My intake assessment for the eating disorder clinic is tomorrow. I’m nervous as heck.
Since it’s tomorrow, I thought it’s probably time I should tell someone in my life that I’m seeking treatment, so I told my mom. It was HARD. I told her I had something I needed to tell her, but then it took a good 5 minutes before I could work up the courage to actually tell her what’s going on. I cried.
My mom said she suspected I was struggling, but wasn’t sure. She said she’s glad I’m seeking treatment.
I don’t like talking about myself with people. I don’t like telling people I’m going into treatment. It’s hard and uncomfortable. I think I’ll hold off telling anyone else until I know whether or not I’ll be admitted.
The other eating disorder clinic emailed me their assessment forms just now. I need to fill them out and return them, and get medically cleared by my doctor. I’m not looking forward to this. Eating disorder assessment forms mean dredging up everything from your past, plus a lot of tedium as you have to fill out all the little details of your eating disorder. But I got this far, I’m going to do this. Wish me luck that they both will admit me, and my insurance will approve it.
My intake assessment is tomorrow. It’s so close, but so elusively far. I’m nervous and scared and hopeful, and scared of being hopeful.
I’m afraid they’ll tell me they can’t or won’t help me. I’m afraid they will help me. I need this. I know I need this. Yet it terrifies me.
I’ve been fighting the last few days to hang on. When I get this kind of build up of anticipation, my anxiety goes through the roof. I’ve done a lot of binging and purging and laxatives, but I’ve been trying not to cut, and I’ve been fighting the strong urge to overdose.
I just need an answer. One way or the other, I need to know what’s going to happen. I don’t do well when I don’t know. I don’t like not having things planned out. The unknown and uncertainty drive me nuts.
I’ve only slept 2 hours in the last few days. I’m sure that’s not helping any.