The last few days I’ve been distraught. Inconsolable. I am struggling so hard just to keep from cutting. I’ve been just crying and binging and purging and playing video games and watching the Olympics I missed while I was in California. I don’t see my psychiatrist or therapist until next week. I’m struggling just to get through the days. I keep feeling like I made the wrong decision. Today, I took a nap and I received a text message. It woke me up and at first I thought it was him. My heart leapt with joy, only to crash a moment later when I saw it wasn’t him. He hasn’t tried to reach out to me at all since I left and I feel like it means there must be something wrong with me. Or what if I really hurt him by leaving? Or both.
At random moments throughout the day things will remind me of it, and it hurts so much. My facebook feed is still filled with ads congratulating me on my engagement and offering me money of tuxes or photography packages. It feels weird not to have his ring on my finger, and the noticeable absence makes me cry. I just want it all to end. I want to sleep and not wake up. I wish school would start already so I had something productive to focus on.
The other night I had an ice cream sandwich. I immediately felt the urge to cut. I felt like I deserved to be punished for eating the ice cream sandwich. I felt like I had done something reprehensible and needed to atone for it.
Luckily, I was able to distract myself long enough to keep myself from cutting (partly by doing this picture).
I have jury duty in the morning. I am filled with so much dread. I’m nervous beyond reason. I’ve been using unhealthy coping mechanisms to try to stay somewhat calm.
I also can’t afford to be picked. I have appointments every day this week. Tuesday, I’m finally supposed to meet with a new psychiatrist. I’ve waited since JUNE for this. I’m going to be so frustrated if I miss it because I’m in jury duty.
On a positive note, I went trick-or-treating yesterday with my toddler niece and nephew, sister, and brother-in-law. I really enjoyed that.
Tomorrow is the first day of my orientation for my year-long DBT program. I’m so excited, but also very nervous. I am hopeful it will be helpful. I also am unsure what to expect. Plus, I’ll be doing this program with the same people for a year, so here’s hoping we all get along well.
I meet with my therapist before the orientation, and then have orientation, then I’m going over to my brother’s for the remainder of the day to work on my Magic: the Gathering Commander deck and play a little Magic.
On the agenda for today: pack. Did I mention I’m moving? I just have no idea where to yet.
Day #21: Something you are proud of.
I was originally going to say my family, but then I realized I probably am supposed to say something about myself.
So, what am I proud of? For a while I thought “nothing,” but then I realized I am proud of myself for pushing myself when I don’t want to, which I do all the time. For wearing pant when it’s hard. For agreeing to to a year-long DBT program when it scares me. For going out with friends when my anxiety tells me to stay home. For doing house cleaning when I’m in horrible pain. I’m proud of myself for pushing myself beyond my comfort zone.
A while ago I wrote that I was trying to get into a year-long DBT program through the mental health clinic where I’m seen. Well, I just found out I was accepted into the program! I’m relieved, and a little anxious. But mostly relieved. I really think this will be good for me.
Day #8: Share a scar.
First of all, I’m a day late, sorry about that. Yesterday was hectic. I went to the ENT and had to run errands and pick up prescriptions, and then I went up to the mountains again with my dad for several hours, so I didn’t get a chance to do this one, so you’ll get this one and today’s today. 😀
I don’t know if it means a scar literally or figuratively. I’m going to share an actual, physical scar that I have.
This scar is from the first time I cut deeper then superficially on my arm. It scared me. I should have gotten stitches, but I was afraid to go and tell someone what I’d done. I remember lying to my boss about it, when she saw it. I said I had caught it on a nail in my garage. I have no Idea whether she believed me. Probably not since I had a bunch of other self-harm scars on my arm.
For the longest time, I hated this scar. I thought it was huge and ugly. Well, it kind of still is, but I’ve come to accept it as part of my story. Part of my me, who I am, and where I’ve been. It’s a sign of strength. In that moment I could have given up. I was really struggling, but instead I found a way to cope. It may not have been a healthy way, but it kept me alive, and it kept me going, and it did its job until I could find better ways to cope. And I’m still here, still fighting, learning more and more how to thrive instead of just survive. I’m proud of that moment of strength when I chose not to give up.
Day #5: A note to your past You.
Dear little girl,
I know you feel fat. You are not. No one ever told you this, so I am telling you. You are thin and lovely and perfect and there is nothing wrong with you. I know you think there is something wrong with you. There isn’t. I know you think the only way to fix it is to stop eating, to diet, to count your calories, to read the nutrition labels on your food. Don’t even start. It will only lead you down a road of pain and loneliness, of lies and deceit, of crime and shame, of regret and fear. Nothing will ever be the same once you start down that line. Don’t even go there. Tell someone instead. An adult. And keep telling them until someone listens and takes you seriously. It shouldn’t be so hard as a child to be taken seriously, so I’m sorry that you may have to fight for it, but learn to fight for what you need. Learn to advocate for yourself or no one else will. It will make you stronger in the end. Most of all, you still have a lot to face, and it’s going to be hard, but you will get through it. Don’t give up. Ever. You’re so much stronger then you think.
I love you, little girl.
Pictured above is me simultaneously doing an angry dance and a facepalm of frustration. Why? Well, it starts a couple months ago.
The psychiatrist I was seeing at the mental health clinic where I go for treatment of my bipolar disorder, bulimia, self-harm, suicidal ideation, etc quit a couple months ago. I was informed via a letter in the mail and told I would now be seeing a new psychiatrist and that I needed to call and set up an appointment after a certain date. I waited until said date, called, and set up an appointment, a month out (her first available appointment, apparently). I waited anxiously for the date to arrive as I could tell my meds needed to be adjusted. The day before my appointment, I got a call saying my appointment had been canceled because my new psychiatrist had quit.
So, I called intake to get an appointment with another psychiatrist, only to be told I couldn’t be seen by another one at the moment because they were shorthanded. Not good enough. I got the number to the intake manager and left her a message letting her know the situation and that I really needed to be seen by a psychiatrist. She promised to “work on it”. Today, I went in to see my therapist and we went to speak with intake together. We found a psychiatrist with a last minute cancellation so I could get in to see someone this afternoon if I was willing to come back later. I was. They scheduled me and I left, finally feeling like I was making progress.
NOPE! I got a call just before noon saying they needed to cancel my appointment! No explanation could be given. I am so fucking frustrated! I just want to see a psychiatrist and get my meds adjusted. Is that really too much to ask??
“This is why,“ I think to myself as I take another bite of pasta. “This is why you can’t lose any weight despite hours of exercise each day.”
This is how I deal with stress, with disappointment, with not knowing what to do. I eat and I exercise. I used to purge, but I haven’t done much of that since leaving treatment a month ago. Now I just kill myself on my bike. Which I did, right before eating the pasta.
I was supposed to go car shopping today, but due to a series of events, was unable to. That’s the 4th time in a row. I’m beginning to think I will never be able to buy a car. All I want is a little independence. All I want is to be able to get around when my fibromyalgia is acting up. All I want is stability. All I want is freedom.
All I get is disappointment. So, all I do is exercise and eat. It’s better than the alternative, I suppose. I really wanted to cut, but I worked out and ate pasta instead. It’s “safer” at the very least, I’m told. Better to kill myself slowly with bulimia than to slice open my veins, they tell me.
Just once, I want something to go right.