Monthly Archives: June 2015

Here against my will


Did I mention I am in treatment against my will at this point?

Right now, I’m completely dependent upon my parents financially, so they have a lot of power over my life. They gave teamed up with my counselor and gave me an ultimatum, basically “stay in treatment or else”.

So, here I am in treatment. All of last week, I felt like I was in prison. Like I was being held in this program against my will and it made me really resent the program and my counselor.

However, I’m starting to have a change of heart. If I’m going to be here, which for now I am, I might as well make the most of it. I may not have the fire to recover I did before, but I am at least going to try to get what I can out of the program while I can. Which, I guess, means meeting with the dietician, who I’ve been avoiding like the plague. Eating. Trying to keep it down. Maybe even trying to follow the meal plan again.

It all sounds terrifying when I type it out, but I’m going to try.


You’re to blame


I ate way too much today. I can’t even list it all. And I didn’t purge any of it. I feel absolutely disgusting. I will have to punish myself in other ways.

(not) getting better


I got a phone call from a coworker wanting to catch up. We talked for a while. I opened up about why I’ve been absent. She asked how I’m doing now. I lied and said I’m getting better.

3 months


I’ve been in treatment for over 3 months now. I’m so sick of it. I just want my insurance to kick out so I can stop…

Eating again


Yesterday I was able to some food. It was a small amount, measured and planned, thought out carefully for reintroducing my stomach to food.

While it was more like this:


It felt more like this:

Then, right before bed, I ate a bowl of cereal, and promptly purged it. This morning, I ate a very small amount of granola and yogurt. It’s not sitting well. I want to purge, but I’m trying to keep it in.

I’m going to try to eat a couple more times today. It’s not “meals” as defined by my meal plan, but at least it’s something.

Called it


I can’t sleep.

My heart is racing from the coffee. I can’t get comfortable. My mind won’t settle down.

I’m watching Mash on my tablet, but I’m having trouble focusing on just it.

Good thing I don’t have any coffee left. This was a bad idea. I forgot how it affects me when I don’t eat.

My legs ache. My stomach hurts. I’m nauseous. I have diarrhea. I can’t sleep. Ugh, I just want to sleep.

Relapse vs. Lapse


Where is the line between lapse and relapse? I haven’t eaten in days. I’m currently drinking coffee to numb the gnawing hunger and calm my anxiety. I’m in danger of being kicked out of eiop or being sent back to php. My counselor is planning to call my parents about my unwillingness to eat.

I can’t eat. I can’t. I don’t know why. I just can’t.

I worry I won’t sleep tonight because of the coffee.

I ran out of coffee, so I can’t rely on it for tomorrow. I have celery, but I can’t even get myself to eat that. Hungry, but unable to eat.

Bat shit crazy


It’s dark and I’m barefoot. I’m sitting on the front step of my brothers apartment crying, wishing to die, wanting to claw my skin off. I stand to leave, knowing they won’t notice. I walk away from their apartment in tears with no plan in mind. I just need to get away. Away from myself. I walk and walk, the tears blurring my vision. I walk past the liquor store they frequent. I walk past the dollar store. I need to DO something. I see the brick pillars in front of the stores and I start hitting my arms against them, trying to produce bruises. I continue walking, the crying is now sobbing. I get a text from my mom. “Are you ok?” I respond, “No.” I explain that I’m walking around barefoot, sobbing, suicidal. She asks where I am. I say near a specific bus stop. She says to go there and stay. I do.

Shorty thereafter, my brother arrives. He sits next to me and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him and cry. We sit like this for I don’t know how long. Then, he quietly asks if I want to go home. I say yes. He stands and grabs my hand. He leads me home. The ground I was too distraught to feel earlier I feel acutely now with my bare feet so the walk it slow, but he just silently guides me home.

When we arrive home, he puts me to bed in his bed and closes the door. I feel alone, closed off, but safe. I cry myself to sleep.

The next morning, we act like nothing happened.