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.

4/29/10

I’m finally getting back on track with my exchanges. For a while I was really screwing them up, like not paying attention to my meal plan at all. I’m doing well now, though.

What I’m not doing so well with is the whole depression piece. I talked to Audrey yesterday and told her about mine and Amy’s conversation, and she said that that was one of the best compliments she’s ever received. I cried saying bye to her, and then again late that night. Lately I’ve been crying more in one day than I normally would in several months. I’m miserable beyond comprehension.

On the bright side, I get to see Bentley the day after tomorrow. :) And I went to Chipotle for lunch with Micha, Katie, Tina, Molly, and Lizzy. It was so much fun. When I’m with people I’m okay, but not so much when I’m left to my thoughts.

4/26/10

I’m feeling slightly better lately. Probably because I’m going to California this weekend, to see Bentley!!! I’m sooo excited. I miss her so much and want to be there for her right now, in person. She called me around 11 pm last week crying. I was asleep but luckily heard my phone. Her best friend told her that they could no longer be friends, because Bentley is too triggering. (Hmm sound familiar?) Anyways, I talked her down, and she said something that just about made me cry: “I just wanted to hear your voice.” God, I miss her.

On a different note, session with Amy on Friday was pretty intense. I was telling her about how much I miss Audrey, and she asked what the attachment to her is. At first, Amy actually thought that I liked her in an intimate way. I insisted that that is not the case, so then I had to explain what the case actually is. I told her about everything that I told Audrey in her letters, but I also mentioned that Audrey made me feel safe. I had never really thought about that before, but it’s probably one of the main reasons that I got so attached to her. Amy kind of realized that after I’d said it, and so she said something along the lines of “you were the little girl who thought bad things would happen to her for no reason, that someone was after her. You were the little girl whose parents didn’t pay attention and shrugged her off their shoulders and never made her feel safe. You’ve spent your whole life overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, and when you finally find the first person who can make you feel safe, you have to walk away from her. She was what you mother never was and temporarily filled that void. I’m so sorry you had to walk away from that.” Then she hugged me and almost started crying, I think. I, of course, was bawling like a baby. I’m sorry I had to walk away from that too. :/

4/21/10

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m more depressed than I ever have been in my life. I miss CFD. I miss everything about it, and everyone. I end up crying every time I talk to Audrey. I called her today, but didn’t cry until after, while I was in IOP. I met with my new dietician and was pissed at her for not being Audrey. Goddamit I miss her so much. I miss everything so much that I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. I hate being home. I’m more miserable than I ever thought possible. I was sobbing the whole way home in the car. Pathetic. And the worst part is… nothing can fix this. I love these people so much and I can’t be with them. No amount of sleepovers or family time or shopping sprees or mornings sleeping in will help. All I want is to go on a walk with my loves and have Ellie straighten my hair and ride in “The Beast” and have session with Julie and wear my hairnet and have a roommate and have hour-long sessions with Audrey and be in process group and all the other groups and get excited for Audrey to walk through the door and then pester her about us having session. But I’ll never get those things back, and it kills me. I never thought it was possible to miss something this much. What do I do?

On the plus side, I talked to Bentley and she isn’t mad at me not wanting to be friends with me or anything, she’s just been really overwhelmed and everything with us is 100% good.

4/20/10

I don’t like being home much. I miss IP, and I’m incredibly lonely. I have nobody to go to. The only people I really want to confide in are Audrey, Julie, and Bentley. They understand and they don’t judge and they always manage to make me feel better, but I can’t go to any of them anymore. Julie and Audrey aren’t my therapist and dietician anymore. I can’t check in with them when I feel like shit or call more than once a week. I don’t know what the hell is going on with Bentley. She barely talks to me. She keeps promising to call but never does. She doesn’t text me or facebook me or anything, even when I try to get a hold of her first. I’m worried about her, and I’m unbearable hurt. Sometimes I even cry.

Last night was my first IOP session. I had an orientation with Lori, my treatment coordinator, and a couple of groups. There are four other girls there: Casey, Sunny, Brooke, and Kennadie. I like all of them, even though none of the girls are close like we were in IP. No one said hi to me or even to each other. Hopefully it gets better though, because everyone except for Casey is fairly new. Casey’s been there since September. She was inpatient over the summer. I talked to her more than any of the other girls, with Kennadie coming in 2^nd. I like Kennadie’s look a lot. She’s tall, very underweight, pretty, has short, super-blonde hair, ice blue eyes, and was wearing a v-neck. Casey has strawberry-blonde hair, cut-across bangs, is pretty in this odd way, and is at a healthy weight for the first time in a while. Brooke has brown hair, is normal-sized, and has these huge lips. She would be prettier if she didn’t constantly have her mouth open wide. She lives in a group home and is obviously troubled. Sunny is adorable. She’s small- too small to be healthy, with a perfectly shaped face and cute hair. She didn’t talk to me much, but I can tell that she’s a really cool girl. She’s bi and vegetarian. I hope we become friends.

My favourite staff there so far is Julie and Sara, the other therapist. Sara used to have an eating disorder and is really nice. She’s almost Audrey-esque, with the way she makes me feel safe and understood, even though I barely talked. Really, I was so quiet during group last night. I was really depressed, thinking about IP and how different it was and missing everyone. I wanted to check in with someone, but I couldn’t, of course.

I figured I’d be at IOP for around a month or two, but they said that my estimated graduation will be around mid-September. Holy shit, that’s a long time.

4/12/10

Today was the day to “break up” with Micha. After fourth hour I pulled her aside and gave her a long hug and told her, point blank, we can’t be friends anymore. I thanked her for everything and told her I loved and walked away, despite her calling after me until I was halfway to English. I didn’t even cry. I barely felt anything at all, even when Micha texted me saying “what the fuck are you talking about?” I read Bentley’s letter, though, which was really nice and then called IP when I got home from school and talked to everyone. From then on out though, Micha and I started texting and shit kinda hit the fan. This was our conversation:

Micha: Will you please explain to me what’s going on?

Me: I’m so sorry.

Micha: That doesn’t answer my question.

Me: Didn’t reply.

Micha: I think I deserve a reason.

Me: You do.

Micha: Then tell me?

Me: I might tell you. One day.

Micha: No you are not playing these fucking games. You’re really about to throw our friendship away over nothing? Tell me now.

Me: Micha, it’s not over nothing. I promise you that. I love you so much and this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. What I’m doing… it’s something I have to do. And I’m sorry. I’ll tell you why one day, when I never have to see you again.

Micha: No, you need to tell me now. I refuse to not be your friend for an unknown reason.

Me: Didn’t reply.

Micha: I’m not going to leave you alone. Just tell me. Did I do something or did your parents tell you not to hang out with me or your therapist?

Me: Didn’t reply.

Micha: Just give me an answer! You’re only hurting me by not telling me. Not helping me.

Me: It would hurt you more to know the truth. Trust me.

Micha: Tell me why. I can assure you it wouldn’t. I’d rather be pissed and get over it rather than go god knows how long wondering and being pissed.

Me: There is no short, simple reason. One of my therapy assignments was to write a letter to you, saying anything and everything I’ve ever wanted to say but couldn’t. It was 13 pages long.

Micha: Condense it. Tell me key points. I don’t care! Tell me something.

Me: Long story short, I got sick because I care about you more than you will ever care about me, and I can never fully recover if we’re still friends. I’m sorry.

Micha: How can you think that? You’re my best friend. How could you think I don’t care about you?

Me: We barely hang out. The most we’ve hung out this year was when you needed me for math. You always chose Katie/Tina/Molly over me. I’ve never even met some of your friends. You barely talk to me about anything that matters. I had to send you that five page long letter over myspace before you showed any concern over the fact that I was starving myself. You rarely show or admit any affection. I was KILLING myself to get you to see me, to pay some goddam attention and care for once… You were 20 minutes away while I was in rehab, and you didn’t come to see me. I know your mom didn’t feel well or whatever, but if it had been you in my place, I would have found a way to see you. I would do anything for you, but just this once, I’m doing something for myself.

Micha: Do you have any idea how hard it was to know that you were sick the way you were? I was terrified. I didn’t want to show that. And I’ve never showed affection in my life. It’s hard for me. And why didn’t you ever call to hang out? I’m not trying to turn this around on you, but how was I supposed to know if you didn’t say anything? I prayed every night since you told me about your problem, bargaining with God for you to get better because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought about it every day. I’m sorry for not always being there. There’s no excuse for that, but I care about you like a sister. I promise you that.

Me: I know you care. I know you care a lot. I also know that you can never, maybe you aren’t even capable of, caring about me as much as I care about you. I love you, I really do. More than anyone in the entire world. You’re my best friend and the only person who I’m happy just being around. I would go to the ends of the earth for you. I never asked to hang out because I was terrified of being rejected, and I’m afraid that I won’t be good enough anymore. Every time there’s this silence between us, it becomes more and more obvious that we’re not as close as we used to be, and it kills me.

Micha: That’s not the truth because I wouldn’t be wasting my time trying to convince you that I care if I didn’t care as much as you do. Just because it’s silent doesn’t mean it’s bad. Just because we’re not as close as we used to be doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be friends. We’ve grown apart because that’s just how people are. You’re still important to me though. Like I said, I wouldn’t waste my time or tears if I didn’t care.

Me: I don’t know what lengths I still may or may not go to for you… Micha, I have done such awful things to myself because that’s how much I really do love you. You have no idea. I couldn’t stand the pain of your drifting from me and it made me do horrible things. That’s how I know I care more. You were all I had, but you had so many others. Of course, all this was going on at a subconscious level and I didn’t figure it out until therapy. My eating disorder was only the last step… I did a hell of a lot of other self-destructive things, for years, before then. I don’t know if I can be friends with you and not go back to those things.

Micha: You should never hurt yourself because of someone else, especially me. You have so many people who care about you. I’m not all you have. You have so many. You need to realize that.

Me: I know that now, but not back then, when I was 13 years old and didn’t know who I was or who I should be and my best friend since kindergarten decided to ditch me for the prettier girls and my family and I fought every day. You really were all I had back then, and I still care about you that much to this day. That’s the problem.

Micha: I don’t know what to say to make you stick around and still be my friend. This is our last year together, to be honest. I don’t want to spend it without you or any other of my best friends. It’s going to be our senior year. I’m leaving after next year. We all are. I want to spend it with the people I care about. That’s all I know.

Me: So do I, but I don’t know if that’s possible for me.

Micha: I hope you know I don’t need much. Just a friendship is enough. You don’t need to go to great lengths for me. I just want us to hang out and do stupid shit and have fun like we used to. I don’t want to retire the Ouija just yet ha. Or the VZ football games. Or shit talking crazy Hello Hollywood fan girls. Or any of that kind of stuff.

Me: I honestly don’t know what to do. Just give me a while to think.

Hello! Welcome to the, err... "sequel" to my inpatient journals. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out: mewithoutmia.blogspot.com

Thanks for reading! :)