I was just informed I start PHP tomorrow morning. I’m having a mild freak out.
I’m hopeful. Hopeful that php will be helpful and that I’ll be able to do what I need to do for recovery. But everything about doing PHP is scaring the shit out of me right now. And it’s all so very little notice.
I’ve been having floods of emotion, moments of panic, periods of numbness since learning I’ll be starting partial hospitalization this week. I was told I would get more information today, and didn’t, so that added to my anxiety. In an effort to help myself calm down, I decided to art.
The first one I did was “How I Feel Now”. I am the center dot, retracted into myself, dark, trying just to hang on amidst the emotions surrounding me. Each level of emotion is spiky because it feels spiky and jarring. The bright colors in the center are “activating” emotions like anxiety, panic, excitement, and motivation and are like an explosion outward. The darker colors around them are immobilizing emotions like depression, overwhelmed, and fear, and are like an implosion, pushing inward.
The next one was my interpretation of what my emotions would look like if I were calm. It made me think of waves, or a gently flowing river.
I keep crying.
I was reading the schedule for the partial hospitalization program abd it all started to sink in. Then I read the requirements for each level (determines your supervision and activity levels) and I started to freak out.
What if I can’t do this? What if I get there and I can’t eat my meals? What if my insurance doesn’t think I’m trying hard enough and cuts me off? What if I actually succeed in recovery? What am I without my bulimia? Who am I?
This has been my life for over 2 decades. I’m terrified to let it go. I don’t know what life looks like after recovery. Without my eating disorder. The thought of it terrifies me. Panic. Tears. Shortness of breath. I am completely afraid to move past this. To live a life without all I’ve known for so long.
I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.
I have a pattern. The night before an appointment with my doctor, I freak out. I worry about my weight and about talking about my disordered behaviors and about being confronted with the risks and about being told I should really be in treatment and I just start to panic.
Then, in response, I tend to do something stupid like overdose on laxatives, making myself too sick to get out of bed and go to my appointment.
I purged earlier and I took a handful of laxatives, but I’m hoping it wasn’t too much. I really need to get to this appointment since I missed the last one.
I’m starting to feel overwhelmed by life again. I’m not working on my classes and I’m not working and I just want to tell the doctor I’m suicidal so I can hang out in the psych ward for a couple days and pretend the world doesn’t exist.
Instead, I’ll binge and purge on Cheetos and try to make it to my appointment.
Last night, I was hanging out with my ex. We’ve maintained our friendship for the last year.
I don’t know what was different about last night, but he called me sweetie and we kissed.
And we kissed.
And we more than kissed.
I was enjoying it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed being close to him. It felt good to be close to him again.
Then it happened. Before I realized it had happened, we went further than I was comfortable with. I suddenly found myself overwhelmed and scared. I didn’t know how to respond.
As I type this, I can see and hear all the people who tell you to “just say no” but it’s so much harder to do when you’re in the situation and you’re panicked and confused. I didn’t feel capable of stopping it. I felt trapped.
He didn’t know. He thought everything was fine. I disassociated and played the part. Why? I don’t know… I guess because that’s what I’m used to. That’s what I was trained to do.
I hated myself for it. I still hate myself for it. I wish I would have told him. I wish I would have stopped it. I feel dirty. I feel cheap. I feel like a liar. I feel sick.
Afterward, I wanted to die. I wanted to take out blade and cut into the vein on my wrist. Instead I lay there and cried silently into the pillow.
This morning, he was all smiles. He greeted me cheerily and kissed me. I was revolted. I think then he could tell something was wrong. He invited me to come shower with him. I declined. He left shortly after, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I woke up repeating to myself, “I hate you, I hate you.” I keep finding it playing on repeat in the back of my mind. I’ve been near tears all day.
I feel like I have no right to be upset. I am not justified in my despair. I feel guilty for last night, and I feel guilty for feeling guilt.
I don’t know where to go from here.
I find dating to be exhausting.
I’ve mentioned before how casual dating just isn’t for me. I don’t enjoy it and it saps all my energy.
I haven’t exactly been dating lately, but I’ve been spending a lot of my time with someone. We play video games together and just talk. I could see it becoming something.
And yet, part of me hopes it doesn’t.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been off my meds for a few months now and my body is constantly weary and in pain. Add in my new business (which I’m loving) and school (which is overwhelming me merely by existing) and a something-relationship and I just am tired. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.
I’m also scared to be honest. I know he will eventually see my scars and cuts. I know he will eventually discover my neuroses. I know I will eventually be too troubled, too much, too far gone, too hard to handle, too confusing, too needy, too depressed, too…too…too…
Earlier, we were chatting on gtalk (or hangouts, I guess it’s called now) and he send me a youtube video that shows how the special effects department made it look like someone’s fingers had been cut off. The video starts with bloody, severed fingers. I quickly closed it and told him I couldn’t watch it. He explained that he normally doesn’t like things that are gory, but the process was really interesting, and it doesn’t seem gory anymore after you know the process.
I was pretty sure I knew the process (I did) but I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and watch it. I had to stop when they started to cut the fake fingers with scissors. I couldn’t explain to him why it bothered me so much. I couldn’t tell him about having wanted to cut off my own fingers just a few month ago. I can’t tell him how much I loathe this body I am stuck in and how I so often have to fight myself just to NOT mutilate it.
In other mostly unrelated news, I was supposed to do the NEDA walk in my town this morning. Supposed to.
I had worked and worked to raise money and I had looked forward to doing this for months. Then, this morning, I woke up, and I couldn’t do it. I had the most terrible anxiety. Pure panic. I cried, I was so frustrated. I wanted to go, but at the same time, I was terrified. I couldn’t will myself out of bed. I turned my alarm off and cried myself to sleep.
The one bright note of my day, I have nice nails…
I hate talking on the phone. I hate making and receiving calls.
At the moment, I have to speak with my school advisor every week by phone to check in and make sure I’m maintaining progress.
I hate it. I start dreading it the day before. I start having thoughts like, “Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe I’ll pretend it didn’t ring through. Maybe I can say my mom’s phone wasn’t working.” So on and so forth.
Panic twists my stomach into the tightest of knots once the phone actually rings. Reluctantly I answer.
When the call is over, I experience a flood of relief knowing that terrible task is done for one more week.
a2eternity 