In art in treatment today, I made a pros and cons list for recovery. It was emotional and hard. I’m also not sure it was helpful in making any decisions as both sides came out pretty even.
I’ve been pretty ambivalent about treatment lately and really struggling since stepping down to IOP. I realized in my session with my psychiatrist this afternoon that I was doing better in PHP because it was very structured and that high level of structure mimicked my eating disorder in a way so I felt safe to eat more and keep it down. Now that I have much more free time, life feels chaotic again and I am seeking the comfort and structure that my eating disorder give.
I’m just not sure how to move past this and get back into a recovery mindset. My primary counselor has been out of town for the holidays and that’s also thrown me for a loop. I’m glad she returns tomorrow.
I want to take a moment and thank you, dear reader, for reading this. And thank you especially to all you who comment on my blog. Your comments mean more to me than you will ever know. Your kindness and encouragement are a bright spot in my life and they really help keep me going when I’m struggling the most.
I appreciate so much the advice, the warm thoughts, the prayers, the resources you send me, the virtual hugs, the solidarity, every comment. Thank you for being you, and thank you for taking the time to visit my blog.
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.
Today is the first time in the 2 weeks I’ve been back in treatment that I’ve even remotely tried to follow my meal plan.
I ate a small bowl of cereal and half the milk I put in the bowl. I also took my meds and drank a half glass of water.
These are all huge victories.
However, I’m now left nauseous and anxious and trying to keep my food on the inside.
I still have the large, black “STOP” on my hand. It is a reminder not to binge, but also not to purge. I am trying.
It shouldn’t be so hard to keep food in. People all over the world go all day, every day eating food and not giving a second thought as to whether they should keep that food down, whether they should let it digest. Why can’t it be that simple for me?
I wish it weren’t such an internal struggle to just not throw up my food.
I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to win this one.
I may not have faith yet that I can win the war against bulimia, but just this meal, I’m going to win the battle. It’s my turn, dammit. I will be victorious.
I just need to stay away from the bathroom for a few hours, and distract the hell out of myself. No big deal, right? (If only)