I stayed in treatment for 8 weeks. Eight weeks of rating urges for self harm, binging, purging, restricting. Rating depression, body image, anxiety. Suicidal ideation. Snack challenges. Experiential therapy. Meal outings. Breakdowns, anger, tears. I cried a lot, worked through a lot emotionally.
A few times I abused my freedom at home & skipped breakfast.
A few times I drove home too fast, taking the turns too sharply, manically anticipating the release I'd feel once I got down on my knees in front of the toilet.
A few times I hid my almonds under my napkin, calculating the calories I was denying my body of.
A few times I walked back to our table pretending to be drinking my milk, when really I hadn't filled it to the top.
The last three weeks of treatment my depression was at an all time high... making behaviors not an option? Another way of saying 'let's face your problems', your insecurities, your fears. And I hated it and it sucked and I hated myself. So I started drinking every single night. I went almost twenty days straight which is NOT a person I have ever been before. Then Carl dumped me. Then I smoked pot for the first time. One night, completely trashed, I let myself get taken advantage of by a random guy I met earlier at a bar. He followed me home despite my pleas, pinned me against my own kitchen wall, and went up my skirt whispering and kissing my neck as I cried. I went to Chicago with a friend and did coke. I cried a lot. I ordered Chinese in glee knowing a purge would follow, bought tubs of Cherry Garcia frozen yogurt with intent to regurgitate the container within the next hour. Meanwhile, I desperately reached to any guy who would just show me they cared about me in the slightest.
It's not that I went to treatment not wanting recovery, or went through the motions knowing I'd go back to fucking up. I want to get better. I want to be normal. Just now I had to log in to blogspot for the first time in ages and remembered when I made this account over a year ago... I chose the e-mail wannorexictaylor@gmail.com. As in 'want'. And 'anorexic'. Are you joking? I literally scoffed out loud as I typed it in. I had no idea the grip ED would have on me or how it would take over my life, or how it's not a matter of 'wanting' anything, it wants me. When school started treatment was no longer feasible, so I made my relapse prevention plan, my outpatient appointments, and with meal plans and my recovery binder in hand I marched out ready to take on the world ED free. Guess where those things are? My car. Haven't touched them.
Now I have classes and I'm at a high weight. I hate myself. I'm depressed and to be honest all I want to do is get high or get drunk. I'm scared of the world and scared of myself. I thought treatment would fix me, and the idea that an institution like that didn't make a dent in my fucked up-ness is terrifying. I miss being thin... I miss the all-consuming film it placed over my life, fogging up my reality and numbing my fear. Being aware of pain and my issues sucks, I want to melt back into my disordered ways and hide.
"Fuck the pain away. I mean fuck it, drink it, shoot it, smoke it, snort it, cut it, binge it, purge it all the fuck away. Get high, relapse. That's what we do."
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| Got my hair cut. It's so much shorter >:( |
Praying for everyone xoxo
