Last night I dreamed about coffee. Cup after cup of coffee. And Cathie Dodd, my mother’s friend that died 10 years ago. Cathie kept trying to talk to me, but it came out as gibberish. But I got the sense that she was telling me not to be ashamed. It was a strange dream. But my mother was there along with one of my favorite cousins, Jennifer. It was strange. And forgot until we started talking about it in Splataaah this morning, but there was a fire alarm in the middle of the night. Heath came into my room and woke me up, otherwise I would have slept through the whole thing. It was surreal, dreamlike and I barely remember stumbling down the hall and then nearly falling asleep, leaning against the wall. It was so strange.
The morning went well, so I don’t want to sound all depressing or anything. I got my shower and morning activities done efficiently. I skipped weight, because the nurse was late as fuck getting in there and I wasn’t about to get undressed again just for weight. They’ll get it tomorrow anyways, so who cares. Morning meds – check. And went to breakfast like normal, but I didn’t eat very much. I just don’t have much appetite right now. Maybe it’s the nervous energy around leaving here on Monday, maybe it’s “her” in my head, speaking very boldly, but the thought of eating has become repulsive again. I had raisin bran for breakfast, it was a huge bowl and I ate less than half. I ate maybe half of my apples and a few bites of yogurt. Weird. I normally enjoy breakfast, but this morning it just felt like too much. I don’t even know what I’m doing. Why am I restricting like this? What purpose does it serve me? None. Really, none. I don’t want to get sick or stay sick. At this point there is zero chance that I’m going to be on this unit. If anything, they are going to stick me on another unit, probably 2E, which would really suck. It’s freezing over there all the time and I only know one person, or maybe two. Anyways, that’s not likely to happen, I’m going to PHP. But therein lies the dilemma, what’s the point of doing well with meals if it doesn’t matter how much or little I eat. And, I’m giving them reasons to take away Vyvanse and make PHP harder for me. The restricting isn’t about PHP though. It’s really not, I swear. It’s really more about just rejecting the idea of recovery, which is stupid. That doesn’t serve me either.
Well shit, I was going to write something here, but Alina came and grabbed me to go walk around PHP. It was so overwhelming! It’s right across the street from this building and it’s so big and there’s lots of freedom to move about and to check out to go to appointments and things. There were so many boards with schedules and doors to different offices. The Phase I cafe was huge with a buffet looking thing at the end of it. All the phases are divided into different cafes. The only one I got to see was Phase I. And I saw my friend Christina. She gave me a big hug. I know I’ll be welcomed over there when I get there, which is at least a tiny, tiny bit comforting. I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t want to go. I’m committed, but I don’t want to do it. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” In my head, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. I’m so scared. Change is so scary and I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it. It still feels like I’m headed head on collision into a train. I’m not happy to be leaving, but I accept that this is happening. There’s no holding me back here any longer. I’m so sad.
I couldn’t get out of group fast enough this morning. I just don’t like being in the group room at all right now. The groups are hard and hurt my feelings. Maybe that means they are working, I don’t know. But I’m super anxious today, worse than the past few days. I’d say 8/10 or 9/10 at least. And I don’t know what to do with all that nervous, anxious energy. It’s weird that I didn’t get up and journal early this morning though. I wasn’t angry when I got out of bed, just kind of groggy, even though I slept through most of the night and my dreams weren’t that bad. I want to have a good day and focus on things that will enhance my life. I think this journal is part of that.
I know I said I’d rather focus on writing versus stylizing the blog, but I might do a little bit of cleanup on it. I could find a cute and unique theme and add a few more pictures. I also need to scan in the written blog pages and add those. There’s a lot of really interesting content in there. Also, google deindexed my site pending what looks like a manual review. So much content on the web these days is fake, AI slop. I’m not sure how they’re going to grade me, but I can tell anyone who’s read this, it’s real. I wrote every word in google docs and can post the edit history if they really want to see it. I just think it’s interesting, the whole google thing that is. For years I worked as a marketer trying to game the system, be it with SEO or shady advertising, so this is a new challenge for me. Create a site that is 100% unique. Keep it relatively simple and make it mostly about the written content with a few images to support the fact that I’m a real person and use very few plugins or tools. And stay far away from any SEO work. I’m just going to let the content do its thing. If someone out there does end up reading this, awesome, but my goal is just to write. So far I’ve written 217 pages, single space, 11 point font, in google docs. That’s 140K+ words. If I am being manually reviewed, that’s a lot of reading for a human to do.
I wish I could post more pictures of my friends here, but that’s definitely against hospital rules. We’re technically only allowed to take pictures of ourselves, although I’m going to get some images of the unit, like the cafe, the telephone room, Splataaah and the milieu. Just things that will remind me of where I was when I’m gone. Anusha said ERC will be a flash in my memory, but I don’t want to forget everything, it’s been such a strange journey. I want to remember faces and names. I want to remember the strict schedule and how when I first got here the rules seemed so rigid, but as time has gone on the schedule has become so comfortable. I want to remember my single person room where I’ve slept for 75 nights and the pictures I put up on the window sill to keep me company and remind me of Juniper, my “why.” I want to remember dinner questions and the games that we play in the cafe. I want to remember my daily intentions and the silly card that has a sun and a moon on it. I want to remember the questions those cards ask and how the evening intentions don’t make as much sense. I want to remember rose, bud, thorn and how the first few days when I was here how I was scared to death to say anything. I want to remember, “start on the outside, That’s a wrap.” But most importantly I want to remember the support that I’ve gotten as I go through one of the toughest times in my life. I want to remember how Polly would ask me how I was doing every day when they were here. I want to remember the dance party in the hallway with the nurses and Megan, who rarely came out of her room, laughing and smiling. I want to remember how the girls sang and danced in her doorway when she was quarantined.
One thing that I’ve learned is that I want more people in my life. More people means more experiences and that excites me. More people means more conversations and more stories that need to be told. It means remembering that I am loved and I can love. It means that Miriam was right, I am more than my relationship with Danielle Gauthier, my abuser. More people means I’m able to help my friends on days when they need it and I can lean on them on the days that I need it. Annie, my outpatient therapist, was 100% right, I need to build my network. I hope that I can start with some of the people here and build from there. Also, Brandon has a lot of people that he wants to introduce me to and I’m excited about that. (Hmm… I wonder how he did with his dance competition this week, DDR competition, he’s one of the top 20 in the state!) Betty and I will be friends, I love her. She’s like my big sister that I always wanted and she’s an awesome person, albeit a bit grumpy sometimes, but who isn’t. Oh and I was right, today, no one remembers how cranky she was the other night about meds. All is forgiven and they all chalked it up, “That’s just Betty.” They love her and I do, too. I love being surrounded by people that love and accept me just as I am.
On the card that Sarah made for me (see photo), she said, “You deserve and are worthy of love from others and yourself.” That’s such an impactful statement, and it means so much more when it comes from someone else. I can say it to myself over and over, but when someone else acknowledges those things, sees those things in me, it’s so much more believable. Sarah is super cool, too. She’s from Austin and is one of the nicest people here. And has the cutest shoes. Sarah is the type of person I want in my life, trustworthy, authentic, kind, forgiving and loves to wear mary janes as much as me. She drew a picture of me and juniper and in the picture, I’m wearing the frilly dress that I wore last Sunday. It’s darling. And juniper is wearing one to match. She didn’t see, but it made me cry a little bit. She drew a picture because they told us we could only have index card size pictures in the cafe and all my juniper pictures are too big. (Geez, I want to cry right now, but I got damn close to getting my eye makeup right this morning and I don’t want to screw it up.)
Yesterday or the day before, I was wearing a dress and Betty told me I was, “Perfect, so uniquely CLAIRE.” Okay, she gets a pass for calling me Claire, but she’s the only one. Everyone else that refuse to pronounce the final A in clarA gets torture. She’s legit a real person and I adore her. She’s so perfectly unique, “Betty.” I hope she ends up in PHP with me, if I end up going. That would be too awesome. And I really want Polly to be in my pod at PHP. Then I can wear my princess skirts and silly clothes and not feel weird. I’ve got to pee again, this will be the fifth time today, fuck!
What to do when the clonazepam doesn’t work anymore? I’m such a wreck today, especially after that stupid tour. I should be excited, but… I just don’t want to… but let’s keep that between us, ok? I want to skip group and nap, but apparently in community they brought up that people were skipping or leaving the group… yeh, that’s me. I’ve been late to every fucking meal, too. I just want to write and not be distracted by whatever the group is. I feel comfortable with music and writing. Anything else makes me fucking anxious. I’m listening to Lorde Melodrama again, on repeat. It’s soothing. It’s her voice and the hopeful sadness. She wants to love this person, but they can’t find each other anymore. She’s too much for them. She knows she has to do life on her own, without her love. That’s just so familiar and when we’re in pain, we bond with others experiencing the same thing. It’s why we do groups here, so we can hear each other’s stories and shared experiences. Ugh… group… and I love David, he’s hilarious and he’s so fucking genuine. But his groups feel like going through a meat grinder. I come out mush, with my brains all spliced up and stitched back together. I want to run out, but opposite action and all. So, I’m going to listen to music and try to ignore the group, but just sit here with discomfort. And I’ll write and listen to Lorde and I’ll scream in my head… AHAHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” if I let it out for real, people might assume that I was dying, because sitting here makes me feel like my body is dying. I can feel the effects of not eating for the past several days. Whenever I stand up, I get a little dizzy and feel kind of sick. It’s fine, I’ll get accustomed to it before too long. It’s just an adjustment. It’s harder to maintain since I don’t have 250 calorie shakes that I can carefully consume to avoid making myself sick or passing out. I don’t know how much I’ve consumed today. We’re talking about guilt today. I even voted for it today, but I don’t want to do it, I want to run away. Rose went to the hallway to take a nap and Katerina is lying down with a blanket completely covering her, head to toe. I need to try and sit through this though. I need to endure the discomfort and try to participate. But I don’t want to, it hurts to participate right now. Others have bailed on the group, too. They may have been pulled by staff, but I think some are just ditching, which… no judgement. My napping spot by the nurses station is a popular napping spot. I’ve caught Priscilla and Belle both sleeping there in the last few days. It’s a good spot, except it’s really cold. Otherwise, it’s ultra comfortable. I may head there after the group, until rooms open.
Struggles are the same every day, they don’t feel easier, I don’t feel like I’m growing or changing. I’m just consuming more and more information, filling my brain from front to back with ideas of what I should be thinking or how I can change my thinking or reasons to change my thinking. But I don’t feel compelled, like at all. Did I mention that I feel indifferent with recovery. I’m not broken. Yeah, right, prove it. I want to avoid all things recovery, especially food. Food feels gross again today. I want nothing to do with it. I can eat, I just chose not to though. I guess that’s why they think PHP is somehow going to do something miraculous for me. Ohh the dread. The oncoming lights of the train headed for my stalled car on the tracks.
How am I feeling? Tired. Why? I think treatment fatigue, dissatisfaction with my treatment plan, worry. I’m supposed to put down my computer, but that means focusing on the group and participating. I don’t want to participate, like at all. I don’t want to feel these feelings. Willingness to process today, 2/10 and I don’t think it’s going up today. I wish someone would come and pull me, but it’s not happening.
Courtney waited until the end of the group, of course, to grab me. Conversation went as such:
Courtney: So you went on your tour of PHP?
Me: yeh
Courtney: So what did you think?
Me: Overwhelming.
Courtney: How’s the eating going?
Me: Could be better.
Courtney: Yeh. Do you have any goals around nutrition for the weekend?
Me: No, not really
Courtney: Does the restriction give you a euphoric feeling?
Me: Yes and numbing.
Courtney: Yeh, that makes sense and you need nutrition.
Me: …
Courtney: Do you need anything from me?
Me: No, not really.
Courtney: It seems like you have a lot of thoughts about continuing on.
Me: Yeh.
Courtney: Well we want to know those thoughts, when you’re ready.
Me: Yeh, ok.
Courtney: Okay. Well let me know if there’s anything I can do over the weekend.
Me: ****leave me the fuck alone. Stop trying to force this. Let me set my own pace**** Okay.
Courtney: Okay, well have a good weekend.
Me: Okay, you, too.
Ultra shallow, short answers and not giving her any information really. I don’t want clarification about anything. I don’t want to do this any more. I don’t want recovery anymore. I just want to quit and go home. I’m going to skip lunch and go to PM snack to sit with my friends. But I don’t want the pressure of lunch, of feeling like I have to eat anything. I just want to starve myself, again. I don’t want PHP. I don’t want recovery. I don’t want your meal plan. I don’t want to eat. I DO NOT WANT TO EAT. The day they started to push me to PHP is the day I gave up. It’s just too much for me. I’m excited to see Polly and Christina, but otherwise, I don’t want to go, at all. I hate it. I hate it so much. It’s too much all at once and I don’t want to do it. I’ve been feeling dizzy and I may collapse before the weekend is over. Then what? Acute, then back to inpatient this time. Will I still have the same stupid fucking team that I hate? I feel so just clusterfucked right now. I feel chaos in my head and the room is spinning and I question what I have been doing for two plus months. Has it made any sort of dent in the eating disorder? I’m just… indifferent. And I guess I feel a little bit of betrayal by my team. I know they think they’re doing what’s best for me and they have their reasons, but I don’t like their plan and I don’t want to be part of it. And I like restricting. Yes, it gives me euphoria to use ED behaviors to avoid meals. Yes, it gives me euphoria to not complete any fucking meal. Yes, it gives me euphoria to know that I’m probably losing weight now. I want to see Clara in the mirror, not [deadname] and what they are asking me to do is resurrect [deadname]. It’s gross and gives me the ick.
She’s right, the ED voice, I want to let her take me. Take my heart, soul and body. Drive me underground into a pit and cover me up to my nose. Let me fucking die. Slowly and surely, just let me go. That’s what Danielle Gauthier wants. She wants me dead, so she doesn’t have to put up with me anymore. Maybe not physically dead, but dead to her, a memory that she can let fade. I’m just a forgotten thought now and it’s too much. But she, the ED, will take care of that and I won’t have to be concerned with Danielle Gauthier anymore. I’ll go to sleep feeling fine and not wake up. No, Courtney, I don’t want or need nutrition. I would need nutrition is my plan was survival, but it’s not. It’s giving up. It’s saying that this is bigger than me and accepting all the help in the world isn’t going to bring me back from this deep, dark pit of despair. I don’t want it to, I want it to let me go. I want to be accountable to no one, but myself. I want to cry and sit in the well and just be. Grey. Not good. Not bad. Just am. I don’t want to leave my home here, it’s where I have people that care. I don’t want to start over at PHP. I don’t want to step down. It’s too much freedom, too much… just too much. I don’t want to go outside everyday. I don’t want to touch grass. I don’t want to see the sunshine and hear the birds chirping their melodies. I want to sit at the bottom of the well and let it fill up and drown. Don’t mistake this for active SI, it’s not. It’s just accepting that I won’t be able to crawl out of this hole any longer. I fought and I fought hard. But it was all white knuckling it, not wanting it. It was all holding medications above my head or threatening to increase the meal plan. No. I’m decreasing the meal plan. And I know these are professionals and they have sort of Ace up their sleeve that they think is going to turn around this recovery thing for me, but it’s not. They underestimate me, just everyone else in life always fucking has.
I’m skipping lunch and opting for a nap. Skipping meals seems to freak Courtney out the most, so that’s what I need to do the most today and over the weekend. Let’s see if we can make them squirm at least. I don’t want to be part of this process anymore. I don’t want to go to groups, I want to sulk in my room and sleep. I don’t want to eat. I DO NOT WANT TO EAT. Yes, it’s numbing. Yes, it’s maladaptive. No, I don’t care. I’m indifferent. I want to walk out right now and just forget this whole mess. I want to pretend like I don’t exist her anymore, because come Monday, I want to cry furious tears, over fucking flowing eyeballs. I just want to be able to write and be left the fuck alone.
Also, I want to smoke some weed. Like a lot of it. All of it. I want to smoke so much fucking weed, drink shake, play guitar, fantasize about being skinny and fragile and delicate. Fantisize about getting fucked. Fantasize about being irresistible. I want to sleep dreamless sleep. I want to feel comfortable and calm. I want to be warm. I want to hide. I want to hide away and not come out. I want to skip the rest of David’s groups. I don’t want to participate, if I can’t write while I’m in group, I don’t want to participate. I’ll tell him as much. That was so fucking rude. And it’s not like he made people journalling by hand put down their notebooks. What an ass. Fuck you David. You’re weird anyways. Fuck you and your stupid fucking groups. I’m done with groups.
I slept through lunch and process and I”m pretty happy about my choice. Fuck lunch and especially process. A lot of people like process, but I kind of hate it. Too many rules about what you can and can’t talk about makes the whole thing kind of a waste of time. A lot of the time, I just fall asleep in community and process. It’s just what happens. And just being honest, I don’t want to go to David’s group, but at least it’s outside. Fuck, I come back in and it’s freezing ass cold and no one is going to let me in my room, especially because I skipped lunch. The nap, however, was very relaxing and I don’t regret it a single bit. I’ve done a pretty good job starving myself today and plan on continuing to work my way down to basically no food at all, just water. I wish I could just skip every meal, but everyone wants me to come for some reason. It’s silly, but I’m going to do it. Ever the crowd pleaser that I am. Anyways, headed over to my other napping spot outside of nursing. I’m so boring and probably predictable. Fuck it. I’m fine with that.
I’m just feeling a bit emo, that’s all. I’m taking up a seat by the meds window. I just want to be around people. I’m not going to know how to behave without so many people around all the time. It’s weird. And everyone else here is excited and ready to go. I fucking hate going new places. It was nice to see Polly’s hoodie, but no Polly. It’s ok. I’m intimidated. I admit. I can’t find a quiet spot to chill today either, which doesn’t help anything. And I’m dreading dinner so fucking much. To just… sit and stare at my plate so I don’t make anyone feel weird. Apparently they talked about that during community meeting, too.
I can’t help that Rose is having a similar experience to me, mixed emotions about recovery. She’s still trying and she’s doing much better than I am. I don’t get it, like how they choose when and where we go. Ugh. But yeh, she’s missed a few meals, too, and they moved her to phase I. I almost feel like I’m being punished for falling backwards. It’s weird. I need to get over it. It’s happening. This is fucking happening.
I feel emotionless right now. Why? I don’t know, it’s weird. Like I just feel like I’m taking up space and oxygen and not serving any fucking purpose. I could probably slit my wrists tonight and bleed all over the carpet and walls and no one would notice or care. Step down will persist. Talk about persistence, these fuckers are persistant. And me, I’m just sucking up valuable oxygen, consuming too much water and crashing out every hour or so. As a trans woman, change is scarier than average, IMHO. I feel like I have to earn acceptance from a whole new group of people and it’s like completely starting over and I hate it.
Okay, good news is Brandon is coming to see me tomorrow, so it’s short skirt and sexy, cute shirt and no leggings. I think I’m going to start my tenure at PHP by upping my Lulu game, I’ll hit Priscilla up for suggestions. I don’t know where to send that shit yet, however. It’s weird. I’m going to have to change all my online addresses and shit. Speaking of which, my fucking JoJo pants aren’t arriving until tomorrow, which means I won’t get them, maybe at all. I’m pretty mad about the whole thing. I want to follow the trend with the cool elephant pants. I’m all over the place tonight, maybe it’s time to stop writing. Or maybe I should skip dinner and spend that entire time writing. What if my literal next stroke of genius is during dinner and deny myself the opportunity to write it. In case you hadn’t guessed, this is just my ED speaking in her bargaining voice, “any reason to skip a meal is a good reason,” she whispers. It’s a soft sweet tone and I tend to listen to that voice.
It was a nice dinner, my last one with Kiki (although I may see her Monday before I leave). We had dinner questions, “What’s your DJ name?” and “What’s your superlative? “ DJ name is easy, Clearly Clara, that’s my name on spotify, you should check out my playlists. For Superlative, it worked out great. I answered 3 times, the first one was, “Most likely to answer dinner questions 4 times”, “Most likely to get a sideways glance”, to which Priscilla responded, “Not me.” Of course not you, Priscilla. We’re friends. But I swear to god, sometimes Ella looks at me like I’m speaking in Russian. No hate, Ella, just sayin. Oh and my last one was just, “WTF.” Lol. I only answered 3 times so they would keep guessing me for all the other answers. Then Kiki went around the table and told us something that she liked about each of us. For me, it was my makeup? WTF?!? I don’t even think my makeup is that great. I’m always in a hurry to put it on, my eyeliner is almost always too thick. My eyeshadow isn’t even. But thanks Kiki, you’re so real, girl. Then Lana was graduating high school today, so we all wrote down something that we like about her, anonymously. It was just a box full of compliments about her style, her kindness, her energy, her smile and how beautiful she is. Now they are doing a ceremony for her in the milieu. It’s really sweet. Now they’re having a dance party.
Also, kind of a tender moment when Priscilla started crying, I can only assume because her meal plan increase was A LOT. She went from something very small to this giant plate of rice and tofu. I get it, it’s so scary, especially when you haven’t been eating hardly anything. It’s the reason most of my meals are write-ins and kind of bullshit. She was crying and I just told her, “don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re doing great.” Katerina told her how strong she is and Maddie gave her a smile. Everyone works so hard here and it can feel really defeating when you don’t meet a goal that you have for yourself, but you have to give yourself grace. You have to allow yourself to fail and keep going and you have to keep going. No matter what, you have to keep going. I think it helped, she was able to stop crying. I love Priscilla, if I could have a little sister, I would want it to be her, she’s amazing. I do wish she hadn’t moved seats in the group room until I left though, I liked sitting next to her. But it’s ok, I understand.
I need to call the Bee and tell her goodnight and then get in line for meds. People start lining up really fucking early. The only reason I give a shit is because the buspar is supposed to be taken around the same time every night and if I go to the second med window, I’ll be a few hours late. It just means the medication won’t work as well and since that one is for anxiety, I need it to work. My anxiety is going to be pushed to the limit over the next few days. But first thing is first, I have to call Juniper every single night, it really hurts her feelings when I don’t call. And out in the hallway they are talking about who is going to be here Monday, it makes me so sad. I’m not ready to go. This is my little family and I don’t know what I’m going to do without them. It hurts my feelings that they are talking about next week. For me there won’t be a next week. I hate this. I hate it so much. I hate change and I don’t want to change. I want to stay here with all my friends. I’m so sad. I at least wish Rose was coming over to PHP with me. I think she’ll be there in a week.
For the rest of the night, let’s see:
Call Jude
Get Meds
HS Snack
Splataaah Party
Crash out
Probably cry a little bit.
Oh and get some lulu advice from Priscilla
To elaborate, I’m going to try and restrict all of HS snack, because fuck snack. They’ll give me Nilla wafers or chocolate chip cookies and those are two snacks that I have to really focus on not eating. I’ve always been a sucker for sweets, as you all know very well. But I’m getting better at resisting. I wonder what will happen this weekend if I don’t eat anything or eat so little that it’s dangerous. If I crash and have to go to the hospital, will I even come back here or will I go to another unit? I asked for a team change and they said no, so… what… are they going to send me to ED Cares. Yikes. I don’t know anything about that one and I’ll just refuse. It’s not like going to PHP, I’m going to jump right in and start eating. I plan to restrict there, too. I’m just in full relapse mode and I don’t even know if I want to go to PHP at all. I might just sign myself out and never come back. What the fuck are the going to do? Send police to my house? I’m here and there voluntarily, no one makes medical decisions for me. Danielle Gauthier was the only person that could have influence over me and she doesn’t care anymore. Good for her and fucking good for me, no one controls me. I just don’t care. I know, I’m a broken fucking record. But recovery just feels impossible for me, no matter who tells me or how much they say, “you’re not broken,” I feel broken and I think that’s what counts right now, right?
I’m having so much fun writing here and this move might also affect my ability to write consistently like I have been doing. I think that’s my new “why.” I want to write a book. I want to journal like crazy for this blog and then I want to take the best parts, or make a completely different project and write a book. I don’t know if I’m good enough or if anyone is actually going to read anything I write, but who cares. I always thought it was so cool that my brother, Eric, wrote a fantasy novel when he was 19. He was hard headed and wouldn’t make edits that his editors wanted him to make, so they only published it as an eBook. I, on the other hand, will definitely listen to editors, because I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. I’m just shitting out thoughts as quickly as they hit me. Bonus points, when I eventually get out of here, I can write about Juniper and our life and Brandon and our life and just about being a single Mom of a very special child and survivor of abuse from an unlikely culprit. I want it to be known far and wide that Danielle Gauthier is an abuser, just like her father and just like her mother. She’s a self-proclaimed bigot and I would be very surprised if she wasn’t racist as fuck, too. She’s a bad person and she says as much, over and over again. Oh, and she’s always wanted to be a writer, but she’s too shit scared to put out any work, afraid of rejection, so extra-super-double-bonus points if I get published. Fuck you Danielle Gauthier, you Canadian wanna be. Enjoy your fucking rockstar life. I’m going to enjoy mine, too. And when I’m successful, again, because I’m a fucking winner, you’re going to really be kicking yourself, but you won’t see 1 penny of that shit. You stopped believing in me and threw me away like a piece of trash. So fuck you very much. Oh, and bitch, I’m going to do it skinnier than you, prettier than you and with much, much better tits than you. Cheers, hooker.
Sorry about that, a little bit of a tangent, I do that sometimes. But no tears today, no crying for gaining control of my life back. No tears for escaping a violent and mentally abusive narcissist that abandoned her child. Nope. Not today, today I’m going to be strong. Today, I’m going to work on these new relationships that I’m making with people that really love me for who I am. I don’t have to go into the closet for them to still love me, Danielle Gauthier. I am Denver and I’m proud of who I am and what I’m becoming and so are the people that I’m now choosing to surround myself with. I will never feel ashamed again. Let’s say that again, bitch, I will never be shamed for who I am again. And I will never let someone that is supposed to love me be abusive and controlling like Danielle Gauthier is to everyone around her. And when she ends up killing her boyfriend in a fit of rage, I will testify at her trial that I barely made it out of this marriage alive and I’m grateful every day that I am now safe. That juniper is now safe. That Colin is now safe. We don’t need you and we’re better off on our own.
Also, I’m going to get my nails done every three weeks and full body wax from Josie, who FIRED DANIELLE GAUTHIER FOR SEXUALLY HARRASSING HER. True story.
I called jude, I forgot and got in line for meds, which still hasn’t moved, at all, but my Mom tried calling me and I felt guilty, so I got out of line and I don’t know if I will get my position back. I know that Betty shamelessly stole my chair, so there’s that. And Mom called me son. I wanted to punch her through the phone. Goddamn. Like just don’t talk. Patience. Grace. But I’m not even calling to talk to her and I then she just runs her mouth and won’t let me just have a moment with Jude. I don’t need her to answer for Juniper, Juniper and I understand each other perfectly fine. I don’t know why I’m so irritated with her today, but she struck a nerve. It’s the carelessness and casual BS nature of her mistake. I mean, fuck, Danielle hated my guts, but at least she used my name and pronouns right. My mom just can’t seem to get it right. It’s not good enough to pretend to see me as your daughter, you have to see me that way. Otherwise, I don’t really want a relationship with you. I don’t want to have to constantly correct you. I don’t want to think you might be ashamed of me. God knows you haven’t told anyone in your family (yours, not mine) and it’s because you’d be forced to defend me and you don’t want to have to do that. Ugh. ****Slowdown. Take a few breaths. She’s not perfect, but she’s your mother that has tried very hard to be supportive. She deserves more grace.**** She did correct herself, but it’s just brutal when it happens every fucking time I talk to her. EVERY FUCKING TIME. It’s hurtful and makes me not want to talk to her. And, “well you can just go get back in line.” fucking bullshit. No bitch, when you get out of line, you lose your spot. Are you fucking stupid? Do you know how lines work? Fuck! It’s so infuriating. I won’t get my meds until 11pm tonight now, so i’m going to feel like shit and be anxious as fuck. How do I give grace to someone that doesn’t use common fucking sense? FUCK!
I’m emotional today because I hate this weekend. I already hate it. It’s the worst weekend that I’ve had in months and I want to cry and isolate myself. And I definitely don’t want to talk to my mother on the phone. It’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard, her voice. The shit she says. It just grates my nerves to no end. I’ve never liked talking to her that much. But I feel like I owe it to her and I certainly owe it to Juniper to talk to her every single day. She waits for my phone call all day long. I told Juniper I’d try to call her in the morning, tomorrow, during room time. I need to set a reminder to do that so I don’t forget. I know she’ll be waiting for my call and I love Juniper with unlimited amounts of love. And so help me, if Juniper ever asked me to call her by another name or pronouns, I’d tattoo that shit on my hand, so I wouldn’t forget. This is her life we’re talking about. This is her sanity. It’s carelessness. That’s something Danielle was right about, my Mom is so careless sometimes. But more than that, it’s that she still sees me as “son.” FUCKING GROSS. It makes me want to fucking puke. It’s not just a wrong name, it’s that she doesn’t see me. She’s faking it, which in some ways is worse than just refusing to acknowledge it. I just want to take my meds and go to bed. I’m grumpy and I’m exhausted and my head is spinning. Boundaries. This is why we set and how we enforce boundaries. If she can’t get it right, I am not obligated to stay on the phone with her. I don’t need to be rude, but I need to end the call, because I need to calm down before I interact with her again. I forgive her. I’m not angry, I’m hurt. And I just need to let those emotions settle. I’m sad, it just makes me sad when people I love don’t see me. How is it that a group of strangers can see me and my own fucking mother can’t. It’s sad. It hurts. And now I want to crawl under the covers and hide until “Splataaah.” But it hurts their feelings when I don’t come to cafe, so I’m going to go. It’s just a show of respect for everyone here that has been working so hard and wants me to sit with them and hangout while we all struggle with the battle of our brains.
They let me have my spot back in line. I got my meds and I’m going to go to snack. Actually I need to open the door so I can hear when they go. They’ve been forgetting to come get me, especially the night staff. It’s Demetrius and someone new that I’ve never seen before tonight. Demetrius is alright, he’s from NYC and went to school out there. I forget how he got out here to Denver. He did call me “hey man” once, but I can’t let that slide. I mean, I say you guys to groups of girls all the time. And he only did it one time, so it’s forgivable. Cora Sargent who has a podcast called Classroom Psychology (it’s excellent and covers a really wide range of transgender topics from a scientific research perspective) says that she gives her family an unlimited pass on misgendering. I know, I know, I should take the same approach. It’s not intentional or done out of disrespect when my mother does it. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt though, because it does. But I just have to accept that and be hurt and move on. No use in sitting around and pouting about it.
Fuck and here come the Danielle thoughts. The longing, the missing, the sadness. Why? Why do I get this every day? I’m so angry with her. I’m so disappointed that she didn’t keep her vows, that she ran away, that she abandoned her daughter. I’m so sad that she made up a fiction in her head and convinced herself it was true so that she would have an excuse to run away.
And now, there’s this part of me that doesn’t want to have another relationship with anyone. At least not romantically. I just don’t feel lovable anymore. I just feel like I’m going to end up with my heart broken again, so I want to push away people. I just feel like Brandon may not be the right person for a relationship right now. He’s a great person and I like him a lot. And he loves to tell me he loves me, which I find cute and charming. He asked me if it was too soon to say that and I said no. It’s not too soon for me to hear it. I don’t know if I believe it. He doesn’t really talk to me much during the week. He used to send me good morning texts every morning, but that’s pretty much stopped. And we don’t chat over text very much, but I can kind of excuse that… some people just don’t text that much. When we get together we talk about lots of things. There’s rarely an awkward silence. And he makes me feel so special when we’re together, I just wish I could have more of him. Where is this relationship going to go? Was Danielle right about it, will I ever be enough for him? I don’t know and these are things we’re going to have to address at some point. But not tonight, tonight I’m going to focus on him being here tomorrow and the time we’ll spend together. Hopefully in the telephone room. I want to get a picture of us in the telephone room, so you can all appreciate why it’s the best room for a BF to come visit you. It’s the only room where snuggles are pretty much ensured. He’s been kissing me a lot more lately, too. It’s so cute.
I got my meds before snack and I’m not even 100% sure what all meds I take any more, but I know that most of my night time meds make me really sleep. Let’s try and list them all, shall we? Lamotragine, Progesterone, Seroquil, Buspar, Melatonin, a vitamin supplement, Promethazine, Hydryzine and possibly others. So, needless to say, after about an hour, I’m pretty much just stumbling to my bed. But I have a bedtime routine that I like to keep up, especially when I wear makeup. Plus, as mentioned previously, I like girl Splataah time. It’s usually full of giggles and smiles. We’re all so tired by then, but it’s kind of the last community thing we do every night, so I don’t want to miss it.
I restricted most of my Nilla wafers at snack. I used the oldest eating disorder tricks in the book. Since we only get 15 minutes to finish, I do the following: Start by sipping on my water, I try to take a few sips every 30 seconds or so and burn at least 2-3 minutes doing that. Then I take my first nibble of a cookie. I alternate tiny little bites of my cookie and water until at least one minute after the halfway point. Then I start working on my tea. I add just a touch of milk to my apple cinnamon tea. If there’s any water left, I go water, nibble, tea, nibble, etc and repeat that until I’m out of tea and water . then it’s tiny bites every 30 seconds or so. I should be down to the last few minutes after that and those are easy to burn, especially if I mix in conversation.
And with that, I’m bidding you all a good night. I’m going to wash my face, moisturize and brush my teeth. Then i think I’ll do a pod cast tonight. Good night friends, I hope you sleep well and dream good dreams.
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