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.