60. The Eye Of The Storm

It’s odd. Every morning i wake up with such bad thoughts surrounding food – the eating disordered ones that is. But by the end of the day, i’ve come to tolerate the anxiety (which is well documented; if you still with a high level of anxiety it eventually goes down and becomes bearable). I’m still engaging in behaviors like weighing myself entirely much more than i should, but my weight is back into the healthy range for my height (110), and it’s been there all week – meaning it’s not merely a matter of bloating, digestion, or dehydration. I’m finding that by the end of the day, my anxiety subsides enough for me to eat calorie dense foods, which is what i’m currently eating. It’s odd, because while it’s still irking me, not enough to send me into a full blown binge. The more i’m forcing myself to stick with this, the easier it’s getting. Day by day.

There’s an eating disorder support group i plan on attending tomorrow before my therapy session (which god am i fucking looking forward to as i have to much to process after these past few days), and i hope that i get something worthwhile out of it. If not, it’s still a helpful trip for me because it gets me out of my dorm, and i can leave early to the library (where it’s held) to focus on getting some more school work done, as i have to memorize all the areas of the brain, as well as study the psychopharmacology of anxiety disorders, depressive disorders, bipolar disorders and alternative treatments… on top of writing 2 papers. Sounds fun eh? Wanna join?

I made a small shopping spree as i was feeling lonely, isolated, and depressed today. So i used the little money i had left to get some groceries (and it ended up turning into a munchie-trip). I was delighted to see that the gluten-free limited edition waffles i adore were STILL being sold, as they’re no longer limited edition! I’m proud of myself for buying food that i normally wouldn’t eat – most of which were fear foods, as they would normally cause binges in the past (waffles, pasta,Starbursts chips, etc.). Like i said, they’re just munchie foods to get me through the week. I have a meal plan on campus i’ve been taking advantage of, as well as plenty of food already in my dorm room.

I’m proud of myself for eating, but i’m confused by the fact that i’m no longer experiencing such devastating emotional reactions to eating – like i used to/had for the past four years. Yes i’m still experiencing anxiety and compulsive urges, but they’re much more subtle and manageable than they have been.

It was hard to accept, but i may not be able to handle a live-in nanny position like my therapist and i thought would be a great idea this summer (to avoid moving back in with my parents or my ex if we worked things out), because my summer course schedule quite frankly doesn’t align with the job requirements. So i don’t know what i’m going to do, but until then, i’m going to work odds and end babysitting jobs (as it would still give me not only a great source of income and something positive/productive to do with my time, but it would also be a great way of me learning what healthy families function like). Since i can’t really be a full time nanny with my course load this semester, I joined Care.com and have been in contact with this family that just seems perfect, as they’re looking for somebody to help with their boys for the weekends. I’ve been placing applications for part time nanny jobs, as well as a few mental-health related ones (such as going out with a 23 year old female, meeting at Starbucks, etc. a few times a week to help her with her social anxiety), which i didn’t know was a sub-sect of Care.com! I’d adore either of the positions, but i’ve found a few ideal ones and i’m keeping my fingers crossed. I’m also calling the woman tomorrow about the weekend position, but i’m hesitant as her boys are two 5 year old autistic children.

I did just come across a site strictly for Nannys – ideal since Care.com makes it hard to find live-in nanny and they’re more so geard towards babysitting. Hopefully i can do some babysitting to put on my resume, for when i apply on the Nanny website. I don’t want to rule it out as an option, but it would be a challenging one. There is one couple who’s open for the idea of a work dynamic ranging from part time babysitting, to a full time live in nanny, so i’ve been contemplating messaging them!

I also contacted my old place of employment as i never received my disability app and they said they would call me -discerning since i haven’t been able to get a phone charger for days. I just hope i can get compensation for the time i was out, and the 26 weeks unemployment still as my night-shift has since been terminated within the company. I need to be more pro-active with that. Regardless i’m proud of taking the initiative to find a more appropriator job with my mental health situation (one that i feel like i’ll find rewarding at that!)

Oh. And even though i’ve been cutting corners like crazy (and i am STRINGENT AS FUCK with money) i’ve literally spent half of the 3,000 i had saved up, that was left over from my car deposit. So i’m freaking out and i’ve realized that i need to somehow force myself to get a job – even if at a minimal standard. Seeing how babysitting is often off the books, it’s perfect. I have thi compulsion around saving money and just watching it go go go go while my credit card bill goes up up up drives me nuts – especially since i was a self-sufficient woman a few months ago, paying her own cell phone bill, paying for her own car, gas, food, etc., and now i can barely pay for my own food, let alone the others.

I also decided this morning that i wanted to start working on the skeleton of what i hope will one day be a memoir, but for now i need to focus on my homework.

Fingers crossed! Time to go crash.

Oh wait. 5 minutes after this post i binged on an entire ball of mozzarella cheese. I haven’t binged – truly binged – in days. I was so proud of myself for eating normally but not binging. There goes that. Back to day one. Merely means i have an even higher goal to obtain now- instead of 5/6 days, i now have to hit 7 days binge free while eating healthy.

49. Since i Just Finished Binging…

I figured it would be functional for me to make a post. I tried being healthy by having a gluten-free macaroni and cheese for lunch, which was hard with how screwy my sleep schedule has been. It’s always hard – for anyone – to eat properly when their insomnia keeps them up until 5 in the morning, but for me it’s hard to wake up and resume with an even seemingly normal eating schedule. I tried so hard, after going grocery shopping last night and getting so many ‘fear foods’, as well as a lot of protein packed foods as i know that i’ve been lacking in such lately (and consuming entirely too much sugar).

I can’t stop binge eating these days, which is why i’m contemplating starting the Naltrexone again. It’s all so cyclical for me – the more i engage in the behavior, the more i want it. I try as hard as i can to stop it through whatever means i can but nothing seems to work. Until i stop this behavior to focus enough in therapy on learning more effective skills and getting to the root of my disorder, it’s all so cyclical and useless.

I feel so vile – as though i’ve betrayed my true goals. I just want to lose this weight, as i was 103 a mere week or two ago, and now i’m 110/111. It’s infuriating, as that was the weight i was when i came to campus. It felt so good to finally be succeeding in something – to finally be losing weight. It’s the only thing i’ve cared about since the break up with my boyfriend, and the only thing i’ve felt comfort in.

After eating, i find such a large amount of rage boiling up inside of me that it triggers these massive episodes of rage – rather leading to me self injuring, or continuing to binge. Sometimes i’ll have the option of taking a sleep aid and resting if my emotions become intolerable, but i usually make the effort to sit them through….always ending poorly.

Right now, i just have the urge to take laxatives to empty myself of all the disgusting food i just consumed (which was unavoidable with how nauseous the Viibryd has made me these past few days), and living off of liquids again. I need a root canal so until then i’m going to be sensitive to anything cold – which i know will make my consumption of such even less. I keep wanting to go back to that anorectic lifestyle – the one of not needing, feeling as though i’ll wisp away in the wind. Feeling as though i’m wasting away, for that brings me these feelings of safety – safety from attack (which is quite ironic when you think about it….which ultimately lead back to control, and my sexual experiences in high school). My brain is just telling me to consume liquids, to watch my weight drastically drop doing whatever that takes),

I can tell i’ve gained weight which is how i know my scale is also not broken – my face looks a bit fuller. I also tried another scale.

When i feel like this, i just want soothing. Soothing, validation, security, and relaxation. All the things i never had growing up in my relationship with my parents, which i’ve been conditioned to never find from others, and therefore search for in others. Never having found that in others due to my unhealthy attachment styles, i came to find it in food. It’s a rarity that i find those things in my day to day life, but i do often find them during the process of eating – returning as a tsunami the second i put the fork down.

I want that back, and this is when my ambivalence gets the best of me, tipping in the worst of possible directions. I just want to be fucking emaciated again, because the drastic angular jutting of my hip bones brings me this sense of relief, knowing that i’m finally doing something right. Often subconsciously i find my hands navigating to the hallows of my collar–bones, reminding me that i still do have something left – some weight loss left from the 150 pound girl i once was. Looking at the 111 pounds gleaming back at me this morning though, it’s hard to accept the fact that it’s not that far.

I need to weigh myself less – and i was thinking about taking my scale, to write a positive quote on it (like i did with my other). It helped me to weigh myself less. No, i’m going to start going that. My goal for this week is to only weigh myself once this week, and to try to better regulate my sleep. If i can get myself down to weighing myself once a week then i’ll contemplate getting rid of my scale. Okay that was a huge leap of faith.

48. Weighed Down by Weightlessness

I literally gained 8 pounds over the course of a night a few weeks ago, and i cannot lose it. I took a medication that’s notorious for bloating and weight problems for a few days back then, but i doubt it’s that medication…..i’ve been trying to rectify the problem but NOTHING has helped and it’s been absolutely infuriating! My intake doesn’t equate to such a gain, nor does my lifestyle habits. It’s inexplicable. *Enter anxiety attack here* No seriously, i’ve been panicking over this for weeks now.

Ever since trying to eat a more normalized diet, it’s only gotten worse. Ever since getting an upset stomach, it’s only gotten worse. So it went up to 11 pounds gain.

ALL OVER THE COURSE OF TWO WEEKS. I’m on the verge of a fucking meltdown over this.

I need to lose it, but i keep getting sick and the only way to soothe my stomach is to eat solid food, and eating solid foods makes me gain weight and gaining weight makes me binge and it’s a never ending cycle. So i have to endure this until i can get better and lose the weight again, getting back down to 103 so i can then get back down to nothingness.

I hate this fucking disorder, but i hate the feelings of being a higher weight more than i loathe this disorder so i’d rather fucking be emaciated. I told myself i’d be emaciated by this point in the year, yet due to my breakup i’m not. Due to my breakup i weigh MORE than i did when i came onto campus.

Fucking failure.

45. “Delay is the Deadliest Form of Denial” -C. Northcote Parkinson

The above quote really applies to the situation with my eating disorder. To be quite blunt here, if i don’t get my shit together with my eating habits, it’s going to one day be the death of me. Maybe sooner or maybe later, it’ll eventually be the case. I can’t remain in denial about the severity of what i do to my body, merely because i haven’t come up with any life-altering medical conditions yet. I’m smart enough to realize what i’m doing to myself – i don’t need  doctor ranting and raving to validate that. 

I need to remember times like this, when i’m inclined to embrace my eating disorder as a coping mechanism – times when i’m infuriated by the complete and utter lack of enjoyment i’m left with when it comes to food. I used to derive such pleasure and comfort out of culinary delights – albeit perhaps too much at times – but this is just sheer hell.

I hate it. I that my BPD gives me emotional horse-blinders that i have to work to take off: ones that leave me innately unable to see what emotions i’ve felt before, and the emotions i’ll be feeling in the future. I know that they’re there and i try so hard to remind myself of that – to remind myself of where these emotions come from and that i’m going to have different – more tolerable – emotions in the future, but it’s hard to remember in the midst of an episode. It’s as though whatever emotion i’m feeling completely dominates my brain.

About 25% of the time i’m angry at my eating disorder, and about 75% of the time i’m utilizing it as an unhealthy coping mechanism. That’s the problem – i’ve yet to find something better to replace it. So i feel as though i have nothing to fall back on, and therefore no rational reason to give it up. Looking back into my childhood i can see that i got by just fine without it, but even thinking about such has me riddled with worries, as when i was a young girl i developed horrific defenses to get by, as a teenager i would mutilate myself to no end, and as a young adult (now as i’m coming to accept as a form of control) i developed an eating disorder. It’s scary, thinking about the fact that i would have to go back to such.

My stomach is churning and my mind going a mile a minute – about solids versus liquids, guilt versus confidence, competency versus failure, calories consumed versus calories expended….it’s so hard to eat when my brain is running in circles, but deep down i know i have to do this. I know that getting better means giving this up, and day by day it means facing my ambivalence, finding reasons to get better. As of right now i’m having an incredibly hard time doing that, but i’m fucking trying.

It’s really hard to accept my past for what it was – vulnerabilities and all. It’s hard to accept that i wasn’t as safe as i thought i was, and that the consistency i saw around me was all a lie. It’s hard to accept that the people supposed to be my caregivers were so cruel, demanding, and lost themselves – when they were supposed to be unconditionally loving, supportive, and hopeful for me. I always felt criticized growing up, and as though i could never have friendships with people that were genuinely close – they always felt sabotaged. Secretive.

Nothing felt like my own, and as i explore that concept both in therapy and without the rose colored glasses of denial in my mind, i’m coming to realize that that concept applies to what i ate as well – it’s essentially the basis of my eating disorder. I never controlled what i ate. I never controlled my body – so it became the basis for my stabilization growing up, and for what i perceived to be my life. My success, my pursuits. I think i started to define my ability to succeed along those lines – by my ability to control my body and what i ate – after coming across a pro-anorexia website (as such websites correlate success and competency in life with weight loss).

Even when i realized the logical fallacies in what i’d come across – i couldn’t stop. The feelings felt too good, too comforting – much like the binging growing up. These were similar in the sense that i felt comforted and guilty – much like i do when i binge – but at the same time, it was a different flavor of the same feelings.

37. Reservations, and Regrets: the Birth of my Anorexia

I have a few problems with ANAD’s week dedicated to eating disorders. I am ALL for eating disorder awareness due to how prevalent the deadly disorders are, but i feel as though the week is too often plagued with emphasis on the wrong aspects of eating disorders. Emaciation, and ‘lowest weight’ photos are not what we- collectively- as a society should be focusing on. Being a people with a sick fascination with eating disordered individuals, we need to focus on the illness, not the dramatic flair of the recoveries, or tabloid covers. There are obviously plenty of exceptions to that, but i see an overabundance of it during ANAD week, and other NEDA-related events. Here is a good example as to how this is detrimental (as i’d rather not go into it with this post).

My story:

Part One: Written on 2/24

I grew up saturated in an environment that equated food with comfort. Now, understandably all of society is like that on one level or another – having birthday cakes to celebrate graceful aging, and barbecues to celebrate the joy of family gatherings – but i eventually came to realize in retrospect that my day-to-day emotions had become dependent upon food. It wasn’t just the rare dinner out with my family or party with friends that allowed me to make an emotional connection with food – it was also the nights of bottomless sorrow and never-ending emptiness sitting alone in the desolate corner of my room that caused me to have an affinity for sugary foods and high-fat treats.

I didn’t think much of it as my entire family was that way – acting as though reaching for food in a time of crisis was normal – but i eventually came to realize how abnormal my behavior was growing up. My mother was the perfect role models of abnormality, denying the bags upon bags of chocolate she would eat when her and my father would argue – hidden in plain sight screaming her shame-ridden hypocrisy. My father would engage in unhealthy crash diets in an attempt to lose weight (his extremely low-carb diet being the one that stuck out in my head the most), which would cause my mother to argue with him over how much of an impact he was having on my brother and i.

I have so many memories of my parents hiding food from my brother and i due to the fact that we would eat the ‘school snacks’ at home while on ravenous rampages of hunger. I’ll never forget the year i started lying to my parents in order to go around the corner and purchase entire boxes of Pop Tarts to eat- which i felt incredibly guilty about – but the cravings always over-rode the guilt. After a long while, it became my norm, what i reached for in times of distress. Without realizing it, my mind came to depend upon food as a reliable constant, when nothing else in my life had any semblance of consistency or structure.

For years, this was my life. My normalcy. My relationship with food. It didn’t phase me that this was how i operated, and quite frankly, i didn’t even really realize it until later on in my life.

Fast forward a bit, to May of 2010. I was about to graduate high school, and the senior prom was about a month away. I had picked out a beautiful dress i was ecstatic to wear, but to be quite cynical about things, everything in my life had managed to go to shit at that point. Yes – i had finally blossomed and left my introverted shell to embrace my personality – but i was struggling very much so with self injury, my sleeping patterns were so irregular that they could have easily been categorized as non-existent at that point, i had just left the Pentecostal church (which was a small trauma of sorts for me) and was therefore feeling lost, i didn’t know what i was doing about school as i didn’t want to attend the college my parents had chosen for me, I was overwhelmed by the prospect of attending college and the independence my parents had so stubbornly kept me from indulging in, i was still reeling from my sexual assault not too long before that, and i just felt trapped. Trapped within myself, without the means of truly expressing what i was going though.

On May 4th of 2010, I was on my friend’s Facebook page, when i saw that she had posted a link to her Xanga blog. So, i went on. While i was scrolling through her posts, i saw that she had a rather attractive boy following her, so i clicked on his profile as well. I didn’t know anything more than what his profile picture looked like at the time, but i found him so attractive i figured his material was worth checking out.

It ended up being a pro-ana website. For those of you that don’t know, pro-ana is short for pro-anorexia. The pro-anorexia subculture is a growing community of sorts that started out as a community page on Yahoo in the early 2000’s. The original intentions have morphed a bit, but as of right now and within this ‘wave’ of the pro-ana community, it’s one that embraces and encourages eating disorders as if they are lifestyle choices. They believe that individuals should strive to be anorectic, provide tips/tricks as to how one could go about starving themselves, create insane starvation diets to embark on, and encourage each-other (sometimes through derogatory language) to continue starving themselves. Essentially, they believe that eating disorders are not illnesses, and instead lifestyle choices. Some individuals in these communities don’t hold that belief, but they still do engage in the rest of the behaviors – glorifying the illness by encouraging others to embark on starvation diets, posting photos of emaciated individuals as inspiration (known as thinspo, or thinspiration), etc.

For more information about the community, click here (in her description, the first version is referencing the first wave i mentioned above, and the second version is referencing the second wave). Be warned that it is a biased blog as it’s an anti-pro-ana blog (if you want to learn about the theory behind that movement, click here), but it’s still a very objective definition and ironically the best i could find online.

After seeing that website, something in me changed. Before that day, i didn’t think once about my body. I had thought about my breasts before – as does every teenage girl going through puberty – wanting them larger and more round. Otherwise, i didn’t think about my physique or weight. I didn’t think i was hideous due to my body, that i needed to lose weight, that i was fat or anything of that sort. Yet after looking at those websites, i felt compelled lured into their deluded way of living and thinking. I made an account and as much as this pains me to admit (so much so that i very rarely talk about this), i went on there and engaged in the pro-ana community.

Later on in my life i came to realize that a small part of me found relief and comfort in such a distorted way of coping – i came to find that it was a way of sculpting my body into something that society would find sexually unappealing, leaving me [illogically] no longer vulnerable to any more attacks. It was a way for me to finally find some relief in my constant feelings of inadequacy, for the weight loss came naturally. It was a way for somebody to validate the struggles i had in feeling like a failure and helpless wreck,

I don’t know what it was about that website, but something deep down told me that this insane way of going about life would be the ‘answer to my problems’. It just seduced me in. So May 4th i set up an Xanga account, and bought a small notebook to record my caloric intake in, as well as the calories i burned running. I still have that book somewhere – in the same boxes as my journals.

The next week, i couldn’t fit in my prom dress. All the hours upon hours of running on top of restriction had resulted in me not fitting int he dress i wanted to. On my new-found community’s website i made it my goal to lose 5 pounds in 3 weeks. I lost 15. The dress literally fell right off of me. The reception was nice, and we had a really elaborate dinner: lemon chicken and glazed veggies. I only had a few bites of the  veggies on the side as i scraped the olive oil off, and pushed the rest around my plate so it looked like i was eating. I danced to burn calorie,s really enjoying the times during which i could wrap my arms around my crush’s broad shoulders.

From there, it all went downhill. The compulsive measuring, weighing myself every morning, measuring my thighs with a tape measure, and recording all of these measurements in my handy dandy notebook. In college it only got worse, for i came to realize that my eating disorder had me living a lie all along. As i delved further and further into my disorder it taught me that I was the one in control, for i was the one making decisions. Yet here i was, hopeless in the hands of an ice cold disorder with no care as to whether or not i lived or died. The feelings of control are merely an illusion, for the disorder really does control you; what you perceive to be as dietary choices are merely anxiety ridden compulsions – pathologies layered upon pathologies if you will. I’ve yet to find somebody who’s been able to look me in the eye after watching an anorectic unable to eat a normalized meal – or even a bite – out of anxiety and delusion, and call it a choice.

It may seem like a choice, but in reality it’s a slow and painful death. To call it any less than that would be denial, and to call it any more than that would be romanticism.

 If i ever get around to it, i’ll make a post about how my eating disorder has morphed, and my recent experiences with such – a “part II” of sorts.

34. My Future –

Thinking about my future makes me not want to have one. As dramatic as it sounds, the tears can only flow so long until they turn into sighs of anhedonia. Pure anhedonia. After i reach a state of nothingness, i start to remember how i got here in the first place. I’m stuck in this state that feels purgatory, but in reality is merely stripping me of all the things that define who i am….. and there weren’t that many to begin with. There weren’t that many because i didn’t really exist in the first place – i was always merely a shell of who i thought i was. A shell, with no internal substance. No internal meaning. No internal worth.

I’m not of meaning to many people, and the few people that claim to care – i know deep down that they do care, i know they do….but the words that flow from their lips seem meaningless in the grand scheme of the sadness that swallows me whole. When my self-esteem pummels any chance of finding self-worth, it’s hard for me to take people seriously who claim to give a damn. So i push them away, hoping they’ll be offended by my selfish actions, not sticking around for the episodic destruction that often follows.

It’s hard for me to find the motivation to get better, when i think so little of myself and i cannot believe that others think much of me. Viewing myself as less than a speck in the script of my own life, i view myself as ultimately powerless. I’ve worked so hard to try to not view myself as a victim of circumstances, but sometimes it’s hard not to feel hopeless when i’m stuck in this cycle of self-destruction and loneliness. People may call me pessimistic, but it’s true. I always end up here – alone, collecting scars on my skin like i used to stamps as a child, and catching tears of loneliness as though catching them would somehow make them stop.

Even being surrounded by people, feeling happy, and forming close bonds doesn’t make things any better. It’s always a matter of waiting for the shoe to drop – waiting for the emotions to come rushing in, to overcome any hard work i put in and to destroy what beautiful relationships i worked to form. It’s not fair to the people i love, the people in my life. The most precious people are the ones that get hurt. They’re the ones that deserve the world, and i always end up hurting them.

If i love you, i stay far away from you, and don’t let you into my life. There have been few exceptions to this, and on every occasion they were selfish, putting my own emotional/sexual desires before somebody else’s emotional well-being. No, that’s not right because i always need to put myself first and that’s not being selfish, but deep down i feel that’s the case.

Gosh i’m so dang confused. This is my first time not working full time/numerous part time jobs, and it’s just so puzzling. I know that i’ll soon likely end up going back to working, motivated by my pride and abundant ego. Such a large part of me is defined (and by that i mean that i identify myself by such) by my level of functioning. Not being able to function enough to work and go to school for the first time in four years is a huge blow to my ego – and bank account. In four weeks i’ve blown through a thousand of the dollars i’ve saved up.

I just want a sense of peace in my life – a sense of normalcy in terms of love, and support. I just want to feel fulfilled, i just want to sleep, i just want to eat, and i want to enjoy my life. I think that last one is the most important of them all: I want to fucking be able to enjoy my life above all else.

The only thing keeping me sane right now is Periphery’s new album Alpha (although they did have two come out recently)….

….it rings so true to everything i’m going through right now that i can’t stop playing it over and over. I need to see them live the next time they tour. I often find myself turning up the volume as loud as it will go on my car (i don’t know how i haven’t destroyed the speakers on my car yet), blasting their new albums  (although i do prefer Alpha out of the two) – and screaming their songs. Normally i’m unable to feel a majority of what i experience throughout the day, but the music they produce just opens up my ability to experience emotion.

I never thought i’d say this, but metal is so incredibly cathartic. I used to find soft ambient music would make me feel like that, and now it’s metal. People assume it makes me angry and fired up, which it doesn’t. A lot of these performers seem to sing about really dark shit, which is why i think i connect so deeply to the music they perform. The bass, screaming, and guitar aspects of the metal amplifies what i hear throughout the song, and intensity of what i feel.

An except from Periphery’s song ‘Omega’ off of their album Juggernaut: Omega:

The past sees me and it won’t let go
Greeted by those I’ve killed along the way, because I am the destruction
The past sees me and it won’t let go

A demon born out of their rite in throes
This is the truth
I am a demon born out of their rite in throes
Soiled by the world of man
I am the destruction
I am fear
I am sin
I am the destruction

This memory ignites
The past sees me
Visions of me grow
Greeted by family
Painting dissolution and a life of an insect
The past it will not let me go
I’m lost within my own soul
A ghost within times of old
The clock turns back but is this real?
Tell me, is this real?

32. Nothingness.

I was supposed to get up, do my homework, and spend the day at a convention with my friend E and her boyfriend. Instead, i had the worst night’s rest, lost my car key – causing me to freak out for hours – binged on about 3500 calories (some of the food was stolen), weigh myself and cause a  meltdown, drive to get a piercing only to find that i drove in the MOST horrific weather for a piercer that wasn’t in today (he’s normally in on Saturdays), and i can’t focus enough to do my homework.

I spent half an hour crying hysterically in my car a block away from the piercing parlor.

I thought my scale was broken, but it’s not. I really did gain 5-7 pounds, and merely by eating a normal amount of food. When i saw this 2 days ago i just started binge eating. Ironic eh? That i choose to eat my feelings when i feel horrific about my weight.

I’m trying so hard not to cut myself. I went to call my best friend ( which would have been a bad move since she always tells me how she doesn’t believe in BPD/that i’m not Borderline because of how i act around her), only to find she was robbed last night.

I hate this. I hate how binging makes me feel. I could cope with eating a healthy normal amount (1500-2000 calories) but eating this much just makes me feel as though the pain is never going to end. It’s so consuming that regardless of how long i wait, it gets worse. It’s so overwhelming taht nothing works in terms of coping so i merely take a sleeping pill to rest.

I’ve taking sleeping pills NUMEROUS times today and they didn’t do anything (stupid fucking Nyquil). Stupid fucking homework which i’m going to fail. Stupid weight.

The last time i had my weight this high and was this upset, i cut my stomach… and so much so that there’s huge keloids running in lines down my stomach.

I’m tempted to do that again so i loathe my body. I’m read to. I haven’t hurt myself like that since my meltdown last year and i should.

31. But How Could This All Be A Mistake?

This morning i went to the dentist for a cap on my back molar, graduating from my pediatric dentist to a ‘grown up’ dentist (yay, haha). I ended up needing a root canal, so i currently can’t feel half of my mouth/face. It’s an odd sensation, but slowly i’m gaining back the feeling in my mouth, and it hurts. I also ended up getting a mouth guard as i apparently grind my teeth. Shocker with how worked up i am, eh?

It didn’t hurt or anything really, and i oddly was able to accept the compliment that the dentist gave me, that i was an easy patient and rather ‘loose’ as you’d expect many people freak out at the dentist (especially with root canals). It was just a pain in the butt trying to drink afterwards, as i couldn’t drink with a straw.

I weighed myself this morning and my scale says i still maintained a gain of 5 pounds. I’m driving to my apartment as i woke up 45 minutes late, and forgot my key when i headed to the dentist (which was around the corner from the apartment my ex and i had). So i had to drive back to my dorm regardless. It was a slap in the face to open up my bank account to see how little money i have left. Even though it’s an hour out of my way and i have a lot of homework to do i may drive down there in a bit, just to give myself something to do. I need my scale to see if this new weight is real or not. If it is, i’m going to lose it. I also need to empty my car out. If it’s real, i’m not going to yoga. I don’t deserve it and i need to go for a jog to loose some – illogical but just losing sweat (dehydration) would make me feel better; after being 5-7 pounds less for so long it would really throw off what little stability i have to gain this weight.

My mother had to pay for my dental work as i couldn’t afford it. So i ended up going back to her house, which i haven’t back to since moving in with my boyfriend and ex-communicating my parents about a year or two ago. It was awkward, but at least i got to see my bunny. I saw my brother there which was nice. I told her i was being evaluated for an IOP program Tuesday and she just brushed over the topic to talk about how her girlfriend was looking for nail products, since we agreed to go to the mall.

“Explaining my Depression to my Mother”

Mom says i am so good at making something out of nothing
then flat out asks me if i am afraid of dying.

No. I am afraid of living.

My mouth a bone-yard of broken teeth broken from biting down on themselves. The hallow auditorium of my chest swoons from echos of my heartbeat, but i am a careless tourist here. I can’t truly know everywhere that i have been. Mom still doesn’t understand.

Mom still doesn’t understand. Mom – can’t you understand, neither do i?

We ended up at Lush since i’ve been splurging a bit and i told her about the company. I bought some foot lotion since my feet have been in a lot of pain – and i’ve been using one of their face masks which has been helping my skin. She paid for the lotion which was nice, and gave me some money along with money for the rent i owe my old tenants. At least i’m able to save a bit, but i’m going to be wasting so much gas just to head back down in order to get that scale and weigh myself, ugh. I’m trying to view the face mask and lotion as a form of self care, but any time i spend money on myself – even though i work really hard to be stringent about it (even spending money on food makes me feel this way….) which is the reason i started out unemployment with $3,000 – i feel guilty and inherently unworthy/wasteful. I feel as though i can always be more resourceful.

I just unpacked some clothes i grabbed form the house and i’m feeling so many things, as i came across two objects that reminded me of my aunt while i was in my parent’s house (technically what was supposed to be my room, but what has since turned into the rabbit’s room since i’ve left). I came across a photo of the two of us as a child on my uncle’s boat, and a scarf she knit me while on bed rest right before passing away. I brought the two of them to my dorm room, assuming they would help me grieve.

I feel like nobody is ever going to love me again, or tolerate my mental illnesses. Sure there are plenty of people sexually attracted to me who think my illnesses are simple when i actually get the guts to tell them i’m mentally ill, but there are never people who are willing to stick around. People don’t seem to understand how devastating it is for people with mental illnesses to be promised support, then be left alone without such.

Gosh it’s so hard for me to accidentally stumble across pictures like this.

One of my friends is coming down from CT to NJ for a convention, and invited me at first for dinner in her hotel. It may be a bad idea but she invited me to screw around with her and her boyfriend a bit, to which i accepted. She knows i’ve been in a bad place though and she herself  has struggled with mental health problems, so she told me that if need be we can all just have cuddles with Hello Kitty blankets. I’m ready to cancel my plans with her and everybody else. I’ve been making a huge effort to see people and be open with them – i saw my friend Sam yesterday and we talked about what’s been happening with my ex and I as well as what he’s been upset/stressed over – but it’s all taking so much energy that i’d rather be starving, isolated, and keeping to myself.

I can relate so much to Neil Hilborn’s spoken word (this was the first of his pieces i came across – the others are just as tear-jerking). Sorry for the spoken word references….i’m trying to see Sierra DeMulder with a friend when she comes to my state, so i’ve been drowning in it these past few days.

“OCD”

Some mornings i’d started kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave as i was making her late for work.

When i stopped at a crack in the sidewalk she just kept walking.

When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that i was taking up too much of her time.

She started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her – that this whole thing was a mistake.

But how could it be a mistake if i don’t have to wash my hands after i touch her? Love is not a mistake.

I just can’t. I just can’t go out and find somebody new……she was the first beautiful thing i ever got stuck on.

……

I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on.

25. But, I Don’t Feel at All.

I want to explain how exhausted I am. Even in my dreams. How I wake up tired. How I’m being drowned by some kind of black wave.

Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

I’ve sat here for two days trying to find some sort of way to snap out of this, but i’ve yet to find something that’s worked. I’ve gone to yoga with my room mate, watched copious amounts of Netflix, i hung out with a friend when i found myself setting inside my head too much, and now i’m about to go to to class. I got a good amount of my homework done, slept plenty, actually ate for once, and I’ve been trying to use skills to deal with my emotions.

Nothing feels real. Nothing feels as though i’m experiencing it in the here and now. To be quite frank, nothing feels as though i’m experiencing it at all, which the level of anhedonia I’ve found myself at. The one thing i lived for – my schoolwork – no longer even brings me pleasure. It’s a chore.

I’m merely going through the motions. I don’t have any more hope with any of this, and i feel completely depleted, as if every thing i cared about has completely dissipated from my life.

I’m still doing things knowing that i have to do them, but again none of it feels real. None of it feels safe. My eating habits were the one thing that kept me grounded, and those have been all over the place – fluctuating between eating normally and restricting – so not having those to depend upon has me feeling extremely unstable. When i don’t have my eating disorder to fall back upon my struggles with self injury tend to come forth, as a trade off of sorts. It’s seemingly always one or the other.

I don’t want more scars on my body. I don’t want more reminders of my demons, but i’m starting to think that’s unavoidable. I’m losing hope that i’m ever going to find my way out of this alive. I’m pushing away everybody i lure into my life, testing them far past their limits if i don’t completely stop ignoring them. I’ve since deleted the entry since it irks me, but i felt the need to keep the quote i found elsewhere.

When they love me… I test them, incessantly, until they finally stop showing up for exams. People don’t give up on me—they drop out.

I hate that my illnesses have managed to single-handedly destroy every valuable relationship and accomplishment i’ve managed to build and obtain. They taint everything i work so hard to establish. People don’t understand, people aren’t patient and people can’t handle me – but at the same time, i can’t blame them for that. I can’t blame them for a single second, because i wouldn’t tolerate this bullshit either if i was healthy.

I wouldn’t tolerate me either. I’m trying to stop have this inherently ‘bad’ self-defeating perspective of myself as i know it’s at the core of a lot of my struggles, but it’s hard after a lot of what i’ve done. You try fucking assaulting people and try looking at yourself the same way – especially when you grow up as a child being told that you’re a inherently horrible person so it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. It’s hard to not psych yourself out and start to believe these things when they actually begin to come true.

I’m just trying to find pleasure in some aspect of my life at this point, as absolutely nothing makes me happy. It’s incredibly odd because i have the energy to still do things – something i didn’t have last week – but i’m just going through the motions. I’m just trying to find a spark of pleasure and satisfaction in something somewhere – something to enjoy or be proud of in some aspect of my life. It’s harder than i thought.

I decreased my dose of Wellbutrin which has been a huge trade off as well, since my eating habits have been all over the place (both a good and bad thing), but so have my moods; the withdrawal has had flu-like physical effects on me and my insomnia has been horrific from it. I’ve also been experiencing what feels like neuropathy from the withdrawal, but at the same time i’m starting to be able to speak again. I looked it up, and apparently people who are sensitive to the drug are prone to experiencing expressive aphasia. I’m starting to wonder if the higher dose (i was on 300XL) was worsening my ability to speak. Obviously it didn’t cause my struggles, but it definitely made them a lot worse as i’m finding it a lot easier to share – both in writing and in person – more intimate details of my life with people in general. It could just be psychobabble or it could be reality.

My perception of reality should’t be trusted these days.

24. Acceptance.

I’ve always resisted a specific aspect of DBT – the dialectal aspect. While the rest of it brings me solace, pleasure, stability and interpersonal effectiveness… that aspect brings me a great deal of pain. Like a raw smack in the face, it’s always incredibly painful.

There are some parts of me that i feel as though i can accept exist, but i can’t accept the things they’ve done to others (yes i can recognize the inconsistencies in logic there). I always think i’m capable of radical acceptance, until i have episodes in which my emotions completely over ride me and i remember the things i’ve done to people. The things i’m capable of. The violence. The screaming. The accusations. It’s horrible.

There’s a lot i don’t tell people, and for good reason. I don’t want them terrified of me, looking at me merely as a diagnosis or episode. I don’t want people looking at me as though i’m nothing more than my actions, which i know they would if i were to admit to my past.

I feel as though i’m walking around tainted, unable to admit the reality of my life to people, afraid of what they would do. People don’t react well to mental illness. I go back and forth in my head as to how ‘okay’ i am with being open about these things, and it’s not a matter of shame persay. I’m not ashamed of my illness, and it’s more so just a history of people having bad responses to me being open and honest about my conditions.

I just keeping about Fall of 2014, and all the horrible things i did to my ex. If anything, i’ll happy – for the sake of his health – that he’s far away from me. I’m lonely as hell and it’s so fucking detrimental to my health, but i’m really glad that nobody is close to me emotionally, as i have such a great potential to hurt people when they actually open up to me as i tend to attract quite unhealthy people (aka, people unable to maintain healthy boundaries and i realize i’m unable to maintain them myself right now).

I can’t ever accept the fact that i was so horribly abusive, i can’t. There is nothing acceptable about the fact that i abused him, nor will i ever accept the fact that it happened. I can accept anything else in my life, but i can’t accept that. I can’t and i won’t. I’m sorry but i just can’t.

It’s not feasible for me to ever accept hurting somebody like i did. The people saying it’s possible don’t know what i did, and what i’m capable of.