A friend of mine, on her photo-blog wrote: "I guess that my career and my life will be filled with a perpetual struggle to find my voice. In a way, that's comforting, and if nothing else, it won't be boring."

I am always amazed at the random moments when little things like this find their way into my day, catch me off guard and make me think about things. Example of random moment: It's 1:40 a.m. and I am in the middle of writing a 22 page IEP for my psych class. For whatever reason, I decided to check out A's blog and see what's new, and I stumbled upon the above referenced paragraph.

And I read it once. Then twice. Then sat and thought about it and read it once more. Because I understand it. And I can relate to it. And I know exactly what it means. If there were a single phrase to sum up the... intensity... of my art or my writing or what goes on inside my head 24/7, she just wrote it: in essence, it all comes down to that "perpetual struggle to find my voice".

The difference between us, however, is the fact she has embraced that ideology as one of comfort; something to look forward to, whereas I've always faced the struggle in defensive mode, ready to fight. But maybe I've been wrong....

And maybe the difference between living and a life is found, not in the degree to which one succeeds in finding her voice and making it heard, but in having a voice to find in the first place. Without that constant, continual fight--- you are silenced. And a spirit whom is silenced begins to die. And you become empty. Numb. A shadow or a shell of your former self, with nothing constant to hold onto. I've always said my ED was my one and only constant. My comrade. My stability and the one thing I could depend on when everyone else walked away. And in some ways, this is true. But maybe I've been wrong on this too. Because the fight has always been there. It's not the ED that has been the constant-- but rather, the struggle to find my voice, my space, my place in this world. That struggle has never gone away. When all else is stripped away-- what is real will still remain. When you take away every factor that plays a part in my ED-- food, body image, family, weight, husband, etc. and on and on.--- the one thing that remains is me. Wendy. Still trying to make my voice heard in a world that moves too fast for me to keep up. And I'm forever falling backwards, being left behind. And instead of fighting for it, embracing that struggle as one that lets me know I'm still alive, I've spent all these years fighting against it. Keeping it quiet. Not saying what I need to or want to. Not saying what's in my head or what I feel. Sometimes I even keep those things from myself, so that-- when asked-- all I can do is sit there and say, "I don't know". I think mostly it's a fear of simply just allowing myself to BE. Here. Now. Right this moment. But I spend all this time looking backwards, trying to make sense of things, or looking forward trying to get everything figured out. In the meantime, I miss the everyday stuff. The little things. The seemingly unimportant things. (On second thought-- it's those "everyday stuff" sort of things that make life what it is. Without it, life would be nothing more than a series of empty moments. And emptiness only fuels the hunger, the drive, the need to find one's voice.)

Interesting thought: A searches for meaning hidden inside photographs; finds her voice by turning pictures into words.
I search for images, meanings, metaphors hidden in words, find my voice by turning words into pictures.

It's a universal struggle, regardless of the art-form, I suppose.......

(And the cynic in me jumps in and asks: "How can you go searching for yourself when you don't even know who you're looking for?")

Good question-- but one I can't answer.

In October, I was diagnosed with ADHD, combination type, adult form. It is a relief, in some ways, to have that diagnosis: to know that my lack of organizational and time management skills have a reason; to know that my poor performance in school over the past couple of years is not entirely of my own doing; to know that my quirkiness about things like waiting in long lines, or sitting in movie theaters, crowded shopping centers and the like have an actual reason besides merely just being weird. I started on Adderall this past fall, and the difference has been like night and day. I know some people don't respond to Adderall or Ritalin and do just fine with learning how to manage their days and to live with ADHD in a functional manner. For me, the medication has been a god-send.

In fact, for me, it has worked better than any of the antidepressants I've tried, without the horrendous side-effects of the effexor. I still have minor withdrawl effects if I run out of my prescription and can't get a refill right away (I have to have a new prescription written out every month by my dr., as Adderall is a class II drug and non-refillable.) But it has helped immensely with *everything*: the depression is nearly non-existent (though I have my days), the anxiety is minor now and at manageable levels; and most importantly, the constant stream of random, nonsensical and often incomprehensible, random thoughts 24/7 have nearly disappeared. Yes, I still think and mull things over quite often, but not like before. I can focus in class and actually get something out of the lectures. I can sit through tests without getting overwhelmed, and subsequently "drawing a blank". My GPA last semester was a 4.0. And it's looking like this semester will be more of the same.

I still have a fairly big problem with time management, and getting places on time, though I'm never more than a few minutes late (partly due to the fact that my lead foot has not yet succeeded in getting me a speeding ticket!)

I still struggle with intake and getting my calorie level up. Some days I simply just don't want to eat. I know part of that is due to the Adderall, but it's a matter of choosing the better of two evils. Adderall is a stimulant, and therefore can act as an appetite suppressant. Yet I would rather have the struggle of trying to get enough calories in during the day (and being pretty much ok with eating), than to still struggle to follow my meal plan and also fighting the guilt that follows for the rest of the day. I don't generally feel guilty for eating anymore, and therefore have rarely purged since leaving treatment. There have been a few times, yes, but not like before, when I pretty much ate about 500 calories a day, purging anything over that, and also working out at the gym for 3 - 4 hours a day. Now, I'm able to leave the gym after about half that time and be ok with it.

I know I still have issues to work through, and I know this fight is one that probably won't be over for awhile yet--- but I can only hold onto the hope that one of these days, that ever-elusive "other side" will be waiting for me.

January 2007

I still struggle on a daily basis, trying to get my calorie level even close to the minimum requirements. I've lost all the weight I'd gained over 6 months while IP, in less than 3 months. Therapist is not happy. Obviously. And while a part of me IS happy about it, (as the anxiety, depression etc. was the worst it's ever been, due to unaccepting the weight gain), a part of me is also worried. The ED thoughts are so much less intense, and I often don't think about food or weight or eating. But that in itself is an issue, because then I forget to eat. But losing the weight has never been easier. I didn't see it, didn't notice it. I'd managed (somehow) to convince myself that my clothes (from after IP) still fit the same, even as my husband and others made comments about how big they were getting. I denied it, made excuses.

And I'm still torn on being ok with where I'm at, and wanting to lose more weight. It's been so easy thus far, if I just keep doing what I'm doing, I'll lose it fast. But at the same time, I don't want to go back where I was. I can't do that again. Not just for me, but for my husband, my job, school---- all the people I've hurt over the years by the things I do to myself.

And yet--- even this knowledge doesn't keep me from wandering that same path.
It's a long road. Confusing. Lonely.
I'm just trying to make my way to the other side without losing myself in the process.

My friend, Alyssa Schukar, a photojournalist, is doing a project on eating disorders. She followed me around for several months, documenting my life on film. Even meeting me up in Canada at the treatment center. She's put up a mini-version of the project on her website

Click on the second photo that comes up, where it stays "Story". And see a small clip of the project.

Let me know what you think! Either here or via email--- Enigma0526@yahoo.com

I also just got a new job yesterday. At the Autism Center of Nebraska, working with/teaching autistic kids. I'm soooo excited about this job. My so-called 'passion' is teaching special needs kids. I've changed my major numerous times, and a few years ago, got a job at an elementary school here. I knew that teaching SPED was what I wanted to do, so I once again changed my major. To me, there is nothing better. If money weren't ever an issue, I would STILL teach. I don't care how much money I make, I just love doing it. It's not a job to me, and I actually look forward to going to work every day.

The best part of this new job is that my first client is one of my former students-- Allie-- who is the main reason I fell in love with teaching. How much more perfect can you get than that?

I still struggle on a daily basis with the eating disorder, but not nearly to the same extent as I did before I went inpatient. I've had a couple of 'slips' since I've been home, but nothing major. I also have not cut in almost 2 months, which is nearing my 10 week record.

University starts on Aug. 21, and I'm taking a couple of classes this semester. I decided to do part-time school for now, and see how it goes. I was working full time and going to school full time, and it was far too much at one time. We'll see how this semester goes, and maybe up the classes next semester. I'm getting ready to just get done with school and get my degree already. I've been out of high school now for 9 years!. And have been in college ever since, but don't have enough classes in one degree area to have a degree yet. I'm one or two classes away from several different degrees, but just never finished them. Maybe one day I will, but the teaching degree is my priority right now.

I have my good days and my bad days, and I know what I need to do--- I just don't always do it. Pete works long hours and most days leaves the house around 6:30 a.m. and doesn't get home until sometime after 7 p.m. So that makes meals tough, because I'm on my own for every single one. While I was inpatient, I got used to always having someone else there to eat with, or keep me on track. Now I'm on my own. That has caused problems at times, as I tend to just skip meals on occassion. I know I'm still under where I need to be--calorie wise-- but I'm working on that. Maybe not as hard as I should be... but it's going ok.

I see Judy today at 1 and then I start the new job today at 5 p.m.
I guess sometimes if you just hold on, if you just keep believing and trusting that things will work out the way they are supposed to, they will. So often, things don't go how I think they should go, or want them to go, and I end up sabotaging my own efforts in search of the "quick fix". Patience really is a virtue to hold onto.

And another:

Body Image was a definite issue when I returned, as I had gained about 23 pounds while in treatment, and could NOT deal with that. Especially when my twin sister is still active in her own eating disorder. Yeah, body image plays a huge part still in how I feel about myself, the day, life in general. But I think I'm more aware of it now, than I was before. I can sometimes figure out why I feel upset, or want to isolate or whatever, and it's mostly when the body image is incredibly negative.

My first couple of sessions with my therapist here were tough, as I'd been seeing her for nearly 9 years, saw 3 different therapists while inpatient, and then returned to my sessions with her. A lot of stuff was brought up in IP therapy, and I dunno....I think it's new territory for both of us. I got used to a new way of 'doing' therapy, which then made my therapist's usual way not as productive. I think it's something we just have to kind of work on as we go, and take things in whatever direction they go and just deal with it. It's good to be back though.

I've been updating my xanga journal quite a bit since I've been home, and it also has some updated photos in there. (This site doesn't allow photos yet-- at least as far as I know). So, you can go to my XANGA site if you want to check out what I've been doing since I've been home.

I just updated my website From The Depths and will continue to update it with some of the paintings/artwork I did while I was inpatient, and some new photos, etc. I haven't done a lot of work on it over the last few months so I figured it's time to revamp the site a bit.

June 6, 2006

I hate the interior so much that I attempt to tame the internal rage by destroying the body it is housed in. I despise me. Can not stand being in my own skin these days, can not stand living in a body I hate. As each day passes, that hate only intensifies, leaving me to wonder why I'm here when lately all I want to do is run straight back to the familiarity of starvation.

And yet, it is completely and utterly senseless. The logical me knows that. The logical me can separate myself from myself, put everything into perspective and say, "dude... that's fucked up." And yet, somehow, for whatever reason, I still seek solace inself-destruction, justify my actions, justify my thoughts under the guise of "security", "safety".

The days go by, hour after hour and I find myself constantly in a state of anxiety. Even in the moments I'm enjoying whatever it is I am doing, it is always overshadowed by the thought that "it won't last". I am always waiting for the figurative shoe to drop, balancing on the edge, waiting for the inevitable fall. My thoughts, my mood changes, shifts on a daily basis, often numerous times a day. I'm beginning to think I should not have gone off the effexor before I came. But yet again, despite Judy's difference of opinion, I believed I knew what was best for me-- and subsequently found that my belief was grossly inaccurate. I oscillate between 'good' and 'bad', my moods at the mercy of the external world. It changes moment to moment. I woke up this morning feeling fairly positive about the day ahead. Less than four hours later, I'm sitting on the front porch, this overwhelming feeling of anxiety and sadness and god-knows what else leading me to the state-of-mind I have been stuck in for the last 13 hours. I don't want to feel this way, don't want to BE this way. And I fight so f---ing hard to make it appear I'm ok. But where then, does that leave me? Overcome by this pervasive and insiduous desire to return to the eating disorder. I think, in some ways, I undermine my own recovery simply for the fact that I cannot accept change.

Bryan said it perfectly to Lauren this morning, whenhe said that I was a "reluctant success." I do what I have to do here; make small, tentative steps forward, but I hate every f---ing minute of it. I take the knowledge, the tools offered, accept them for what they are but hesitate to allow myself to apply those things to my own life. It's ok for everyone else, but not me. And I can't explain why. In no way do I think that I am "better" than anyone else, or more special or whatever term one wants to use; in all actuality, it's quite the opposite. I hate the fact that I have to eat, that it's a physiological need in the first place. I hate the fact that something as simple as eating has become this war of morals in my head, as I calculate each day the level of my "worth-ness" or acceptability based solely on the sum of calories I've consumed. I fight against those who try to help. Yet at the same time I push them away, I'm silently pleading for their return, their help. Hoping someone notices the lie behind the smile, the tears pounding at the door of the nervous laughter. Constantly say I'm fine, when I'm anything BUT...

I have gained weight since I've been here, and I'm NOT okay with it. I DO NOT want to just accept it. And the bigger I get, the more it intensifies the self-hatred. It invades every aspect of my life. Even with my running-- I feel like the extra weight is dragging me down, holding me back. There is truth in the idea that losing weight will improve running performance. Lower body weight means a higher VO2 max, thereby increasing a person's endurance and ability to run in the first place. The trick to the "game" however, is figuring out the fewest number of calories one can consume in a day and still reach adequate levels of performance, and then maintaining that. Some of my BEST running times came at (almost) my lowest weight. My problem is that I took it too far, assuming that I would be even faster if I weighed less.

But back then, running made everything disappear, much in the same way that cutting does now. I found a sense of freedom in my running that I hadn't found elsewhere. I could run, anytime day or night and the longer I ran, the more the thoughts and feelings disappeared. I too, wanted to disappear, and I figured-- on some level-- I had to do it a little at a time. Start with the feelings, move onto the thoughts, and disappearance of the body itself would follow.

I know that is utterly illogical, but yet, when this all began I had no one there to reframe that ideology and it thus became a belief. I think in many ways, I'm still attempting that same thing. As I slowly lose my grip on the one safety net I've always had (eating disorder), I find myself seeking solace wherever I can find it. Try to rekindle it through running more and more, through cutting, drinking, getting high. Sometimes I feel completely out of control. Overwhelmed. Anxious. It seems everything-- my thoughts, feelings, the world around me is moving at warp speed and all I can do is sit here in a silent daze, waiting for it to stop. (Or at least slow down long enough for me to stand up again.) How is it possible to go to such extremes in the course of a day--or an hour for that matter-- and still maintain any sense of stability? That in and of itself leads meto brief (and fleeting) moments of awe at my own resiliency.

Physically, yes-- I'm stable, but on the mental/emotional side of the pendulum, I've swung so far in the opposite direction, I wonder sometimes if it's even possible to come back down again; wonder if it's worth the fight; if I'M worth the fight. Hope never completely disappears, yet sadly, some days, I simply don't care enough to care in the first place.

I feel like all of this random stuff in my head is pointless... meaningless to anyone else but me. And yet at the same time, I know there has to be SOMEthing to it, or else I wouldn't still be stuck here. But I don't know how else to explain it or to say it, don't know where to go from here. I question everything, analyize everything, find that--despite all my efforts-- I am merely left in a toxic state of absolute uncertainty...

"How will you know I'm hurting, if you cannot see my pain?
To wear it on the body tells what words cannot explain."
--G. A

It's been a long, hard road. It's been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it is the one thing that has made all the difference. Yes, it's been hell. Yes, I've spent weeks balancing precariously on the edge, wondering which way to fall. Wondering which road to take, which path is really the best option. I find sanctity in sickness, but I'm also finding it in health as well. I think sometimes I forget just what life was like. I haven't purged in almost 14 weeks. I'm still working on the restricting though, even after 4 months. And the cutting has been more prominent as of late. I went 10 weeks without doing it even once, and then things got chaotic. I spent two weeks at home at the end of April-- due to my grandfather's unexpected death. But I did get to see him before he died.

Those two weeks at home were much harder than I'd expected, and I wasn't at all prepared for it. Within half an hour of getting the phone call from my mom, I was in the car, headed for the airport.
Read my xanga site (www.xanga.com/anarunner) if you want more updates from my time here at Westwind. I've been keeping that one fairly regularly updated.

My time at home really threw me off track and it's been hard getting back. I'm working on getting my intake up to 1200 a day, 1000 minimum. And some days, that's an incredible struggle. But I'm not completely giving up yet.

It seems so much easier sometimes to just give up the fight. To just go back to the way things used to be. But-- glamourization aside-- it was hell. Read my past journal entries. Sometimes I have to go back and reread poetry, journals, old emails to remind myself of why I need to keep working and keep moving forward. I can't go back to that life, no matter how much I may want to at times.

My four month "anniversary" here was yesterday. I've been here since January, and it looks like it'll be another month or so before I leave. But I want to be in a place where I can maintain my progress for a few weeks, because it'll be a hell of a lot harder to make any big changes once I get home. Even gradually increasing my intake will be hard there, and I'm not in a place right now where I've even reached an acceptable intake level.

But anyhow--- I'm doing ok here. I'm making progress even though it's hard to see that at times.
All I can do now is just keep moving forward....

I've been struggling with coming up with an exit date for here and wondering when I think I'll really be ready to leave. But really-- how do you know that for SURE? I know I'm not going to be 100% "fixed" when I go home, but I don't want to leave too early and not be ready.

I'm thinking of going home for a week the first week of May. Several friends are graduating that weekend, and are then moving out-of-state. So I don't want to miss that. But when I originally had thought of leaving at the end of April, beginning of May, I think the reason for setting that day was in order not to miss their graduations. I'm not so sure that day was because I thought I'd be actually ready to leave then.

So...Jen and I came up with an idea. I may go home for a week at the beginning of May as sort of a "trial run" and see how things go. If they go well, I'll come back here, put in my 2-weeks notice and work on plans for when I get home. If any issues come up that I hadn't thought of, I'll still have those two weeks to work on it. If I find I'm definitely not ready to go home yet--- at least I'll know that too.

I dunno....... I need to talk to my parents about it, and about getting a plane ticket. Pete was all for it, as were several therapists here that I've talked to about it. So.... we'll see. Who knows--- maybe in another month, I'll find that I AM ready to go home.

But Pete is coming up to visit for a few days and will be here sometime early afternoon on Friday. I'm excited. I miss home and everything about it. But I know that-- at least for right now-- this is where I need to be. I was aiming to be out of here by the first week of April--- but as that is next week already, that is NOT going to happen. Maybe the end of April. I'd like to be out of here by May, though.

It's so weird to think that by the time I get home, the seasons will have totally changed. I left just at the beginning of our "winter" season in January (which is usually when Nebraska starts getting all their shitty weather) and when I return, it will be headed towards summer. Spring in Nebraska is beautiful --- and I will have missed it almost completely. In a strange sort of way, it's like being stuck in this alter-universe, this time-warp. My entire life has been put on hold basically for the last 3 months (four, by the time I return), yet everyone and everything at home has still been moving on without me. It's weird. But when I think of how many YEARS I've given up to the eating disorder, four months doesn't really seem all that long in comparison.

The days go by fairly quickly here-- at least in retrospect. Some days never seem to end, but time just keeps moving on. Time is one of those things you can never really understand. It's the only constant thing ANY of us has, and yet at the same time, it's the one thing that is forever changing. You can't stop time. You can't accelerate it. You can only sit with it as it goes by, and hope you don't go mental in the process.

I spend too much time looking foward to the future, too much time looking back on the past, but not enough time just enjoying the moments HERE and NOW, for what they're worth. Maybe the old adage is true: the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But ya know what? Even when it seems better over there-- they still gotta mow it, too. (hee hee hee).

I'm currently in this wierd state of being where I want so desperately to move past all of this-- yet at the same time, I want to hold onto everything I've known all these years. I don't really HAVE (or maybe, just don't remember) a beginning point for the eating disorder where I can look back and divide my life into a "before" or an "after". It's always just been there. I don't know what normal is for me, cause for all these years, normal WAS the eating disorder. That was MY normal. I don't have that point of reference where I can say "I want to go back to how it used to be... BEFORE". Cause that point just isn't there. In a strange sort of way, I think people who have that point of reference have it a bit easier than those of us who don't. They at least can remember what living was really like.

I dunno--- I drive myself crazy with my own circular pattern of thoughts these days. Everything has a justification, a reason. But reasons on both ends of the spectrum and I have a hell of a time figuring out which one is the truth. Even trying to negate the negative thoughts with more positive ones leads to opposing thoughts negating the positive ones-- if that makes any sense. Perhaps I should just stop. I'm starting to confuse myself with my own random ramblings.

I hate being in this place of ambiguity. Of not caring... of wanting everything yet nothing at all. I don't know. Lately I'm finding it hard to even want to be here. I start second-guessing myself, questioning my decision to be here. Wondering if maybe it's better to just stay where I'm at, than fighting to change everything. Everything I do these days ends up in this internal battle in my head. Half of me wants to do what I'm "supposed to" or what I know I need to do, and the other half of me just wants to say screw it all. But at the same time-- I don't want that. Fuck. And with everything in the house changing--- new people coming, other people leaving-- I'm finding it less and less "safe". I don't deal well with change, especially when it's people. Environment is one thing; people are different.

It seems I had just finally gotten to the point where I felt like I knew people fairly well, and had built a friendship with Brooke and I was more comfortable talking in group and opening up about things. But now that most of the group is new--- that safety, security I had just a couple of weeks ago is gone. I'm the sort of person who doesn't ask for help, let alone admit it in the first place. I have to be the "strong" one. I feel bad just going into session and venting about one thing or another or talking about things when I'm not in a good place, mentally/emotionally. Like I have to be the "good" client here. The one who is always ok, and always moving forward. I'm the same way with Judy back home. And I know that's not the expectation. I know (on some level) that I'm allowed to have "bad" days.... but I've always been one to deal with the bad days on my own. I guess my rationale for that, is because I don't want to bring anyone else down with me. If I'm gonna fall, I'll do it on my own, cause no one else deserves that.

Yeah--- there are people here I DO trust-- but I don't feel like I could just go to one of the staff outside a scheduled appointment time. I don't want to waste their time on something stupid. So I minimize everything. Tell myself to just get over it. I guess maybe it's just that I don't want anyone to think I'm whining or complaining about something trivial or stupid. Maybe the biggest thing right now is just feeling totally and completely alone in all of this. Yeah, there are other people here-- but it's that lonely-in-a-crowd of people sort of thing.
And when I get to that place---- part of me just says fuck it all. Go on auto-pilot and simply just get through the days.

And I don't know how to get out of that..........

I feel like I've reached the breaking point-- once again. Sink or swim, fall or fly-- yet always unsure of the direction I'm headed. I've been here before though. Numerous times. I want "recovery" --just as much, just as intensely-- as I want to hold onto the eating disorder, but neither option feels safe right now. And maybe that's part of the problem. I need my "safety" back again. So I'm grasping at straws, the ends of the rope dangling in front of me, always just out of reach. I can't go back to where I've been, but yet the uncertainty of what lies ahead is just as frightening.

Sometimes I wonder if my fear with eating... with food... is in the knowledge that by normalizing my eating, the more 'feminine' body will eventually arrive. I've been avoiding that my whole life. Fucking around with biology and basic human necessity in order to prevent the inevitable. As though in my own disappearance-- all the guilt or shame or whatever you want to call it-- would disappear along with it.

That in and of itself brings up a whole other set of issues that I've tried to push away most of my life. But it's only temporary. The thoughts are still there, the overwhelming feelings that I've never been able to identify, the self-hatred. All there. And it's hard sitting in session and talking about certain things, when I'm fighting myself just to "stay" there. So much easier to just "go away" until the session is over and the topic ceases. But in the end-- the fix is only temporary.

Small equals safe, in my world. The smaller I could become, the less there was of me to take up space. I didn't want to die, necessarily, but rather, just disappear. If you don't let people in; if you don't let people get close; if you make yourself disappear (or at least get as close to disappearance as possible), then no one can hurt you. Use you.

I don't know. There are days I'm finding it harder and harder to care. Half of me DOES want to get past all of this, and the other half just doesn't give a shitanymore. I've dealt with it this long, why bother changing that? Cause staying where you're at is any better? Easier? Weak is taking the easy way out. When I'm in that place of self-doubt and indecision, self-destruction-- in whatever way possible-- seems the road most inviting. I haven't cut or purged in over 5 weeks, and maybe that's where the restricting comes in. When my two biggest coping mechanisms aren't really an option, that only opens the door for something else to step in. And short of getting drunk every night or getting high, or getting hooked on vicodin or other painkillers again, restricting seems the better of the two.

When I'm overwhelmed by unexplainable thoughts and undecipherable feelings, I retreat to a place of safety I created somewhere inside. A place of silence, calm when chaos surrounds me. No one can hurt, touch me, reach me here. Safety in silence, in shadows, inside the mind. Where you control all, and no one controls you. Safety when the external world becomes too much to handle. Sometimes I wonder if my attempt at explaining things to myself is really only allowing me to succeed in creating more confusion within my own head.

So incredibly true...
I think that's part of my "issue". The letting go. When you've been in a place--- whether it's mental, or physical-- for so long, turning your back on it and just walking away, giving it all up is almost more terrifying than just staying where you're at. For me--- my familiar place is my eating disorder. It's what I know, it's what I've grown up with, it's part of me and how I've defined myself all these years. It's the one thing that's been constant through everything and has always been there. That's not to say it's been easy cause that would be a gross understatement, but at least it's been constant. There's a (twisted) sense of safety, security, comfort in that.

But at the same time--- that comfort zone is what got me to this place. And I know that unless I give it up... ALL of it-- there's no way that I can actually have a full, complete life with Pete, with school, a career, my RUNNING for God sake. I guess I keep thinking that I can still hold onto parts of the eating disorder, and let go of the rest of it-- and be fine. But I can't. It's not possible.

As of Monday, I will have gone 1 month no purging, and today (well, Saturday) marked 6 weeks no cutting. I'm still amazed at the fact that i've gone that long, as those two 'behaviors' were the hardest to break. But it's the restricting that's beginning to kick my ass. It's not even that I'm trying to restrict, or consciously doing it--- but I'm struggling too even get 800-900 calories in during the day. I do NOT enjoy meal times, or look forward to them. There's really no food that appeals to me. I dread having to try and figure out what to eat for each meal. Monday, I'm working with the nutritionist to plan out specifically what I'm going to have each day, in the hopes that it will reduce the anxiety about it.

Today was not so great.... Mostly just doubting myself and why I'm here and wanting to go back home. I miss everything about it, and the fact that I've done pretty good with the cutting/purging is some sort of justification in my head that "I'm fine". But the truth is that I'd go home and go right back to restricting and going to the gym for several hours. The longer I'm here-- the worse the body image gets. I somehow had the expectation that I'd be able to come here and "fix" the behavioral issues, but still be able to remain the same exact size as before. And it's not possible when you go from eating next to nothing and purging what you do eat, and working out for 3 or sometimes 4 hours a day, to keeping everything in and only going to the gym half as long. Whether part of it's water weight or not--- you ARE going gain some weight. And my head will NOT let me accept that fact. I'm still trying to fight against that. I find I'm comparing myself more and more to everyone here, and as always --- (in my head) I'm always the "biggest" one here. And I don't know how to get past that. In a way--- it feels like i'm back to the same place i was when the eating disorder first began. The total disinterest in food, and not caring. The fact that I still see not eating as an accomplishment and eating as a failure. The way I base my entire day on my body image and or self-esteem that day.

I don't know how to explain it. Being here is the best thing I could have done, and yet-- in a way, it seems there were parts of my eating disorder that weren't quite so prominant or so intense. Before I came here-- yeah, I was always working at being smaller or losing weight or whatever, but there were also a number of days that I felt ok enough about myself and how I looked, that it wasn't on my mind 24/7. Yeah-- there were situations in which I compared myself to other people (school, bars, etc.) but I was at least semi-ok with my appearance. Now, half the time I don't even want to leave the house (or even my room some days), because I feel so horribly, disgustingly fat. I don't want people to even see me. And it never used to be that way. I spend most of my days hiding out in huge sweatshirts and yoga pants because I do NOT feel comfortable in anything else. I mostly wear black these days. Dark colors. As though by doing that I'll some how just magically vanish into the shadows. As though people won't be able to see me. It's fucked up. I honestly feel like I've gotten grotesquely HUGE. So why bother wearing anything else or 'getting ready for the day'?? UGH

K. and I went for about a 2 hour walk today after dinner. A. left this afternoon, and it's been hard getting used to that. I don't like saying goodbye. I don't like it when people leave. People have done that my entire life and it never gets any easier. B. leaves next Monday and I hate the thought. By next weekend, 5 of the 8 of us will have left with 5 new girls taking their places. It changes the whole dynamics of the group sessions in addition to everything else. Just when I felt like I was really getting to know people here, and really getting comfortable talking/sharing in group and opening up to people-- the group changes. I have issues trusting people to begin with, so I'm not looking forward to groups this week. I know it's something I just have to accept and get used to, but that doesn't make it any easier. At least K. will still be here with me. She arrived the day after me, so at least we're in this together for the long haul.

Anyhow-- I need to get some sleep. I was up till about 3 a.m. last night, talking to one of the new girls. We had a great conversation, but it left little time for sleeping.

It's so easy to fall back into old habits, old thought patterns. So easy. And then I find myself balancing precariously on the edge, not sure which direction to go. I haven't puked in two weeks now, but yet-- still eating. That in itself is torture on the mind. Then add to that the fact that I'm still about 800-900 calories BELOW what my supposed resting metabolic rate (RMR) is. About 1700-1800 calories a day. NOT factoring in the gym time. It's hard enough just getting in 800 calories a day, consistently, so to think of doubling my intake is terrifying. I already feel like I've gotten HUGE since I've been here, which isn't true--- (at least according to everyone else). But that doesn't make the thoughts go away.

Sometimes I wonder how I let things get this far, to end up at a treatment center. I always thought I could do it on my own; thought that I was strong enough. But maybe being "strong" is asking for help and NOT trying to do everything myself. I dunno. I know I can't go back to the way things used to be if I want a future, and a life with Pete and if I want to keep running. But at the same time, it seems so much easier to go back to what is familiar. I guess I have this warped idea that I can somehow hang onto the eating disorder and still have a normal life. I guess to me--- the word "recovery" is synonymous with "fat". I know that's not true, but in my head it is.

Even though I've been here six weeks already, I feel like I've barely taken any steps. Like I'm just getting started and the finish line is a LONG way off. I guess one way I'll know I'm ready to go home is when the idea of leaving here is exciting, or something I look forward to. Right now-- the idea of going back home is what scares me. Yeah, I miss Pete and my dogs, my sessions with Judy. School and work and my friends. But I know I'm not ready to go back to all that yet.

In the larger picture though-- giving up 3 months of my life to be here is insignificant when compared to the number of years I've had the eating disorder. 3 months out of 16 years is like one second out of a whole day.

Being here is definitely the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But I'm doing ok here. I have my good days and bad days, though most of the "bad" days are due to shitty body-image days. And when you feel like crap about yourself, everything else seems worse off as well. Just one more thing I'm working on in individual sessions.

I need to focus more on ME and take more time during the day/week to just write or paint or whatever. The last couple of weeks, most of my free time is spent with everyone else--- either going for a walk somewhere, or watching a movie or whatever. But I don't take the time to just sit and read or write. I haven't painted in a couple of weeks, and I miss it. Save for the finger painting project we did on Friday for the 4:15 group. Art Therapy. Definitely therapeutic. At least for me it is. But that's the first time in several weeks that I've painted.

I've finished 4 new paintings since I've been here, but I've got more canvas down in the art room waiting to be used. :) The "Westwind Collection" [laughs]. I'll probably leave a couple of them here, one for each house. I definitely want to keep a few of them, as reminders of not only my time here at Westwind, but reminders that I don't want to come back (as a client) after I walk out the door.

I guess right now, that's my long-term goal: to get to a place where I'm ready to leave, and not have to come back again. Maybe setting a date to leave will help. I can re-evaluate that date as it gets closer, but perhaps it will give me motivation. April 9 will be my 3-month mark, so maybe the first week of April?? I've been here 6 weeks already, so maybe 4-6 more weeks will be enough.

I put everyone else ahead of me, being there when people need to talk or need to go for a walk or get out of the house. I'm the one who sits quietly (most of the time) in group and adds to conversations but never shares more than the surface stuff. I don't ask for help or support when I need it, I don't let people know when I'm having a tough day--- I simply tell myself to "suck it up" and get over it. I rarely allow myself to cry in session or in group. And I know I can't be responsible for anyone else's reactions to things, but I don't want to be the one to bring people down when I'm not having a good day. When people ask how I am, or how my day is going-- my typical response is "fine" or "ok" even if I'm having a really shitty day. I tend to minimize things. Tell myself it's not really that bad, that other people have it worse.... anything else but actually admitting that I'm not in a good place. And it's only fucking up my own "recovery".

I still struggle on a daily basis between wanting to give up the eating disorder and fighting like hell to hang onto it. I know I can't have it both ways, and yet-- somehow I think I can. As though I am stronger than biological functioning, and am stronger than it is. But it's bullshit. All of it. My mind is my own fucking enemy and I don't control it and I can't explain it, and half the time I don't even know WHAT I'm thinking cause the thoughts are coursing through my brain on warp speed. And if I try too hard to make sense of everything, I find myself headed even further down the spiral.

It's cold here. The kind of cold that burns your lungs and makes the tips of your fingers hurt-- even with gloves on. But we walk anyway. To 7-11 for coffee, to the "superstore", the mall and Blockbuster. We walk to burn calories, to clear our heads, to just simply get away for awhile. I haven't run since I've been here, mainly for the fact that I'd rather not slip on the three inches of solid ice covering most of the sidewalks here. I'm getting used to it though-- the cold. Many days, it's deceptively sunny. You look out the window and it's perfectly clear and the sun is bright and I half expect it to be quite warm out, though that is never the case. Everything is still, calm, quiet, buried under layers of ice. In a way-- I guess we are too. Life-- REAL lives, buried beneath years of pain and tears and withheld thoughts and feelings, and all the therapy only succeeds in chipping away at the surface. I guess that's a start though. I think I'm more afraid of the 'melting' aspect once the surface is broken.

So I spend my sessions curled up into the smallest ball I can become, drawing my knees up against my chest, wrapped up in a blanket. I still, even here, sit closest to the door. I do that at Judy's office, in her waiting room. I do it in classes at the university. Always spotting the closest door, the closest exit. Just in case. In case what? I guess in case I feel the overwhelming need to escape. To leave. To just get the hell out of there and back into the safety of my own little world.

That's the hardest part. That need to let go of all this, but so desperately wanting to hang on to it. I know where this road will lead me. I know the risks, the certainties that lie ahead if I choose to stay here. I know what I have and what I'd be throwing away, what I've already lost and what I'd be giving up in my future. And yet-- I can't bring myself to let go. I know what I need to do, but I can't bring myself to just fucking DO it already. It sounds so simple, so easy. But it's not. And it's not some fucked up passive-aggressive means of getting someone to notice me, or to take my hand and make me do it or for someone to do it for me. Cause that can't happen. I am the only one who can, in all reality, "save" myself. I'm 28. I guess if I try hard enough and if I want it enough, then maybe someday it'll happen.

The days are one big rollercoaster ride. I change from happy to sad, to frustrated to...... I don't know...., all in the course of a 24 hour period. Or even a few hours. Maybe I should have stayed on the effexor. But then again, I question why. So that I can numb everything and not have to feel because of some pill? Pseudo-happiness in a bottle. It's sad really. Sad that I can't (most of the time), find the joy, the purpose in life. That I have a hard time making myself believe that this is all really worth it, that I am worth it.

It's hard to be content when you're not quite sure what's left to be content about. I've got Pete, my dogs, my art, my running..... but it's not enough to make up for everything else. At least at this point. Those are the only good things I see right now. The rest is lost amidst the chaos.

When is enough finally going to be ENOUGH??