I took too many laxatives this morning and I am dying. Not literally, thankfully. Unfortunately?
My stomach is cramping like crazy, I’m nauseous and vomiting, and I’ve shat myself, which is completely unpleasant. All I can do is lie here, close to the bathroom, and writhe in pain. At least I’m not binging and purging…
I saw the new psychiatrist today. I didn’t click with him like I did my last psychiatrist, but I don’t hate him either. He up my medication dosage, which I’m so relieved about. Hopefully I start to feel more like me again soon. He also wants me back in eating disorder treatment at the Eating Recovery Center and is going to talk to my therapist about it.
He put me on “monitored meds” because of my frequent overdoses. Instead of getting a month’s supply I only get two weeks at a time. If they feel like I can’t handle that, it goes down to a week at a time.
So overall, I feel conflicted about the outcome of my visit today. I’m not pleased about having my medications monitored. I’m also not sure I want to go back into eating disorder treatment.
In other news, my friend’s grandmother is dying. I am trying to comfort her, but I know there’s not much I can really do for her, which is hard. I want to help.
Day #4: A person who loves you
I wish I could show you a picture of this person, because she is beautiful. Alas, I cannot because that would spoil my anonymity that allows me to blogs freely here.
Who is the person? My mom. My mother is the one person who has loved me unconditionally through everything I have gone through, through every challenge, through all my troubles. She’s the one who has prayed for me, hugged me when I didn’t think I could keep going, snuggled with me and marathoned Gilmore Girls when I was too depressed to do anything else, made food for me even when I refused to eat, sat with me in the ER when I had overdosed on my meds or laxatives, wrote me encouraging notes at just the right times, I just can’t even type all the wonderful things my mom has done for me. I have tried to tell her, but she will never know how much she has been my rock and my savior.
Normally on days I have physical therapy I don’t workout on my own because I’m sore and tired from PT. However, tonight, I was worried about how much food I’ve eaten today and weighing in tomorrow morning, so I got in another workout. I pushed myself really hard, too. Harder than I have in the last week.
Tomorrow I will be on my own for part of the day. Those days are always the hardest. They’re the days I end up binging on food or self-harming or buying things I shouldn’t or planning an overdose or so many other self-destructive things. I try so hard to stay stable on my days alone but I just don’t know how.
I have an intake assessment call with an eating disorder treatment facility on Tuesday.
I have no idea whether I’ll get into one of their programs. I really don’t know what to expect at all. I’m very nervous, slightly freaking out. But I’m ready to give recovery another go. I have realized I really do want a future without all of this, and I am ready to fight for it.
In the last week, I have binged and purged for 10 hours straight before passing out on my bedroom floor, and I’ve been horribly ill from overdosing on laxatives to the point of uncontrollable vomiting. This is completely out of control and I need to change something.
So here’s hoping.
You may have seen by now that I hate platitudes, and find them more frustrating and patronizing than helpful.
This was posted on someone’s Facebook wall just now.
This is one of those sayings that sounds so nice and encouraging when you’re the one saying it it. However, as someone who’s been on the receiving end, I have never figured out what “the miracle” is.
I have struggled with depression most of my life and suicidal tendencies for about 2 decades. I have given up, or been close to giving up dozens of times. I have quit, and I have been ready to quit. I have attempted suicide, and I have longed for death. I have had long, hard nights where I KNEW I couldn’t keep going and I didn’t know how to hang on anymore.
I can tell you that not ONCE after any of these points have I experienced “the miracle” that is supposed to happen after. There is no wake up the next morning and things are miraculously better. There is no sudden epiphany that makes everything make sense and all the pain and suffering “worth it”.
My singular goal for tonight, this last day of 2014, was to not spend it in the ER like I did last New Year’s Eve. When a friend asked me what my plans were, that’s what I told her.
I am struggling, and I am hanging on for now, and I am trying to make the right choices. But telling me that “the miracle” is right around the corner is not helpful to me. It kind of just makes me want to slap you and tell you that you haven’t got a clue.
I’m sure I sound cynical. I’m sure I sound mean-spirited. I’m sure I sound bitter. However, when you deal with people telling you the same useless phrases over and over for years, it just gets old.
Last night I took half a bottle of effexor.
Last night I couldn’t sleep because of the pain.
Last night I was so nauseous I wanted to tear out my stomach.
This morning the pain had subsided substantially, but I was still nauseous, and with that came dizziness, shaking, weakness, blurred vision, fatigue, and so much more.
I’m too sick to eat, and even sipping liquids are hard.
I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish. Whatever it was, I don’t think I succeeded.
I’m overdosed on effexor last night. It wasn’t a fun night. It’s not a fun morning. More to come.