Hello there my little dumpling,
I am guessing that nobody is going to read this but I was told to write shit down during recovery. Today I started partial hospitalization treatment at Renfrew in Charlotte. I am bulimic, and like most people who have experienced an ED, I have been dealing with the ABC’s of an eating disorder for years. Anorexia, bulimia and compulsive eating. I started with the C, then dabbled in the A and B. Anyways, I am in PHP and I am supposed to get better in three weeks. We shall see.
Looking back, it was meant to be that I have an ED. Almost like I am some freak experiment to see how many things can happen to me to get me to binge and purge. Growing up, I had such a weird relationship with food. Every emotion was matched with food. Holidays, birthdays, when good things happen and when bad things happen. Even now my dad is sick and people always bring us food. Which on a random side note, if someone is sick, don’t make them a fucking pot roast. They have already gotten like 20, be creative and stop being a little pot roast bitch. Anyways, using food as a reward for emotions…that’s how it is for most people I think, you should celebrate a birthday with cake and have turkey on thanksgiving to celebrate family (and white history and racism), these are normal things. I think where I went wrong was when I turned every emotion into food. I used it as a coping mechanism, something to turn to whenever anything happened and over the past 4 or 5 years, a lot of shit has happened. And although I have had people in my life that I know are there for me, I never really tell people what is really going on it my head, this is my way of protecting myself but it has resulted into the only way to quiet my thoughts is through binging. and it just went to hell from there.
It’s not like I woke up one day looking in the mirror and hating myself. I never thought I was pretty or smart, everyone always picked on me because I look different or awkward or I saw things differently. (and they weren’t being mean, I was really awkward). So I allowed myself to anyone who thought I was pretty to do whatever they wanted to me. That’s my thing, I guess. You know how you are supposed to not put all your eggs in one basket? I see it as this. In my basket, I let other people put there eggs in it for me. So I weigh my worth in what other people say and I refuse to let myself think that I am okay. What sucks though is I hold onto all the bad eggs because I think the nice things are lies. Every compliment I take as someone lying to me, even when people tell me that they are my friend, I think that it is a lie. I just hate myself, no one who is worth something does the things that I do.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I was afraid of the food I would have to eat and that no one in treatment would like me. I was given a lot of advice from friends who had been in treatment centers before. Don’t make friends, just eat what they give you, and be prepared to hate everyone there. I didn’t see that too much. People were okay, I saw some people I knew, everyone seemed nice, very vocal. It was all group therapy. You walk in, they (blind) weigh you, you eat, meal support, group therapy, break, group therapy, food, meal support, and group therapy. I liked it for the most part. It’s intense, it’s hard, but it is nice that to be around people that understand. Normally, when I come up to a food that is scary, like a salad with a think dressing, I have to deal with it myself. It freaked everyone out here to talk about it. It’s like this bubble.
But god they made me eat. I got to skip breakfast because I was in orientation but for lunch we had a salad with ranch and all this cheese with this huge ass piece of bread, apple sauce, three cookies, and cottage cheese. I had to have a dairy because I don’t eat meat. Which is stupid, because they said it was a form of restriction. To be fair, it totally is for me BUT they don’t know that. Fucking discrimination against vegetarians. They also have rules for the way you eat. You can’t tear things into little pieces or cut them up or else the boost. we fear the boost.
I cheated though, when I got home I did some pretty intense exercise afterwards and now my knee is really swollen and black. I am icing it as we speak and I plan to work out some more tomorrow morning. I know I shouldn’t, I am just really anxious and lonely. I did it to myself, but I don’t feel like I have any support here in Charlotte. I want someone to hold me through this because it is really hard. I can’t do this by myself, I can’t do this in three weeks. I cannot beat this. I know I need more treatment than I am getting, I feel like I peeling a potato with a spoon. Nothing is working.
I’m crying right now I am so terrified about this disorder. I just want it to end. I don’t know if I want my ED gone or me gone.
I know that I have people that are on my team, but I don’t know if I am ready for recovery. Tomorrow I think I am going to go in with a better attitude. I want to make other people happy and I can’t do that if I am dying. I think the issue is I don’t want it for me. I don’t care if I am dead, I haven’t been living in years.
And one that note, I’m going to bed.
I will probably write tomorrow because I have to. Charming.
Peace out girl scout
PS sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I am out of fucks to give for proofreading
PSS the title of my blog, the heaven and hell thing, I am not trying to be all emotional and cool with tight jeans and lame rocks bands, it’s a mark twain quote. so fuck you if you are judging me, I like mark twain.