Oh boy, where to start. Last night was a disaster. I just had so many complex emotions and so much anger, frustration and fear. Why was I feeling that way? Well, obviously, I’ve talked above about my feelings towards leaving the safety of the hospital setting. But last night I just felt hopeless. This entire time I’ve been here, I’ve had SI, but last night I actually had a plan and I guess I had intent. I designed a way to hang myself with my belt from the door. I mean, my plan is to go home, relapse and starve myself to death. I told the clinical director that was my plan. But last night, I just thought, “why wait, why not just end it now.” That way, no one from home has to find me dead. It will just be like I was here and then I wasn’t. I don’t know ,it just seems like that would be an easier pill to swallow. But, as you can see, I’m not dead. I’m still breathing, no one has had their life ruined as of yet. I used the support I’m given here and went to nursing and the nurse (she’s super sweet and I trust her) was able to get me to admit I had a plan and I was going to carry it out. I hesitated to tell her my plan at first, but they were going to conduct a room search no matter what, so I just told her I was going to use my belt and I demonstrated how it would work. Apparently, my engineering skills were on point, because it would have worked. I would be dead. I planned on doing it right before everyone came back from dinner. It would have been a horrible scene for all the patients here and no doubt it would have been really traumatizing. Especially for the people that care about me here. And there are quite a few that I think genuinely care. Betty, Rachel, Rose, even Raine would have all been really upset. Kirsi, too. She’s a bit distant, but it’s just her own struggles that make her that way. She cares.
So anyways, I told the nurse what was going on in my head and we talked about it for quite a while. Then she was able to get me a 2nd dose of clonazepam. That brought my anxiety level down to a manageable amount and I was able to go to sleep.
I skipped most of the meals yesterday and I restricted at breakfast this morning. I still don’t know what’s going to happen. I know that the clinical director was unable to get a team change for me. I know the clinical manager is a fucking liar, big suprise. So, now my option was, discharge and go home last night or have a meeting with Dr. Parsley and see what we can figure out. I owe my team an apology. I was emotional and not the coolest to them yesterday. I mean, I do have real grievances with them, but I should have kept my emotions in check and had a conversation like an adult. Instead, I pretty much threw a temper tantrum and it literally got me nowhere. I should know better than that after all the time I spent in the hospital with Juniper and what we learned about dealing with hospitals. Assertive, not aggressive, gets way more accomplished. So I guess my goal for today’s meeting is to be assertive and talk about what’s really going on in my head. About my fears about stepping down. About my plans for relapse (that I’ve already started). I just have to lay it all out and see what they say. I’m so uncomfortable and I hope I can undo some of the damage that I did yesterday.
I’m also just very anxious. I don’t know when this meeting is going to come about and I kind of want to hide until it does. That’s the thing, my anxiety is still really high, it hasn’t improved. The lexapro doesn’t seem to be doing anything for anxiety. I wanted to get my medications under control before leaving supervised care. Last night is a specific example of why. My thinking can be very erratic and impulsive.
I’ve also been self harming, but in the least harmful way possible. I’ve been pulling out the hair in my arms. Aside from pacing, which is SOOO bad, and journaling, which requires a little bit of concentration, the hair thing brings me anxiety relief. I need relief. Clonazepam works, but Dr. Parsley even said it’s supposed to be for when thoughts get out of control and I need a parachute to save me from a crash landing. It just feels like I’m free falling and have had so many crash landings. I know that I’ve been taking it a lot, but the clonazepam was helping me get through meals. That sandwich that I couldn’t eat on Wednesday should have been no problem. If I had taken the drug before lunch like I have been doing, I would have been able to eat, I think, at least. I’m grateful for the nurse last night. I think she probably saved my life. She really does care, I could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes. She also knew all the right steps to take to help keep me safe. I’m grateful for being here last night. I feel so defeated.
So now what? That’s the million dollar question. It almost feels like the hospital is looking for an excuse to get rid of me and that sucks. Oh and there’s this thing with my insurance. They keep denying claims, saying I don’t have coverage, when I actually do. Insurance is so fucked up and I know that the business office has at least a little bit to do with the decision making process. Maybe they need my bed, too. I don’t know. But I know I’m not ready to go home. That’s one big step that I just don’t think I can handle. My Mom, as cool as she’s been, doesn’t understand mental health. And it’s not like my team can talk with her and she’ll have a lightbulb moment. She just doesn’t understand mental health, at all. She thinks that praying will solve depression and bi-polar disorder. I do believe in a God and I don’t understand him, but I think he’s here and everywhere. I just don’t think he works the way she thinks he does. I’ve seen miracles and I do believe I’m blessed by him. I just don’t think he makes mental health issues go away. At this point, I feel so broken and like nothing is going to work. I think Danielle was right. I’m just not able to be repaired. I feel like I’m not sick enough to be here, but going home is just setting me up for failure. It’s such a disgusting place to sit.
I was starting to self harm again, pulling at my arm hair, so I talked with the nurse (same one as last night.) I’m fucking freezing today, too. It sucks to feel so uncomfortable in my head and my body all at the same time. I don’t know if it has anything to do with restricting yesterday, but I guess it could. It could also just be that they keep this building fucking cold as fuck. The thermostat says 71. I don’t really believe it, it feels more like 68 degrees here. I didn’t wear socks today with my mary janes, and I’m regretting it, because it’s my hands and feet that get cold first. Anyways, we decided as a team that taking clonazepam now was probably a good idea, so I took it. I only get 1 a day, so it’s kind of nerve wracking knowing that I don’t have it in my back pocket for later in the day. But I also don’t want to pull at my hair all day long. It’s really the first time that I’ve found a way to self harm since being here. But it provides some weird sense of relief. Like, it’s something to focus on instead of the pain and fear that I’m really feeling. Or that sense of no control over what’s happening to me. Those are the thoughts that are weighing me down the most.
I restricted breakfast. I ate the muffin and the peanut butter, but skipped the yogurt and apple juice. To be fair, their apple juice is not very good. I don’t know if it’s some sort of low sugar apple juice or what, but it’s gross. I like yogurt and have it almost every morning, but I’ve started my relapse and it will continue until I know what my future looks like. I drank my coffee. It was delicious. I do miss drinking coffee and energy drinks. I guess if I go home, I can start drinking energy drinks again. I’d like to say I’ll limit it to 1 a day or something, but it’s going to be 4-5 a day, just like before. And I’m going to smoke lots of weed, especially at night, because it makes me sleepy and makes me relax (most of the time, if I don’t over do it.) I’m going to skip as many meals as I can get away with skipping. So, if PHP makes us do 2 meals, 2 snacks. I’m skipping 1 meal, 1 snack at home. I’m just not going to do it. I’ve never eaten this much and I don’t intend on doing it now. And if I can restrict here, under PHP it should be a breeze. They are setting me up for failure, 100%. This is why I feel like they don’t really care. I feel like Dr. Parsley just wants to get me off his plate and out the door. He thinks that if I go into some sort of PHP program, I’ll be ok. I won’t. I’ll probably quit after a few days. I just can’t picture myself getting over here 7 days a week for 8 weeks or whatever. It will just be too much. And on top of that, other than the van, we only have one vehicle. And it’s in storage and probably needs some work. I don’t have the energy or brain power to handle even the most simple of tasks. I feel terrible.
Oh and they did this weird thing at breakfast where they segregated us. I sat with Maddy and Rachel, which is fine. I like them both. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Maddy at first, but I actually really like her. She has really high anxiety, just like me. She’s struggling and has a step down date of early June. She’s on an NG tube for fuck’s sake. It feels like churn and burn for residential treatment. Again, it feels more like a business decision than a medical one. I know, from experience, that doctors do follow clinical management’s discretion on what treatments, how long, when to discharge, etc. It’s a game they play with management. They have to seriously advocate for a patient if they want them to have a non-standard treatment protocol or extend treatment. In some cases, their hands are truly tied and they don’t have a choice. But in my case, I think Dr. Parsley and my team folded too fast. A week earlier they said that I needed to be here and that going home wasn’t a likely possibility. Yesterday, they were ready to sign the order. Hospital care in this country is such a fucking scam. I’m not jumping on the medicare for all train, because I think that would degrade the level of care we receive and limit funding for new treatments. Most places hate taking medicare/medicaid now, because apparently, sometimes the payments can take years and they always negotiate a rock bottom price. What happens when a hospital is not properly funded? They can’t attract talent. It will be the death nail for smaller, specialized treatment facilities and I think those places play a vital role in health care. APN, for example, was exactly the right place for me to get treatment. I was there with my peers and a lot of their struggles were similar to mine. If I hadn’t gone there and had to go to a typical hospital, I don’t think it would have worked. It was the freedom that they gave us, along with the type of clientele that they attracted that made the experience so worthwhile. And yes, it was set up like a resort, but that doesn’t mean that the work was any less challenging. It was hard work. And they were VERY strict about not missing groups. Like, they said missing 1-2 groups could make insurance decline to cover treatment and get you kicked out. I took that part very seriously. I think the only time that I missed a group was when I was having tooth pain that was so severe that I couldn’t get out of bed. Anywho… it was what I needed. And yes, I left early and didn’t do their PHP. While I do have some regrets, being so far away from Juniper and Danielle really sucked. I only got to see them once (I think) the entire time I was there. It was a long visit, but it just wasn’t enough. Jude needs to see and hear me every day. She needs to hear that I love her and that I’m proud of her. It’s key to making sure she feels safe while I’m gone. Double so since Danielle is out of the picture.
I don’t know what to do with myself. These down times are really challenging. No group, no meal and I don’t really chat a lot with people outside of group or meals. It’s not like my thoughts ever really stop, I guess that’s why I’m so anxious all the time. I just have a lot of thoughts. Before I started writing, I guess I didn’t realize this was the case. One of my barriers to song writing is that I never felt like I had anything to see. Writing this journal in particular has changed my impression. I have too much to say, I just have trouble organizing my thoughts.
While we wait for this meeting, let’s talk about breakfast and our conversation. I sat with Maddy and Rachel in some sort of weird isolation setup that they did. Everyone else says they think the arrangement is random, but I’ve always felt like they group certain people together. Putting me and Maddy next to Rachel was supposed to encourage us to complete our meal plan. Putting phase II and III together makes sense, because they nearly always complete 100%. I wish Priscilla was at my table, though. She says the most interesting things and I genuinely want to hear what she has to say. She’s one of the brightest people here and her brain is magnificent. Anyways, Maddy, Rachel and I talked about our outside therapist. Maddy is meeting with hers today virtually because of something that happened yesterday. I’m not sure what that is, but something really triggered her and she struggled to make it to meals and snacks and to complete them without leaving. No judgement, I know what that anxiety feels like. I know how those challenging thoughts can lead to restricting. It’s a chance to take control of a situation that feels out of control. She said she had been with her therapist for 4 years. That’s amazing. If I can ever pay Annie off, hopefully I’ll be with her for even longer. I miss her, she got me and she was so protective over me. That also came up, too. How a good therapist is there for you at the right times, even with their firm boundaries. Annie knew I was being severely abused and so she would respond to me, even when it was crossing a line. She also made sure I had resources and a safety plan in place for times when she wasn’t available. The more I think about the women’s shelter thing, the more I think she was right. I should have fled with Juniper, if only temporarily, gotten the restraining order and made sure the narrative was correct. Annie was trying to keep me safe. I think she was the first person to tell me that Danielle is a dangerous person. At the time, I didn’t really understand what that meant, but it makes more sense now. She was dangerous physically, clear from the times she beat the shit out of me. She was dangerous mentally, because she was emotionally abusive and that was a massive trigger for SI. She was dangerous in concept, because she creates a false narrative in her head and tries to use that to turn people against me. She saw it long before I did and she wanted to keep me safe. I owe her a lot, because I would still be fixated on gaining her approval somehow now, if it hadn’t been for her. I trust her and I trust her judgement, she was right about everything that she said. I miss Annie. I hope I get to see her again once I’m done with this shit.
Fuck snack. I drank my shake as slow as fucking possible. I declined the supplement which was 16 fucking ounces. Like, WTF? No, I’m not going to drink your shake and I’m definitely not drinking 16 oz of boost. Gross. That would actually make me puke. Plus, I don’t even think that aligns with the policy. Policy as I understood it is that if you’re snack is liquid, you have until the end of supplement time to finish. Not that I was about to finish my snack anyways. I don’t know what Courtney has added to my snacks. I don’t trust her, duh! And she could be adding ingredients that make it contain more fats, sugars or proteins and I might not be able to recognize the change. So I drank about half. That will have to do for now. I’m not completely restricting, but I’m not going to eat more than I feel comfortable eating. And until this dreaded meeting, which I’m beginning to wonder if it will even happen, I am going to work on my relapse. I’m going to train my brain and belly to ignore hunger signals. I’m going to cut my caloric intake. I refuse to drink any supplement at this point. It’s gross and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling like everyone has a say except me. At the end of the day, that’s what I’m feeling, I guess. Unsafe and out of control. No wonder the eating disorder is winning the week. No wonder I feel like retreating.
The big meeting is looming for after lunch sometime. I’ve taken all the proper precautions. A nice nap, my benzo, my antihistamine. Mentally, I’m not prepared all that well. I just want to get it over with and be done. I owe the guy an apology, so we’ll start with that. I’m sure he’s seen way worse, but I still messed up. I don’t want to get kicked out and leave. My meeting was totally counterproductive to my goals, which are to get better. Nothing less than that will be considered a success. Now, how we accomplish that goal is really going to be the tricky part. I think that I have to get across to Dr. Parsley my fears about PHP and the challenges that it’s going to pose stepping down to that program. It’s multifaceted and while some of the fears are certainly founded, some could be me catastrophizing. I do tend to do that. And some could just be afraid of change. I feel like there’s so much fear in my life right now. A lot of it is just unknown. But some of the fear is real. I do believe that at this point there is nothing Danielle isn’t willing to do to try and fuck me over, inclduing making things up, using police, and even physical violence. She’s definitely capable of all these things. I’ve talked a lot about how things in the relationship have come into focus since we’ve been apart. One of those things is realizing that she is an accomplished and very convincing liar. She had me believing her lies for years, including the fight. Including that the decision to take progesterone somehow betrayed her. Now I know it’s all bullshit and was just a way to control me. It’s based on her fantasy land and had literally nothing to do with me. I digress.
Other fears about PHP include lack of supervision. I already want to relapse. Wait, no, I am already relapsing. I’m skipping meals and snacks and I’m holding on to ED thoughts that I should be diffusing. That’s real. That is happening. I am finding times and ways to over exercise. And the thing is, I don’t plan on stopping any of these behaviors right now. In fact, I feel it coming, stronger and faster than ever. I haven’t forgotten how to ignore hunger pains. I haven’t forgotten how to obsess over exercise. I don’t need a watch to count my steps. I haven’t forgotten the lies I can tell myself to justify behaviors.
Oh cool, a fire alarm. Those seem to happen all the time here. Here we go.
My oh so productive meeting with Dr. Parsley went as follows:
Me: I don’t want to be discharged in ten days.
Him: I think that’s appropriate
Me. I won’t be able to commute from home to PHP.
Him: You can have the apartment for “a few weeks”
Me: I don’t want to weigh 150 lbs.
Him: Courtney and I think that’s appropriate.
And yet somehow, he got me to nod yes to everything. So I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided to renege on all of my agreements. Discharge me whenever you want. I’m already in relapse mode. I’m going to eat what I want, when I want. I’m going to try and avoid going to meals when possible. I’m going to make an effort to lose weight during my remaining time here. Fuck them and fuck their goals. Kiss my ass Dr. P. You’re a nice guy, but I don’t want to recover. I see no benefit to that, so I’m going to actively try and get back down to 125lbs to start. I don’t give a fuck what you think. I revoked all my ROIs (supposedly), so they shouldn’t be able to give records to anyone. I’ll get my psych meds through Miriam or UC Health (finally got my appointment for the trans clinic.) And I’ll hide any record of me actually being here. What they don’t know, they don’t know. Fuck eating disorders, I don’t have one. I don’t want to be a lard ass. Fuck neutral body image, I don’t have a neutral body image, but when I got down to 125, I had a really positive body image. This entire stay has been a huge fucking waste of my time and I’m fucking done.
So here’s how this will go. I’m going to go hard over this weekend restricting every meal I can r and exercising as much as fucking possible. If I wake up at 2am, I’m going to pace from 2am to 6:30am. I’m going to eat only very few things, like green stuff, except at breakfast. I’ll eat my cereal. But I’m not finishing the meal. I’m going to complete 0% for the next 10 days. Fuck them and their treatment plan. And regardless of where they send me after this, I’m going to actually just go home. I’m going to no show for PHP. Fuck PHP. Fuclk this whole fucking program. I don’t want recovery. I want to be skinny and hot. Fuck my body. I don’t give a shit if it kills me. I know my values, and my values are looking cute as fuck in a pair of jeans and not having a gut and huge ass. At the end of the day, he didn’t really give me anything. He wants my target weight to be 140. Fuck that. 135 is what I said. That’s all I’m willing to do, but since I can’t see my fucking weight, I won’t even know when I get there. So fuck it all. We’ll see how they like it when I reverse trend this shit. “Hey Courtney, looks like my weight is finally trending!” Fuck you, you fat bitch. Fuck you and your 150 lbs. The harder you push me, the more I’m going to resist. You can take all your fucking scientific findings and shove them the fuck up your ass.
Now I’ve got to play the game of, “will the BHT let me open my packages tonight?” I’ve got like 3 of them, sitting right there, just ripe for the opening. And really, I don’t like opening shit in front of other girls. So I’d rather just open them when it’s all quiet and there’s no one else around. But, it’s Dinette tonight and I don’t know if she’ll allow it. Maybe I just want to discharge and go home. I don’t know. Like, is it even worth playing this game anymore? I’m not going to get better, Danielle was so fucking right. I’m going to leave early and give up, because they aren’t going to stop pushing me until my ass looks like Jennifer Lopez’s ass. I’m going to write them a letter I guess and we can discuss it on Monday. I just feel like I gave away too much in the negotiation. Really, I hold all the cards, they have nothing on me. They can’t communicate with my mother or anyone else. The only person that could have persuaded me to do what they want was Danielle and she’s long fucking gone. So FUCK’M.
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