Main » September 2005
September 26, 2005
Good Weekend, Bad Day
Had a pretty good weekend I guess. It was better than most of the weekends have been lately. I went to Judy's on Friday, and for whatever reason-- left there in a much better mood, much higher spirits than I've been in quite awhile. I can't really explain why, but I'm not going to question it, just accept it.
Pete and I spent the weekend just hanging around the house and getting some housework done. It was the first weekend in quite some time that we haven't really had any plans. My sister came up for awhile on Saturday as the Omaha Marathon was on Sunday. I hadn't yet registered for the marathon, and had planned on doing that Saturday at the race expo. Turns out my yearly 'season cold' came a bit early.
Usually I don't get sick with the respitory stuff/lung infection until October, but this year, I got sick the first day of fall. By Saturday, I could barely walk 6 blocks without struggling for air, and feeling like I was about to cough up a lung. So, I didn't end up running the marathon on Sunday. Even the half-marathon would have been too much. I'm so damn lazy!!!! I haven't even been to the gym in the last 5 days. I already feel like I've gained about 20 pounds from the lack of exercise.
Heather said several people she works with have the same thing I do, and it's a viral infection, so there's nothing I can take to get rid of it-- it just sorta has to run its course. Lovely. If that's the case, then I'm going to the gym anyhow. I'd rather struggle through a workout and run at a slower pace than not workout at all. Especially after taking the last 5 days off.
Pete's worried about Heather and Scott moving up here in December. He doesn't think it's good for her and I to spend too much time together, and he's worried that when she does move-- that we'll spend all our time at the gym or running. He's SOMEwhat right on that, but it's not the ONLY thing we do when we get together. Either way, he said that the first time (and every time) he notices me "going backwards" he's gonna say something about it, and says he's not going to be nice about it either.
Friday he went off at me about not eating and, once again, how I'm slowly killing myself and I have so much more to live for and blah blah blah. Does he think I don't know this? Does he think I don't know what happens to a person when he or she goes without eating? Does he think all of this is new to me and I don't realize what could happen? I think 16 years has been enough time to figure it all out. Sorry... I'm feeling a bit sarcastic right now.
I dunno.. it was a good weekend, but not so good today. I haven't been feeling all that great, and the constant coughing fits zap all my extra energy. That alone just sorta started the day off badly, and it's just sorta gone downhill since then. I didn't even go to Judy's today, although I probably should have. All I've thought about all day is cutting. I'm not even sure why, cause it's not like there's one specific thing that sent me in this direction... it's just one of those days I guess.
September 22, 2005
Kate and the Hurricane
Just a quick post....
I just wanted to ask everyone to send their thoughts and prayers to my friend Kate, who lives in Galveston, TX and is currently in the direct path of Hurricane Rita. They were evacuated last night, and now I am just waiting for word of any kind, that they are safe and ok. And that they got out in the first place. Traffic is at a standstill due to so many evacuees heading north to Houston, which is already overcrowded because of Katrina victims.
There's little water there, little canned food. Kate says she's not sure what they'll do yet, or how they get outta there with so many people trying to leave that area at once. So just keep her in mind, ok? For me?
September 21, 2005
Inside the Chaos of My Thoughts
I don't know why I keep this up. Why do I find starving so appealing? When did success depend solely on the number on the scale? When did cutting, scars become a reprieve? When did I lose my grip on the one thing I thought I controlled?
Cried again at Judy's. I hate it when I do that, but at the same time, it keeps me from going 'away', that metaphorical place inside my head where the rest of the world does not exist. That place where silence and emptiness calm the choas of overwhelming thoughts, feelings.
Pete said last night that he thinks I need to go away somewhere. Some place where they can help me. Some place where I'm never alone. He and Judy do what they can, when they can-- and I'm grateful for that-- but when it's just me alone with... well... me, I'm my greatest enemy.
Ann emailed me today. I cried when I read it. I get so wrapped up in my own little world of self-destruction sometimes, that I tend to isolate from everyone around me. I forget that there are people out there who really DO care about me and love me for ME. People who would rather see me healthy and happy, than dead.
I hate the word 'healthy' though. Health scares me. Recovery scares me. The only thing I associate with those two words, is 'fat'. I know that it is not logical by any stretch of the imagination-- but apparently my imagination stretches further than most. Cause it makes perfect sense to me.
Kayla was asking about me as well. Angie emailed me in the last couple of days. All of a sudden, it seems as though everyone is contacting me in some form or another. A little reminder that they care. That they're there if I need them. Maybe this is some "sign". Some message that is supposed to be getting through to me, and all this time-- I've been blocking the entrance with the walls I build around me. I don't know anymore. I don't even know if this all makes sense to anyone else but me.
I feel so random sometimes. So.... I dunno... like I'm not making any sense. Then again, that's how my mind works. Constantly. All the damn time. It never stops.
Haven't heard anymore about the Dr. Phil show. Judy said she was going to put in a few calls to some places and see if she could get me in somewhere. At this point-- I don't know what to think. When I was in her office... it seemed like a good idea.... cause I can't keep this up anymore. But the moment I got outside, it's like the eating disorder came back with a vengance, and all I could think of is "why the HELL did you say you'd go if she found a place?"
But then the other side of me remembers my promise to Keri a month or so ago. I promised that even if the dr. phil show didn't work out, I wouldn't give up, and I'd still go into treatment somewhere. I meant that promise when I made it...
I don't know what to think right now. So confused. So many thoughts. So many things going on in my head. Too many feelings to name.
All I know is that I'm scared.......
Posted by Wendy at 9:23 PM
Too Early To Be Thinking So Much
Sometimes I amaze myself with just how out of control I can feel, yet still hold myself together and appear absolutely normal. Granted-- there are a few people who see through the facade, but for the most part-- no one does. They all close their eyes and turn the other way. It's frustrating.
Pete got home from work yesterday evening, and was barely home an hour when he-- out of the blue-- grabs my arm and pulls me into the bedroom and tells me to sit. So I do. He then proceeds to hold my left arm up, and start taking off my watch. I was like, "what....?" trying to pull away. "I just wanna see," he says. And I can't fight it. He takes off my watch, sees the cuts. I try to tell him they were from "before"-- that ever elusive, "before". He doesn't buy it. "This is new," he says. "And this too....." Thank god he didn't do a "check" for further cuts or he would have seen the word "FAT" re-cut into my stomach.
But then the worst of all..... Pete gets all teary eyed, telling me I'm out of control, that I have to stop, and on and on. And I sat there, unable to speak. The only thing I could say, was "I'm sorry". And he says, "yeah, I know you are. You're always sorry. And I believe every word of it, cause I know you mean it.....but that doesn't change things or fix them."
So what does he expect me to do then? To just stop? He says, "ya know... if I really wanted to, I could have you committed for attempted suicide. They'd only be able to keep you for 72 hours, but at least you'd be on constant watch for that long."
I just looked at him, terrified of what to say. I can't believe that he'd actually DO that, let alone THINK about doing it. He says, "you're disappearing before my eyes. Destroying your life and there's not a damn thing I can do about it." At least he's right on one thing.
I hate that I hurt him with what I do to myself. I hate that it affects him so much. I really do. But I can't just give this up. I can't just walk away. I promise him I'm not giving up. I promise I'll try harder, that I'll do better. But I know I don't really mean it, because it's not something I really have control over in the first place. I don't know.....
Here in Omaha, there's not any place for ED's for adults. They only have the Children's ED unit at Children's Hospital. But that stops at like age 18 or 21. After that, they're kinda like.... F.U. if you have an ED past that age. (I mean, they won't acutally SAY that, but not providing any such place for adults, and cutting funding for other similar places is basically saying the same thing). As an adult, you get the psych ward here. Kayla's already been there.... I don't think I wanna spend any time there myself.
Anyhow, it's too early to be thinking so damn much. I need to go to the gym. I have 3.5 hours until I need to be in class. Enough time to at least make a miniscule attempt at furthering my disappearance.
Posted by Wendy at 5:32 AM
September 20, 2005
I've finally updated my photo here.
The pic on the header is about a year old now. So-- here's a current one.
Update from Monday
Ok. Technically it's Tuesday now, not Monday, but whose keeping track. (It's about 2:30 a.m.) So.. I purged. Told ya I would. But I feel a zillion times better. The thoughts are quiet, I'm much more calm. More relaxed. Took some ephedra (325 mg), made a nice large (24 oz) cup of coffee, and got some more studying done. I feel rather productive. Perhaps I'll just stay up the rest of the night. Pete will be up and ready to leave for work in about 3.5 or 4 hours anyhow. I could get so much DONE in that amount of time!
I've been painting recently. My newfound love for canvas and acrylic. Not that I'm all that great at it or anything... but it's at least relaxing.
Title: Chaos -- acrylic on canvas
Title: The Mind's Eye -- acrylic on canvas
Title: Trapped - acrylic on canvas
(this is my life... in paint)
September 19, 2005
Another Day on Auto-Pilot
Monday, Sept. 19, 2005
It's 8:30 p.m. and until about 7 p.m. this evening, not one calorie has passed my lips since Thursday morning about 10 a.m. I however, am incredibly weak for having given in. I had a bagel, with fat-free cream cheese. Easily 250 calories wasted. Then I had to go and eat some baby carrots afterwards, and the a huge glass of diet soda followed that. What a waste of breath and space. Such a waste of food too, as I'm about to go "take a shower" (aka. puke).
I feel horribly disgusting. My stomach feels as though it's stretched to the limit and my mind is suddenly on warp speed. I want to cut, to puke, to run mile after mile. I want to scream and cry and throw something. But, I remain silent. I remain calm to the outside world while the internal world is spinning out of control. Nothing makes sense. I don't make sense to myself. I know I should call Judy. Or go watch T.V. with Pete or something. But right now-- neither of those options will get rid of the food I so selfishly consumed. One bagel and about 15 baby carrots and some diet soda and I feel horrible. The feeling of food just sitting in my stomach is nauseating. I've gotten myself so "trained" at puking on command over the years, that I now only have to think about it and tighten my stomach muscles. Hence, I've perfected the art of the "silent puke". Gross. But at least I don't have to stick something down my throat. Good God! This horribly uncomfortable feeling must be my punishment for eating.
I can't believe I almost made it to 4 1/2 days CALORIE FREE, and three hours before the 4.5 day mark, I ate something. I hate myself. HATE HATE HATE HATE it with every fiber of my being. Sometimes I want to disappear. To just go away. Pete shouldn't have to put up with me. Judy shouldn't have to put up with me. I continually try and then fail over and over again. 16 years of this and I still can't win. No matter what I do or who tries to help. I'm not saying that I'm giving up--- but it's sounding rather good right about now.
I spent the day studying at Judy's. I have two huge tests coming up this week: one in my Educational Psychology Class and the other in my Political Science class. I think I did really well on last weeks' Horticulture exam. I went over right after class. It was about 12:15 or so when I got there and Judy was in session with someone so I just went into the back room as usual. I was there till about 4:30 or 4:45 p.m. and finally left. I couldn't stay focused on ANYthing. I tried. I really did. Just kept thinking about things, and staring out the window and trying not to cry-- for some unexplainable reason. Just one of those days I guess. Anyway, I'm wondering if she even knew I was there today. Usually she at least steps in for a minute, to say hello. Must have been a busy day or something.
Cut again today. In the parking lot of Judy's office. Maybe Pete was right when he said the other day that it's "getting a little out of control". The thing is-- when I cut, I feel in perfect control. I know I'm doing it. I'm pretty methodological about it. Cut, watch it bleed, wipe away the blood, repeat, repeat, repeat as often as necessary. Put a band-aid on the deeper cuts. Clean everything up, go about my day.
I'm getting a bit too used to living this way. So used to it, in fact, that it feels normal. Doesn't scare me. But it does. I don't know what I'm thinking right now. All I know is that I need to get rid of my earlier consumption. 2.5 hours later, and because my digestive system is so incredibly f**ked up, I know I will get it all up. Even four hours after eating something it will all come up again. Don't even have to try. At least I still have the sanity to know that THAT part of all of this is not normal. But do I care? Not at this moment. Not when I can feel the food just sitting there. It's like I can't be alone anymore. If I am, I either end up cutting or puking or running. In the words of Pink, "... I'm a hazard to myself... Don't let me get me... I'm my own worst enemy..."
Posted by Wendy at 7:28 PM
September 16, 2005
When did everything fall apart? I wonder when everything got so crazy and how I got so neurotically fucked up. Wonder when I lost sight of the goal in the first place. There's no goal anymore. No specific weight. No specific number on the scale. Nothing is good enough anymore.
I'm having a tough time lately. Can't deal with my own head or my own life. Why? I don't know. I shouldn't be this way. I should be able to handle this. I have so much to live for, so much going for me. And yet, each day I just keep throwing a little more of it away. And for what reason? I wish I knew. I wish I knew where I was headed and why. I wish I knew the reason behind all of this, and the reason I can't give it up, regardless of the fact that there really is a part of me that does want to let go of everything.
I cut today. Again. It's been an everyday occurrance for almost the last week. I just get the idea in my head, and I do it. It's not like I do it the very moment the thought enters... sometimes I can hold off for awhile. Distract myself. Not today.
I've been going to Judy's office during the day when I'm not in class, and it's helped. I don't seem to think so much. The thoughts slow down for a bit. Monday was tough, but I didn't cut while I was there. Couldn't bring myself to do it. I spent most of my time on Wednesday trying to keep focused on studying, but getting distracted by my own head. I was simultaneously fighting the need to cut, with the thought of not doing it. I lost.
I don't know-- the last several weeks have gotten harder and harder. I don't know why, or how to explain it. Pete asks me what he can do to help. If I knew-- I would have told him already. If I knew why I do what I do, or what causes it-- I'd tell him. Or Judy for that matter. But I don't know, and I don't really understand it. There are times I cut when I know exactly why I did it. Like today.
I was supposed to go to Judy's after class. Thoughts of cutting had been in my head since Thursday, and I hadn't yet given in. Being at Judy's is one of my 'safe' places, and I knew I'd at least have 3 or 4 hours safe from myself. Change of plans. I got there, but Judy had gotten a call that someone else had a personal emergency or something and she wasn't home. So, I left. My first and immediate thought was cutting. The blades were in my backpack. The bandaids too. Got on the highway. Pulled out the blade. Cut. Numerous times. Watched it bleed for a moment and instantly felt calm. Covered it with a band-aid, adjusted my watch over it.
Haven't eaten since half a fat free, sugar free yogurt yesterday (Thursday) about 10 a.m. (It's now 2:12 a.m. Saturday morning). 80 cals. Mad at myself for cutting over something so stupid. Big deal. So Judy wasn't there. Someone else needed her more, and who I am to get upset about that? The only one I should be upset with is myself for being so.... so needy... in the first place. I'm not supposed to need things. To want things. It's against the rules. Why? Just because.
So-- I guess the cutting was partly in order to deal with the sudden change of plans. Partly to deal with.... disappointment (????). I think the only way I avoided cutting on Thursday was knowing I'd be in a safe place on Friday, and told myself it would all be ok if I could just make it until then. And when that was just sorta taken away-- even if temporarily, and unintentionally-- I wasn't sure what to do. So, handled it the only way I knew how.
Pete was working in the yard this evening and went to turn on the sprinkler to water the lawn. My car was in the driveway with the windows down, so he opened up the door to roll them up before he turned the water on. Saw the blades and the bandaids sitting on the front seat. Asked about it not long after. His asking about it only led to further anxiety and stress and a host of unexplainable feelings. Again, my only thought was cutting.
Pete says I'm out of control. Says I need to get a grip on this. I could tell, once again-- he was holding back tears. I HATE myself in those moments. Complete and total DISGUST for being me, and for hurting Pete in that way. I tell him Sorry. It's a redundant phrase. His only response anymore is "I know". As though my apology has no meaning anymore. No merit. As if my guilt-ridden utterance is nothing more than a waste of my breath. Probably is. So is most of what I have to say. That's why I don't say much of anything to anyone.
So-- in addition to feeling guilty for being disappointed that Judy wasn't home when I got there, and guilt for cutting over it, I also felt guilty about hurting Pete by something I do to hurt MYSELF. So- I didn't eat today. Nothing. Coffee and Diet Mt. Dew. Nothing more. Maybe I'll just keep this up for awhile. Just to see how strong I really am. Just to see how far I can go.
Posted by Wendy at 11:49 PM
September 13, 2005
Spiraling Once Again
When did everything change? When did everything begin to fall apart? I feel like I'm clawing my way through life, fighting for every breath, every step-- and I never get ahead.
I cut last Friday morning. It had been a long night, only got about 3 hours of sleep, and I woke up already dreading having to make it through the day. I love the solitude of night-time. The quiet stillness when everyone and everything around me has stopped flying through the day in warp-speed, always on the move. Granted-- my thoughts don't stop when everyone else slows down-- but lessening the external chaos lessens the magnitude of my overactive mind.
I even skipped class last Friday because it was such a "not good"
day. If one were to look up the term "self-sabatage" in the dictionary, I'm sure I'd be referenced somewhere amongst the definitions. I'm going to school to finish my degree, and yet-- when things get too overwhelming, school-work sorta gets put on the back-burner, so-to-speak. I end up giving in to Ana, instead of going to class. It's only the 4th week of school and I've already missed at least one day in each class.
It's no one's fault but my own (well, minus the two days I drove around campus for nearly an hour looking for a damn parking space within a 2 mile radius). The other days I either fell back asleep after Pete left for work (instead of going to the gym... I'm such a lazy fat-ass) or because I simply couldn't find the energy or motivation to leave the house. I missed one of my lecture classes because I fell asleep in the student center and woke up 45 minutes into the hour-15 min class.
I'm digging my own grave, and I know it, and yet... I just keep digging. Despite the hands outstretched to help. Despite the knowledge of what I am doing to myself and where this path will eventually lead me. I just keep going, falling further and further down this spiral. And I wonder how long before I reach the bottom. I wonder how much more of this I can take.
It helps that I've been going to Judy's on my short-schedule days. It's easier to stay focused on studying when I don't have other distractions around (like the dogs or the phone or any of a number of other things I find to do instead). It also keeps me safe from myself. Last Friday and Monday both had the potential of turning into days of continued self-destructive behavior. I debated for a little while about going to Judy's on Friday. Ended up going, which was good. And then Monday, I went to the office for about 5 hours. Both her office and her house are safe places for me. I don't know why-- but they are. And safety-for me- is hard to find. I carry my blades on me... my purse, backpack, car. It's a sick form of safety in knowing that should the overwhelming need arise to cut, I can do it. Monday-- even at Judy's office-- was tough though. I considered cutting. The blades were right there just an arm's length away. I spent most of the day trying to study, simultaneously trying to keep the thoughts at bay. Didn't work so well, but at least I didn't cut.
I hate it when Pete notices the cuts. I know how much it hurts him, and I hate that I am the cause of it. I hate it. But I don't control it. I've been wearing long-sleeved shirts around him since Friday, even though it's been in the 80's and 90's. Sometimes, I really AM cold-- even in that sort of heat-- but he figured out the other reason for the long-sleeves. I guess when Pete woke up this morning to get ready for work, he turned on the light. During the night my sleeves had moved up putting the cuts in plain view. The last week or so I've been up late (2 or 3 a.m.) studying, and so Pete's been letting me sleep in a little. Not today. Today he woke me up. I could tell just from the way he was acting that something was up, cause he was quieter than usual. He went outside to put his shoes on, and I followed him, intending on telling him goodbye before he left.
From out of nowhere, he brought up the cutting. I instantly felt sick. It's more like a mix of anxiety and fear and shame and guilt and probably a bunch of other things, all spinning around inside. When Pete asks about things like that, I can't lie to him. I don't WANT to in the first place. (It's more that if he doesn't ask, I don't say anything). I apologized (once again), and his only response was "I know", a conversation we've had on numerous occassions. He brings it up, I apologize, but he won't accept it.
I could sense the disappointment in his voice, in his actions. I hadn't cut in about a week or 10 days, and "you just threw it all away." (his words). Fuck. As if I don't know that already. As if I'm not aware of that every time I do it. I don't even count days anymore, cause I know it doesn't last.
The sick thing? The deeper I cut, the harder I do it and the more times I do it (in one occurrance), the longer I go between cutting. The cutting takes awhile to heal, and while it's healing-- I don't always have that pressing need to cut again. But then again, I interfere with the healing process as well, believing for some reason (fill-in-the-blank) I deserve it.
I tell Pete I promise I'll call when things get bad. I'll wake him up; I'll do ANYthing but give into the behaviors. And at the time, I have every intention of doing so. But when it comes down to it-- in those moments I feel completely and totally alone. It's just me and my thoughts and I'm not the one in control. I tell Judy I'll call, but I rarely ever do. I think it's more from guilt than anything. I feel bad for having to depend on other people to get me through. I feel bad for waking her up in the middle of the night just because I can't deal with my own head.
I'm already spending 13-15 hours a week either at the office or her house. I wonder sometimes why she suggested it in the first place. Why would she do that for ME? Why not one of her other clients instead? As much as I need the safety, I also feel guilty for needing it in the first place.
Anyway, Pete started talking about how he hates watching me slowly kill myself; how he hates feeling so helpless. He went on about how he's never seen me this bad; he's never seen me so out-of-control. Said the past doesn't matter anymore and I have to stay focused on the future, OUR future specifically. I know that. But what I don't think HE gets sometimes is how helpless I feel in not being able to control this. How desperately I wish I could just make this all go away, and that I could be 'normal'. He gets choked up when we talk about it. The guilt I feel for causing HIM to feel that way immediately makes me feel like cutting again. A never ending cycle.
Pete asked if he was going to have to start doing "checks" to make sure I'm not cutting. Then, when I didn't respond-- he said he thinks he's going to anyway. Just the same as when they used to check HIM for track marks. He was inpatient for a month. He didn't get the choice to go or not. I was given the choice starting at about the age of 17 (still legally underage), and when I refused-- no one questioned my decision. I think sometimes it would be easier if I had no choice in the matter. Then it wouldn't be ME deciding, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty for it.
This never ends. Never goes away. I want more from this life. But I don't know where to start. Don't know what to do or what to say. Everything falls apart just as quickly as I begin to rebuild what breaks. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own, and I don't know how much more of this I can take. I'm falling fast inside this illusionary dream-world of illogical rationalizations and self-destruction. And yet, I believe every word. I'm my own worst enemy, fighting myself day and night, even when I sleep. I don't even know the number of times I've woken up in a panic, wondering if the dream I just had was real. Wondering if I ate or not, terrified that it just might NOT be a dream after all.
And it only sets me up for further self-destruction.
Why don't I ask for help in those moments? Quite simply, I'm at my weakest, most vulnerable point then. And I quickly learned years ago that vulnerability is not safe. When Judy or Pete see me like that-- fear takes over. Maybe it's remnants of certain.... er.... things from the past, that still rise up and haunt me when I least expect it. I don't know anymore.
No one seems to understand how strong the thoughts are these days. I don't think I have enough words to adequately explain it all. No one seems to understand the fear, the anxiety simply even walking into the kitchen causes me. I can't even look at food without instantly debating whether or not I'll eat. And if I DO eat, then it's just one more fight as to whether or not I'll purge. And yet-- I can't allow myself to say half of what I want to. I try to make light of everything. Try to laugh it off, even when the nervous-laughter is only a means of keeping things at the surface. Pete says I'm not "congruent" with what I say and do. I say I'm fine-- but he can see differently. Judy said the same thing a few months ago.
Waiting day after day for someone to free me from my self-created prison. Yet, all they can do is find the key, unlock the gate. I'm the one who has to step outside it's borders.
I just wish this all would end.
September 9, 2005
Hiding Amongst Myself
**I often find that poetry expresses my thoughts much more eloquently than I could ever do in speaking. Just thought I'd post this one... for whatever reason...
Hiding Amongst Myself
I hide myself amongst myself
drawing deeper inside this troubled mind.
Are you sure you want to know me?
I starve for countable ribs
and collarbones, spine like my
Starve for wrist bones, and visible tendons
like the laces of my track shoes--
running off every last bit of self
I can live without.
I feel half-dead, but I'm still alive
still here. Doing what they say
"Are you still starving?" she asks.
And I half-want to laugh at
the absurdity of her words.
"Only for the last 16 years..."
I want to say.
This time around is different, though.
This time around I'm quite aware
of the path I'm taking. The road. The reason.
But knowledge isn't enough to break the habit.
Even for you.
Even for me.
Today marks 72 hours. No nourishment.
I just keep on going. Taking this
further, than even I can comprehend.
Is this my beginning... or my end?
Self-imposed starvation just because I can
I long for days of simplicity
and freedom, the
time and attention I never had.
Notice me. But don't notice me.
Acknowledge me. Validate me.
Dare to tear down these walls.
Or simply just let me crawl
into the arms of madness once again.
Let it hold me like a child. Cause
I feel chaotic. A bit crazy. A little wild.
I need my safety back again.
September 8, 2005
So much Time, yet it all disappears
I think I've been avoiding writing again. But what's new? I don't know...
I feel like everytime I sit down to write these days... I can't find the words to adequately describe the chaos of my mind. It all moves around in my head far too fast for me to sort out-- or even comprehend for that matter. And so I avoid writing, cause I don't like writing half-assed, mediocre stuff that only skims the surface. Cause there's so much more that's going on underneath.
School is getting a bit overwhelming. I think it has more to do with my inability to stay focused on things these days. School used to come so easily for me. I never used to have to force myself to stay focused and to study. I always had A's. The further I get into this semester, the more I am seriously considering getting a prescrip. from Dr. Keller for Adderall. Or one of the other ADD meds. I just can't stay focused and that only adds to the anxiety. Cause then I worry about grades and tests and studying, and there just never seems to be enough TIME to get it all done.
Time is one of those things that plays a part in both the world of the unchanging (it's the one constant), yet at the same time, it's forever changing, the hands of the clock forever moving in it's continuous, monotonous circle. Day in and day out.
Judy and I decided to see how it goes with me going to her office Mon. and Wed. after class, and then to her place on Fridays (as she's not in the office). Tuesdays and Thursdays I'm in class all day, so those are relatively "safe" days. The one stipulation, however, is that I eat something on those days, so that she "can be assured that I'm at least eating SOMEthing on those days." We agreed on me drinking an Ensure or a Boost. (I'm a little pissed however, that Ross Laboratories-- the makers of Ensure-- stopped carrying their Ensure Light product. That was "safe" cause it only had about 120 cals and 3 gm. fat. But now, I'm stuck with drinking anywhere from 230-250 cals and SIX gm. of fat!!! Maybe my days at Judy's will be my only "food" days. The other days in between, I'll do my coffee-water-diet soda fast.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are no problem, since I'm in class all day. I swear, UNO has so many anorexics among it's population. I see them all the time. Everywhere. All over campus. And-- as usual, every single one of them is a hell of a lot thinner than I am. I don't get it--- what have I done (except exist) that I deserve to be so incredibly fat?? I have only lost 3 more lbs. in the last TWO weeks. So, I'm sitting at 117 at 5'8.5 I should be around 105 by now. But, no... I had to go and give in this weekend.
My mom's 50th birthday was Monday (Labor day)and so, the whole weekend was family oriented. My aunt flew in from Florida on Friday, then I spent Friday night down in Lincoln for a surprise party my aunt had planned with mom's girlfriends. Then Saturday morning, my cousin and his fiance flew into town. (Christina is awesome though-- we had a great time. She also had/has an ED.... more on that later).
Then.... the biggest surprise of all--- my brother drove up from Oklahoma for the weekend with his girlfriend and my two nieces. Talk about shock. I didn't know he was coming, so I had no time what-so-ever to prepare for that....
The nights were late and grew even later. I ended up spending most of the weekend at my parents' house, staying up till all hours of the night drinking coffee and playing cards or just talking with my aunt and with Christina. Then Monday, Kevin had planned another surprise party for mom for all their family and friends. They ended up having about 120 people over to the house. I get overwhelmed when just the immediate family is around. But when there's absolutely NO space... ugh.
So-- how does this weekend play into my fatness?? I purged about 4 times over the 5-day weekend. I know-- I'm disgusting and fat and gross and I should NEVER have given in and listened to anyone. If they wanted to bitch and complain about my lack of eating, and about everything else, I should have just let them do it. But no. I was weak. I stepped back into my little role of being the perfect little daughter who does everything she's told-- only because I knew I had an escape. I could keep them all happy, yet keep the tormenting thoughts from invading my mind. All I had to do was purge. I hate that I did it. No-- more than that. It's not just that I hate I purged, but that I allowed myself to eat in the first place.
I don't know what my problem is. But I really don't have any "safe" foods anymore. Baby carrots and pretzles used to be ok, but I can't stand the feeling of solid food in my stomach. Sometimes even drinking to much WATER causes me to feel like I've gained 20 pounds, and I feel like I have to purge so that my stomach is flat and my hipbones still stick out, and I can still count ALL the ribs. Who the hell pukes up WATER? My god.
Yesterday Judy asked what I liked about myself, and I really couldn't answer that question. The one thing I thought of-- I told her probably wasn't a good thing-- and she decided not even to go there. Probably a good thing. I like my eyes-- only because it's the one thing I get the most compliments on, and when I did this make-up thing with Keri last fall a few of the makeup artists there told me I had "perfectly shaped eyes". They said makeup artists like eyes such as mine because they could do all sorts of things with color and eyeliner etc. and it would always look great. The other thing I like is... my back and my shoulders. Why? Cause of the bones. hehehe I love how my collarbone sticks out like two handlebars with deep pockets beneath. I love seeing the edge of that bone on the edge of my shoulder. I love being able to twist my arms in various positions and then seeing the muscle fibers stretch tight. And I love being able to count my ribs, and see my spine... almost like.... a stegasoraus or something. And my hip bones.
Why am I like this? Why isn't being thin good enough anymore? I have to see the bones. I occasionally visit some of the so-called pro-ana sites I used to go to, and they are no longer "triggering" for me. Their "thinspiration" pics are not thin enough anymore. I look in the mirror and don't see that I've lost any weight. If anything-- I look like I've gained weight. But the scale says differently. It must be lying. There's no way I can weigh 117 and look like I weigh 170. I'm not being illogical. I'm being realistic.
Ya know-- one thing I find really humorous about all these pro sites, and about the media which refers to various pages of these sites--is that they all have the "Anorexic Creed" and the "Letter from Ana" and the "rules". But what people fail to realize, and fail to give credit for, is that they were all originally written by a therapist who wrote them after having worked with a number of clients who shared similar ideas of what "Ana" told them, or their beliefs or whatever. The media portrays it as some sick documentation--proof-- that we are all f-ed up and out-of-touch with reality. Too bad nobody has ever bothered to check their sources. First rule of journalism. First rule that one is NEVER to break in publishing, whether by print or radio or television. I believe it's called plagerism.
Pete isn't happy with me. After having gone all week eating nothing (Judy didn't ask me to drink the Boost at her office on Wednesday, so.... I didn't. [grin]) I gave in today and had some yogurt. And then, since I knew I was going to purge anyhow (damn guilt gets me every time) I ate half a bowl of dry cheerios. Granted, my "binge" was probably less than what a normal person would eat for breakfast, but regardless of that fact-- I still ate. And I still purged. And when I got home from class tonight about 9 p.m., Pete eventually brought it up. I couldn't lie to him, but I know it hurts him.
He said he hates seeing me like this. He hates watching me slowly disappear and know there's nothing he can do to stop it. He knows he can't fix things. And I hate myself for making him hurt because of something I do to hurt mySELF. I don't do it to hurt anyone but me. Because it gives me control. No matter what anyone says or does to me, or anything they ever said or DID to me-- I know I can always hurt myself so much worse than they ever could. Sick-- maybe. But it gives me strength in a twisted sort of way.
I think another part of all of this is the hurricane. I can't stop watching the news. I feel so helpless... hopeless. I watch all these people just wandering around aimlessly with nothing left but the clothes on their back, confused as to what the future holds. I know that feeling all too well. And then-- I feel guilty everytime I get a drink of water-- knowing many of the people there don't have fresh water. I feel guilty even THINKING of eating, knowing people there have gone days without food, unintentionally. I feel guilty for having a house to sleep in, and my dogs at my feet at night. For being able to drive my car to campus and go to my classes.
In short--I feel guilty for having the material things I have, when all these other people only have their lives. If I could-- I would honest to God switch places with any one of them. What makes me deserve to have what I do-- when so many others lost everything they've worked for in a matter of minutes? What makes me so f-ing special? Nothing. Not one damn thing. There's no rhyme or reason. No explanation. No answers. And so the only thing I can do is send money, feel guilty for not being able to do more, and watch the news. Maybe I'm just hoping for the positive to arrive, as though it exists somewhere below the depths of the water slowly being drained out. As though one of these days, it'll emerge.
I feel like I'm caught in quicksand. I'm completely surrounded and the more I struggle, the more I fight to get out, the further it engulfs me. How much longer till I give up? How much longer until I can't keep fighting? The answer scares me cause I know if I keep living this way, it won't be long. Yet at the same time-- this obsession, this self-destruction, this supposed ability to control my life past biological, humanistic drives fascinates me. I am stronger than my body, my mind. I can disappear as slowly or as quickly as need be.... whatever the situation or state of mind requires.
In the words of a poem by Nicci from the group Golden Palominos: "... How wonderful, to let yourself go that crazy. How wonderful, to not care if you come back to tell your story..."
Sometimes, the darkness fascinates me. Pulls me in a little deeper. Let's me breath for just a moment before dragging me back down. And I wonder how far I have left to go before I reach the bottom...