Being nuts is being somewhere

avocadoqueen:

if I’m ever fake or tacky i give you permission to kill me

So, I’ve been working on this list of positive treatment memories from various places I’ve been. So far I have 32 good ones, though most are from Remuda, no surprise. I guess this is a good thing. It’s good to look for the positives because there are too many negatives to think about.

I don’t feel like my medication is working anymore. I feel like I’m falling back into a heavy depression. I’m not interested in things I used to be, and these are things I’ve been interested in for years. Even writing…I can’t get any poetry down because the words aren’t coming to me, and I don’t have the creativity right now to work on a story.

I don’t feel like I deserve to be in theater, mostly because I’m not good enough, and it’s not fair to anyone else because I keep having to quit because of my health, be it mental or physical. It’s the same with school. There’s only one reason I want to go away to college instead of staying here to go to community college, and that reason is entirely ED-driven.

My psychiatrist would probably argue that because my weight is ‘low’, the meds can’t work right until I gain some weight. He’s said that before, but I wasn’t feeling this way before. I don’t even care if they work right now, to be honest. I don’t really want anything, except my family and friends to be happy, and for me to be left alone with my ED. I know those two don’t coincide, but I wish they could.

I am not being vain when I say that I have a family that loves me very much. I have friends that care about me. I had little to no friends two years ago before treatment, but I have met some wonderful people over the years.

Why isn’t this enough for me to help myself, to recover? My therapist keeps telling me that he’s fighting for me more than I am. And he’s right.

In the support group last night, my guy counselor man asked, “What is the goal with your eating disorder/why do you do it?”

He suggested “to be skinny” and a few of people agreed with this or didn’t oppose it. No one really had time to give a deep answer, but a few called some out.

My answer?

“Death.”

Another good one that someone threw out there was ‘control’. That’s common, I think, and it’s big in my illness, too. To have control over something, to feel powerful in your own little world, etc.

I have a reddish bruise on my spine. What the heck happened there?

(Rhetorical question. I mean, I don’t even know what happened. Crunches?)

prancingunicorns:

I realty don’t know how I turned into such a horrible person.

I honestly feel so guilty for being my parents daughter. Like they don’t deserve to have to deal with such an awful person.