Being nuts is being somewhere

June 25, 2010

                      Parfait day. Got…damn pen doesn’t work!  Almost made it through breakfast.  It’s almost evening snack and I’ve had no refusals, yet I feel no need to celebrate.  My stomach holds the future of America [what?] and I can’t take it anymore. [I’m not pregnant here, I promise]

Dad is visiting tomorrow and I wonder how awkward it is going to be once he realizes we have nothing to say.  Hmm.

I made my “manic doll” place-mat in art just now; doesn’t look too bad if I do say so myself, but I’m no Da Vinci. 

Dr. B. is “concerned” about my suicidal attitude and what better way to prove it by saying that I couldn’t care less.  I need scissors again…but for now, I have to make do with picking at the scabs on my arm; the blood is intriguing.

Amanda’s really struggling with body image right now and I wish I could shake all the doubt out of her thinking she’s fat.  Hugs can only do so much, especially if it’s a hug from me.

You know my knuckles have been bleeding because of how dry they are? Random disturbing fact.

“America, America…”

” Times are shitty

But I’m pretty sure it can’t get worse

It’s a comfort to know

That anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be…

A pleasure cruise”

Read my life story today and yet I’m still alive.  You could smell the disappointment on my tongue. [Eww].  Hah, made you smell!

Ick, it’s called bad breath, which is also referred to as not-allowed-gum. 

June 24, 2010

                  Increase. Why? Why??

I seriously thought I got off the hook with Lauren (nutritionist) yesterday, but no. Tube increase, but an increase all the same.  I can’t control tube increases which means no snack! [Won’t eat it].  Crapalicious food…argh.

Almost done with my life story; my throat actually got sore from reading the whole Columbus to Dr. B.  I want to record all this down but…I was to type it. 

My stomach’s killing me right now - bloating and pain-wise.  Lynne’s got me down for an anti-anxiety pill before meals on Cheryl’s recommendation.  Prozac’s also going up a dose. Yay. 

New goal for the week: Feel comfortable in a fitted shirt.

Impossible. Dad’s visiting this weekend (luckily, a certain brother will be missing) and I’m determined to hide my scabs from him; that’s family week shit for us to deal with, not exactly nice-visiting-weekend conversation material. 

Later

My anti-anxiety pill doubles as a sleeping pill. I take it before every meal.  Thou shall fear the road ahead.

June 23, 2010

                    *Restaurant challenge is tomorrow for Hayley, Amanda, Addie, and Katie.  I still don’t know if I’m going or not because of the whole ‘family week 1-2 weeks early’ thing.  Is this the first time I’ve mentioned it? Yes? No?  Oh well.

Dad’s moving the week of my original family week here, so moving mine back a bit was Remuda’s solution. [Hah, sense the sarcasm]. 

Just got back from Body Image; pointless ramblings about how puberty affects us and to accept ourselves are we are blah blah blah. My stay here costs more than two years at Julliard. I can wave goodbye to my indulgences. 

It’s still hard to believe that Emily’s gone; her stuff isn’t even packed up yet, and her quilt…the most amazing object on this planet, is still resting on the lower bunk in Amanda’s room.  Tatyana still seems very nice - more than I can say for another person - and she’s bubbly, but not in a phony, obnoxious way. 

Michelle on the other hand…she’s always smiling, even when she’s insulting someone.  Or “joking” as she calls it.  Up your nose, out your ass.  She’s become part of the quadruplets (Addie, Hayley, Jessica, and now Michelle) and she carries this issue with her jacket.  She won’t take it off.  When it’s absolutely necessary, she’ll slowly swing it off her shoulders, but otherwise she clings to it like life support. 

I’m not insulting…I’m just recording. Right? [Um….].  Michelle’s pretty enough to make any girl jealous and has long, black hair to die for.  FORM (yoga) is tonight so failure is hopefully not an option [when it comes to eating, I gather].  Refusals = no FORM.  It’s not as easy as it appears.  For instance, snack is any minute.

Oh joy.

Later

No increases from Lauren (nutritionist).  That’s about the only positive thing I have to say at this time.  Family week is going to stay at it’s original July 11th date and my life story still isn’t done. 

I’m almost done with eighth grade; when I read my life story, I will let everyone know that they have my permission to fall asleep.  For extra points, they could snore or start drooling.  

Now for the flat-out depressing news: I’m gaining weight. Way to be blunt.  Lauren even admitted it; I was all “I feel bad because I feel like I’m gaining weight…” and her comforting reply was this: “You are gaining weight.”

Gee, thanks.  I was ready o start bawling after my session with her, but I was scooted upstairs to Home Group for Amanda’s presentation of her life story.  That girl has been through some trauma.

Afterwards, I was searching for Lynne like there was no tomorrow.  Feeling as I am right now, I wish there weren’t.  It took forever and and I missed the chance to attend Equine, but I finally got to sit down and talk with Lynne. 

For some reason, she’s just so easy to talk to, and I don’t know really any of the nurses watching us tonight.  I started bawling and she knows almost everything; she knows I’m suicidal and that I don’t want to “recover”.  I needed that talk with her and I appreciate the time she spent listening to my ongoing venting session. 

She said she wished I could see how thin I was; as much as I want to believe I am, I can’t, especially now that I’m gaining. 

God, kill me, I beg of you.

Notes:  The tubes are throwing up gastric juices. GAH.

*Restaurant challenge… I’ll explain the “Family week” thing, too since they go together.  Family week happens every other week (usually) for adolescent patients at Remuda and is usually in the middle of that patient’s stay.  It can be Family week for several people or even just one person.  Family members are selected by the patients to attend this event.  The first day is orientation. The second day is Art therapy. The third, fourth, and fifth day (at least, that’s how it worked my week) are for feelings to be thrown around and affirmations to be heard; this part is the toughest of all.  Restaurant challenge occurs the week before your Family week. One of the nutritionists takes us girls out to a random restaurant in the vicinity (Remuda was just near a very small town, Bowl N’ Green, but was also fairly close to Fredricksburg).  To an extent, we get to order what we want and we have to portion our food with the knowledge we’ve learned about what we need each meal.  More will be explained later.

June 22, 2010

                  “It’s 5:45, I’m barely alive”. 

Two thousand a day.  That’s the total amount of money wasted on me.  A f*cking $120,000 for this whole stay.  God, I beg you, kill me now.  I’m not just guilty, I’m angry, at Remuda of course; not to mention at myself for not hiding my weight and my eating habits better.  That just cost me the life of playing spy for the CIA.

And yet I can still joke.  I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being.  I make up a sub-species all my own; the way I see it, there is boy, girl, and bother.  And there I am.

Later

Art, art, art.  My only motivation to not refuse [food], but it’s not working.  My stomach is still huge, I’m still bloating, I’m still disgustingly fat.  I’m going to be staring at the scissors for a long time; daydreaming about stabbing myself myself and all will be well.

Redhead, Brittany - from the adults ward, is being discharged either today or…before chapel tomorrow, I guess. 

I never journaled about the mystery girl down at Morningstar, did I?  Well, I know the answer to that.  I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out her name though. Taylor, I think.  She’s the thinnest person I’ve ever seen and the most sickly girl I’ve seen thus far.

For some reason, she intrigues me.  Reminder: I’m straight, so comparing me to a lesbian porn star would be disturbing beyond belief. 

I like her shoes…and her hair.  And she’s still in high school.  I would never have thought.  She’s back on transport today and my curiosity is bordering on insanity.  I sound so (literally) gay right now, it’s not even funny.  But I swear I’m straight; she just seems like she’d be an interesting person. 

Later

I just got searched for a missing knife.  Fortunately, I only had to remove my jacket and boots.  Then they searched my cubby [where us patients keep whatever we wish to entertain us throughout the day since we’re not allowed to go back to our rooms]. Big whoop.  

If they didn’t search Emily K. thoroughly, I’m going to kill those nurses.  And I like Jeanine, so it would be a shame.  Frankly, I wish I had stolen the knife…but I didn’t.  I’ve had daydreams of stabbing myself all day, what do you expect?

I’m on a roll with my life story so far, but I feel like I’m forgetting something important.  How about something interesting, Mckenna?  I’d imagine so, but that’s not it - not all of it, anyway.

Later

I can’t cry.  Damn it, I can’t cry. And she’s gone. Emily’s gone.  Alive and well but dead inside.  She’s leaving Remuda.

She ran away, they found her and made a split-second decision to send her away. I’m devastated.  Amanda will be devastated.  F*ck my life story, I can’t even allow myself to lean on a damn wall right now.

I can’t eat. I won’t eat.  Picking at my arms is inevitable as is coming up with a ‘plan’.  I could stab myself with the very pen I’m writing with, but would that help?  Amanda would get over it, Amber would get over it, and the rest wouldn’t give a shit.

Me, me, me.   Why is all this stuff in here about me? I’m a bother and only a bother.  I need scissors now.  Art. Now there’s an opportunity; but not eat = no art.  Well, I suppose that is crossed off the list.

Later

I ripped my heart out of my chest and squeezed all of my heart juice into a letter I wrote to Emily.  Al I’m saying is that if that letter doesn’t get to her, I’m going to be pissed. 

I still want scissors.  A real craving.  I printed out the lyrics of “Brave” and attached those as well [to the letter].  

So far, dinner is still a no-go.  I salute you, Studio Art but perhaps you are not worth the calories.  I don’t know what to think. No surprise there.

Later

I skipped out on dinner.  No art. Bummer.  Am I being sarcastic? Yes and no. 

Amber and I talked about nothingness.  She says she “doesn’t want me to die”.  Yes, she knows most of my suicidal intentions that I’m too lazy to at upon.  I poured over my daydreams with scissors and I even planned out a way I could hang myself using the shoelaces from my boots and the chandelier above my head.

In my ideal, Amber would distract the nurses at night while I sacked the tables and secured myself to the deer-antler-decorated chandelier.  And badda-boo-badda-bing! 

June 21, 2010

                 Chickened out when it came to wearing a fitted tee shirt this morning; yes, I got the nerve to ask Amanda if I could borrow one of her shirts, and we had a whole Mckenna-try-on-every-shirt-in-sight deal in her room.  Extra spectators include Sydney #1 [from now on out, #2 will be known as Syd], Lauren, Emily K., and -at one point - Sarah.

Which reminds me, we might be having a new daisy dragged out of the dirt today, and most likely one Sarah’s age.  Tiffany left with her mom this morning; photo-fest!  God help her; I’m not entirely convinced that she’ll make it past this building without relapse.  I hope she’ll kick ED in the ass and be on with her life.

A salute to the immigrant stranger!

Shoot, now I sound like a racist. [They’re LYRICS, people. Lyrics!]. I LOVE DIVERSITY.  I can hear the world now: “Up your nose, out your ass, bitch!”

Well sheesh.  I’m determined to challenge myself on Sunday though- the day my whole enchilada [family] will be arriving: wear a fitted shirt for family.  Maybe they’ll feel guilty regarding my new-found plumpness and all but carry me out [of this joint]. 

I have no idea what to expect from Jake [my brother] when he comes; most likely, he’ll be in a bad mood, like if Mom just ran over the *desktop [computer].   How the desktop would magician itself beneath the wheel of her car, I’m clueless. 

Later

“So many refusals!” =  back on yellow [status].  Thanks, Lauren (nutritionist.) I’m not on transport though, so that’s a plus. 

Did another challenge course with Dr. B and got busted for my arm - the joys of self-harm.  I think they find it hard to believe that it was entirely self-inflicted, as in I resorted to using my fingernails as opposed to scissors.  Lynne let the nurses know that I didn’t need 24/7 [special supervision, nurse attached to hip], but they do need to be aware of my “struggle”. 

Meanwhile, Emily K. and Amanda have been really supportive.  I can imagine myself (accidentally) hugged them - and my mom - to death; left with blood on my hands.  Not the best way to end your day.

New girl (Tatyana) is here, age sixteen.  And guess who she’s rooming with? Yep, Amanda and Emily; not that I’m going to hold it against her, I’m just envious. 

I started on my science exam during the School period, and am still convinced that I’m utterly hopeless.

Matt, the creeper: I like your [fishnet] pantyhose

Amber: Thanks. I thought they were cool.

Matt, the creeper: Yeah, I need to get my wife some of those…

*desktop [computer]….My brother is known as being an electronics geek.  Would say “freak” but that sounds a tad harsh, don’t you think?  He’s really good with electronics and fixes all of our problems, but sometimes at a price. Literally.  His ego is a little inflated if you know what I mean.  Oh, and clever.  If only he would use his powers for good!

Notes: Ask jor - more clothes, bring Ipod, journal, disposable camera, jacket

          Ask mom - about bloodwork - anemic?

You can find an edited version of the short story here: http://quizilla.teennick.com/stories/17250783/eating-disorder-ed-g-the-liar

Scenario: Imagine your eating disorder as an abusive boyfriend. His name, we have learned, is Ed.

          Ed appears to us girls as the glamorous bad boy, the one you know you shouldn’t trust but can’t help but fall for.  He’s got that dangerous, mysterious vibe, but has that sweet side that provides you with security.

He tells you you’re so special, but you’re only a dime a dozen.  He always tells you to try harder and makes you feel like you’re never good enough.  He’s possessive and clingy although you mean absolutely nothing to him.  He sends spam emails, chain letters, forwarded texts, and whispers sweet nothings that are ungenuine and leave you feeling empty.

He’s abusive physically, mentally, and emotionally and you swear you’re done with him for good, but his charm leads you back into his deceptive grasp…always.  Your family and friends can see he’s no good and tell you you’re better off without him, but you’re deaf to their concerns and blind to what’s right in front of you.

He makes you feel insignificant when other girls are around so that you envy everything they have and can’t help but compare.  He follows you around like a sick puppy and you hate him, but he’s always hot on your trail.  He seduces you to the point where you’re constantly analyzing yourself and leaves you questioning your worth.  The longer he’s around, the worse you feel.  You try and you try again to tell him off, but he swears he’ll be around forever and tells you you’re nothing without him.

Eventually, his sweet his is so seldom seen that it becomes non-existent.  You get so caught up in his abuse that you find yourself not even trying to fight it anymore.  He becomes your everything and your only sense of self.  You mile when everything’s wrong and can’t reach out to anyone anymore; just you and Ed, and Ed and you.  You feel so alone that you can’t focus on the present; all you can think about is the control Ed has over you.  Eventually, you become numb and accept it as a normality; this is your life with Ed.  The days blend together and life is hardly worth living.

But wait.  One morning, you wake up and realize that your life isn’t hopeless.  You and Ed become slowly disconnected as you realize that you want to be the one girl he doesn’t break.  His grip on you is right, but it gradually becomes apparent that you’re better than what he has to offer.  You break your ties with Ed and he becomes your newest stalker.  He’s everywhere you go, he’s always watching you.

Your ignorance fuels him to new heights of inanity with constant texts, and - as much as you hate to admit it - you give in to the temptation to read them.  As time goes on, his obsession stays strong, but you learn how to overpower him.  The stronger you become, the less hold he has on you, though secretly, you crave him.

The longer you ignore him, the less potent his pleas are until one day where you never hear from him again.  You’re free, Ed’s out of your life…that conniving bastard.

June 20, 2010

                     Last night, Amanda and I finally stuck a background personality check on our dear “boyfriend”, Ed.  What a rant that turned out to be.  I’m determined to copy said rant into this notebook here. 

Dinner was a train-wreck as well; apparently, Lauren expects me to eat tuna. 

No.  Tuna casserole was a no-go and I couldn’t trade it out [for another entree].  My “charm” escapes me.  This does little to help me put more trust in Lauren. She’s my nutritionist after all, and she’s the one person I never want to see.  [Not entirely true].  With her comes bad news.

I didn’t take supplement for it either because I had an excuse; I could hae taken it if I wanted to…yeah, right. 

Dad earned some more respect from me though; yes, I never thought I’d admit that I’m grateful for Dad’s slight obsession with exercise/weight, but well…never say never. 

For instance, I also never acknowledged the possibility of Dad understanding that I may want to adjust my weight when I get back home, depending on how comfortable I am with myself after my release.  At least someone partially understands. 

Or I might have misunderstood…probably the more likely. [Bah.]

Note: I’ve been skateboarding on Poley [my feeding tube pole].

June 19, 2010

                 Lillypad, my ninja, is gone!  Gone with the wind! That’s her favorite book actually. 

I should have stashed her under my bed.  She will be missed! 

I just finished filling in the patient weekly assessment.  Joy.  I wasn’t afraid to point out how suicidal I am right now, though at the present time, I’m unsure of my grand plan to quit this thing called living. 

Alive and well, but dead inside

I want to murder Matt’s laugh.

Jenn gave me a bit of a pat on the back last night before she went back to attend to the adults at Morningstar [the building that specifically houses the adults at Remuda East], who were [the adults] at the time enjoying the musical stylings of Phil Collins and the not so obvious jacking-off of Tarzan.

Remember the top 15 most unintentional perverted kids toys? Yep [A toy that scarily represents Tarzan jacking-off burst my laughing lid just months before].  Good times. 

Put the balls in the bucket and they pop on back out!

Anyway, Jenn convinced me to be a trooper last night for snack; damn craisins.  The granola was killer this morning [at breakfast]. 

Last night, I begged God to kill me, but again, he failed to oblige. [People are dying every day. Sometimes naturally, some in freak accidents. Why can’t I be one of them? Spare the life of someone else by striking me down, eh God?].  I would say I’m pissed off if I wasn’t sure that that would surely earn me eternal damnation. 

My language is of explicit means today.  I would apologize, but then I remind myself that frankly, I don’t care.  I honest to God want to stab myself right now.  I have caught sight of the tweezers [up at the nurses’ station] and further launch myself into contemplation.

Psalm Song (By Emily K and Amanda) #1 

Long enough, God

You’ve ignored me long enough

I’ve looked at the back of your head for long enough

Long enough

Anxious concerns are stirring my soul

And agony in my mind everyday

It’s been long enough, long enough

Consider me and answer, my Lord, my God

Restore brightness to my eyes

It’s been too long, Lord

ED will say, “I have triumphed over her”

And he’ll rejoice because I am shaken

But I will stand strong in the Lord

My dignity not taken

Take a good look at me, God, my God

I want to look life right in the eye

So that ED won’t get the best of me

Or laugh when I cry

I’ve thrown myself headlong into your arms

I’m celebrating your rescue

I’m singing at the top of my lungs

I’m so full of answered prayers

I’ve trusted faithfully in your love

My heart will rejoice in your deliverance

I will sing to the Lord because

He has treated me generously!

June 18, 2010

                It’s Friday: a day of proofreading old poetry, and lunch today was killer.  [‘Twas] 3/4 of a wrap and veggies. Damn ice-cream sent me over the edge, so I took the supplement for that. 

It scares me to admit that the Ensure is starting to taste good; pathetic actually.  Maybe it’s the heat, or lack of anyway. 

With my so called “progress”, I feel compelled not to finish my meals.   As the minutes tick by, refusals start to sound more appealing than ever. 

Sydney (14) shared her life story today [in Home Group].  Disturbing as it is, I wonder why so many older brothers (and people in general) feel the need to traumatize innocent, doe-eyed kids with their “games” - also known as sexual abuse. 

If my fingers are correct - yes, counting on my fingers will one day save the world - then it’s around 1 in 4 girls here that have been sexually abused.  To me, this says that there are plenty of people that need a few sticks shoved up their nose and our their ass. 

Life stories are always interesting though; gives some insight, sheds some light [on one’s character].

Dr. Batts is sick [as in the cold or the flu] as is Amber.  Amber, in her temporary isolation [due to the recent illness], lays in bed all days and prowls the milieu by night wearing her swine flu mask. Muahaha.  Well, she does wear the mask anyway, as does Dr. B. 

I now know how hard it is to take someone seriously with a flappy, cotton-ball monstrosity covering half their face.  Under the weather with a throat virus, Addie is frequently ridiculed.  Why? Herpegina. What does that sound like to you?

I’ll give you a hint: think “herpes” and “vagina” and you’ve got one nasty name for a throat virus.  Dirty, dirty Sarah (12), and she’s the second youngest here now at 12 years old.

I feel desperate for the art room, for distraction.   Burying myself in magazines, cutting out the priceless and slapping it all together [in a collage on paper]. 

Art and music truly are the most therapeutic to me when it comes to my underdog moods; talking sometimes works too, but in my current isolation state, I find that somewhat difficult [unless I want to just continue talking to myself]. 

The current state of the patients here is a whopping population of eighteen or nineteen girls; it doesn’t sound like much, but trust me, it is.  I started out here with an already overcrowded state of fifteen girls.

Story of yesterday: Okay, so we were at dinner, right? Hayley, Lauren, and I were picking at  Averie (nurse), though I was listening more than [joining in on the] bashing [which is over-exaggerating a little]. I have witnesses.  Anyway, Lauren and Hayley both agreed that when it comes to life in general, Averie isn’t the brightest star in the sky. And of course, Averie had but to prove this point by missing her glass when pouring water; not to mention her making pointless guesses in the middle of our table word games.

I chuckled and Hayley was full out laughing later, once the poor, dull star was out of view.  It’s funnier when you’re there. 

And yet, I don’t feel like I’m here.

Later

Talent show any minute.  Any minute now…well, I guess we’ll have to wait and see. 

Up your nose, out your ass (the new insult of the century)

Talent show was eh -  Stephie (17) talked a bunch though, which is usually rare but oh-so wonderful.

Emily K’s Song: Life at Remuda (sung at Chapel 6/18)

It’s 5:45, I’m barely alive

I stumble out of bed

In a gown that shows my butt

and I’m scared I’ll freeze to death

No excessive standing

unless you’re demanding

60ccs and no smile from me

Cracking and flushing

Your food groups are touching

Tell me how you’re feeling

Cracking and flushing

Keep boundaries, no touching

And tell me how you’re feeling

Stop cutting up your peas

Pick that sandwich up

And don’t growl at your food

It’s a ritual, you know

Cracking and flushing

Your food groups are touching

Tell me how you’re feeling

Cracking and flushing

Keep boundaries, no touching

And tell me how you’re feeling

In Chapel your eyes are failing you now

They beg you for some sleep

And just as they begin to close

Mindy begins to sing!

Cracking and flushing

Your food groups are touching

Tell me how you’re feeling

Cracking and flushing

Keep boundaries, no touching

And tell me how you’re feeling

The games at the table

And the questions they ask

Are getting all jumbled

I’m getting off task

When the nurse asks me just

What size my poops are

I can’t help but compare

To a fridge or a toaster

Cracking and flushing

Your food groups are touching

Tell me how you’re feeling

Cracking and flushing

Keep boundaries, no touching

And tell me how you’re feeling

June 17, 2010

              A new daisy is popping up today. Also known as Amanda’s new roommate. I have no idea when her grand stride down the staircase is to be expected. 

The magic staircase, one which you’d expect to ascend frequently, yet the magic staircase is mostly  left untouched by us patients; an exception being groups and possibly meetings with your therapist, etc.

Later

“Feelings check”:  Concerned, depressed, and a little pissed off.

Later

What ignited this lovely mix of feelings?  The triplets decided to shed some light on an issue they were concerned about.  What is this issue, you may ask?  Apparently, some girls here are worried that Emily K, because of her self-harm, will try to hurt them. 

Just writing it down pisses me off and I’ve been drowning in my depression for the past hour or so.  Emily K’s upset, Amanda’s upset, Rachel’s upset, I’m upset.  Why I underline my title, I have no idea. [I’m no more special than them].

Anyone with a brain can figure that self-harm is self-directed and self-directed only, unless you happen to be a generally violent person; not to mention Emily K wouldn’t hurt a fly.

I’m isolating again - for the time being.  I have (almost) nothing to go back to.  Family. That’s it. 

I could be a vampire, but I’m that interesting enough.  Michelle (new girl, 17) has made a good impression so far: not sickly looking, nice, and basically hasn’t given us any reason to fear that we need to sleep with one eye open. She’ll be rooming with Addie and Hayley.

I swear, the girls have asked her twenty times where she’s prom. Coincidentally, she’s from Ohio - same as Hayley. 

By the way, Lynn thinks Amanda and I have a positive influence on each other- hah!  Possibly, when all the commotion wools down, we might slyly bring up the room topic again.  Yep. 

Knowing that my writing is shit does little to soothe my depression. If I’m not a lost cause, I wish I were.

With glee like venom, her eyes overflow

June 16, 2010

                 Whoa. Last night. Amber and Emily N. They ran away.

A hectic 2+ hours when none of us knew where in the hell they were, and it was dark. Dark as in the perfect time for all the meandering beasts in the whole freakin’ forest to jump them and (ahem) hurt and/or kill them. 

Lily was just about in tears. I engaged in a prayer circle for those two, and I’m one of those few (hah!) doubters of the Lord himself.  Crazy flashes of the possibilities were haunting us for hours.

One minute they were in the 7:45 snack line, the next they were giggling and walking back towards the front doors.  We had all the works involved, too: the cops [showed up for our little party], nurses searching outside with flashlights and backpacks. 

All of us back here refused to go to bed until Amber and Emily were back. 

And how do I have the time to jot this all down?  Yvonne set my tube intake for .5cc an hour (as opposed to the normal 50cc) and all that led to an extra hour at my bedside this morning.  I get to straighten my hair at 10 a.m.  Whoop.

Later

My legs and arms look/feel like sausages this morning; and don’t get started on that ‘fool talk’ reprimanding because I’d rather purge than eat another bit right now.

Oh yeah, I’m so triggered. 

So far mail-wise, I’ve gotten two letters from Mom and one from Grandma.  I also got the guitar book, some pens, and a…wow, I already wrote this down. [Aw shucks. Memory blimp].  Major deja-vu.  I actually had to look back a page, blah-blah reading through.

I am such a blonde today.

I got a final exam for Gym [from school] yesterday. It’s like “SURPRISE!”.  It’s such a joke, ikt’s not even funny; actually, I’m pretty pissed because after a little tete with Jora, according to her, I’m supposed to - in addition - have a study guide (usable during test) in my possession [to go along with the test]. 

I want to kick a wall -  extra fun in my boots; not to mention it would give me the plausibility factor and a reason to stand up [NON-EXCESSIVE STANDING ALLOWED UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES].  

Damn excessive movement.

Later

Either Lauren’s (nutritionist) ditched me, or my schedule is messed up.  Hey, I’d be happy to fore-go a meeting about (what else) my eating habits and food in general; but I’d like to get, for instance, a warning of some sort.

Later

First, my (later) session with Lauren was unnecessarily annoying, only because it wound out to be more of a therapeutic session than anything else.  You’re probably thinking “Hey, that sounds pretty good” but I disagree; most of the time slot was filled with awkward silences.

I had to stare at the ground because Lauren’s “sympathetic” (death) glare into my soul was going to be too much to handle if I wasn’t allowed to at any time burst out laughing.  Still on 3/4 portions [of regular meals]! 

I’m also a “lucky duck” as Lauren puts it for avoiding my tube increase last night. I was like, “Oh yeah”.  I was jumping for joy last night - about the non-existent increase, I mean. Not to mention, with all the buzz and the hullabaloo last night, my snack refusal never officially found itself on paper. Hehe.

And because the new day’s a bitch, I have some depressing news - like you hear anything but: Emily K. (#2) cut herself again.  On the neck.  This occurred during Body Image (with Mindy, no less) because with the awesomeness of the art room came the scissors, which Emily managed to magician out in order to slice her neck on a run to the bathroom.

I’m so confused; but more than anything else, I’m concerned.  If she’s sent away, it’s not going to be Candyland - there I go with the “food talk” again.  It’ll be hardcore institution for her.  Not good.

I want to help, but I don’t know how.  Everything I’ve wanted to do or be has always been out of reach, but in this case, I just want to be able to reach out.

Today is a day of bad days.  I exist to be nonsensical.  Amanda and I’s quest to journey to the nurse named Cheryl and beg her to let me room with Amanda and Emily K. failed.  Well, Amanda got there; and hey, you’d think that she’d make up some plausible excuse about our age difference or something [keeping us from being roommates because they like for roommates to be of similar age] unusually “reasonable” that is along those lines. Nope.

Cheryl replied with some crap about our body distortion plot to land ourselves an extension or something of that sort [at the facility].  Basically that we’re “not good for each other” in friendship terms, of course.

And I like Cheryl; she’s maternal and convinces me to screw the refusals, but my mouth was agape at this sad news from Amanda Panda.

Before you get to a world-is-ending phase from all the confusion, let me go back a bit-flashback!  Amanda and I have been sharing similar struggles- the usual “I’m too fat and not sick enough to be here” deal - and we called Cheryl over earlier to talk with us to basically vent our guts out; all the therapists here encourage us to talk to the staff if we’re experiencing any problems or urges, so I was like “Hey, why not?”. 

Apparently, that impression she printed of us screwed us over, and Amanda will be alone tonight [in her room] - again.  I salute Emily #2 who will, once again, be sleeping in the Pine Room.

Random gift I received today: furry tube animal [to attach on my feeding tube] from Amanda’s mom.  It wraps around my tube in a death (velcro) grip and hooks on.  Best part: it’s a monkey. Hell yes.  Que flashback of former Pokemon obsession - my Aipom, T.J.  Pity I never even got it to a reasonably high level.

Amanda’s furry creature of wonder is a penguin, Rachel’s is a dog, and Amber’s is a creature of the unknown.

Notes: Had an interesting Chapel with (male therapist) Dave speaking.

I rode Fiddlesticks (my horse, if you forgot) for the first time “today”

June 15, 2010

                      Stupid increases [in food].  According to (nutritionist) Lauren, I’m not gaining weight and that’s a “problem”.  As long as I’m getting the damn nutrients, should it really matter what my weight is?

Ahem, just let. Me. Maintain.

Later

Stupid hotdog.  Veggie dog - proud vegetarian, baby!  Lauren and Emily #2 have landed themselves on yellow [status].

Welcome to the art room, the heaven of all heavens here at Remuda. 

Impulsive blurt-out in recent discussion by Katie: Do you want to know why we can’t wear flip-flops?  It’s not “sanitary” and we’ll surefire step on a needle and get AIDS.

Every single fiber in my brain tells me that’s ridiculous. So, in other words, I’m stupid.  But honestly, the odds are slim to none.

Notes:

Dream team nurse staff (always three at a time): Jenn, Kim, Maggie OR Jenn, Kim, Cheryll