Lost…

When I look in the mirror

There’s nothing I see

But a small hollow shell

Staring straight back at me

I see fear in her eyes

But a fire in her soul

I see fragments of herself

She sorts out to make a whole

“But where I am?”

I whisper softly to myself

“I am you…” she laughs,

“…In sickness and health”

I want to look away

But her eyes grab my soul

I’m feeling so lost,

And I’m feeling so cold

I recognize the bones

But not much more than that

“I’ve fallen,” I cry

And I’m losing myself.

——-

I’m going back to treatment. I’m at a point where I really need more help. I’ve lost sight of myself. Instead, I look into the mirror and see a girl I don’t recognize. She looks like she’s dying inside, and she’s scared. She still has a smug look of defiance…the, “I can do this myself if I just try harder”. But she’s wrong. She can’t keep doing this by herself.

So I had to make a decision I never thought I’d have to make again. I called Focus and did an intake. They want to wait for my lab results to come back before I can go, to make sure I’m medically stable. Honestly I’m terrified that I’m not and I’ll have to go to inpatient treatment before Focus. Inpatient treatment has been so, so detrimental to my recovery and it terrifies me. I don’t even know any inpatient treatment centers around here that aren’t terrible. I’m just praying really hard, if God is still listening to me after the distance I’ve caused between us, that I can go to Focus as soon as possible and make things right again.

I want so badly to turn this around. I don’t like who I’ve become. I’m terrified as well to face this new demon inside me. I don’t know who this demon is, and how deep it goes.

Just pray for me, or send good vibes. It’s much appreciated. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Slight trigger warning

I’m full of shame, guilt, anger, and confusion. I was able to commit to taking some small steps with my therapist…but one thing I’m not able to give up right now is my scale. And that’s probably the major roadblock right now, seeing as these other steps mean nothing if I continue to watch the scale go up and down every day.

Up, I feel guilt and disgust. My ED takes over and makes my food decisions for the day.

Down, I feel guilt and some level of indifference. I know my weight needs to do anything but go down further, but it’s hard to come to term with that. It’s hard for me to say what weight is suddenly a “crisis”, and what is just “whatever it’s fine”. What weight is too low? Who defines that? Can I accept who defines that?

Sometimes I wonder if the only reason I’m considering treatment is to “escape”. My mom used to tell me I do that (use treatment as an out). It’s confusing because treatment is the last place I want to be, and I know going would bring on an emotional tidal wave- but at the same time I just want this to be over. My body has been feeling slightly better pain-wise, so I think that’s also throwing me through a loop. It makes me think I’m better, and nothing else matters. I still ache, and it gets especially bad after working, but maybe that’s just the price of working at Starbucks. Maybe I just hurt because I’m up on my feet for 8.5 hours.I don’t know. Everything’s confusing and nobody can have a definitive answer. I suppose I’m the only one with that, but I’m too confused to make that determination. How much am I minimizing, and how long do I drag this out before I’m forced to make a decision? Who will force me to make that decision? Or am I just overreacting and I’m fine? I need someone to provide these answers because I’m lost :/ and this is too much.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Everything is overwhelming right now. What wasn’t about my eating disorder has suddenly become a struggle with my eating disorder. It’s just impossible for me to lose this much weight and not have trouble gaining it back (mentally). I’ve found myself acting on my ED a lot yesterday and today. I’m back to weighing myself every few hours, only eating certain things, and not taking my nausea medicine because I know it helps me eat. I only increased my other medicine for one night when I said I’d start consistently taking the higher dose. My anxiety is crippling, my body hurts like shit, I can’t even lift anything or move without pain, and my energy is at a zero. I’m not supposed to be drinking caffeine anymore per the doctor but I’ve cheated yesterday and today and had 1-2 shots of espresso. I just can’t function anymore. It’s sickening to me because I’ve been fighting everyone saying it’s not my eating disorder, but it partly is. I’m struggling and not telling anyone because a) I feel like I should be past this by now and b) I’m 12 years old and need to prove my mother wrong. She keeps insisting I’m relapsing and honestly I think that’s part of the reason I am struggling. Everyone tells me I look unhealthy and it fuels my disorder. Her repeating this stuff over and over, saying I need help…it’s almost given me a “fuck it” mentality.

What happened? I was happy. I was doing fine. Now I’m silently struggling because I am supposed to be in recovery. I had solid recovery for three years now…I’d moved past all of that shit. It bothers me that it’s still an issue. And part of me won’t accept help because I’m not like I used to be. Relapse doesn’t look like it used to look, so to me that means I must not be relapsing. This is so confusing to me. Can relapse change? Can you use an eating disorder for seemingly no good reason? No new trauma, no major horrible life events. It seems like nothing changed, yet it’s back. What the fuck is going on???

I don’t know what to do. I’ll be honest about that on here. I have no clue what to do.

The Absent Moral to Her Story

My life seems to be running into a brick wall over and over again, thinking the wall will somehow break down one day and I’ll get to move on.

Along the way, many people have reached out their hand to me. They offer help…guidance…love…but none of them make the wall disappear.

I get distracted for some time. I start trying out other paths. Many seem successful for other people, so why wouldn’t I try to do the same?

But they don’t lead me where that person is. They only lead me back to this stupid brick wall.

So after trying out several paths and finding myself right back where I started, I stopped. I stopped, looked at the brick wall and screamed, “I AM FUCKING TIRED OF YOU!!! You stupid wall; all you do is hurt me. I don’t even think it is possible to break you down. I’m going to spend my life running into you, smacking my head and falling further and further down. You will be the death of me.”

And the wall smiled, stood tall, and remained.

-A story that could very well never be continued, as it seems.

Nothing

I type, I erase. I type, I erase.

And most days, I post nothing at all.

Is there anything left to say? So much, actually. I have so much inside of me. My thoughts are running, running, running at 1000 mph. They toss and they turn and they boil through my veins and ice over my heart. I pretend like nothing’s wrong, because that’s the only fucking way I’ll ever get through the day without hurting someone else.

I can’t go to work and broadcast my issues. I’m in charge, and I need to appear like I’ve actually got shit together. I need to fake it, because if I don’t, everyone else feels uneasy. I need to keep it cool.

I can’t let others know the true pain I have inside me. I can’t express it correctly, because no one understands. Maybe there’s the rare occasion that someone does understand, but they will still encourage me to “do the right thing”- eat, sleep, take your medicines, tell people how you feel. Talk about it, don’t keep it in. But here’s my problem.

There’s really nothing anyone can say. There’s really nothing anyone can do. At the end of the day, my issues are MY issues. I’m in control, and I’m making the wrong decisions. So until I can face up to the right decisions, I need to keep it together and pretend I’m okay.

There is no use crying when you’re doing it to yourself.

And I know full well I am. I know full well I am not taking anyone’s advice, not listening to my gut, and not doing a damn thing to help myself.

Here’s the difference, which I don’t know how many people will truly understand- my feet feel frozen. I literally can’t move. I have no guts. I have no conviction. I have absolutely nothing but a hollow shell who deserves to be in whatever pile of shit she lands in because she’s DOING IT TO HERSELF.

I cannot escape when I don’t try.

But maybe there’s another form of escape that feels easier to manage.

And maybe that’s not the “right” one.

But fuck if I ever do the right thing, anyway.

 

I’ll be fine. I keep going, as I always do. I keep going because I’m a coward in every sense of the word, and I own up to that.

I know what to change. But change feels akin to jumping off a 1000 story building into a dark, dark ocean in the black abyss where you’re pretty much sure you’ll end up lost in again anyway.

So here I sit. Making the wrong decisions.

I won’t complain anymore. I’ll pretend like it’s fine, because that’s probably easier for all of us, anyway.

Over and out.

Apology Unaccepted

I love feeling like a piece of shit in the morning. It’s just the best way to start your day.

I forgot to pay rent yesterday (it’s May 2), so of course I’m the one who is a piece of shit for forgetting. We now have a $135 late fee (bullshit), and even though we can afford it, I’m still the fucking idiot for forgetting. It’s my fault everything sucks. It’s my fault he has to get in trouble with his dad now. Everything is my fault.

I want to break free from the rest of the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in chains. I know there’s things I want out of life, but it’s never the right time, or the right circumstances. Overall, the world would probably function just as adequately or even better without me ruining everything.

Sometimes I dream about living in the middle of nowhere and having a ton of pets. I’d get a lot of land and just let them run free and enjoy their lives. I don’t cut it in the real world. I’m just constantly doing something wrong. I’m tired of being a burden.

And everything is on my shoulders. Somehow I’m supposed to be superwoman and take care of everything. Sometimes superwoman gets tired.

My stomach hurts. I know the anxiety is building up within me. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I want to make people happy. I want to stop making mistakes and ruining people’s days.

I’m sorry for being such a screw up.

-Wednesday May 2, 2018

April 18, 2018

I haven’t posted in a long time, and I’m sure nobody reads this by now.

I’ve had a long semester. I’ve been taking four classes, two in person and two online, as well as full time work. My commute is about 1.5 hours each way. Tuesday’s and Thursday’s I have to go from work to school; Monday’s I have therapy. The only days I get to go directly home are Wednesday’s and Friday’s. It’s killing my spirit, but I have to push through. I don’t have any other options right now.

Work is going well. I seem to be succeeding at it. My company values me, which is nice. I don’t understand why they like me so much, but I go with it. I’m proud of myself for working hard and being a valuable employee. I know most years of my life I haven’t been very dependable in that sense. The commute is terrible but I don’t have much of a choice. I try not to think about it (which obviously fails).

I’ve decided to come off of two of my medicines. I don’t want to admit it but it’s already affecting me. I stopped taking my Remeron about two weeks ago. I tried to stop taking my Seroquel altogether as well, but I ended up extremely sick and almost had to go to the hospital. Apparently you can’t just stop taking Seroquel. It was akin to coming off of meth (not that I have experience with that, it just felt like it). Couldn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat or drink, vomiting constantly, shaking, hot and cold at the same time no matter what I did, crying my eyes out because it felt like I was dying, and could hardly move without it being painful. This happened over the weekend. I ended up taking one of my pills and was able to keep it down. I took that Monday off from work to try to recover a bit. It’s not joke.

Which leads me to my question…why was I put on a drug like that in the first place? I feel cheated. I feel lied to. No one ever told me how difficult it would be to come off of medicines like that. It takes weeks, if not months. It alters everything about your body. It’s mind blowing to me that in treatment, they hand out pills like candy and only tell you it’s to make you feel better. No consequences, no talk of what your life will be like after the medicine. It’s just a quick fix for now.

I’m not knocking medicine. I need medicine to function normally. I am staying on my antidepressant. I think this is more aimed at medicines like the Seroquel where it’s insanely difficult to come off of. I wish I had prior warning. That’s all.

Like I said, I am noticing the difference between myself on the two and myself off the Remeron. I’ll be off the Seroquel in another few weeks. I feel like I get upset more easily, anxious quicker. I almost cried at work yesterday because it was so overwhelming. That could have just been a bad day, but I think it was the aftermath that left me feeling worse. I had terrible thoughts, wondered if life is even worth it. Wondered if offing myself would solve my problems. Because if I’m not normal off of medicines, maybe I’m just not meant to be. Maybe I am meant to be miserable. When I take medicine, it’s fake happiness. I want to be able to be happy on my own. Does that make sense? Who knows. It’s just scary to me that I am a completely different person naturally. I want to be the person I am on a good set of medicine without the medicine. I think I’m mostly bitter that my life needs to be this complicated. I’m angry that I can’t feel happiness unless it’s induced.

So I had a terrible day yesterday, and then on the way out of my history class, a girl stopped me in the parking lot. At first I thought she thought she knew me from somewhere. Then she invited me to her ministry meeting. It was completely out of the blue, and even though I didn’t go, the entire conversation left me feeling a little better. I was having a day consumed by depressive thoughts, wondering if my life is even worth living…and then someone takes the time to stop me and bring me closer to God. She could have stopped anyone. She didn’t have to talk to me. She did because she is a kind person, and I needed it. I sat in my car after that interaction, and nearly got out to go to the meeting. I didn’t because I had a long terrible day and hadn’t been home in over 12 hours yet…but I might plan to go next week. I’ve been really wanting a better relationship with God lately, but I don’t even know where to start. I had such a bad experience with a church down here that I’ve been turned off ever since. I want to have a better relationship with God. I want to feel God’s love more present in my life. I think He can get me through the bad times, and make me cherish the good. I want to feel secure again.

Maybe this meeting is the way to get back into my faith. Maybe these people can be an outlet for me. I struggle greatly with being social, and the idea of entering a room full of people I don’t know and talking to them about God terrifies me. This is so stupid, but I’m scared they’ll want to be friends. I don’t consider myself a good friend, and I’m so busy all the time that I know I couldn’t be as deep into my faith as I’d like to be. It’s mostly just myself getting in the way. I’d like to go and check it out, at least. I think the less expectation there is, the better.

It’s about 8am, so I need to switch from this and start work. It felt good to write though. Helps me get some of my frustrations and emotions out.

Thanks for reading, if you happen to see this and actually make it this far. ❤

-April 18th, 2018