It’s 4:26AM and I’m up. According to Dr. Parsley, I’m supposed to get the fuck out of bed and do something relaxing. Except, there isn’t really anything relaxing to do. I don’t like puzzles. I can’t play guitar or piano. I can watch my tablet, but I don’t really have any shows that I like. So my options are either writing or pacing. I kind of like the idea of pacing, out of spite. I like the exercise, especially when I get a couple of hours of brisk walking in the morning. I can feel my muscles working, it makes me hungry (and I don’t eat anything), so I know I’m burning calories. And since it’s early morning, no one else is up, so it’s not encouraging anyone else to do it with me. I feel really bad if I influence someone else to implode.
Not that I want to implode today or anything. I actually feel pretty good and I think today will be a nice day. I am just frustrated with this sleep situation. I didn’t nap yesterday, really. I don’t think I ever actually fell asleep. I do intend to skip lunch and dinner and any snacks that I can today and deal with the fallout Thursday. Since Alina is gone, it will just be Dr. Parsley and Courtney, or if I get really lucky, Nancy and Courtney. I’m just going to smile and nod and say everything is fine. And I might push for a discharge next Tuesday, if Dr. Parsley is there. I’m ready to get out of here. I’m ready to have some freedom and choose what I want to do for myself. I’m tired of hospital life. I’m tired of structure and discipline.
I’m going to get out of here and I actively plan on relapsing. I’ll start with meals and snacks that I’m supposed to prepare for myself and then start skipping out for lunch, if I can. Then, breakfast. I’m just not happy with this whole recovery plan. I’m not angry, I’m not moody. I’m just bored with the idea. I miss the control my ED gave me. I miss being able to go 5 days without having to eat. There’s a lot of power in that. And I was saving so much fucking money. Also, I want my slim figure back. I know they say I’m not trending up, but I feel like I am. I want to get back down to 125 at least. “You’re more than a number on a scale.” True. But I also like that number on the scale to be 125. It feels good.
“But you can have such a wonderful life.” My wonderful life left with Danielle and it’s not coming back. I have no joy. I have nothing to look forward to each day. I’m just a rock, sinking to the bottom of the pool. And even if life was super exciting, I’d still want to be rail skinny. “Fuck the American beauty standard.” Yeh, fuck it if you can’t pull it off. But I was pulling it off quite nicely.
So yeh, let’s move that discharge date up to the 26th and get the fuck out of here. Let me go. Not just to the apartments, let me go home. Stop worrying about me. Stop caring about me. Just stop. I’m leaving here just as I came in, by myself. I haven’t gained even one real friend that cares about me here. I’m just too weird. I’m just too much.
I want to wake up at 4:30 AM, take my meds, and dance and sing and get ready for the day. I miss that. I miss taking meds early. I miss having somewhere to spend all that energy that I had. I miss my life. So please, discharge me on the 26th. That was the right plan, what the fuck do I know. I’m just the patient with the eating disorder. You were right and I was wrong. Get me the fuck out of here and on my own. I do not want to do this anymore. I’m done.
It’s ironic, I guess, that I hate waking up early here, since I do it automatically. At home there’s just so much to do in the morning. There’s cleaning, there’s Bee’s bath. There’s animals to be cared for. There’s a shower to take. There’s make up and hair. There’s picking out an outfit to wear. But here, there’s nothing. I’m just bored. And I hate being bored. Boredom is where all the nasty Mr. Negative thoughts start to brew. It’s where all my worst ideas stem from. I mean just read that last page. It’s nothing but self hatred and negativity. I don’t want to be negative, I want to be positive. But I can’t. Not when I wake up in the morning and have nothing to do. No where to go. No where to be. Nothing to look forward to. Just ground hog day. The same thing. That reminds me, I miss Abigail. She was the one person here, after Polly left, that got me. She was encouraging in all the right ways.
Katy wears this bracelet that says “fuck anorexia.” I wish I felt like that, but I just don’t. I feel more like Raine about this whole thing. I don’t care. It wants to kill me and I want to let it. Why can’t I find the enthusiasm that Katy has? Why don’t I feel that way? I know my core value is love for Juniper and taking care of her. I know my values. None of them include dying. But this eating disorder shit has a lock on my brain. I guess, at least part of this is that I’ve never really suffered serious health consequences from the disorder. No one has sent me to ACUTE. I can still function completely normally. I’m not passing out. It’s not hard to walk. I don’t need a wheel chair.
The nurse came in last night and she was really sweet. She asked me my numbers. “0,3” I don’t even know if that’s real or not. What are safety numbers anyways? “That’s an improvement:, ” she said. I mean, I guess it’s an improvement from a couple of nights ago. But literally all day yesterday, I said my numbers were 0,0. I’m trying to get out of here. Maybe no one believes anything I say any more. That’s frustrating. Maybe.
Why can’t I just go with the flow of things? Why do I have to challenge everything? I wish I had that drive or whatever it is. Maybe it’s courage. Courage is doing what has to be done, regardless of the consequences, or something like that. And in a way, fighting anorexia takes a lot of courage. You’re not going to have the body you want any more. You’re no longer going to have the control that you had. You must, in a lot of ways, surrender and do what has to be done, regardless of the consequences. Now, you can rationalize and say, “Hey, the consequences are all good. “ “You’ll feel like yourself again,” that’s something I’ve heard Ella K. say a dozen times. You’ll feel good, like yourself again. I don’t remember what I felt like. I think the last time I was mentally healthy was before puberty started, probably around age 12. And even then, everything in my life was fucked up. I was living with grandparents, my mother was losing her mind, my Dad was off working, like always. And I was just left to my own devices, trying to figure shit.
And even when things started to “normalize”, like my Mom buying a condo for us to live in and getting a slightly better job, so she had a little more money, it still sucked. And then puberty kicked in for me and my body started feeling weird and changing in ways that felt wrong. I just became angry. All the time, I was just fucking angry. I stayed angry for a lot of years. All of high school. All of college. My first marriage. My first divorce. Then, Danielle came back into my life. And I wasn’t angry any more. I was happy. I loved her and I loved waking up with her every day. Yes, I was gender questioning. Yes, I was stressed because our kid was very sick. Yes, I was working 90 h-ours a week. Yes, we discovered cocaine and I got a horrible drug addiction. All those things are true. But what remained consistent for me was that I loved Danielle. That didn’t waver for me. I felt invincible in a lot of ways. I thought that love was stronger than any other force on this planet. And I thought our shared love of Juniper was stronger than any force on this planet. I was wrong. Our love was shallow. One of the main reasons she left was because I didn’t want to work 90 hours a week any more. I didn’t care about a $200,000 salary. Now mind you, we were still bringing over $200,000 with our combined income. It’s not like we were poor. And there’s more to that story, too. But I won’t go into that now. Anyways, that was one of her stated primary reasons for leaving… to go live with her BF, who earns $60,000 a year and has 3 record shops that barely break even. He works a government job that he hates and lives in a shitty little apartment. None of it makes sense.
The only way it makes sense is if you take into account her mental illness. If she were still on lithium, none of this would have happened, I’m certain of it.
I’m not strong enough to process this shit today. “How willing are you to engage with big emotions today?” Not willing. How willing am I to go to groups today? Not so much. How willing are you to complete the meal plan that you hate today? I plan on ducking out of as many meals as I can. I plan on skipping snacks and I plan on asking to step down on Tuesday. The longer I’m here, the more time it gives them to realize that, “yes, she is batshit crazy and no, she’s not in recovery. She’s broken, just like she said.” Is that the eating disorder talking to me? Probably. I mean, I’m ready to cut off my family again. I’m ready to recluse back into my house, by myself. I’ve lost my will to fight.
I remember one of the first people that I met here at ERC was a lady named Connie. I thought Connie was the coolest. I think she thought I was a little weird. I’m used to that, whatever, I still thought she was cool. But she was only here for a few weeks before she went home to Boston. She just said, “I’ve gotten everything that I can from this place.” I didn’t understand it at the time. She was still phase I, she was still restricting. She didn’t want to reach the target weight they gave her. I would say her attitude was only slightly better than mine. And we were in agreement, our eating disorder gave us a sense of accomplishment. She liked the fact that, as she put it, “put in the work. Didn’t eat those extra calories. Spent the time exercising,” etc. I did agree with her about the sense of accomplishment and it’s been parroted a few dozen times since being in residential treatment. I find myself believing what she said more and more and what “they” say less and less.
We do a digital daily check in every day and the first question is, “How are you feeling today?” A few days ago, I said, “I think I’ve outgrown Willow,” which Alina and Courtney quizzed me about. And the short answer is, I think I’ve gotten all I’m going to get from being inpatient or residential here. They are right, I can nourish myself. I don’t need someone to watch me go to the bathroom. I can use razors appropriately. They don’t care about my self harm. They don’t care about my SI. They don’t seem to think me skipping meals and refusing to eat others is a big deal. So, I’ve outgrown Willow. It’s time to move on and accept life again. I want to go home, get my income independence back and start taking care of my home again. I want to send my Mom packing and keep her at arm’s length. And I want to take care of my kid. I want to see what my relationship with Brandon looks like once I’m free from here. I want to see if I can get more of his attention than just on the weekends. I want to be myself and not be judged by 17 other girls.
I want to order too many clothes. Dresses and skirts that are too short. Outfits that are too cute. Boots that look a little slutty. Fuck it. It’s my choice to make. I want to fill two closets with new outfits. So many outfits, most of them still have the tags on them. I don’t want someone looking over my shoulder at me. I want boxes upon boxes of shoes and hats and bags of all shapes, colors and sizes. With names that cost money and make other girls jealous. I’m fine with them being jealous. I want to drive my BMW faster and more recklessly than I should (as long as it’s just me and Juniper isn’t in the car with me.) I want to drive fast and furiously. I want to drink red bull. Lots and lots and lots of redbull and some coffee, too. I want to listen to music turned all the way up in the morning. Juniper and I like it. Susan does, too. I like MY music in the morning. Katy Perry, mostly, but Lorde and the like, too. I want to sing at the top of my lungs and not worry about others hearing me. I want to dance around the house while I do my chores. I miss chores, is that weird? I miss doing laundry for Juniper. I miss vacuuming and dusting and organizing. I miss feeding my cats and my dog. I miss cleaning the litter box? Ok, maybe not that. But I’ll do it, because I miss my cats.
I want to wake each morning and get ready. And now there’s this whole writing thing that I’ve been doing. I want to write each day. When I wake up. After I take Jude to school. While Jude does her therapies. And when we get back home in the afternoon. I want to write and write and write and write. I do have things to say. I do have thoughts to share. Now will anyone care? I have no idea and I don’t care if they do or if they don’t. I’m doing this for me. I have thoughts. Lots and lots and lots of thoughts in my head that have been swimming and swirling around for years. Thoughts that I kept locked away and that contributed to my sadness, anger, depression and anxiety. It’s time to let them out. “Be free, thoughts. Fly onto the page and be forever immortalized.” And if no one ever reads a single word, so what. Who cares? I’m not doing this for them. I’m not doing this for you. I’m writing this for me, because with all these thoughts finally expressed in writing, I don’t have to feel trapped by them anymore. And since I’m not married and I’m not particularly bound by religious belief or anything but my own moral code, I can write whatever I want. Danielle, if you’re reading this, good for you. Read it. Or don’t. I don’t care anymore. No more secret thoughts. Just a free flow of silly things that my mind conjures up and my fingers tap out. Danielle can’t use this against me any longer. I no longer have to be afraid. It’s out there and I don’t feel ashamed.
I’m going to write about my life and Juniper’s. I’m going to write about the cats and their silliness. How they wake me up in the middle of the night, trying to suffocate me in bed. I’m going to write about fucking. I’m going to write about cleaning. I’m going to write about my mood and emotions. I’m going to write about anorexia. I’m going to write about my diet. I’m going to write about exercise. I’m going to write about mental illness and mental wellness. I’m going to write about anything I goddamn choose. I will feel no shame, not any longer and I will write and write and write and write. There is no limit and there are no boundaries. As of 2026, nobody gives a fuck anyways. And I’m writing for me, no one else. If you choose to read this, that’s your fucking problem. I didn’t tell you to, you chose to do it yourself. No one is making you, so don’t get pissed off at me if you don’t like what you read.
It’s only 5:43 AM and I see and hear some movement around the unit. I’ll get up at 6:00 and make the bed and pick out my clothes for the day. I’m wearing my capris and fancy white shirt. Or the black one. I haven’t decided. The black one is more modest, the white one more bold and I’m just not quite sure how I feel about today yet. Is it a grey day or a yellow one, or is it lavender or blue. I don’t know yet. The sky looks mostly clear this morning, so maybe the rain is done for today. Maybe it gets warmer than 60 degrees outside today. That’s the rub I suppose. Capris are already going to leave my legs a little chilly so I need to be mindful and dress appropriately. The milieu is going to be cold, regardless of what I wear, so really this is just a style decision. There is one issue that I don’t know how to overcome. Socks and my lack there of. I don’t really have any appropriate ones for the capris, so I have to go sockless. Maybe it’s green Adidas and no socks. Or my slips that have become so worn and stretch that they fall off my feet, or my feet have shrunk. I don’t know which. They say hormones can do that, make you shrink in height and make your feet smaller. All anecdotal, of course, there’s not much research on the subject. At least that I’ve found. It’s mostly found on Reddit and the like from others doing HRT.
Today is shot day, which is always a good day. It does give me a sense of well being. I do kind of miss the higher dose. Since being here, they have been double dosing my estradiol. The NP said it was causing my platelet count to be too high. Blood clots are a thing and a serious blood clot could get them to kick me off HRT, which would be devastating. But, the nurses caught it a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, the pharmacy sent over a vial that was 20mg/ml and only included a small note at the bottom, “Sorry, we were out of 10mg/ml,” but didn’t change the dosing on the label. So, the nurses were just following the orders on the computer. I don’t really blame them, I probably wouldn’t have checked the vial dosage either. But, two weeks ago, two of the newer nurses actually did their job and double checked everything and caught the error. I had to bring the error to the NP’s attention (i have no idea what her name is) and investigated the problem and corrected the order in the computer. So now it’s back to the proper dose. Somewhere around 4mg intramuscular per week. I do worry that with the drop in dosage, my testosterone could spike. If it does, then I’ll be going on Spironalactone or however you say it. I think my GP would be willing to prescribe it if T comes back too high. He seemed pretty laxed about it, although he didn’t recommend it. Now, the endocrinologist that I’m seeing on July 17th (Jude’s birthday) is going to have a different opinion, I’m sure.
Oh, Jude’s birthday. That’s some thought processing that I need to do. Geez. I’m not ready for that one today. Let’s hold off. WIllingness to process, 0/10. And it’s 5:58 AM anyways, so I’m going to stop this gibber-jabbering and make my bed, layout my clothes. I’m going conservative with the capris. Put on my headphones and start thinking about getting ready for the day. Maybe even get excited about the day for a little while. I do like my coffee in the morning. Even if it’s only ONE cup. Another reason to ask to discharge next Tuesday, on the 26th. I want real coffee and I want lots of it and I want to drink it all day long. Stay positive. Stay focused. Self advocate. These are goals for the day and I’ll say as much during morning intentions, if I don’t forget.
6:23 AM I’ve been pacing for 20 mins. I realized that if you walk in a zig-zag pattern instead of in a straight line, you get 30% more steps in, so you can spend less time pacing and get the same benefit. Nursing just showed up to start their count. BHTs should be rolling down the hallways any moment now. It’s a shame that they don’t come down at 6:20 AM, since we’re supposed to shower, weigh, pee, get dressed in 15 minutes. It’s impossible, especially for me since I have to shave and I like to be very thorough. That’s like the one thing that matters to me. No one wants to be the bearded lady. I miss my real razors. Give me my apartment, i’ll be shaving twice a day again. Electric razors can only shave so close. I use the quadruple blade $5 shave club razors that are $8 per 4 pack. One blade lasts 3-4 days usually. Do the math. It’s an investment worth making. And besides, those are the blades I use to self harm. I use straight razor blades, like the ones used for industrial purposes. They are ultra sharp, require very little pressure and do maximum damage. But, per nursing here, self harm doesn’t matter. At least, per Nurse Bailey. I shouldn’t let her speak for all the nursing staff, they don’t all suck. Just her. She sucks. Hopefully they put her on 3E-W next week when she returns. She’s just a bitch. RULE NUMBER ONE: DO NOT BE A BITCH. Duh, Nurse Bailey. Guess she didn’t get the memo.
Oh god, is wearing stylish new gear every day being a bitch? It’s always concerning when no one says anything about what I’m wearing. Except Kiki, but getting compliments from Kiki is kind of like getting compliments from your Mom. They’re obligated. She’s also just really nice. I like Kiki mornings and you can always tell she’s here, in Splataah, because the music selection is perfect for showering and getting ready in the morning. It’s dancey, it’s energetic, it’s fun. That’s Kiki in a nutshell. She just gives off positive vibes.
Speaking of vibes, I get such a weird vibe from the nurses when they give me the estradiol shot. “There ya go” almost sounds like, “welcome to womanhood” to me. But I could be wrong, what the fuck do I know? I don’t know that nurse’s name, but she was getting weights this morning and said, “Morning Clara, do you need anything today?” I never know how to respond to that. “Shit girl, it’s 6:30 am, I’ve been for two hours, but I haven’t had any coffee yet and I’ve just been exposed to other humans for the first time in 9 hours. Let’s just see how the day progresses, ok?”, is what I want to say. But I think I said something like, “I don’t think so.” And she replied, “Will you let me know if you do?” Umm… sure. When I’m crashing out and need clonazepam in a couple of hours, I’ll keep you in the loop. What else is she going to do for me exactly? I don’t know, since the Nurse Bailey experience, I haven’t really talked to any of the nurses, at least not on purpose. That sweet nurse last night I talked to, but only brief answers to her questions. And besides, what is a nurse going to do for me? Give me a hot pack? A cold one? Stick my face in ice water. Ask me if I’ve taken my PRNs? I don’t know. I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want attention. I really don’t want to talk about my mental health at all anymore. I’ve got the “treatment burnout” bad.
So, my goal for today is to “self advocate” to get the fuck out of here. I think Dr. Parsley just got another week approved by insurance, so now I’m going to turn around and ask him to let me go sooner than the 1st. I can take my own meds. I can shower and poop without a monitor. No, I won’t eat what you want me to. Yes, I will eat enough to sustain me. No, I won’t “learn to cook.” Yes, I will sneak out of group and back to my apartment, if I can. No, I won’t be actively working on recovery. Yes, I will get my nails done. No, I won’t form any close bonds with anyone else here. Yes, I will go get waxed before I have Brandon over. No, Josie is not going to be happy I’ve been shaving. Yes, I’m willing to deal with that. I think you get the picture. I want out. I’m going to aim for the moon while I’m gazing at stars? Can you actually do that?
My stress level is like a 5/10 right now, which isn’t too shabby for me in the morning. I really feel pretty good. The estradiol contributes to that for sure. And it’s pretty rapid action. We’re talking 15 minutes and I’m feeling pretty euphoric. I feel cute. I feel fun. I’m digging my capris. Fuck what anyone thinks. I might go back into Splataaah and do makeup. Maybe not. I’ve grown accustomed to seeing myself without makeup on and I think I’m just as cute naturally. But, I know Brandon really likes the makeup and the extra girly stuff. I’ll do it for him. Maybe Saturday when I wear my dress. Never mind, Splataaah is closed. But we still have 8 minutes until they call for breakfast. I am so fucking ready to not have to be called to breakfast. Dogs get called to meals. Cats get called to meals. Humans should pick and choose when they want to eat. I’ve outgrown WIllow. See.
Positive mindset. Alina is out of town starting today, so I get to see Amanda instead. I really like her. On my first or second day here she did a battery of surveys on me and we just started talking. I kind of let it slip out that I may have been a little bit of slut when Danielle took off to Nashville. I guess I was so used to being slut shamed, I expected some sort of lecture. She looks up at me and says, “it happens.” LOL. And we both smiled. And everything turned out fine. I got tested for all the nasties and everything came back negative. So anyways, I like Amanda. She’s actually really popular on the unit. She used to do process and I didn’t mind it nearly as much then. I don’t like whoever they have doing it now. But Amanda is cool, so having a session with her should be good. I actually think she’s a much better therapist than Alina. She likes to challenge thoughts in a much more provoking way. Her challenges make me think. Plus, even though the fence is mended, I still don’t have a ton of trust with Alina. I told her that her pulling me out of my room that day embarrassed me and made me feel terrible. And she got defensive about it at first, kind of invalidating what I was saying, which proved my point exactly. She said that I was wishy-washy about coming out of the room and I should have been more assertive. DUDE, I WAS HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. It’s not like I’m full of assertive energy when I want to crawl into a hole and hide. Oh boy. That’s negative. Let’s reframe. We’ve begun to repair the relationship of therapist and patient, but we still have work to do.
Apparently I ordered bacon for breakfast. I don’t remember doing that, but it’s all good. Bacon once in a while is ok, I suppose. And surprisingly, it was cooked the way I like it, so I ate it. Just a thought. I do feel like I’m greasy just from eating it though. My value today (and every day until I leave) is perseverance. Polly did that and I like it, so I’m doing it too. My smart skills are 100% meals & snacks, Journal and possibly setup a blog, and work on my kudos for my kudos person. Skills I’m journaling, listening to music (maybe something new) and “leaves on a stream.” I use the last one in combination with my writing, if something big comes up that I need to process. I’d rather keep it light. For support, I’m asking for laughter, games and checkins. Hopefully Allie and I get a game of clue going. I’ll be Colonel Mustard so she can have Professor Plum.
I don’t know if it’s the Lexapro, the Buspar or just my brain balancing its chemicals correctly on its own, but I do feel significantly less anxious today than I have in some time. I don’t expect that to hold true all day long, considering anxiety always seems to have a snowball effect as the day wears on, but I’ll take the “calm brain” morning. It’s nice. Stress level since breakfast, 3/10. Stress level after being in group and talking about daily intentions and possible group ideas for the day, 6/10. Why is that? But I feel the tension in my chest and my head. Why do groups make me feel so anxious now? Why did I feel so good and confident going into group, only to have that eviscerated the moment Chris the MC started talking. It’s weird because I like Chris. He likes being here, he’s really nice and he almost always has good ideas for groups. But my chest is tightening just thinking about actually going to groups. I had to bail on the group room immediately after sharing and after Chris finished talking.
I want to have a good conversation with someone today. I’m thinking Betty, maybe. I want to ask her to be my friend after we leave here. We’re both a little crazy and like being stylish. She’s got a great sense of style. She’s wearing this long, bright and flowered covered dress, a pink jean jacket that I had to help her put on and cowboy boots. I’ve set it before and I’ll say it again, when she was young, I know she was a knockout. She has these beautiful lips and very symmetric eyes and nose. And her style is always bright and cheerful. I use solid colors and she uses bright patterns. She does the same thing that I do, too. She’ll take her shower and get dressed, then decide she doesn’t like what she has on and go change in her room. I kind of wanted to do that this morning with these capris. They just fit kind of differently, because they aren’t stretchy at all. But they’re not any more uncomfortable than jeans with a belt on. Anyways, I’m going to ask her for help with makeup on Saturday, before Brandon comes. Her makeup is always flawless and I can tell she wants to mom/big sister me. I should let her. She’s perfect for that role, especially since she could be both my Mom or my big sister and it makes her feel really good to help people. She’s always pushing someone’s wheelchair or trying to help calm someone down.
Gosh, my anxiety just shot up from out of nowhere. It was a 3/10 and now it’s like 8/10 and I don’t know what the fuck happened other than sitting in group. I guess subconsciously Chris’s group ideas triggered some thoughts about Danielle or other negative thoughts. Maybe even slightly consciously. Boundaries and such makes me think about Mom and Danielle. For willingness to process today, I put 2/10 and that’s being generous. I need to work on real world stuff today, like calling Diane and making sure she’s not mad at me. Oh boy, that makes my stomach hurt and it feels like I’m being punched in the throat. Weird, considering that she’s on my team and just trying to help me as much as possible. It’s my procrastination that is the problem here. Actually, I’d call it avoidance more so than procrastination. I just want to avoid the divorce altogether. I don’t want it to be real. I want to slip into another universe where everything is like it was before Danielle stopped loving me. I suppose this is why my anxiety stays so high. Because I’m holding on to thoughts like this. It’s really counterproductive, not only to recovery, but to my mental health in general. I’ve got to diffuse these thoughts. Of course, no one explained how to do that really. Just let them go? How can I let go of thoughts that are so core to my beliefs, to promises I made?
What am I feeling? I think I have mixed emotions today and I’m not exactly sure what they are. Let’s try labeling them first. Overwhelmed. Why? Because I’ve got real world shit that I need to work on, such as talking to Diane and I need to email Ginni. Also, I’m exhausted. Why? Well in part because of the lack of sleep. But I think the bigger part is just being away from home and thinking about all the things I’m going to have to do to get my life in order once I leave here. I’ve got 5 weeks to get my thoughts together, but it’s going to be a lot of work. I feel drained, for lack of a better word. Why? My introvert wants to go hide under the covers in my room and not come out for the rest of the day. ***I wonder if they locked my room*** Stressed. Why? Because I know Chris’s groups will bring up a lot of emotions that are hard to process. I love Chris as MC, he’s kind and smart. He’s encouraging and he really loves being here with us. But his groups are some of the hardest, because they really cut to the core of our feelings and our eating disorder, or the reasons for our eating disorder. That makes his groups hard. Cold. Why? Well, I was outside and it’s fucking cold out there today. No, reframe (right, Priscilla?). It’s brisk. But I’m wearing shortish pants, so my legs are cold. We all came in early anyways. Now pee break 1/30 that I’ll take today. You’ve got to hustle into Splataaah when the opportunities arise. Anxious. Why? AM snack is just around the corner. It will be a blueberry muffin, plus vanilla boost (yes, miriam, It does taste like ass). I can’t believe some people actually prefer vanilla boost. I mean, they both suck. It tastes like flavored medicine or something. And the vanilla has this spoiled smell about it. I’ve talked about that before, Betty put it in my head and it hasn’t left. But I’m going to drink it. Rooms are locked, so there’s no hiding today. There must have been a meeting about keeping doors locked during the day. I’m sure I was part of that discussion, since I will gladly ditch a meal if I can hide in my room. I’ve even pretended I was sleeping when they came to get me. Kristen wasn’t buying it. I’d hoped with Shawna and Kiki here I could get away with it today, but looks like a no go. I feel conflicted. Why? Did you read what I wrote this morning? My ED thoughts are strong and they are convincing. In fact, I’m still not sure they are wrong and I swear they’re telling me I don’t even have an eating disorder. They’re telling me to relapse and giving me all the classic reasons why. I’m supposed to hold true to my values, that’s my shield to ED thoughts, but it just doesn’t seem like enough right now. Anxious. Why? Staying an extra week here gives Dr. Parsley another week to observe my behavior and keep me here longer. At this point, I really want out. We talked about it this morning.
And it’s not like my thoughts and emotions end there. They just sit and ruminate like a merry go round. I go from one fear to another and my brain just starts spinning faster and faster throughout the day. I just want to get off the ride, I’m feeling sick from all the spinning. I want to benzo sleep, where my brain just slows down to a crawl and I don’t have vivid dreams or circular thoughts. And now this whole no nap thing… geesh. Naps were like my escape for the day. Now I’m not sure what to do with the 2-3 o’clock hours, when things start getting really intense.
Avoid…Avoid…Avoid… I’ve got to call Diane and write that email to Ginni. And Aerocare, I need to call aerocare so that they send all the supplies needed for this month. Adulting… responsibility. I responded to her email and left her a message and apologized for taking so long to get back to her.
Rose was having a good time bouncing her ball up and down the hall and now she’s getting scolded. I feel bad for her. I’ve been doing the same thing throughout the day, I just haven’t been caught, yet. I want to pace, too. I want to throw the ball against a wall and catch it. I want to scale the bars that line the patio/outside area. I want to run through the walls, like the Kool-Aid guy would do when I was a child. I want to bust out of here, like sneak out. It’s a challenge, there are alarms everywhere and the elevators need a badge to operate. But I’m pretty sure the fire escape/stairs will alarm, but will let you through. It could be one of those doors that will open if you push on it for long enough, the alarm starts going off the moment you apply force. If that’s the case, it’d be almost impossible to sneak out during the day. That means a night time escape. That could be a bit challenging, too. My only hope would be if one BHT is in Splataaah and the other is doing rounds at the end of the hall. I’m sure the nurses and BHTs will come running at the first alarm, so I’d have to move quickly. If there’s a delay on the fire escape door, I’m screwed. Which does give me another idea for another option. What if I pull the fire alarm and while everyone is going to the fire meetup point, I go through the cafe double doors. The alarm will sound, but everyone will be so occupied with that annoying ass fire alarm, they might not notice as quickly. But then, I’d have to find another fire escape, since the elevators are off limits without a badge. My third and final idea (for now) is to somehow steal a badge. This would be the trickiest to pull off, they hold on to those badges like jailers held keys at alcatraz, i assume. Maybe not. I don’t know, I’m lacking another analogy. Anyways, they either wear them around their neck or attached to their body in some other way and I’ve never actually seen anyone lay one down on the desk or anything. That means, I’d have to extra sneak and need a pair of scissors to cut it off from around their neck. That might not go so well. Hmm… other options. There are RFID capture devices that I could order and assemble with parts from Amazon most likely. But I’d need them to come in a casing of some sort and I’d have to have an excuse for what is, obviously have to lie about that. Ugh. I don’t feel good about these escape plans.
I want to dance. Kiki’s shirt today says, “Ce soir, on va danser”, “tonight, we go dancing.” I want to go dancing with Kiki, I bet she’s fun. Clara has never actually been dancing, but I’d only go if I was with either a big group of girls or friends in general or with Brandon. That’s the life, unfortunately. As a woman, you already have to be so on guard from men trying to trick you, get you drunk, spiking you drink, force you into their car, etc. As a trans woman, you have all those problems, plus psychopaths that just hate trans people or even worse, if they clock you as cis first, then realize you’re trans, they don’t like that. I mean, it’s Denver, so probably not as much of an issue here, but still have to be on guard. And while I’m Willow, dancing is pretty off limits. If you get caught, you will most likely be redirected. And who wants to dance around our rooms that are like big closets. And by myself and what if someone sees me through the blinds. I’m already the weird one, I don’t want to be the weird one that dances by herself in her room. Fitting in is part of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. No one knows this better than a marketer. We use that one a lot, to sell shit people don’t need, to those that can’t afford it. Ick. I’m glad I’m not a marketer anymore. Anyways, if I’m caught dancing by myself and I already feel like I’d be ostracized. I don’t know that for certain, but I’m not willing to risk it. I already feel like I’m ostracized from some discussions.
Apparently, yesterday during lunch, everyone completed without supplement, except me. But I wasn’t there, so I don’t count. But the fucked up thing is it was the hummus and pita and cheese and I don’t know how I would have completed that. I was totally grossed out by it. I guess I could have supplemented instead. But I really don’t want to do that. Anyways, Juniper got here early, so I had a pretty good excuse to bail without completing my meal. Saved by the Bee. I would have felt terrible if I was the only person in there that didn’t complete. I already feel really silly sitting at the Phase I table. I’ve been here over 2 months and I can’t even make Phase II, I feel dumb. What am I afraid of? What am I holding on to so tightly? Snack is coming. It’s too early for hydroxyzine and I don’t want to use my clonazepam yet. Anxiety 7/10 at the moment. Just thinking about lining up for snack makes it go to 9/10. I might be able to hide from Kiki and Shawna, I don’t know. I don’t know on top of it they are. Shawna seems like all business and Kiki likes us and would find me because she wants to, “help.” Another option is going to nursing and feigning distress, but they’re already on alert about me, I think. Of course, no one bothered to ask my safety numbers this morning. I mean, “0,0” is my response, even though it’s probably closer to 4,6. Not that I have a solid plan anymore. Not that I want to think about it enough to come up with a plan either. But the urge is there, even though I’m feeling less depressed and my anxiety is like pulsing strobe light that speeds up and slows down today, instead of a spotlight. Kiki is calling, “snack time!” I’ve got to bite the bullet and get in line. Could I sound more trite? Let’s reframe! I have the opportunity to revise that last sentence into something less cliche and more compelling.
AM snack was a disaster. The milkshake was really extra thick today, with chunks of cream in it and I went as slow as possible and left ⅕ of it on purpose. I’m wrecked. And now group feels yucky. I just don’t want to go. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to learn any skills.
Geez, Rose was sleeping in my chair at the end of the hall, then she came walking down the hall with a therapist or someone like that, she’s been crying and her nose is bleeding. I feel so bad for her. I don’t know what’s going on, but it must be terrible. Did she not finish snack either? Now I feel even more guilty. She was curled up at the end of the hall and I don’t know what’s happening. I’m worried. Rose is my friend, she’s really kind to me. I care. I worry.
I’m avoiding group by hiding down by the nurses station. Fuck, just thinking about going down there makes me feel awful. My head hurts, my heart pounds, my stomach gets upset and I even tremble a little bit. I’m not going to do groups today unless Chris comes and finds me and even then, I’m going to tell him I can’t come today. But I do respect Chris enough that I will give him an explanation. He deserves that. I feel bad, because it looks bad to the rest of the group, too. But I just don’t have it in me. I took the clonazepam already, but that’s mostly so when lunch rolls around I can make it to lunch. Although, I’m going to do my best to hide in my room before lunch and hope they don’t check. I keep waiting for someone from my team to come grab me. I want to bring up stepping down next week instead of the 1st of June. At least in the cafe, they have me at the old Phase II table, so I’m back in the corner with Raine, Allie, Maddy, Audra and me. I like that group. I think my attitude is a combination of Raine and Audra’s. Raine absolutely doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t want recovery. Audra had to fight with her insurance to be here, but she’s skeptical of treatment. It just feels familiar and at least I’m at a table that I don’t feel is judging me. We may be the low achievers, but we’re low achievers together. ****FUCK… I need my chapstick and it’s in my bag, down by the group room. If Chris sees me, he’s going to come and try and bring me into group**** Also, the rest of the group will see me. At least down here, I’m kind of invisible. They can all assume I got pulled for therapy or a meeting with someone on my team. If they don’t know me well, they may assume it’s my rounds today. The down side to sitting down here is the nurses are in and out and one of them is going to try and talk to me at some point, I just know it.
At least I’m not curled up in a ball on the floor. At least I’m not crying my eyes out, all puffy and red with snot dripping down my face. It’s the little victories. I feel pretty numb right now to be perfectly honest. Indifferent. Grey. Not good. Not bad. I just am. I exist. I guess that’s okay. Negativity is going to get me nowhere, so let’s refresh our brain on what we want and how we expect to achieve our goal. Our Goal: Get out of Willow and have the independence to stay in bed all day, should I choose. Have the freedom to spend time with Brandon. Have the freedom to go visit Juniper. Pick which meals I want to eat or skip. Drink coffee. Bathroom privacy. See my kittens and dog. How We Get There: I need to speak with my team and advocate for myself. There is the potential that they don’t want to let me go early now because they are seeing a pattern of behavior, but I don’t think that will be the case. It’s weird, because I have completely done a 180 in terms of wanting to leave Willow, I know. They are going to be on a fact finding mission to find out why and it’s my job to convince them that it’s because I believe I’m ready for PHP. I don’t need the extra week, I want to step down ASAP.
Truthfully, groups cause too much emotional distress. I’m tired of the meals here, I’m tired of eating six times a day, I’m tired of being chased down and essentially coerced into going to the cafe and eating. Eating causes emotional distress. I don’t want to gain ANY weight, I want to lose about 5 lbs. I want the freedom to exercise as much as I want and I want to have my boyfriend over any time I choose. Truth is a bitch. But according to Audra, so am I (in a good way). I’m tired of blood draws and questions by staff. I’m tired of waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep. I’m tired of being tired and being forced to drudge onward toward a goal that I’m told I want, but I’m not so sure is for me. Is that too negative? Let’s reframe. I’m ready for some independence and a chance to prove myself as a free and functioning human being.
I’m confused. If phase II & III aren’t even necessary to step down, what’s the fucking point to begin with? To separate us out into groups, so we feel like we’re not trying hard enough. I’m at the table with the low achievers. I’m the only one without an ng tube. I’m also the only one that is actively skipping meals and restricting (at least at this last snack.) Did they group us low achievers together on purpose? It’s weird. They say the table placement is random, but I’m not so sure.
I need a pick me up, like a coffee or a line of cocaine. Just kidding about the cocaine, mostly. But I would like some weed and something boring to watch so I can fall asleep on the couch with Bee. Goal: be allowed to nap, as long as I don’t have any responsibilities. How to get there: I’ve got to get the fuck out of Willow.
Shawna is opening doors. Better pounce. I’m headed straight to my room and under the fucking covers. I’ll sit still, like a gaboon viper underneath a pile of leaves and if anyone, and I do mean anyone, tries to force me out, I’ll strike with ultra precision and inject them with my deadly venom. It will be the last mistake they ever make. There are a few things about gaboon vipers that are worth noting. One, they are brilliantly decorated in all sorts of colors, a spectrum that goes from pink to black. They aren’t particularly aggressive unless you get too close and they feel endangered, you are their actual prey, or you accidentally step on them. Most of the people that get killed by gaboon vipers fall into that last category. They’re hiking around in the west african grasslands and they make the mistake of not watching where they are walking, aren’t wearing the appropriate type of boots or the viper is just too well camouflaged to be seen and they step on them. In a split second, the gaboon viper can strike the entire length of its body and inject several mls of venom, even though it only takes a microgram of their venom to do serious and likely fatal damage. Unlike other types of vipers, rattlesnakes for instance, gaboon vipers can’t be handled safely without a snake hook, because of their ability to strike the entire distance of their body, you can’t just grab the tail end. And because they have hinged fangs, so if you grab them behind their head, they can simply rotate their fangs and strike you anyways. Within the first minute of the strike, the victim will start to lose sensation in their extremities. The neurotoxin goes to the central nervous system and begins to shut it down. It makes its way to the brainstem, which controls our basal functions, like breathing, which will become very labored. Eventually, within 15 minutes or so, the victim’s body will be in complete paralysis and will start to shut down. By 25-30 minutes, the victim will succumb to the bite and die. Antivenom is rare and very expensive. It’s virtually impossible to get in the United States, should you be a keeper that gets struck. Now what was the point of typing all that random snake information out? I’m beautiful, I’m fast and I’m deadly, and I like to stay hidden and strike if you get too close, so don’t fuck with me, ok?
I made it too my room, I’m under the covers and I’m trying to warm my feet up, because they are fucking freezing. I’m not supposed to nap, but I don’t really want to stay awake. There’s nothing for me here. Someone saw me going to my room, I’m sure. I don’t remember who, but I do know from my attendance in community that they hate it when you don’t come to group. I used to be a hater, but truthfully, I’ve turned over a new leaf. Leave people alone, this is their journey and that journey may or may not include attending all groups. I think that was one of my smart goals for the day, attending all groups and meals. But goals can shift throughout the day as various things start to happen. For me, it’s the anxiety that builds up over the day. For others, it could be something else. Although, I know from process that anxiety is a major contributor for many of us here. I hope the group I skipped wasn’t process, that seems to get the most attention of all the group skipping. I think it was just a Chris group. Besides, I’m 2/10 on willingness to process today. I don’t even want to talk about my feelings with context. I don’t even want to be in the same room as other people. I don’t even feel comfortable sitting on that couch with Ella. I’m not trying to make her uncomfortable. I miss sharing the couch with Polly. Katy and Manon really stole my fucking seat and that sucks, but I’m not going to be a bitch about it. I guess that’s letting myself get run over to an extent, but I’ll reframe and say, it’s me offering a newer patient a place to sit where she’s comfortable, even at my own expense. In this case, I don’t see it as people pleasing. It’s just being kind. I want to be kind. Kindness is a value I cherish. And Manon and Katy are pretty cool, so it’s easy to be kind to them, even though those bitches stole my fucking couch. Whatever, let’s move on. And by move on, I mean, I’m going to roll over and take a nice nap and try to hide before lunch and if possible, I’m going to skip lunch, because I don’t want to eat. Just step me down to PHP Doc, I’m so fucking ready.
It’s hard to believe that in under a week, I’ve written the equivalent of a 300-400 page novel. Not that anyone would want to read this. But in the event that someone does eventually stubble upon my ramblings and finds them amusing, they’re in for a long read. At least I would consider 300-400 pages to be a rather long read. And I’m not stopping here, I intend to keep this up. Maybe I’ll start sending a few pages to editors or publishers and see if there’s any interest. Maybe they’ll all tell me this sucks and I should find another hobby, which is totally fucking fine. I don’t care if I never get a single fan. This, I can honestly say, I’m doing for me. This is my only outlet for my anxiety, besides movement. And I’m finding it to be quite fun. It’s crazy to think that in the course of a day, my mind thinks about enough things to write about 20 percent of a novel. That’s how fast my thoughts come and just the pure volume of them. It may be shit writing, but there’s so much quantity.
Oh my eyes are feeling heavy. I’m glad it’s room time. Dear Kiki and Shawna, please let me rest peacefully over lunch. I’ll wake up after and go to process after lunch (I think it’s process after lunch). Ohhh boooy. My eyes are heavy and I feel like sleep is inevitable. If I dream, I’ll be sure to share that when I wake up. My dreams have been crazy the last few weeks.
I just ate lunch with Courtney. It was just a cheese and bean quesadilla. It wasn’t something I wanted to eat. Actually, I forgot about lunch with Courtney and had every intention of sleeping through lunch, just like I plan on going down to the nurses station and sleeping through group. Priscilla is out here chilling with me now, because there’s no one else in the hallway. I guess she’s going to start eating group lunch on Monday. That’s really great. There’s nothing that Courtney said that made me feel comforted about PHP. HS snack they’ll send home with us and I’m just going to throw mine away. I have no intention of eating HS snack. I don’t want to eat. I’ll be stuffed from the shit they make me eat all day, so why would I want to eat right before bedtime? In fact, I don’t think I’ve had HS snack in a week in residential. There’s just no intent there. I also don’t plan on going to group from the apartment, as much as possible. I plan on just not showing up, not getting up, not getting ready and not participating. I’m going to get some weed gummies and get stoned and just pretend like this isn’t fucking happening. I’m just not on board with recovery. Courtney asked how I felt about the lunch we just had. “Horrible bitch, I don’t want this shit. I don’t want to eat it. If I had a chance to not eat it, I would take it. I’ve been trying to hide as much as possible and if your ass hadn’t woken me up, I was going to sleep through lunch and be very happy about that decision.” I’m just not in it. I just don’t care. And I told Courtney that I don’t like her and that part was true. I don’t like the tone she uses around me and how placating she is. I’m not excited about PHP, but I’m not excited about recovery in general. I’m overwhelmed by the group of people and as stupid as it sounds, about my seat being stolen. I don’t have a place in the group room any more. They didn’t mean to fuck that up for me, but they successfully did.
I’m doing this PHP business because they are forcing me. Otherwise, I’d just go home. I sound like a broken record. There’s nothing in this life for me. Here comes the crowd back from lunch. Time to move my ass back down to the nursing area and curl up in a ball and go the fuck to sleep. I don’t mean to be a negative Nancy, really I don’t. But I don’t want to process and I don’t want to go to group. Fuck feeling feelings. Just. Not. Into. It.
