Confiscated

My doctor took ALL the pills I had stockpiled and didn’t use during my suicide attempt.

All of them.

And then he destroyed him.

I hate my whole team right now. 

I don’t want to recover I want my damn pills back so that I have an out in case I need it. I had hundreds of pills saved up sinc I was in late high school and college. From every surgery and injury bc, well, my pain threshold is high and I didn’t need them for that purpose. 

And now they’re gone. 

And I can’t have them back.

And I’m so pissed. 

I have no clue how I am going to go to work tomorrow. I feel like I need to go to therapy. Ironic since instead of going inside at this very moment I’m in my car typing this. 

But I can’t go in. I DONT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT EVERYONE ELSES ISSUES. I have enough on my mind without all their Bologna. I don’t need to hear about their problem with their job or their family or their day. I want to not hear about how awful everyone’s lives are because right now ALL I WANT IS TO END MINE. And that will NOT be helpful. 

I texted my IOP therapist (one of them) that is running group and said I’m not coming. She promptly replied with “yes u r” to which I have yet to respond and clearly, yet to abide by. 

Part of me is wondering if they’ll even care if I don’t show up. I’m a lost cause. I’m a burden and a mess. I’m complicated and hard to handle with therapy because I don’t trust anyone fully with my feelings including my conscious self. 

Anyway. I’m tired. I hate me. I WANT MY PILLS BACK. On a scale of hate my doctor is on the top. He’s a nice guy and easy to talk to but he is evil and awful for taking them before I was ready. My whole team is actually bc I wasn’t ready and they still forced me to do it. Well now I am just BEYOND depressed again and not going to treatment and I really don’t see how that’s at ALL useful. 

I hate them all. I hate them, I hate them I HATE THEM. 

All I want is to punch something right now or scream or nth or to run and exercise but noooooo I can’t exercise because that would be breaking the rules and even though I am overweight- despite what they say- I am not allowed to do it. Well eff this I am so done listening to people who lie about my weight and won’t really tell me if I have gained. I’m tired of people not letting me choose anything for myself. I hate this whole stupid process and I hate my life. Why did I even go to treatment in the first place??? If God really had a plan he’d have stopped all this madness a long time ago. 

I’m done trustin people. I’m done trying. I am just relying on myself from now on. The end no one else but me. 

PHP Recap: Week 1- So much doubt.

I have mixed feelings about recovery and treatment right now. I know I’ve been MIA the last week (sorry!!) but adjusting to being open and honest about my eating disorder is almost as difficult as hiding it.

2 things I would love advice on:

  1. If anyone knows/has experience with CBT focused on ERP (Exposure Response Prevention) treatment, please tell me I am on the fence as to if it is going to help (I don’t have any co-existing disorders). Do you find group therapy and more talk therapy helpful? Or no? Idk.
  2. I hate hate hate hate my psychiatrist.

Here’s my life since beginning treatment in a (quickish) recap:

Trigger Warning: calorie and food specifics. (I don’t want to trigger anyone but part of it is needed to make sense, and the other reason I am doing this blog is to remember it for myself so I want to be able to look at how far I have come. Please do not continue if you are easily triggered or pro-eating disorder.

  • I started Partial Hospitalization (PHP) on 9/3, two days after my birthday.
  • My program runs 8 hours a day. 8 *jaw drop*
  • I have cried every. single. day.
  • Day 1 I actually ate less than I typically eat in a day and they are now letting me bring my safe foods to make sure I am eating enough while they reintroduce food.
  • They think they want to send me to residential
  • I only had 1 safe food going into treatment, and ate 200-300 calories per day.
  • PHP requires we be at 1000 minimum *jaw drop* and they are trying to get me there ASAP
  • My therapy is CBT with Exposure Response Prevention being a BIG component of it I am still now sure how I feel about it, any advice is greatly appreciated.
  • I DESPISE my psychiatrist. I told my therapist and I am praying they let me see a different psychiatrist because this one is evil, mean and honestly I would trust a murderer before I trust him. Some perspective on this: I’ve only ever said I flat out dislike 4 people in my ENTIRE life. He is #4 so it’s not just me clouding my judgment.
  • I LOVE my dietitian!!! She has been so STELLAR about getting me adjusted to more than one food and up to the right number of calories and really doesn’t judge anything.
  • I wish there was more group therapy. If I go to residential I will need to find somewhere with more of this because I am a very, VERY social person and I feel like I am able to come to terms with my situation when I can talk it out with others.
  • I have had 2 EKGs and so many vials of blood drawn in the last week but the new medical doctor they make us go to was super nice and very trusting. I was petrified to go but I really liked him and in 20 minutes of talking to him I told him more about my ED than I revealed to my psychiatrist in 2+ hours.
  • Did I mention I have cried EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. !?
  • I have a family session tomorrow. Eek! My family is amazing but I am very unaccustomed to being vulnerable and sharing my feelings with them. I don’t like it.
  • I have lied about how much I purge and restrict out of fear of going to residential.
  • I am not sure what to do because part of me is realizing I need residential (one of the other ED patients even said she thought I needed it)
  • Part of me has no desire to get better even now that I am in treatment.
  • Part of me really wants to get better, especially now that I am in treatment.

But, things got better than they were day 1; however, I am still not sure about everything. Is it weird that I am more motivated to recover when I am there and not so motivated at home?!

I’ll be sure to write more now that I am semi-acclimated. Plus, I definitely will need to after my family session.

2 hours…

2 hours. 120 minutes. Then life as I know it is over.

I haven’t eaten at all and I’ve thrown up 4 times because I am so sick over the prospect of what I am about to do. 

I know why I am doing this but I still keep wondering why I am doing this.

I wish I knew what to say, how to say it, what will happen but I don’t. I have a plan but I am shaking so hard thinking about this and idk how well I’ll follow it. 

It’s odd because I am watching everyone go about their lives. This horrifyingly annoying girl behind me is using a whiny voice to complain to her friend about her manicure and not knowing what color to get. I’m sitting here trying to convince myself to live and fight for my life back.

I shouldn’t be mad at her, I complain about manicures and what color to pick too-I’m so indecisive- but still everything just feels so absurd to me today. 

Getting less than an hour of sleep probably didn’t help but I was so nervous I couldn’t sleep and all I want is to go to bed, sleep through this appointment and magically be better. Since that’s not possible I just need to suck it up but that’s really hard right now especially when the idea of telling the doctor doesn’t just seem impossible it seems unfathomable and unsafe and literally sickens me.  

But I have to do this. In two hours I have to do this. Hopefully I can do this. 

The Waiting Room

UntitledAs the sliding door opens the cool air hits me causing me to shiver and get goosebumps from the stark contrast between the heat outside and the temperature inside. Actually, I’m not sure if the goosebumps are from the temperature or what I am about to do. I hesitate as I cross the threshold into the building and stare at the wall, at the names on the directory sign. I know where I am and where I am going but it allows me a few more moments. I head down the corridor to the second set of doors and walk through.

The aroma is familiar and fragrant, disinfectant and antibacterial soap. I hear my flip flops shuffle across the floor, past the chairs to my left to the closed glass window on the opposing wall. Nausea strikes my body causing me to grab my stomach out of instinct, even though I know it won’t help. I stare at the clipboard. In my peripheral view the receptionist is on the phone. Good. I don’t want to make conversation, I think. I pick up the pen, adjusting it in my hand and rolling it back and forth mindlessly until I see her looking at me. Slowly I begin to write my name on the next blank space. It doesn’t feel like me doing this, it feels like I am in a foreign body, like a robot just able to complete this task out of habit. I glance at the window, the receptionist is typing as she talks on the same call; It feels like she has been on that call forever but I know it’s just me feeling like time is stationary.

I turn and face the rest of the room instinctively looking at the doorway I just passed through, the one that leads to freedom and safety. Run, don’t do this, pierces through my mind instantly hollowing out the sound of the music playing overhead and the whispers from the few other people in the room. I stop in my tracks and stare for a second consumed by nausea from the whole situation. Fearing I am not able to take another step, I sit.

Nothing seems to be moving. I can feel and hear my heart pounding, the nausea is as strong as waves crashing on the shore during a hurricane. It’s hard, brutal and relentless. Leave NOW, is all I can think but I am frozen, frozen with fear. I hear a door open behind me and I can feel myself getting faint, the blood coursing through my body faster than if a snake had crossed my path during a trail run. I hear the nurse say something but my fear has overtaken me and I can’t comprehend anything. I see someone stand up on the other side of the room. Phew. Not me. I breathe for the first time in what feels like minutes and try and calm myself.

My head is all consumed in whether I should stay or leave before this goes any further. However, I continue to sit there, unable to move, unable to think for myself, unable to feel anything other than fear. The door opens again. My anxiety shoots back up past where it was before. There are less people ahead of me now, it’s time to make the decision. I hear another nurse utter more inaudible sounds but I can’t hear anything over the voices in my own head screaming for me to leave, to run straight out of here back down the corridor and outside to safety.

The nurse repeats the same inaudible message, I still don’t hear anything other than garbled syllables. I stand and begin to walk.

I walk briskly, with purpose and more confident than I am certainly feeling. I walk past the other chairs, the other patients and walk past the gentleman the nurse is acknowledging before she begins to escort him to an exam room. I walk straight to the door, only hesitating for a second as it automatically opens, and then down the coordinator. I never look back.

I feel relief as I cross the final threshold of the building and into the safety and security of the outside world, hiding away the secrets of my life. The last thing I think before everything goes black is, Maybe that’s not relief but actually regret. Then, darkness.

***

I open my eyes. I see the curtains and bedsheets. I look at my clock, 5:23am. It was just a dream.