I feel horrible for the slightly elusive behavior I have been exhibiting over the past few months. Far from the honesty that I had started with, I wanted to blog but I had to constantly considering who was reading it. Whether my psych was believing my facade and whether I could drink enough water before the next doctor visit.
I've been learning what it's like to be sick. To be really, truly, sick. Much from the game that everything was when it started so long ago, when I was still a child, wide eyed and amazed at the piles of elegant bones that my computer screen portrayed to me. I have been struggling with the truth. The ambition, and motivation, to look like what I see. The guilt, every. single. time. that a morsel of food passes my lips. Terror, looking into the mirror realizing that indeed, I can not smash it into a million little pieces and successfully change the reality of what is staring back at me. Disgust, every time that my boyfriend tells me I'm beautiful. While I sit there wondering what it was that struck his head so forcefully that he might actually believe something as insane as that.
I really struggled with my first term of this year. I got in that motorcycle accident and the pain pills just put me in a haze… I ate and ate. I couldn’t feel when I was full. I couldn’t feel. Which I did enjoy, just not the physical results. At this point, my motorcycle is just about to get fixed, it’s been an incredibly long time, and I hadn’t realized just how attached I was to that piece of machinery. It really feels as if a piece of me has gone missing since my bike was torn out from underneath me.
Forced to eat semi-normally under the watchful eye of a doctor who it turns out doesn’t really care… But I’ll get to that in a minute. He set rules out, which I’ve mentioned. He stated simple requirements that were simple really, and I chose to follow them to be safe. It was pure, mental turmoil. And most of the time I sobbed while I ate, or sobbed on my floor when I realized one meal had added up to around 500 pathetic calories.
But all of this, I did. I struggled for months with a façade of healthy. Happy. Sane.
But I’m not, I’m not healthy, not mentally, I have no desire to be legitimately healthy. I desire to be happy, but I’m not happy right now. I’m not going to be happy until I’ve wasted away quite a few more pounds. I don’t think I’m sane. If I were I wouldn’t want this the way that I do… I’m practically living off of diet pills… but I’m okay with that. Every pill rushes a sense of calm over me along with a sheet of Goosebumps.
I saw that psych only once, I do realize with upmost certainty, that it should have been years more than that… But I don’t have any desire to ever go back. And I won’t, at first the struggle against doctors and therapist was sort of endearing, a motivating concept, to watch them worry every time that number was lower… Watching them scramble, trying to figure out how to convince this ‘poor’ girl that she’s going to kill herself like this. I was enjoying it. Every time someone told me that I simply ‘could not’ lose anymore weight right now. I’d skip the next meal and hit the gym. Relishing in appearing in front of my doctor dizzied, and lighter than the time before.
Then one day it stopped being fun… I dreamt a terrible nightmare that put me in a hospital bed with liquid calories being forced into my veins. My doctor looking over shaking his head, talking to another doctor ‘I told her she just couldn’t keep going’ I tried to scream out. Tried to make them stop, to tell them that I was fine. I felt fine. And that I just wanted out that bed. But I was silent, and restrained. The screaming and flailing wouldn’t leave my mind and I couldn’t understand it.
Then I woke up. Sitting, panting, covered in a cold sweat. Analyzing the dream, I can’t tell you why I was restrained. I don’t know if I was ‘strapped’ to the bed, or paralyzed, or anything like that. But I was silenced. In my mind I interpreted it as the concept of what was going to happen to me if I kept it all up. The doctors were going to start silencing me, they would start taking away my options, my rights, my ability to choose, to protest. And I just couldn’t have that. So I began to eat… Slowly at first, then quickly, and frantically, as if my own future depended on it. And who knows, maybe it did. But I was miserable. I began eating to eat, just so that if someone, anyone asked. I could swear that I had. And no one would be able to take away my voice.
Somewhere in all this, I lost the words to speak with. I was working so hard to keep my voice, I’d lost the most important part. My vocabulary. I no longer realized how to explain to you all how I was doing, so I stopped blogging, I tried the recovery bit, I really wanted to give it an honest effort. But it just isn’t in me. Not now, maybe it never will be. All I know is that I want to collapse a pile of bones, not fall and bounce because I just ‘wanted’ to be thin.
It pains me to know that I haven’t been around as much as I should be, I have tried to respond to emails best I can… and I have been on facebook far more frequently, since it’s a much easier means of communication with my lifestyle as it is. Recently I’ve been sinking deeper and deeper into my little ana world. I’ve been bitch and rude to Eli, something that he doesn’t deserve in the slightest, since really, he cares so much about me and anything he does, I know he does strictly for my benefit. Maybe not my mental ‘benefit’, but for my physical health. I started dropping weight rapidly again, all before my last doctors appointment, (an appointment I had to get a pregnancy test since I’m two months late) and when I walked in, dangerously close to the danger zone the doctor tried to use to set me straight this summer. Nothing was said, nothing implied. No worried looks, because I’m not ‘thin’. My doctor didn’t think that my weight loss was serious. My mental health is stable.
I recently (by recently, I mean this last Friday) put in my two weeks notice at the pizza place, it’s a stress I don’t need, and I’m not, nor will I be, making enough money for it to be worth it at present.
I told me doctor this, he proceeded to ask how I’ve been sleeping (more, funny what not working when you should be sleeping will do), whether I started the prozac(never), if I’ve been exercising a lot(said ‘well, I’m studying for midterms right now) not an evasive answer, not an all encompassing answer. But generally one that would spark interest in a caring adult. And what happened next set everything into perspective for me.
Nothing happened, he chalked all of my issues up to stress. Identified that he thought I was looking much better, didn’t check my knee like he was supposed to (motorcycle accident). Didn’t ask about my psych appointments (that I haven’t been going to). Told me that my messed up periods were most likely from coming off birth control (in November, as if.) Told me to make an appointment in 6 weeks if I was still having some problems with my ‘cycle’ (what is it called if it doesn’t exist, hah). And I was sent on my way.
So This, Is what freedom tastes like.
I have my mid-term exams this week (three of the four) and then next week I have one that should be fairly simple… Then I intend to get back to blogging. And I mean blogging for real. I’ve started the ABC Diet today, and so far I’m doing okay, with the day a little more than half over.
I also took a picture recently, of where I’m at now, and I put it on facebook, but I may as well put it here as well. Or I’ll never start posting them. I’m going to start posting pics at GWs or at least once per month. (It should be more often, as long as I’m hitting goal weights, but we’ll see).
Let me know what you think, GOD it feels so GOOD TO BE BACK!!!!
By the way, if you want to PM me, the new email for that is firstname.lastname@example.org =]