friends. i didn't deserve them anymore, now that i had become a disgusting pig. i wouldn't be seeing them since all my time would have to be devoted to kicking this in the butt. i felt useless and excessive.
useless and excessive are the most fitting words for this. i felt most excessive when that guy commented on my boobs at that party. i wanted to curse him out. i wanted to tell him what i had done just a couple hours prior to his comment and action. i wanted to make him hurt.
My therapist said, "You were sicker when you were restricting." Does that mean I have to restrict in order to warrant concern?
I'm not suicidal. The woman in the book was. And her electrolytes were dangerously low. There is nothing medically wrong with me, nor is there a psychiatric emergency going on.
Here's what's physically wrong with me: The hair on my head is thinning. I have little hairs on my face. They grew there when I was restricting. They're still there. I have bruises all over my legs. I bruise very easily. I bloat easily. I get nauseous easily. I get heartburn too. I think that fullness has a distinct taste and i can't stand that taste. it doesn't feel right. it makes me uncomfortable. but that's not physical. i get dizzy sometimes and am sensitive to light. my hands get cold. my heart beats funny. my glands get swollen and i look like i have a double chin. *space for private embarrassing stuff here*
Sometime in the beginning of the summer my therapist said, "We'll give it a month. Then we'll see where we're at." Its been over a month since she said that and not much has changed. I was talking about needing a push-start. I think I may go into the hospital for reasons i don't understand, but feel are right. or for reasons i can logically grasp, but feel are wrong.
i don't know what to do and I am scared.