8/20/10

I ate for the first time since Tuesday today. And ate. And ate and ate and ate. I ate 700 calories less than I am supposed to in a day, but I still feel awful about it. I stuck my fingers down my throat, managed to get a bit up, and then swallowed 10 laxatives. All this, not to mention, occurred after a nice, long school day of shakiness, nausea, heart palpitations, and dizzy spells. Probably not the most recovery-minded day of my life.

In fact, the word “recovery-minded” barely even exists in my world anymore. I spent yesterday going bookstore to bookstore, reading the very most triggering parts of Wasted, devouring diet books, and getting my hands on anything else ED-related. After, I paced the isles of Vons, looking at the food and the calories, cursing what was fattening and making mental notes of what wasn’t (as if I hadn’t already known).

Don’t worry, friends, that wasn’t the end of the madness. I had an appointment with my dietician at 5:30, and took it upon myself to wear an extra heavy jacket and just about drown my insides out via chugging a quart of water. But it worked. Lori weighed me, and I “maintained”. She asked me how everything was going, how I managed to maintain my weight for the first time in weeks, if I was still having my period… I smiled and told her exactly what she wanted to hear, unable to keep the I-can’t-believe-you’re-actually-buying-this look off of my face. Part of me was high on the adrenaline of not getting caught, while the other part disappointed that I didn’t. For many anorectics, all fun is in the manipulation used to slowly disappear, unnoticed. Me, on the other hand… I’m not big on manipulating, or lying at all for that matter. For me, the fun lies in the rebelling. In being unstoppable until I chose to stop myself.

However, I have things to accomplish before recovering; mainly reaching at least 98 lbs. But I can’t do this, of course, if IOP puts me in inpatient, and inpatient puts me in the hospital because I refuse to eat there, even if I rip the feeding tubes out in the hospital. In intensive treatment, I just won’t get away with losing 18 lbs. I have to get closer to 98 before I let shit hit the fan.

God, that’s fucked up. I’m one hell of a phony eating disorder sufferer, you know? Most people who are sent to inpatient, refuse to eat there, are hospitalized, and then rip their tubes out do it because they’re that terrified of becoming fat, and their eating disorder is that strong. Me? I’ll be doing it just because I want to be the sickest.

I hate myself.

8/17/10

I did something bad. I looked through my mom’s e-mail.

She and my therapist were talking back and forth. Apparently my mom knows of a lot more than I thought she did, such as my smoking pot and recent laxative abuse. She kept going on about how this eating disorder has turned me into a liar and she can’t trust a word I say. Initially I was angry at both my therapist and mom, but once I got over that I did something strange: I opened up to my mother. I told her how I felt about eating and myself, let her into my head, and confessed to smoking weed. I even promised to try to not lie anymore. It felt surprisingly good. Lately I’ve actually been somewhat at peace with my parents. Who knew that was possible?

On the not-so-bright side of Alyssa-Mother interactions, she threatened to send me to Mayo Clinic’s inpatient eating disorder program in Rochester. She keeps on commenting on how thin I’ve become. I don’t see it. I feel fat.

On that note, I met with my dietician on Wednesday and she said that I lost weight- any more and I’m out. She gave me a meal plan to start out with until she feels I’m ready to start making my way up to a much more calorically substantial one. I haven’t followed it at all so far. I’m already down two or three pounds since the last time she weighed me, which makes the next weigh-in a rigged one: I’ll have to water load.

What I want is simple. I want to get sick enough so that I can feel deserving of recovery. On second thought, it’s not so simple. There is this NEED inside of me to be a severe case of anorexia, to be one of the worst. I can’t explain it, really. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with becoming emaciated, weak, hospitalized – I just am. And I can’t control the overwhelming need for it. I want to be one of the girls on weight gain, who can’t go on walks without a wheelchair, who are painful to look at… It’s fucked up. It really is. And I don’t think I’ll ever get to a point where I believe I’m “sick enough”, but at least I can get closer.

8/10/10

Sometimes I get into this state where I am one depressing mother fucker. My parents talk to me and I’ll just sit there in silence, letting my eyes glaze over. I think that I’m too messed up in too many ways, that I’m better off dead. I walk like a zombie and I feel like a zombie but other than that I feel nothing. I become convinced that nothing is going to be okay because no matter what I do it’s not enough and I don’t even know what to do in the first place. This state comes and goes, but never leaves completely.

*

School just recently started. I don’t go for too long, but it’s still a pain in the ass. On the other hand, it keeps me occupied for the first part of my day, and that’s a huge plus. Afterwards, it’s off to work or IOP I go. Speaking of which, I have IOP tomorrow. I’m not sure what to do. It’s natural for me to just tell the truth, straight and blunt, but if they knew that I took 6 laxatives today and have been re-exploring making myself vomit and, despite their commands, continue to exercise, they would surely recommend inpatient to my parents, and I’m not ready for that yet. I decided that once I hit 110 lbs I’ll give in, but not yet. Not now.

However, there are times when I seriously consider going back on my meal plan, throwing out my laxatives, and getting back on the right path. I weigh the pros and cons of my eating disorder and decide that, surely, recovery is the way to go. Surely, getting into my dream college and keeping myself alive are so much more important than reaching my ever-slipping goal weights and fitting into certain jeans. Surely. But then a funny thing happens. My nose starts to tingle (a sign that tears are coming), my body stiffens, my mood plummets, and it feels as if every part of my being is shutting down. And then I know that I really only have one choice: my eating disorder.

I am so screwed.

My dad found laxatives in my purse and told my primary therapist. We had session today and she talked about how incredibly dangerous they are, and I just know she’s going to rat me out to IOP, which is already so close to sending me back to inpatient. The worst part of this is that I don’t know if I’m complaining… I feel really fucked up saying this, but I want to go back inpatient. I want to go back to the one place where I’ve ever felt that I belonged. I don’t belong anywhere- not with my friends, my family, my school- but I did there. And I belonged with the people. You know how you can be in a crowd and still feel alone? That’s how I feel with almost everybody, but not Bentley, and not Audrey. I belonged somewhere, and with someone, and I’d kill to go back.

However. I want to do it right this time. I want to get dangerously thin and be uncooperative and have to be hospitalized. I want the blackouts and the lanugo and the hair loss. I want to feel like I finally got thin enough. It’s SICK! It’s so, so sick. But it’s also so, so strong, and I don’t know how to stop myself from wanting it more than anything.

So I want to go to inpatient, and I want to start healing again, but I want to get sicker first. I want to get sick enough to deserve recovering.

Pretty fucked up, right?

8/6/10

You know what? I left something out of my 8/4 update: I got a job as a nanny for a five month old baby. Her name is Mia (oh the irony), and I love her to death. It’s funny. Because Mia’s mom, Megan, struggled with an eating disorder for years and was treated by the same IOP place that I’m being treated by now. She was also inpatient, twice, and really only recovered once she became pregnant. She’s young and so nice and spends a lot of time with me, just talking to me. I am so grateful for this job, it’s perfect.

8/4/10

Wow… it sure has been a while.

First of all, I want to apologize for my disappearance. I’ve been busy, and I didn’t think that anyone was actually reading my blog, so I kind of just let it die. BUT I’M BACK! :)

A lot has happened since April. Let’s try to get as caught up as possible, shall we?

• When I last posted, I was about to go see Bentley and Ellie. That trip was definitely one of the best weekends of my life.
• I spent May getting caught up on school and then finally starting my summer. Unfortunately, June was spent in summer school so that I could get senior history out of the way.
• I also took some risks in June. I smoked weed for the first (and second) time, ditched my meal plan (my dietician agreed that I could handle being an intuitive eater), but simultaneously, my recovery slipped down hill…
• I restricted throughout June and continued to slip into July, but a two week vacation to Colorado and then another two weeks spent in California with Bentley (which was great) made not eating difficult. When I got back home, I was down a pound or two, but that was nothing alarming.
• The week that I returned I had a reassessment evaluation with my intensive outpatient program (IOP). They weren’t particularly thrilled with my weight or behaviors, and really upped the intensity of my treatment plan. I now see my dietician more often, must start family therapy, and I’m on a no weight-loss contract: if I lose any more weight, I go back to inpatient.
• In the last week since being home from California, I’ve really plummeted. I’ve eaten only one meal in the past three days, I’m down to about 119 pounds from 132, I’ve started abusing laxatives again… It’s not looking so good. In order to stay out of inpatient, I have to fool IOP: hide my weight, act like I’m really motivated to recover, etc. It’s really hard because dishonesty just isn’t my thing.
• My parents are partially aware of the situation. My mom keeps telling me that I look “frail”, but I don’t see it, and they’re trying their goddam hardest to make sure I eat. They aren’t, however, aware of how far I’ve really sunken.

And that’s all she wrote, ladies and gentleman. I promise to update SOON!

Thanks again for reading :)

4/30/10

There’s something about airports and airplanes that I love. Flying is therapeutic to me.

I’m excited beyond belief to see Bentley and Ellie.

I am okay today.