I hate the birds

I’m lying here in my bed…still. It’s officially morning. I can’t lie still. I shake my legs to diminish, slightly, the pain. They ache. It’s not muscle soreness from the bike, just a deep, painful ache. Usually, this is a sign that my potassium or magnesium is low.

I do feel the muscle soreness, however. Every shake and every movement is a reminder of the hours spent on my bike yesterday. I stayed on it until 2am. Four hours ago. Yet, each tender reminder hurts less than the ache, so it’s worth aggravating the soreness.

The birds are singing outside my window. I wish they would stop. They are so chipper and I am so tired.

I want to get up and weigh myself. I want to get up and use my bike. I want to get up an weigh, then exercise, then weigh again. Instead, I lie here, legs twitching and shaking, begging for sleep.

I fear it will never come.

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Missing my scale

This is how I feel without my scale.

The other day, I actually cried when I saw the space my scale used to occupy.

This morning after I didn’t go to the doctor, therefore didn’t get to know my current weight, I decided I needed me scale back.

I emailed my counselor, telling her this.

She responded, “I didn’t have the chance to see you today and I’m out until Tuesday. Make sure to talk to [nutritionist] about this, and I’d like to talk to you about it, too. I know it’s really difficult once you give that thing up…hang in there.”

I don’t want to hang in there, and I don’t want to wait until Tuesday to get my scale back. I am frustrated.

Losing a friend and an enemy

Today, I took my scale, my blades, and my knives to my counselor.

Giving over the sharps wasn’t that difficult, I really would like to stop cutting. However, handing her my scale was hard. It was like losing a friend. It felt like betrayal.

I am also scared. I’m afraid that without knowing the number, I will be too afraid to eat. That I shall feel all the time like I am gaining. That I have lost the one thing that grounds me. I’m scared of so many things. I want to run back and demand the return of my scale.

But I won’t. I know I need this. I may hate it and I may panic at the thought of not being able to weigh in the morning, but this is necessary for me, for my recovery.

On another note, I went out for coffee with a friend today. It was nice. I spent way too much time worrying about my drink, being perceived as gluttonous, whether I was drinking too fast, etc. However, I still enjoyed myself.

I also tried very hard to follow my meal plan today. I did pretty well, but not 100%. I wasn’t able to finish dinner at the center because it was too spicy and my mouth and throat were burning, but I really tried. The boost helped soothe it some, so for once I was excited to drink it.

My treatment team is still worried about me. I hate having people worry. It’s why I haven’t told my family or friends how much I’m struggling.

I’m meeting another friend for coffee tomorrow. I realized last night that I need to get out more and I need to connect with others more. It helps me to get outside my own head. So I’m making a concerted effort to do that more.

I’ve been avoiding my nutritionist, but I should probably go see her sometime this week.

Tomorrow I have to go in early to work on my relapse prevention plan. I also need to do counseling homework. Oh, and write my stupid 25 page episode. And study for finals. Gah! I have so much to do. I need to make out a prioritized task list.

Tomorrow. Tonight, I need to sleep.

The weekend is not my friend

This is how I feel when dealing with the staff at the eating disorder center. Especially when it comes to nutrition.

No, actually, just in general.

When they tell me I’m wrong about anything, how much I’m eating (or not eating), when they tell me my thinking on something is wrong, I think, “Don’t you think if I were wrong, I would know it?”

Then again, I recognize that I am wrong on some things, and that’s why I am in treatment.

I spent the whole weekend at my brothers’ place. I have 3 brothers, 2 of them live together. The four of us got together for a weekend of games.

The games themselves were fun.

Eating was…

Knowing that I’m being weighed tomorrow at the center made eating harder than normal. It made keeping it down harder than normal.

I found myself enjoying the company of my brothers less and worrying about food and weight and appearance more.

I intentionally got drunk one night just so I could stop thinking about it all. I woke up the next morning feeling guilty, calculating the number of calories I’d ingested through alcohol, and feeling foolish for doing that to myself.

When I got home, the first thing my dad did was ask, “Do you want fries?”

He was just about to make a batch of fries in the oven. I already wanted to binge and purge, so when asked unexpectedly if I wanted fries, I jumped at it.

While they baked, I made myself a veggie burger, so I had a burger and fries, then purged.

I weighed before purging and again after.

There was a 5 pound difference. Dang!

Granted, some of that was the 3 large glasses of water I drank while I ate. But still.

On top of that, I gained like 10 pounds in the last 3 days while not keeping anything down except that alcohol. Yeah. I love my body.

So tomorrow shall be spent working out and I probably won’t be having any water before I go in because I’m afraid to let them see a gain and I don’t want to add any extra weight to that total.

In some ways, I feel like being in treatment is making it harder for me to try to recover.