symptoms

I'm not able to concentrate right now. I haven't been able to concentrate for a long time. Horrible for writing papers

I'm not sleeping. In the last 2 days I've maybe gotten 8 hours of sleep.  If I actually fall asleep I get woken up right after. But that's another matter.

I'm hyper-active. So much so I was told to write my paper and go to my room. I mean, I was talking a hundred miles an hour, and didn't stop.

I've been restricting, bingeing, over-exercising, abusing laxatives-in fact, I have a row of them, that I've been contemplating taking since I got home-because I feel guilty when I eat.

I feel like crap, I know I look like crap, people keep telling me I look sick. I had someone tell me I looked waif-like.

I told my dietician I was contemplating a higher level of care. Then I gave my primary an update because I feel it's important for her to know what's going on.

I talked to her on the phone yesterday and she noticed my symptoms over the phone. Told me to call her today.

Of course, I run into her walking into the hospital this morning. She reminds me to call her. But, work is crazy. Funny enough, I run into her a couple hours later in the same hallway. She tells me she had been thinking of me because she hadn't heard from me. Told me she could make it happen, that she's concerned. I then run into her several more times in a couple hours...I've never run into her so much since I've started working there.

On my lunch I finally do call her. I tell her that my stomach is killing me because I haven't eaten and I just need to throw up. She told me to call her if I go down hill over the weekend. If I needed her to, she would make inpatient happen. Told me to call her 24/7 if I needed to. Legit concern. I wonder if she'd put me on bed rest so I could get caught up...of course, the next couple weeks would not be the time to do it. I guess that's part of the reason I dont want to go into the hospital either, because it'd be detrimental. But, I know, how I am now isn't good either.

Then this party happens. And I eat. I eat a meal meal for the first time in a few days. I see the cake a couple hours later and realize that that looks good and have a piece. See, this is when I start feeling guilty. I'm on a roll, I eat when I get home too. The dinner that the ladies made. Now I'm feeling fat, and my stomach is still upset because of the turmoil I've put it through the last week.

Yet, those little laxative pills-all lined up-look so appealing. I know if I take them the food will go away. My body will HATE me but, for a little while I won't hate me, I will feel like I'm getting justice. Over what? A piece of cake or a couple mini donuts??? I remember what this dose did to me the last time and I'm afraid. When you know what to expect it's sooo much worse. I can feel my whole body cramping from the OD. When my body is doing that already, I get even more scared.

I look at the line of little blue pills.

Round Room

I'm sitting in the middle of a room. And I'm not sure of the way out. I can feel the sunlight but i don't know where the windows are. I know there's a door--paper and opportunity keep falling on my lap--but I can't find it.

I look up at a great expanse of sky. I see the stars. I can locate the moon. I know the outside world exists.

But, the walls still surround me. What good is the ability to look up when you can't find your way out? I'm in jail and I don't understand what I did. There was no trial, I had no justice. Convicted and found guilty without anyone by my side.

I receive notice in the mail and I've seen my prison cell, looked out of my bars; I know where I'm headed. I can't comprehend how it's gotten this far.

It's no consolation that education is still possible. My friends can write, I can write. I won't be isolated. But all I can think about is telling people I'm guilty, I did something bad, I'm being sent away. I'm afraid my friends will leave me.

The day arrives and I'm frantic. I'm running around without getting anywhere. I don't want to accept my fate. I can't find anything. What do you bring with you for a year? Oddly enough, my mom is taking me. The living person with whom I have the most convoluted relationship is the one handing me off to my jailer.

I want to blame her. Because, in the world of victimhood, everything is her fault. But, I know. It's me. I did this. And I will be facing the consequences.




A mixture of thoughts from the day and the dream of a month ago...

Movement

Right now movement is difficult. I'm tired, laying flat on my back, and I don't have the momentum to change it. That which is in motion stays in motion...

Maybe it's that I've spent wayyyyy too much time being on the go, transitioning from thing to thing, and not stopping. Having to hold on for dear life as I had more things on my plate than hours to finish them. Trying to fit in time for myself to get mad because there just isn't time.

Suddenly, there's time. At least, time that's forthcoming. On the horizon is a place of my own, a place where it doesn't matter how many hours I work, I get to go home to my own space. Not a space I'm sharing with a group of people, or a roomate, but mine. It's sounds so peaceful.

This move is scary. The ability to finally have a place to just stop.  A place where I can take off my mask, if only to myself. I've had this before and I've forgotten what it's like to leave work out, clothes on the floor, a little mess and clutter. I'm scared, not to be lonely, but to be alone.

This move is hard. This is the beginning of a new chapter. A chapter where I'm closing one of growth so I can grow into another. There's the responsibility of defining what my home means to me. And to have boundaries in place, from the beginning, of what I'm going to allow into my life.

This move is heart breaking. I have the blessing of the CEO to move out. A letter of reference, an accolade in my resume. But I'm leaving something so much bigger than kudos and a good name. I'm watching the end of something beautiful. The closing of a chapter of more than 25 years of helping women in crisis. Of over 1,000 babies being born that would have otherwise not come into existence. The end of the Hiding Place.

Suddenly, I'm ok with just laying here forever. Because I know, once I get up and set tomorrow in motion, the momentum will continue and the next month will fly by, and I'll be in my place.

A new chapter.

Your life is worth a noble motive!

Dedicate your life to a cause greater than yourself, and your life will become a glorious romance and adventure." Mark Douglas

I'm laying in bed thinking about turning points. What it would mean to take the on-ramp back to the road of recovery I was on a month ago. To let go of the security blanket called dieting, the cure-all pill, and the fix-it exercise plan.

I don't know, maybe it was realizing I may actually need a higher level of care, that I wasn't able to get sleep and on schedule by myself, that caused me to start thinking about this. Having other's intervene for me feels so much easier than being an adult about it. I don't want to be a grown up. BUT, if I don't try to put in the work myself, try and get my body on schedule, I can't justify asking for what I need from professionals. It's in this that I'm looking at this turning point.

If I were sitting in a room right now looking at the turning point of my life I would describe it as malleable and firm at the same time. Once I decide to take it, I can't afford to turn back. Besides that, there would be nothing to turn back to. I can see it and I know it has the potential to be a friend. It has the potential to free me. It can change me for the better, if I only let it.

But I'm scared. I don't want to leave behind my childhood security blanket, my cure-alls, and fix its. It's the only way back to the body I had before march 2009. The body I had that was thin and beautiful, when life was going ok. I'm scared to let go of the things that actually hurt me because there's the hope they will still get me to where I wish I had never left. It's so hard to realize, in this bout of illness I let go of a wonderfully beautiful body. and I'm left with this.

I can't let this be the focus of my life. I need a cause that doesn't encompass my disorder. I want to be able to feel the glamorous romance and adventure this journey could be, if only I chose to let go and jump.

"This may be the turning point your grandchildren will tell stories about years from now: the time you leap over the abyss to the other side of the Great Divide and begin to live your life in earnest. On the other hand, this moment of truth may end up being nothing more than a brief awakening when you glimpse what's possible on the other side of the Great Divide, but then tell yourself, "Nah, that's waayyy to far to jump." In that case, your grandchildren will have to be content talking about what delicious cookies you used to bake or what your favorite sports team was. It will all depend on how brave you'll be. Rob Brezsny

All my friends are dead

I find myself at the precipice of many things. Crossroads at work, crossroads in treatment, crossroads in relationships, crossroads in school.

I have been withdrawing into myself. Trying to attain things that don't really matter, that I've lost. It's easier to long after these things because my life is stressful. I have SO many good things going on but they are still acting as a catalyst for my actions. Of course, they are only changing into stumbling blocks because I have chosen to let them.

I've been here before. It's comforting. It's familiar. Even when the outcome of the actions hurt me, don't make me feel good, are damaging to my life, they are still what I know. It's like going back to the partner that beats you. You keep going back because of the desire for it to be different Even though you know, you know, it's going to be exactly the same. You keep doing the same thing expecting a different result...insane.

The really pitiful part, for me, is that I know everytime I go back to this a part of me that is my friend, my alli, dies. And if it's not some part of me, it's a relationship, being able to chase after dreams, looking for life turns to ashes. I wish I cared for these things because cognitively I realize it's only so long before "All My Friends are Dead"