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I think last night was the best sleep that I’ve had since I’ve been here.  I dreamed, but I don’t remember what it was about.  The weird thing is I forgot to take night meds, so I woke up at 1am, because I had to pee.  I went to the med window and asked if it was too late to take meds.  Her first reaction was, “WAAAAY toooo Laaaatttteeee,” followed by, “I don’t know, let me look,” followed by, “I can give you everything, but the sleep meds.”  Great.  Sign me up.  My secret weapon is progesterone, one of its main side effects is making you feel drunk and sleepy.  I guess it’s because taking it orally means your liver has to break it down and process, which results in the “drunk” feeling, followed by really relaxing sleep.  Needless to say, I started an episode of “The Following” (the cheesy Kevin Bacon cop show), and was out within 15 minutes and slept until FIVE THIRTY.  Amazing.  I think that’s happened maybe once in the last year.  

I’m calling it, it’s going to be a good day.  Kiki is here by herself, but with Kristen and Ella gone, Kiki is now the best BHT we have, plus her playlist in the Splataaah is always the best.   And she opened early, so I wasn’t super late getting out of the shower, I think it was like 6:47am when I stepped out.  And given that the med line has been hell after doing makeup and hair in the morning, I decided to say fuck it and just brush my hair and GTFO, so I was second in line for meds, ANOTHER MIRACLE.  That means I get 30 minutes to write and chill.  Besides, with Kiki being the only one here, Splataaah is closing at 7:30 anyways, so I got out of the way.  The mirrors were busy AF this morning and I just wanted to be a shadow and fade out of view.  That’s my goal today, be present in the background and not draw attention.  It just feels like I’ve been too attention seeking or something.  Not intentionally or anything, just kind of how it worked out.  It’s the whole feeling weird thing, it’s got my brain spinning.  Maybe less interaction will make me feel less out of place.  I don’t know, it’s worth a try.

Music today is Lorde Melodrama.  It’s a more complex album, IMO, with a mixture of synth, piano, guitars, bass, but relies on classic progressions.  Green Light and Liability are my favorites.  “You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability,” feels so close to home.  “I’m a toy, till I don’t work any more, then they get bored of me,”  I’m a little much.  I’m going to disappear into the sun.  You’re going to watch.  Yes, that’s me.  I’ve literally heard, “you’re a bit much,” over and over.  It’s crushing to hear from the voice that promised they love me.  I’m sure that’s a big part of my insecurity with new friends.  I’m a liability.  I’m intense.  I’m eccentric and it’s a lot sometimes.  

[insert paper journal here]

Why do I feel so ugly.  I’m bored with my hair.  I’m bored with my face.  I’m bored with eating.  I’m bored with my body.  I just want to feel normal.  What is normal?  For me, it’s a certain amount of predictability, which is I hate change so fucking much.  It’s why just people shifting chairs in the group room is so fucking jolting.  I don’t like when the menu changes at a restaurant and while getting a new car is fun, I miss driving my old car for at least the first few months.  If I’m in the habit of talking to someone daily and it suddenly stops, my heart sinks to the bottom of the bottomless well.  I prefer the predictable.  The easy way.  The familiar.  It’s not like I don’t take risks, I do.  I like adventure, as long as I know who I’m going on an adventure with and we’re working together in a predictable way.  I’m not dull and it’s not the same as monotony.  I don’t need a routine to be happy, although I do find I’m more productive when I have one.  Hmm, I’m having trouble seeing the difference and what makes me feel chaos versus calm.  Actually, I get bored quite easily and I guess I seek new things often, but that’s probably more for the dopamine hit, I do love that.   That can be something as simple as moving to a different room, sitting on the other side of the couch (if I’m by myself), learning a new song, listening to a new band, mowing the grass in a different pattern, trying to find a new route to a familiar place.  Those are all changes I like.  So what is it about here that makes me seek the comfort of predictability?  My own insecurity?   

I’m a 4/10 for processing emotions today and I just feel like crying.  I have all morning, even though I’m well rested and didn’t have nightmares (at least that I remember).  But the difficult thoughts are pressing on my chest like a thousand pound weight that’s holding me down, keeping me from picking myself back up.  It’s just past the point of unbearable and I’m antsy.  I want to move around, pace.  Maybe it’s the lack of music.  Maybe it was the music that set this chain of thoughts in motion, like dominoes falling, one by one I hear the voice or see the thought and I don’t want to sit with them.  I want to shove them away.  Maybe I need a change.  Maddie has my seat at the end of the hall.  Grr.  I feel like no one sat there for months, then I started sitting there and it became the most popular isolation spot in the milieu.  It’s rarely ever vacant.

I set all these goals for myself every morning and even believe myself when I set them.  They’re not hard goals to achieve.  Tolerate the discomfort, sit through the meals and groups.  Opposite action.  Urge surfing.  I don’t follow through, however, which just makes me feel disappointed in myself.  What is wrong with me?  Today I could say, “You’re not broken,” a million times and I’d still feel like pieces of me have been chipped away.  Maybe I’ll do a little editing myself and post some of these to the blog.  Starting with day one.   I need a new outlet for a while, just a temporary one.  Could be the blog.  Could be some guitar.

[SCAN in WRITTEN JOURNAL POST]

I have a dirty little secret. Juniper came to visit (that’s not the secret) and I had my mother smuggle me a golden eagle from dutch brothers.  SHHHHH.  Don’t narc on me.  But here’s where it gets interesting, I had snack directly after and it was a strawberry shake.  I barely drank ¼ of it.  Oops.  It sort of fits my MO for the last two weeks, especially the last week.  I’ve just been skipping meals and snacks as much as I can.  I like the people at my table, so I’ve been trying to at least go.  But I don’t want to eat.  I went over this with Courtney and the reasons behind it.  I’ve been processing big emotions around Danielle, as you may have read over the past couple of days.  Lots and lots and lots of big stupid fucking emotions.  A lot of anger and sadness.  A lot of tears and isolation.  A lot of taking naps instead of participating.  I’d like to go into my room and hide under the covers.  I’m listening to music (Lorde still) to try and enhance my mood, but it’s not enhancing my appetite.  Danielle still holds a spell over me and I hate that this is the case, but meals were our thing.  I don’t want to eat without her.  I don’t want her to move on and I don’t want to move on.  I just want to sit down and watch a show or a movie, chit chat over the dialogue and eat delicious stuff with her.  Outside of that, I don’t want food.  Courtney says, “think of it as self care.”  But Courtney, I don’t want to care for myself.  I want my body to shut down.  I want to give up.  I want to fail.  Why?  I don’t know.  To punish myself for fucking up my marriage?  Is it even my fault?  If I had just suppressed these feelings and emotions around gender, would Danielle be sitting at the house right now, waiting for me to get home?  Probably not, she’s had one foot out the door for two years.  But it doesn’t make it hurt less.  I feel like a whiney bitch to keep talking about this.  I know. I know.  And I want to start crying again.  But then, there’s another part of me that wants to feel numb.  Stop feeling the big emotions and the eating disorder contributes to that numbing feeling.  It gives me something else to focus on that is not her. It gives me confidence in my body and a goal that is achievable.  Numb.  Numb is easier than sad, angry, heartbroken, ripped to shreds, stomped on and abused.  Numb trumps all these feelings.  

And if I can’t be numb, give me that quick dopamine hit.  Retail therapy is real and it does work.  Not just putting things in the cart and pressing purchase, which is pretty fucking fun.  But it’s the whole process of getting the package, making a new outfit.  Mix and match with different styles and sizes.  How do I want to express myself today?  Do I want to be cute?  Pretty?  Sophisticated?  Simple?  Invisible?  I’ve got clothes for all occasions.  Today, I want to be the prettiest girl on the unit.  Tomorrow I want to hide behind baggy pants and a hoodie.  Next week, belle of the ball.  I love being here, because it gives me space to do all those things and be free from judgement.  Rather, I get support and encouragement.  Never have I felt I’ve had such a space just to be me.  It’s a really good feeling.

But then… it’s over and I’m back to the thoughts that got me here to begin with and I want my eating disorder to take over everything.  I want to obsess over my body.  I want to see the scale’s magic number start to drop again.  I want to feel that feeling of success.  I want to punish myself.  I want to punish Danielle.  I want to forget about food being nutrition and think of it as a means of control.  I want to relapse and I don’t want anyone to see.  I want my body to shrink back down, I want size 0.  I want to be fragile and delicate.  I want a perfect flat stomach that I can adorn with jewelry and art that is cute.  I want to show off to Brandon, who can’t keep his hands to himself.  I want the butterflies from him.  And when he’s not there… nothing.  I want to feel nothing.  When Juniper is at school or with Susan, I want to feel nothing.  I want my fingers and toes to feel cold.  I want my stomach to stop churning.  I want my body to slow down its functions, again.  I want this eating disorder to grab hold of me and never let go.  I love this eating disorder and it loves me.  It’s better than any drug I’ve ever tried.  I get higher than any high cocaine or heroin could give me.  And it’s a sustained reaction that costs me no dollars.  It’s beautiful this relationship that my eating disorder and I have.  I love fantasizing about it.  About pulling my shirt in the full size mirror and seeing my belly, perfect and flat.  My small perky boobs, my perfectly shaped ass.  I love everything about this eating disorder and I don’t want to let go.  I don’t want to change.  I’m embracing my restriction.  “Go to meals,” says Courtney.  Only if they catch me and make me. Only if I get to sit with my friends and only because I want to support them.  I’m learning to sit through the meal and take as few bites as possible.  I’m embracing this relapse and promoting it to myself.  I’m calling out to my eating disorder and asking her, “don’t run away, don’t be shy, I won’t be mean to you anymore.  I’ll love you like you deserve to be loved.  We’re going all the way this time.  We’re starting and we’re never going to stop.  “It starts with going to meals and snack,” says Courtney.  I would challenge this thought, Courtney, and say it ends with going to meals and snacks.  And we don’t want it to end, do we Eating Disorder?  We want you to thrive and grow in strength.  We want you to have the ultimate conditions to thrive and push away any of those nasty thoughts of recovery.  We want recovery to run and hide from us.  From our unified front against recovery.  It’s a partner that I have that won’t run away from me and will always love me.  I can take you to new heights, you beautiful wonder eating disorder.  

I feel like my team is delusional, pretending like me skipping meals and snacks or refusing to eat even simple meals is somehow ok and makes sense.  It’s funny.  You fools.  I’m in full on relapse and I’m going to push the envelope as hard and fast as I can.  I’m virtually skipping all meals but breakfast.  I’m doing my best to restrict to 500 calories a day here. That’s where we see the best results.  That’s where we drop a pound today.  And this time, me and eating disorder are going to 100 pounds, rail thin.  She’s going to take me to new heights.  And no one is going to stop us this time.  There’s no one to challenge me.  There’s no one to shame me.  Fuck recovery.  Fuck getting fat.  Fuck looking like Courtney or my therapist.  I don’t want to have a body like that.  That’s not my value.  My value is authenticity and my authentic self is a smaller version of me.  I want to be the smallest version of me.  And I want to start before I go to PHP and really master the art of dropping weight as rapidly and as efficiently as possible.  I want to melt away my stomach, my thighs, my tits.  

Since being at the hospital, I’ve learned so many great new tricks.  It’s like boot camp for skinny girls.  There’s exercise, laxatives, calorie counting, purging, binging and, my personal favorite, restricting.  Combine them all and it’s a recipe for success.  Fantastic, beautiful, wonderful success.  There’s no one that can stop us this time.  We’re going all the way.  I’m excited to put this recovery bullshit behind me and dance with my love, my eating disorder.

“I am a toy that people enjoy until all of the tricks don’t work anymore.  Then they get bored of me.  They say you’re a little much for me.  You’re a liability.  Then they pull back.  Make other plans”

No more back and forth, we’re forging straight ahead.  We’re going for the gold metal this time around.  No more failure.  No more team talk.  It’s just me and her.  She’s going to guide us to the finish line.  We’ll hold hands and stand proudly on the podium, raise them into the air and smile at the applause and cheers from our cheering section in our head.  We’re going to make it to the end this time, because we’re doing this together.  We’ve got what it takes to get there and we’ll never let the naysayers tell us what to do again.  And the start line shot has already been fired, we’re on the track and we’re sprinting the first lap today.  If not today, when?  If not us, who?  I can hear the roar of the crowd, the combination of applauding hands, cheers, whistles and hoorahs.  I can feel the thunder of the bleachers stomped upon my thousands of stomping feet in sync, it’s deafening.  The energy lights a fire under us and we pick up strength and it makes us move faster and more efficiently.  Oh, we’re beautiful, the two of us.  We’re the type of team that gets sponsorship.  It’s not nutrition, it’s poison that they want us to eat and their words are poison to our ears.  We won’t have it, not anymore.  I missed you, ED.  You were my best friend and you kept me company on my loneliest nights.  You gave me hope.  You gave me control.  You gave me accomplishment.  But now we’re one again.  You’re me and I am you and we’re going to win this time.  We don’t need anyone else, we can do this all by ourselves.  We don’t need you Mom.  We don’t need you Dr. Parsley. We don’t need you Danielle.  You’re all just poison.  POISON.  Why would I willingly take you?  Why would I willingly accept your death?  That’s what they want, to kill my best friend, my Eating Disorder.  NO!  I’m not going to let that happen, not now, not ever.  

I was a fool, my love, and I’m so sorry.  They promised me the very things that you were already giving me.  They promised me joy.  They promised me control.  They promised me freedom.  But you were already all those things to me and so many more.  I was tricked.  Bamboozled. It was all lies and I hate that I even let them talk to me.  I hate that I shut out your beautiful siren’s song that was leading me toward the beautiful light.  I want to feel your warmth again.  I want to remember how you made this possible.  I want to forget about the pains that hunger causes.  We can make those pains go away, if only we work together and focus.  I’ve got the ambition, baby, I’ve got the supercharged motivated thoughts and I’m silencing anything that doesn’t move us toward our goal.  We’ll never be fooled again.  We won’t be fooled again.  You’re beautiful, you’re my love, you’re my light and we won’t ever let them come between us again.  

You’re the only friend I need and you’re the friend that will never let me down.  I love you and I’ll never fail you again.  

The cafe was fucking disgusting tonight.  The stench of seared animal flesh, starches and fats.  Gravies and potatoes and corn and fish.  It made me want to puke.  I couldn’t even finish my salad.  I didn’t want to either, I just wanted to run out and through the double doors to get as far away as fast as I could.  It was horrifying.  Recovery. Meh.  Fuck you recovery, you just want to turn me into a blob, like jabba the hutt.  Happy with my belly and slime, eating anything in sight.  Fuck you recovery.  Fuck you.

Dear Danielle Gauthier,

Do you remember, less than a year ago, we had a plan.  We wanted to run away to France.  You loved your family and you wanted to save us.  You tried to save us.  You loved us and you thought so highly of us that you wanted to carry us across the ocean on your name alone and give a new place to call home.  You tried.  You did the research, lots and lots of research and finally, you came up with a name.  A great-grandmother, if I remember correctly and she was going to be our ticket to a red passport and a safe haven.  A safe place for Jude, you and me.  We were going to realize a dream together.  But alas, the plan fell through.  You weren’t French enough to purchase the golden ticket and instead of sticking around to find the path, you started flirting with some dipshit on your phone and hiding it from me.  Then you started criticizing me and coming up with any and every reason you could to despise me.  You made up stories in your head and invented scenarios that didn’t really happen.  

You’re a fraud.  You’re a coward.  You’re a cheater and liar.  You have no real values.  You can’t love anyone, but yourself.  I doubt that you ever did.  Shame on you.  Shame on you for abandoning your family.  Shame on you for caring more about getting your cat than seeing your daughter.  Shame on you for being a coward.  Shame on you for being wooed by some dipshit that just wanted to fuck you.  Good on you.  He’ll fuck you and fuck you and fuck you and get bored of you and grow tired of skin folds and stretch marks and your floppy vagina.  He’ll get tired of your lies and you’ll get bored with him.  Maybe he does become a success, I guess it could happen.  Lightning kills hundreds of people a year, so a communist could somehow stumble onto a business that works, I guess.  And when  he does, he’ll drop you, faster than you bailed on your family.  He’ll find someone younger, prettier, smarter, less crazy.  Because you are fucking nuts right now.  

Karma is going to catch up to you.  She’s coming fast and furious and you’ll receive 100 fold the pain you inflicted on those that love you.  Your kidneys are dying.   Your liver is dying.  You’re experiencing delusions like your Dad just before the tumor got him.  You’re aggressive.  You’re abusive.  You’re violent.  You’re insane.  And you abandoned your family.  You fell for it, just like a dumb little girl.  Shame on you.  I pity you.  Put your faith in this loser dipshit and see where it takes you.  A shitty apartment in Nashville.  Good.  It’s where your redneck, white trash ass always belonged.  You’re a fucking born loser and you’ll die a nothing.  You’ve only ever caused pain and destruction and it’s not going to stop.  Good.  Keep it up and keep the fuck away from me.

Love Always,

Clara

How do I feel? Relieved. Why?  I’m relieved because I’m no longer playing along with recovery.  I’m no longer participating.  I’m just nodding and smiling.  Danielle was right.  Say what I need to say to leave this place.  Nod and smile, look shy, maybe cry some.  I’ll get whatever I want.  They’ll hold no more power over me.  I’m done with the propaganda.  I’m done with the pain.  I don’t want to feel anything any more.  Give me the beautiful fucking numbing effect of my eating disorder, that sweet, sweet, true love of mine.  I don’t need Danielle. I don’t need anyone.  I have my ED and she sings to me her sweet, loving song.  She comforts me when I’m alone.  She tells me, “it’s ok, you don’t need anyone.”  And you know, contrary to the letters we’ve read and the stories that are told, I think she’s fucking right.  I think she speaks the truth.  I think as long as I never abandon her, she’ll never abandon me, right to the end.  “We all die alone?”  No, I’ll die with her holding my hand and when we walk into the light, the beautiful glowing light, she’ll guide me and take away my fear.  She’ll keep her promises, she doesn’t lie.  She’s not a phoney, she’s as authentic as they come and she’s never been misleading in her purpose.  We know what we want and we know how to get there.  We know.  You don’t, but we do.  I don’t need your companionship, your friendship, your bullshit, we don’t need you.  Take everything you’ve been tell me and go fuck yourself with it.

How do I feel?  Indifferent. Why? Betty just asked me if coming here and staying in treatment for 2+ months was worth it. “No,” obviously not, was my first reply.  But I can’t say that’s 100% true.  My mental health has improved.  My SI is virtually zero, my anxiety is getting better.  I’ve met some really great people, regardless of if I remain friends with them or not.  But my eating disorder is stronger than ever.  I want to embrace it and do it better this time. I want to take what I’ve learned here and apply it to my ED.   This time there’s no one to hold me accountable, so fuck you all.  I don’t want to eat.  I don’t want recovery.  I don’t want to get better.  I don’t want phase II.  I don’t want PHP.  I don’t want to see anyone.  I want to hide in my room and fall asleep.  I’m going to watch shitty TV and fall asleep.  If I go to snack, I’m not eating one bit or taking one sip.  I’ll eat breakfast tomorrow, but that’s all I’m going to eat for the day.  I’m done.  I’m done eating and I’m done caring.  Let it kill me.  Or don’t.  I’m not going to give a shit anymore.

There’s beauty in indifference.  And I absolutely feel indifferent right now.  It doesn’t matter if I eat or not.  It doesn’t matter if I go to meals or not.  It doesn’t matter if I stay here or not.  It’s all a fucking load of bullshit.  Fuck recovery.  Fuck mental health.  Fuck relationships.  Fuck being a woman.  Fuck being a man.  And sure as absolute fuck, fuck being a trans woman.  I don’t care.  I’m indifferent.  Call me faggot.  Call me tranny.  Sign me up for Charlie Kirk text messages.  Change your phone number.  Change your email back to d.gauthier@comcast.net.  

I’m indifferent.  Love me.  Hate me.  Pity me.  Adore me.  Ignore me.  Spite me. Push me.  Pull me. Hug me. Kiss me.  Bite me.  Punch me. Lay down beside me.  Kick me.  Break my face.  Black my eyes. Break my ribs. Break my fingers.  Break my toes.  Break my spirit.  Break my will.  Break my heart.  Kill me.  Save me. Dance on my fucking grave. Steal from me.  Torture me. Lie to me. LIE TO ME. DO IT AND SEE.  Keep going.  Don’t stop.  Don’t ever fucking stop.  I’m indifferent.  I’m immune.  I’m bored.  I’m tired.  I’m surrounded.  I’m encouraged.  I’m cheered.  I’m jeered.  I’m jealous.  I’m a fool.  A stupid fool, “I figured.” Laugh at me.  Poke fun. Berate me. Yell at me. Kick me.  KICK ME.  Call the cops.  Tell a story.  Cry and moan.  Bully me.  Hate me. HATE ME.  I’m indifferent.  Take my home.  Take my family.  Take my life.  Take my humanity.  Embarrass me.  Protect me.  Abandon me. ABANDON ME.  Out me. Convince me.  Convince you.  Lie about the lies you told.  Be a bitch.  Be a cunt.  Be a cheat.  Be an asshole.  Be a bad person.  You are a bad person.  Don’t be a mother.  You’re not a mother.  You can’t be.  You tried and it’s just one more failure.  Be a loser.  You were always a loser and you’ll die a loser.  You lost it all.  You had it all and you lost it all.  And I’m indifferent.  Haunt my dreams.  Give me nightmares.  Give me night terrors.  Be a ghost that’s in my bed.  Be a ghost. Haunt my head.  Shame me.  Break me.  Break our things.  Break our life.  Break our hearts and break our souls. Shame you.  Shame your family.  Beg for their love.  They’ll never appreciate you, you’re always the fool who can’t think for herself. You’re never enough. You’re always the liar.  You’re always the narcissist. Your cluster B’s are outdoing themselves.  You’re always the fake.  You’ll never be trusted.  You’ll never be honored.  You’ll never be loved.  You do it to yourself.  You have no values.  You have no character.  Your emotions are fake.  Your emotions are contrived. Your tears are crocodile tears.  You’re a beauty.  You’re a monster.  An aging ugly monster. YOU ARE A MONSTER.  Good.  Be a monster. Stay a monster.  I’m indifferent.  There’s beauty in indifference.  I’m indifferent.  Your tits are sagging.  Your scars are ugly.  Your skin folds are gross.  Your stretch marks disgusting.  Your grilled cheese vagina.  A grilled cheese vagina.  Your herpes.  Yes, YOUR HERPES.  YOU HAVE HERPES.  I don’t, my tests are clean.  But you, YOU HAVE HERPES.  Good.  You deserve it.  You’re a saint.  A FUCKING SAINT.  You’re a believer.  No, you’re not.  Yes, you are.  No, you’re not.  You’re inconsistent.  Unpredictable.  Except with boyfriends, you can set their lifespans to a clock.  Another failure.  Another name for the book.  Jesus, that book must be thick.  And how many abortions, was 2 or was it 6?  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re a slut.  You’re a whore.  You’re dirty and disgusting. All used up.  Your hairs are grey.  Your hair is short.  You look like a boy, Your jawline is square.  You always wanted to be a boy.  You’re angry.  You’re jealous.  You’re pitiful.  You’re crazy. I’m indifferent. I’m immune and I won’t waste another word on YOU.

In other news, my very, very favorite nurse is here tonight.  She is the sweetest little thing that you’ve ever met.  She’s always smiling and always has the sweetest things to say.  I trust her and I wish she was here every night.  She’s the best night nurse that we have.  She’s 5’2” and Asian of some persuasion.  And smart.  And encouraging.  I like her a lot.  She got me out of bed and into the exam room for vitals.  She made me smile when all I could do was frown.  We talked about PHP and she said it will be a good change.  I’ve been here for a while, it’s time to move down.  Okay.  I agree. Move my ass to PHP.  I’m excited, but I don’t think I’ll stay there long.  My big fear is moving to PHP and then having them send me back up here, but on a different unit with all new people.  I don’t want that.  I don’t want to start over again.  I like it here, I like my friends.  I like the staff.  I like my room.  I’m comfortable.  I just don’t like the food or, well, the process of eating the food and how my body uses the food.  I’m tired of the calories.  I’m bored with motivational speeches and encouraging slogans.  Maybe I should have left today instead of a week from today.  But, I’m committed, I made a promise and I’ll keep it.

I’m going to add an ROI for my mother, just to give her progress reports, the most basic of basic information.  I don’t want her encouragement and I don’t want her pep talks.  I don’t want her to think she has a say in my medical decisions.  She gave up that right when I was 19 and she started sending me to the doctor and dentist on my own and making me pay for it, with my $6.25/hr job.  I could barely afford the gas to get to the dr.’s office, let alone the actual cost of the visit.  It was embarrassing.  I forgive her.  I give her grace.  She’s not perfect, she tried.  But, I also won’t forget that I’ve been on my own most of my life.  I’m not angry any more, she’s saved the day this time around and I appreciate her.  Seeing how the other girls here ADORE their less than perfect families makes me want to feel that way, too.  I should love her and tell her more.  That’s all she wants, to know that I love her. How hard is that?  How difficult is it to respond to a text message?  It’s not, it’s a moment, a second, a heart emoji or a quick, “love you too.”  It doesn’t cost me a thing and it makes her feel good. “Treat people with kindness,” is one of the motivational stickers that I put on my computer.  A good place to start is with my mom, flawed as she may be.  She doesn’t have to be perfect.  I just have to set strong boundaries and stick to them.  And for the most part, she’s been very receptive.  She still deadnames me and uses the wrong pronouns sometimes.  But she corrects herself.  The only time it makes me upset is when she starts making excuses.  But it’s fine.  She’s doing her best.  She is more accepting of me than my wife was.  She doesn’t hate me.  She hasn’t disowned me.  She’s still proud of me.  This is new for all of us.  This is hard for everyone.  But she cares enough to try and that’s all I could possibly ask.  So, yeh, she can get status updates and maybe that will give her a chance to ask someone who knows the answer to all those questions that she likes to ask me.  Fuck, I hate the questions.  I DO NOT KNOW ANYMORE THAN YOU.  Quit asking, I don’t know.  Grace.  Give her grace.  Let her ask, it doesn’t hurt me.  Just set the boundary, “I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about this.  Let’s talk about something else.”  Easy.  Painless, mostly.  I want to be a better person and that starts with the people that have supported me the most.  She may be a liar sometimes.  She may sometimes be dishonest and I’m going to call her on it when I see it.  But she’s not an evil, cruel, abusive or heartless person.  She’s imperfect and that’s ok.  We’re all imperfect to some degree and we deserve grace for trying.  She deserves grace for trying.

Okay, so I restricted my snack by like 90%.  I plan on restricting for the rest of the week, because, honestly, I’m going to PHP regardless of what I do. I could probably start purging every meal, show staff and they’d still put me in PHP.  Cool. I mean why take on the extra calories if the result is all the same.  Not gonna lie, the chocolate chip cookies were fucking tempting, but I only at about half of one…  The secret to restricting properly is in water, tea and being a couple of minutes late, if you can.  The clock starts when the first crowd walks into the cafe.  So if you show up 5 minutes or so late, you only have to stall for 10 minutes.  Then, there is usually a line for tea, that wastes another 2 minutes, now you’re down to almost half time.  Get to the table and make your tea, there’s no rush.  Then start working on your water.  It’s 16oz, so it’s kind of a lot of water.  Take a sip every minute or so and work off another 5 minutes. Now we’re down to 3 minutes, the perfect amount of time to drink your tea.  If you have any time left, break your snack into tiny pieces and nibble on each one, chewing fully and swallowing before the next.  I ate less than half of one cookie tonight and no milk.  Thanks to my ED, my cafe experience was a total success.  I’’m going to hear about it on Thursday for sure.  Oh well.

One thing I am grateful for is the space where I’m allowed to really be myself without fear of judgement or hate.  There are all different types of people here, but on our unit, everyone likes each other (and the staff) and we all get along.  I really appreciate the opportunity to fit in and be appreciated.  I have great support surrounding me all the time.  You guys are really the best and I love each and every one of you for your personality and character.  You’re all super cool and I’ve learned so much from everyone here.  Thanks for accepting the authentic me.  With a world that is so filled with hate, It’s so refreshing to have this space to feel safe.  Thank you.

Today feels kind of odd.  I had another Danielle dream last night, albeit not as intense as the glass smashing one.  I feel strangely shy today and my outfit and makeup scream for attention.  I kind of want to wash my face and change into something less bright, especially since my mother is coming today, with Juniper.  My Mom will make some kind of a big deal out of “you’re so beautiful,” etc. which I know she means in a nice way, but it makes me feel awkward.  I don’t need the, “you’re the most beautiful girl in the world” speech from her.  That’s what Brandon is for, duh.  I just feel like I over did it. I was going to wear the pink fuzzy adidas, but I’m sticking with the mary janes.  Let’s not go crazy, we are at EDC, not high school, right?  I just don’t want to feel awkward.  Maybe I should change into all black.  I like that look, it’s so dramatic, or does that just scream I want attention in another way.  I don’t know.  I want my breakfast and coffee.  I want to take a nap and skip groups.  I want to hide in my room all day.  We’re off to a good start, yikes.  

It’s really quiet and the vibe is off.  Is it because I ditched snack last night?  I always feel like I get judged when I ditch snack or meals.  Everyone is wearing headphones and wandering around without saying much.  Except Jim, he’s making phone calls in the corner and it sounds really serious, like he’s conducting some kind of important business.  The business tone.  In a past life, I was told my business tone was scary.  It’s part of the  [deadname] image I want to shake.  I think that’s a story for a different chapter, because we’d have to include Lindsay Marie Morris.  Pretty sure that is going to need a “willingness to process feelings” rating of 8/10.  We’re a 4 today.

I’m listening to “Against Me!” today.  Fuck you Danielle, you don’t own this band.  Besides, you hate them now, because somehow LJG being a bad person suddenly makes her music all suck?  Sure.  Because every rock star shares the same strong values that you have.  Oh, wait.  She’s trans.  You hate trans people, like all of them, now.  You’re not French enough to be French (turns out you’re probably more Canadian than French.  You’re the descendent of a Canadian bastard, just look at how you spell your name, GAUTHIER.  You’re so proud and it means you’re a bastard Canadian). You know which French people left and denounced France at the end of the war?  COLLABORATORS.  Your family was full of cowards and Nazis. Maybe that’s why you can’t escape your redneck TN blood.  It’s who you are, a redneck, a bigot, a hate monger and a fucking phoney.  Congrats and welcome home.  You’ll never leave that state again and you’ll die a redneck in Nashville Fucking TN, the place you SWORE you’d never return, because it’s truly a shithole place.  But since you’re a bigot now, maybe you’re a racist, too.  Maybe you always were.  But at least you won’t have to worry about running into me, except in your dreams, I’ll live there forever. I want to remind you that you abandoned your family.  Every.  Single. Night.  As it turns out, you are a horrible mother, worse than yours.  You traded your daughter for some dick and whatever fucking rep you’re gaining, you fucking scenester.  It’s all you’ll ever be.  Have fun.  

True story.  A day after I arrived at ERC, Danielle had the audacity to tell me she would always love and SHE FORGIVES ME.  WHAT!?!  Thanks sweet pea, because I was in agony worrying that you were somehow holding a grudge against me for something I didn’t even do.  You’re insane.  We don’t shame mental illness, but we do acknowledge it and your mental health has reached a pivotal point where, if you don’t get help, you are going to do something awful.  You admitted to me that the morning you came over to shame me and tell me how you were flying back to Nashville, because I dared fall asleep on your couch, you weren’t in control.  Fun Fact:  You’ve not regained control and your decisions are shameful, embarrassing. But I have good news for you, I don’t need you anymore.  I’ve found my people and you’re not them.  

Don’t let them break you

Don’t let them tell you who you are

Doesn’t matter where you come from

You’ll always have a floor to sleep on

And you have your bamboo bones, nervous energy

Blind ambition, skin of your teeth

Push back, push back, push back

With every word and every breath

What God doesn’t give to you

You’ve got to go and get for yourself

What God doesn’t give to you

You’ve got to go and get for yourself

I’m embarrassed to admit it, I’ve got no grip

I’m leading with my jaw

Can you see it from a distance, does it look ridiculous?

I guess that’s just what I have to live with

Still I have a mind to think, knees to break

You standing beside me

I’m going to push back, push back, push back

With every word and every breath

These words were never about you. You want to have your narcissistic ego stroked so badly, you don’t know what pushback means.  You’re not a punk.  You’re not even a rock kid. Maybe I wear too much makeup, too often.  But at least I’m doing it for myself.  At least I have the courage to express myself beyond a band t-shirt and hipster talk.  You’re boring, dull and you’ve stopped growing and reverted back to a 26 year old that wasn’t even really you.  You were sick, remember?  Remember, you had to be medicated to regain your 22 year old sanity.  “Remembering who you are…”  Bullshit.  You’ve reverted back to a hateful person that wreaked havoc on your life and cost you the career that you really wanted.  You’ve been blacked out, because you’ve become what both Tom and LJG hate.  You wouldn’t be allowed to hangout with either one.  Your girlfriend status doesn’t make you special.  And while we’re talking about your boyfriend, when’s he going to quit that gubment job?  Marry a communist business owner, LMFAO.  Good luck.  Didn’t he tell you his last GF broke up with him because he wouldn’t spend enough on her.  You little princess, enjoy driving your Honda. 

Speaking of boyfriends, I have a great one.  His values include taking care of his friends, volunteering for the homeless, video game tournaments, and working out.  He spends his day off volunteering,  EVERY SINGLE WEEK.  He loves me AND treats me well.  He adores me.  He doesn’t care if I wear makeup or not.  He doesn’t care if I listen to Katy Perry or Shipping News.  I’m not defined by my band t-shirts, but rather my character.  He’s not an ABUSIVE FUCK, like you.  

You’re exactly what you hated about your Mom and your Dad.  You’re medicating your mental illness with alcohol now, just like Daddy.  You’re verbally abusive and physically abusive, just like Daddy. You sick fuck, you sexually harrased Josie.  It happened.  Denying it a million times doesn’t make it not true.  You’re so broken, you don’t even realize that you’re a disgusting criminal, borderline rapist.  Running away won’t make your brain work better, only getting real help will.  But your sycophants have let you convince them that nothing was EVER your fault, because you’re a narcissist.  Cluster B behaviors, Danielle.  You’re exhibiting all of them.  It’s ok, it will catch up to you sooner than later.  Karma is a bitch she’s coming for you.  You’re so terrified of death, but your kidneys and liver are DYING and they will kill you, maybe soon.  You’ll be drained and filled with chemicals and put in a casket, in a vault, where your body will mold and rot away slowly.  You’ll never rejoin the earth, because your sisters won’t let that happen, they’re too practical. 

I’m not angry, I’m too disappointed in “the real you” to be angry.  Who misled who?  Everything you promised to me and Juniper was a lie.  Everything you promised to be was a lie.  All of your supposed values were fake.  Your identity crisis has made you even more bitter than you were before.  You have no character.  You’re a coward.  You’re a fake.  You’re a liar.  Yes, YOU, you’re a LIAR.  You’re a thief.  You’re untrustworthy.  You stole my journal and copied it, something you swore you’d never do.  You’re unhinged. Out of control.  

I’m relieved.  I no longer have to worry about being berated, shamed and hit.  I no longer have to worry about your threats, you have no power over me now.  You will never shame me again.  You’ll never hold power over me again.  You’ve got a new victim now.  Congratulations.  I’m glad you’re gone.  And guess what, I FORGIVE YOU.  I forgive the abuse, I forgive the lies, I forgive the betrayal.  I forgive your non-sense story telling.  I forgive narcissism.  I forgive you for being a terrible mother.  I forgive your alcoholism.  I forgive you unchecked mental illness.  I forgive you for breaking my ribs, blacking my eyes, biting my lip, calling me a faggot.  I forgive you for it all.  I’m free from you now and I forgive you.  You wanted your freedom, I’ll never be there again, to pick you up.  You’re free and that’s what makes you happy, right?  Congrats, you’re free.  Free from your responsibilities that you signed up for.  Free from being adored and cherished.  Free from the person that shared your passions.  Free.  You’re FUCKING FREE.  Good on you.  Guess what?  I’m free, too.  

And I’m a writer now, apparently and I’m publishing my work.  Apparently I know my values and I know who I am now.  I’m more than my relationship with you.  I’m proud of who I’ve become and I’ve found people that cherish and adore me.  I’m on my way up and you’re about to drown in your own well and you’re going to take everyone in your grasp down with you.  That’s what you do, you steal the energy of others, suck it dry and move on.  My energy is being rebuilt and you’ll never steal it from me again.  I’m free.  Thank you.  Thank you for running away.  Thank you for declining to get help that you need.  Thank you for leaving my life permanently.  I’m glad we’ll never speak again.  I’m glad I’ll never have to see your hate filled and cruel eyes again.  I’ll never have to cry because of you again.  I’ll never be told I can’t sleep in my own bed.  I’ll love my daughter every day until I die, and I’m going to live a long life.  My kidneys aren’t failing me.  Death is coming for you, your body is falling apart.  The outside is just a small representation of the inside.  The saggy breast, the stretch marks, the scars.  They’re just a micro expression of how torn up your guts are.  And when your health fails, you’ll die alone.

I’m starting a new chapter, that’s what my therapist calls it.  In reality, I’m writing a new book and you’re not even a minor character.  You’re a tombstone that read, “I ran, I lied, I died.  Alone.”  And my life is about to be beautiful, filled with joy.  Filled with connections with kind hearted people that care.  Filled with people that aren’t weighed down by their guilt or their failed accomplishments.  And I’m doing it to the soundtrack of Katy Perry, just as a final fuck you. I chose the soundtrack of my life, not you. 

Now someone get me some clonazepam, that was a lot to feel and process.  But the rest of my day is going to be splendid.  I am beautiful, I am real and I am finding joy in all aspects of my life.

And now that we’ve gotten those emotions out of the way, I want to make the rest of the day about feeling good, making progress and loving myself enough to do what I need to do to be healthy.  That’s the thing about abuse, it weighs you down and takes away your self-esteem, your feeling of self-worth.  And once you escape it, you’re essentially starting from the negatives and building from there.  I choose to build my self-worth by accepting that I’m not perfect and I don’t always make perfect decisions, but I make my decision based on values instead of beliefs.  Beliefs can be distorted and be influenced by cognitive dissonance, but values are what they are .  Once you know your values, your decisions become easier and as you process the emotions surrounding those decisions, you start to feel worthy.  That’s the very thing that an abuser wants to take from you, your worthyness.  If you don’t feel worthy, then you deny yourself love.  And if you deny yourself love, you seek it from your abuser, who dangles it like a carrot to control you for whatever purpose they choose.  I think for Danielle, she felt threatened by my femininity.  So she dangled the carrot so that I’d behave in ways that were contrary to my authentic self.  The ways that fit her mold of what a woman should be.  Guess what, short hair and soiled clothes that she wears don’t make her a badass bitch.  Maybe a lazy and unoriginal one, but definitely not a badass.  Being aggressive, scary even, doesn’t make her a badass bitch either.  It makes her an abusive one.  Putting down others’ intellect to make herself feel big doesn’t make her anymore smart, but it does make her a narcissist and an abuser.  I’m not ashamed of being who I am, I’m proud that I stood up to be who I wanted to be, instead of her puppet.  

I’m proud of who I am.  I am a woman.  I have courage and strength, but I’m delicate, too.  You can be both, you don’t have to choose.  Yes, I have an eating disorder.  Yes, I have mental health issues that I’ll contend with for the rest of my life.  But I don’t let those things define me.  They’re just a single line in a long and beautifully written song.  Yes, I survived abuse by an unhinged abuser, but that’s only a bridge to the next verse of my song.  And I’m going to let my song play and be heard by anyone who wants to hear it.  I’m not scared, because I no longer have fear.  I am accepted.  I am loved.  I am authentic.  I am a good Mom.  I am empathic.  I am willing.  I am here and I am fighting to live and I don’t run away because of my fears.  I embrace them with all the energy that I have and I grow and become a better human being.

I don’t know who said it, but the day we stop learning is the day we start dying and I continue to grow and learn.  I’m still young in my heart and it’s reflected in my presentation, from head to toe.  

And now, given that it’s Kristen’s last day with us at ERC, I’m wondering if she’ll have time to hunt me down before lunch.  I want to restrict my meals today and depending on what I ordered it may be easier or harder.  The easiest way to restrict myself is to hide in my room and refuse to go to the cafe.  Jack made the executive decision  to split up our Aries table last night, I could have kicked him in the shin.  Now I’m in the back corner, facing the wall again.  It’s like the 2nd worst seat in the cafe.  And they separated our important Aries spokeswoman, Priscilla, to another table with Rose.  I didn’t even get to have Rose at my table.  WTF?  What a let down.  It’s my last full week here and I want to sit with my favorite people and I really liked what we had going for us.  Don’t get me wrong, Maddie is great, Maggie is super cool and Anneluese (is that any closer) is definitely one of my favorites.   Maybe I’m too much for Priscilla anyways, at least that’s where my anxious brain goes.  She moved in the group room to a different seat and it threw me off my balance.  I hate when people start moving around in the group room.  I just get comfortable, start feeling safe and suddenly there is a shift in energy and I feel a void and wonder if it’s something I’ve done.  Am I no longer interesting?  Did I give off the wrong vibe?  Is it just me being insecure?  All very real and plausible possibilities in my anxious and overactive brain.  Maybe I need a nap.  Maybe after lunch I’ll curl up outside of the nursing room and take a nice nap, just like I did yesterday.  I like napping after lunch.  I’ll take some hydroxyzine and watch the rest of Euphoria and drift off to sleep.  I don’t have nightmares during my naps, only during my night time sleep.  One more solid reason to nap more and sleep less at night.  It’s Nurse Bailey today, so I don’t expect any special privilege or to be treated with particular kindness, but that’s ok.  If I do that, then I should be good going to PM snack and dinner.  

I want to play and sing today, but the group room is locked up and there’s no one to hear me play.  Actually, I’m fine with the last part, but the group room being closed is a fucking problem.  And the strangest thing with Monica… the 2nd time she was here on our unit, I asked her if we could have group outside and she was kind of snotty about the whole thing and just flat out said, “No.  I can’t do groups outside,” followed by a list of weird excuses that were all complete bullshit.  Every day she’s been here since, she’s had a group outside and they go great.  I don’t know what changed except maybe she didn’t want to be outside those days and now she does.  It’s weird.  I don’t like being lied to, but I”m not sure I can call this a lie, really.  Maybe just some confusion.  So strange, but that’s how it is some days.  Rules that don’t make sense are the norm and others ignored.  And then reversed because someone feels those rules no longer make sense.  It’s all very confusing.

It’s a weird fucking day.  I just feel… odd.  My anxiety has the best of me and I’m tired.  I got to see Juniper, which was really nice, of course.  I get to see her again tomorrow, too, which is awesome.  Tomorrow…****le sigh**** It’s going to be a busy day of course, because of the holiday.  I’m pretty sure half of ERC has quit.  And I just feel weird.  Like the anxiety has just really ramped up today and I don’t know why.  I’m stressed out.  Maybe it’s all the staff that’s quit.  Maybe it’s people leaving, people moving, people stepping down.  Maybe it’s just talking to my mother and all this medicaid BS that we’re having to deal with.  I’m just so fucking stressed.  I’ve been restricting every meal and snack.  Eating half or less of everything.  I just, I want to feel something.  I want to feel the hunger pains?  I don’t know.  And this anxiety, I’m climbing up the walls.  It’s the fucking Danielle dreams over and over again.  She just won’t leave me be. I just want to be left alone.  It’s this feeling of loneliness today, like I’m not part of the picture.  Like no one wants to talk to me or sit with me.  I just feel isolated, so I’m staying isolated.  It’s just this day, this fucking day.  It feels odd, everything seems off.  I just want to feel normal today and I don’t.  I feel stressed and stretched out, like a picture painted on a balloon that gets distorted when the balloon gets too big, just before it bursts.  I feel like I’m about to burst.  

It’s starting this blog.  Blogs are something I’m good at.  I’ve got hundreds of pages of real, raw, human written content.  I wonder if I’ll have any readers.  I wonder if Priscilla will come through with the editing.  I guess I don’t care.  I should just post it all.  Back date it and start posting, throw google analytics on there and see what the search engines think about my rambling mess of a novel. Ugh.  I want to sleep.  I wish I could take 2 more clonazepam and drink a glass of bourbon. 

Danielle, I miss drinking bourbon with you.  I miss cooking with you.  I miss sharing a home with you.  I miss being married to you.  I miss you and I fucking hate it.  I don’t want to waste another second thinking about you, but when I’m not thinking about Juniper, it’s all I fucking do.  I wonder how you are, if you’re happy.  If you need anything.  I want so badly to hold you and hug you.  I want to hear that everything is ok.  I wish everything was just ok.  I’m so mad at you.  You make me cry every fuckign day.  I miss you while I’m awake and when I sleep.  You haunt my dreams, you torment me.  You’re making me cry right now.  Right this fucking second, tears are pouring out of my eyeballs and my nose is all running.  What the fuck?  You’re the love of my life, I’m not just some bf that you toss to the side.  We have a fucking child.  We’re a team and you fucking ditched us.  You ditched us for some bullshit facade of rock and roll life and I hate you for it.  You hurt us.  You abandoned us and I need you.   I need you to be in my life and you’re gone.  I’m scared to email you.  I’m definitely too scared to call you, but all i fucking want is to hear you voice.  I just want to hear you say it will all be ok. I want my normal back.  I want to eat tacos with you and talk about music and basketball.  I want to make plans with you that we never intend to carry out.  I want to continue building OUR garden.  It’s OURS.  What am I to do with it now?  I want to hear every wild thought that passes through your head.    All I want is for you to come home.  It’s our home and without you it’s just a hollow house.  I’m hollow without you.  Why did you do this?  Why would you abandon us?  We’re your family.  Stop making me cry.  Stop hurting me.  When is it going to stop hurting?  When will I stop feeling like my guts have been torn from my insides and twisted and smashed and slashed?  I didn’t forget you for 15 fucking years and then we married.  You think we can just move on?  You really think this is going to work?  How could it? I’ll never have a normal life again.  I’ll never be satisfied and I’ll never have a place I can call home.  I hate this.  I hate this so fucking much.  I want you to get better and wake up and realize that you still have a family and you made promises to us. Big, BIG promises and you’re betraying your own values by betraying us.  This is not you.  You wouldn’t do this.  Where are you?  Where is the girl that I love and promised my life to?  

Fuck food.  Fuck eating.  You’re at least 75% of the reason this started and you haunt me, every fucking night.  So today, fuck food.  I’m not going to eat.  I am going to die because of this illness and there is nothing anyone can do about it.  I’m going to spend the next week fasting, except for water and breakfast.  I’m done with snacks and I’m done with lunch and dinner.  I just want breakfast and coffee.  Fuck eating.  Fuck food.  I don’t want to eat.  I don’t want to eat.  I don’t want to eat.  My mantra that got me through the weeks you spent away.  It’s going to be my mantra again.

Ironically, now the entire unit is standing around chatting and watching funny videos.  I’m really lonely today.  I miss my family.  I miss my relationship.  I miss texting my best friend every little thing throughout the day.  I miss her texting me to find out what I’m doing or how I am.  You fucking bitch, you’re making me cry again.  It just won’t stop.  You just won’t stop.  I’m a real fucking person with real feelings, not something you can just decide one day to stop loving.  I’m not a pound puppy that you can drop back off at the pound when you decide I’m too much work.  Fuck you.  Fuck you and fuck eating. I told you, if we ever split up, I’m dead.  Not suicide, just loss of will to live.  I haven’t moved on and not for lack of trying.  But there’s this piece missing.  The conversations, the back and forth, the hours of chit chat about nothing and everything and everything being nothing and so on…  It’s absolutely cruel what you did.  Cutting off communication, why?  Why can’t we just talk like normal.  Why can’t things just be normal?  You said we’d be friends.  You said you will always love me.  Stop making me cry. Stop it.  Stop hurting me.  You’re still hurting me.  I’m giving up right now. 

Fuck food.  Fuck eating.  Let it kill me.  Let my heart collapse while I sleep.  Stop the flow of energy to my brain and maybe the thoughts will finally stop. I can’t do this anymore.

This is one of those days, one of the difficult struggle days.  This is one of those days where my thoughts are just too much.  Where my brain is just working too hard.  Where everything is moving too fast and I just need sleep.  I just need to rest and sleep a dreamless sleep and wake up tomorrow and try again.  Because if I had to make the choice today, I’d quit and give up.  But I don’t entirely want to give up, but I don’t want to carry on either.  This is the problem, indecision.  Make a choice, stick with it and don’t back down.  Yesterday I felt so normal and today I feel so odd.  I feel like my brain is spinning like a roulette wheel and I’m waiting for it to fucking stop.  Please just fucking stop.  Stop thinking, stop seeing, stop hearing, stop, stop, stop.  Slow the fuck down and stop.  Please.  I’m dizzy and tired and I just want it to stop.

I’m trying to remember if I slept last night.  I know I started watching that show around 4:30 am until 6 am. In this latest episode the most predictable possible things happen.  Joe, the serial killer bad guy, creates a distraction in the center of town by having his followers murder a bunch of innocent people.  Then Joe gets away with his ex-wife that he’s vowed to kill.  They slip onto a boat and head out to sea, a poor plan, because the coast guard is already patrolling the water ways.   Kevin Bacon’s costar actress, a child cult member herself, is buried alive by the deranged followers of Joe.  And Ella betrays Jacob.  He confesses his love for her and she confesses her love to him, slits his throat while they embrace each other and says she also loves Joe and doesn’t know how to love them both.

Today is the day I’m wearing the dress that I’ve been saving for three weeks, for Brandon and I’m quite happy with my choice.  It’s a blue dress with white lace sash around the center, so it creates a great hour glass look.  It’s one of the few dresses that I could find that had sleeves and I was worried about it being too short, but Betty is going matchies with me.  My razor died right in the middle of shaving, so we get what we get.  I think I got most of my leg hair, but I’m not used to shaving, I normally just do full body wax.  It’s so much easier, she gets everything at once and I don’t have to worry about missing areas, Josie does an excellent job.  I miss her.  Did I add that to the list of pros of finally getting out of here? 

Am I not feeling chatty?  I don’t know, my eyes keep wanting to close.  I had dreams last night.  Danielle dreams, unfortunately.  But at least it didn’t stick in my memory.  I just went back to sleep or got up, I can’t remember.I can’t control the dreams, but I don’t have to let them control me.  I’m antsy, I want to pace.  I might pace.  I’m going to urge surf and try to gather my thoughts for a few more minutes. Breakfast should be called any time now.  I hope we get to keep our Aries table, that’s my favorite configuration since Rose and I sat together all the time.  

I love the way girls lift each other up.  Complementing each other is one of the first things that I learned “as a woman.”  It actually first came up when I got my nails done and I noticed that getting your nails done is something you do for yourself to feel good, but that you share with other girls.  Here we all love complimenting each other on outfits, on makeup, on shoes, on hair, or on anything else we might do during the day to make ourselves stand out or feel beautiful.   The girls are so sweet to me when it comes to this.  I barely made it out of the shower and Katerina was complimenting my dress, “I LOVE your OUTFIT CLARA!”  She said it with such enthusiasm and I know she meant it.  Most of the girls commented on my dress and I feel so cute, like super cute.  It’s one thing that rings true about what Danielle told me, there are sisters and then there are bitches.  Sisters lift each other up, protect each other and overall have a positive impact on each other.  Bitches compete for attention and try to undermine other women, either with passive aggressive behavior.  All the girls here are, in my opinion, sisters.  Everyone here is supportive and we all try to lift each other up all the time.  I know that treatment is a vacuum and the real world is not nearly as safe as it is here.  I guess that’s another hesitation for leaving.  I feel so safe right now, surrounded by people that care and are all going through the same thing.  This is the most free that I’ve ever felt to express my authentic self and I have to say, it’s addictive.  I don’t ever want to go back to the shame or guilt of the life I was living.  I am free for the first time in my life and I love it.

For music today, I’m going to listen to Lorde Solar Power and feel the transcending energy from her amazing voice, rhythms and melodies.  Danielle may have introduced me to Lorde, but she doesn’t own her and I’m choosing to take her as my own favorite artist.  She is unique in that she is a musician’s musician with so much relatable pop sensibility.  This is something I think is super uncommon.  Other musicians that accomplished this were The Beatles and Nirvana.  This puts Lorde in a pretty elite class of song writers.  It also means that I can listen to her albums on repeat and find new things to love and appreciate every time I listen, much like Radiohead.  Her voice is so perfect, I wish I could sing just like her, it’s absolutely beautiful and at the same time, you can feel her pain, conflict, struggle and happiness in her songs.   This sort of goes back to what I was saying about artist authenticity.  Being able to carry a tune and even have a great tone isn’t what makes a singer great.  It’s how authentic the feeling of their voices rings to you.

It’s something Muriel taught me about art, the subject is so much less important than enthusiasm.  She once complimented on my painting that she felt my energy in my brush strokes and I captured that enthusiasm, when I was being critical of my work.  I thought Lindsay’s painting of the same subject was so much better, but according to Muriel, her brush strokes were mundane.  It’s something I’ve never forgotten about art.

Who is Muriel?  Muriel Partridge is my friend, mentor and teacher.  The last few years I lived in Florida I decided to take private French lessons from an organization called Alliance Francaise.  They’re a worldwide organization dedicated to teaching French to students of all different backgrounds that want to learn for any number of reasons.  Muriel was the director of the school in Orlando, FL and I spent two years taking private lessons from her.  Muriel is still such an important part of my life because she taught me so much about French life, but also just life in general.  She was Parisian and had a doctorate from Le Sorbonne, which is the French Harvard, essentially.  She’s also a twice published author.  She was way, way, way over qualified to be teaching me beginner French, but she really liked me for some reason and kept me as her private student, instead of handing me off to any number of other teachers that worked for her.  But a few months after starting lessons with her, she informed me that she and a select group of students were writing a play, which they then intended to perform at various places once its writing was complete.  The group included an author and advanced French student, who also was simultaneously learning Russian, doing advanced French translations and had written several plays with his wife. Two engineers that worked for a major military contractor in Orlando.  And Polly Anna, a Brazilian woman from Rio de Janeiro who was also a polyglot, fluent in English, Spanish, Portuguese and French.  She did contracted technical translations for major companies. And a Columbian who was learning French for fun.  When I joined the writing group, the plan was to write the play in French and perform it in front of English speaking audiences by having one of the lead characters act as narrator and translate for the audience.  Eventually, after getting some really positive feedback on the play, we decided to translate the entire play into English and this is where I picked up.  I was one of two Americans in the group, which gave me an interesting perspective.  Actually, the multicultural nature of the group really made the group fun.  We called ourselves the Five to Nine playwrights, because we met every Wednesday from 5pm to 9pm.  We worked for nearly 9 months together and when we finished the play we decided we wanted to get the play published, something Muriel knew how to do, given she had her books published.  I think what made it so fun is that the only motives behind the writing were having fun, doing something creative and enjoying the process.  We typically had a couple of drinks while we wrote and would take turns bringing the drinks.  Vodka and red wines were popular choices.  It was one of the funnest times in my life and I loved those people, especially Muriel.  She picked her friends very carefully and she saw something special in me, something I couldn’t see.  I was the least educated among the group, but I wrote a lot of the dialogue, especially the funny parts.  We were extremely proud of our work and everyone that read the play gave us positive feedback.  Unfortunately, I was married to Lindsay Marie Morris West and her insane jealousy of me being outside of the home made it hard to have time away. It’s worth discussing Lindsay one day, but not today.  We decided on a whim to move to Seattle and I left Muriel and my co-writers behind in Orlando.  I regret that we never got a chance to perform our play.  But I kept in contact with Muriel through email and Facebook  and still get virtual cards from her on every major holiday.  Her values included authenticity for sure.  I’d never met someone so smart, but also that embraced her eccentricity so purely.  I love Muriel and miss her all the time.  If I ever visit Florida, seeing her will be my first stop.  I can’t wait to introduce her to Clara, she’ll undoubtedly accept and love me as I am.  Maybe it was Clara that she saw all along.

It’s 9:51 AM and we have a lot of free time this morning which is making me a bit more anxious than I’m comfortable with.  If I have to pick between anxiety and depression, I’m definitely picking anxiety.  It’s easier to cope with and it doesn’t keep me as stuck as depression does.  Not that I want either one mind you.  Anxiety and depression seem to have an inverse relationship.  I haven’t been truly depressed in sometime, but anxiety has just gained more traction.  When I was depressed and not moving out of bed, I rarely felt anxious, unless I missed medication or didn’t get enough sleep.  Does an equilibrium even exist where both are mild enough that I don’t constantly feel them?  I get that life’s ups and downs are going to trigger anxiety and depression at some point, but must I really live this way forever.  I did start off the morning with less anxiety and very low depression.  Why does it pick up so rapidly around snack when I don’t even mind snack that much, I swear.  I minded less when it was snack A or B, but a shake or a muffin isn’t going to kill me.  I do hate the supplement that comes with a muffin, but I’ve been drinking it.  Maybe I’ll skip it today.  I don’t know.  Back to anxiety, yesterday I made it all the way through group without clonazepam.  I don’t know if I’m feeling that strong today, even using writing as my coping mechanism.  

I have this weird paranoia about how autocorrect tries to predict my sentences.  Like if I use the same word that it’s predicting, does that make my writing too dull or generic?  I actively try rearranging the sentences when it gives me predictive text for that reason.  Plus, I love screwing with algorithms and throwing off their learning.  In Google Docs there’s this weird, “Let Gemini write for you,” option that I find especially creepy.  What’s even the point of using a blank document if you let AI write for you.  I’m not anti-AI or anything, per say.  I just think using it smartly is imperative.  Even as its accuracy and learning improve, it’s still just a machine and it’s not, in fact, living.  The human brain still runs more efficiently, faster and with more creativity than AI will accomplish in my lifetime.  At least I hope that’s the case.  Art is just an impression of life, so how can a non-organic, non-living thing create art without human direction and input?

Our group today had us narrow down the things that are our most important needs.  We started with 20, including people, places, abilities, etc.  When I narrowed it down, I got down to Juniper, my ability to take care of Juniper, my home, my meds and my mother. The first thing I gave up was ever knowing Danielle or experiencing her influence on my life. I think she had more of a negative impact overall than a positive one. That makes me sad, but it also shows how warped my fucking priorities have been.  All the energy that I’ve spent on that relationship really meant nothing to me.  I could have saved so much pain and suffering if I had just let her go before.  Maybe years ago… before she bailed.  I should have kicked her to the curb.  I should have sent her to Toni’s or something.  Who knows if I would have even developed an eating disorder the way that I did.  I mean probably, but the possibility exists that she would have disappeared sooner and I’d have begun my recovery, at least from her abuse, a lot sooner.

Devastating.  My brand new baby pink shirt and I somehow got MASCARA on it.  Tide pen to the rescue.  Yeh, sort of, but not 100%. I don’t think it’s noticeable to anyone else, but it is to me.  I know it’s there.  How depressing.  Depression level, 11/10.  Grrr.  I had to change. We’ll use music for mood enhancement.  And today it is Katy Perry.  I want to dance and sing, if only in my head.

My dreams sucked last night, again.  This time it was my father’s father, my brother, and Dad and we were eating dinner at what we now call a very retro table and kitchen.  Spaghetti with hamburgers that I had to cut up myself.  Yes, the combination is strange and I’m not sure of the reason.   And I couldn’t stop eating.  They were all impressed with how much I was eating.  Plate after plate and I just couldn’t get full.  It was such a weird fucking dream.  I feel like my dreams are taunting me.  At least it wasn’t Danielle this time.  Thank fucking god, it wasn’t Danielle.  Just more dead grandparent shaming.  So, I’m writing the following letter to my dead grandparents:

Dear Dead Grandpas and Grandmas:

I’m still alive.  You’re not.  It’s 2026 and lots of things have changed in the 15 years since you died, probably because most, if not all, of your generation is dead.  For instance, we had a black president that did a pretty good job.  Turns out that being racist is not ok and we are getting better (although it’s not perfect) at judging people by the content of their character and not by some clan, tribe, skin color or whatever.  We don’t live in clans anymore.  That shit is so First century. As it turns out, race, gender, age, sexuality and anything else that you used to shame, have nothing to do with what type of person they are.  And this is working out so well for me. Keep reading.

Science has taught us a lot and as it turns out, most of those old ways of thinking were wrong and based completely on bullshit fantasy land shit.  Values have moved towards everyone being equal.  We’re not there yet, but we want it.  My generation and the ones that followed me are more accepting.  Again, this is working out well for me.  More on that in a minute.

So recently you’ve been visiting me in my dreams and it hasn’t been a friendly hello.  You’ve been trying to shame me in your weird dream-like way.   It’s creepy and it’s making me feel bad, so I’d like it if you’d knock off.  Stay in your ghost land and out of my head.

As it turns out, sometimes our gender and our body don’t exactly match.  So far the science is saying it’s probably due to hormone surges during pregnancy that occur after the body is formed (penis or vagina) but before our brains are done growing.  It’s real.  It’s happening.  Actually, it’s been happening for thousands of years.  The difference is that modern medicine has a way to support me and allow me to live authentically.  Even though it’s somewhat controversial, it’s being accepted, slowly but surely.  The main group of people pushing back are white nationalists and no one should align with their values, because they’re fucking nuts.

So anyways, I’ve picked a new name, Clara.  I’m going through puberty for the second time, this time the correct puberty and I intend to live my life as this person, because this is who I am.  If you don’t like it, that’s fine.  But keep your opinions to yourself and stay out of my dreams.  I have enough going on right now, I don’t need to be shamed and what you’re doing isn’t actually helping in any way.  I’m proud of who I am and who I’ve become.  I’m not angry all the time any more, I have a whole range of feelings and emotions that I never even knew existed.  The world is brighter and when I look in the mirror, I see the person that I’ve felt like inside my whole life.  My values have changed, too.  Instead of success that I used to view as a title and the size of my paycheck, my values are empathy, love and compassion for my fellow human beings.  All human beings, for exactly as they are.

I love you all and miss you all, but since you’ve died, the world has become a more compassionate place and we’re all better for it.  Respectfully, don’t harass me anymore, please.

Love Always,

Clara

The day continues. Breakfast was absolutely lovely.  Tablemates today include Priscilla, Katerina (butchered spelling, so sorry), Maggie and Kylee.  It’s a delightful table of Aries + one Leo (we think).  Conversation topics included:  Hellen Keller, Community, Ablism, this writing, Priscilla’s Mom’s seeing Nirvana play in her dorm right after they released Bleached, and so much more.  I was so caught up in conversation, I almost didn’t finish my breakfast.  Well, that and the fact that bagels that aren’t incredibly fresh take so damn long to chew.  Not my fault really. Rose didn’t have her phone, so we asked her to just make up the Morning Cup of Joe and famous birthdays included her long lost twin, my long lost twin and Maggie’s long lost twin.  So apparently, it’s all of our birthdays as well. SO EXCITING!  I always wanted  birthday twins.   Since we’re technically out an MC today, Katerina(I swear I’m going to look up the proper spelling of your name and fix it) made a motion for more room time today.  I quickly seconded the motion, took a voice vote and ayes clearly outnumbered the nays.  The motion passed.  Priscilla responded with, “I love democracy.” lol.  It was just one of those cute moments during the day where the group felt very unified, even if this was a non-binding resolution to simply make our voices heard.  Sunny and Sara laughed, but Sunny is probably pretty pliable to make something like that actually happen.  This isn’t a pipe dream, last holiday weekend when we didn’t have an MC they actually did leave rooms open for most of the day.  I really wish that was standard for weekends here.  It would break up the, “Everyday is the same” feeling that we joke about, but is absolutely real.  

It sucks when you see your friends struggling and Rose has had a rough few weeks.  Yesterday they searched her room and took a bunch of stuff out. I don’t know what and it’s none of my business, so I didn’t ask.  But, being the target of a roomsearch myself, I know how the invasion into privacy feels.  They just took my belt and some headbands and had a reason to do so.  It looked like they took a bin of stuff and I know that had to feel terrible.  Rose was supposed to go on pass today and get her nails done, but she was absent from quite a few meals this last week, so they took that away from her and I’m sure it’s a massive disappointment.  When I told her I was here if she needed anything, we just had the ground hog’s day talk and this was supposed to be her outing that was going to break up the monotony and claustrophobia that being stuck on the unit causes.  I just worry, she was doing so well and then this week seemed really tough.  That’s how recovery goes.  “Not linear,” they say.  We all know it’s true, but it doesn’t make the lows any easier.  It still feels like a failure or like we’re letting someone down.  Ourselves, our peers, our team, the nurses, the BHTs, or our family, etc.  At least that’s my take on it. My true mantra is, “you only fail when you give up,”  but a failure still feels like a failure.  Failure brings out big emotions and some days we’re less resilient than others. 

I really wanted to do a makeup trial today and get help for tomorrow.  I’ll ask someone today if they’ll help me tomorrow morning.  I want hair ideas too.  The headband is cute and all, but isn’t there something, anything else I can do?  I just want to look cute for Brandon’s visit tomorrow.  He asked if I like wearing dresses, so I’m planning on wearing the cutest dress and I want the makeup and hair to match.  I’m excited.  I wish he was coming today, but he’s off hiking in the mountains this weekend, so I’m just grateful that he’s coming Sunday.  Our visits have been really good as it has given us a chance to get to know each other, probably what I should have done months ago, but there was the whole weird Danielle jealousy thing that I was dealing with.  She was actively going to her boyfriend’s house and playing house with him, but I wasn’t allowed to date.  I could write a whole book on the things Danielle said and did in the months leading up to me being here.  It’s a tragedy with tons of irony and some laughs mixed in.  I don’t think I want to go there today.  Maybe later.  We’ll see.

It’s always interesting when we don’t have enough staff here.  Today it’s Sara and Sunny, which is cool, they’re both nice enough.  It should be a chill day, I hope.  It’s a long weekend, which for the normal working world is a good thing, but for us here at the hospital, it means services are delayed, no therapist, no dietician and no mail until Tuesday.  Three days may not sound like a lot, but it can feel like forever if you’re waiting on a package.  I need toothpaste, I need my Kudos gift for Belle (I know what I want to get her, but have to order it.)  I’ll have to make due with what I have for the weekend I guess.  But hey, let’s look at the brightside, reframing and all… I’m going to set up the blog today, so I have to set up the server, pick a theme, and find plugins that I want to use.  It’s been a minute since I’ve set up a WP blog, but I’ve done this 1000 times.  The hardest part is the server setup, it’s a lot of linux command prompt shit that I’ll have to lookup.  I still prefer to set up my own server vs. using managed options. I could reach out to Rico for help.  He’s my Danish coder friend who does server management for my former boss, but that could lead to questions that I don’t want to answer.  I’ve ghosted those guys and I’m not sure I want to reappear, especially right now.  Priscilla is going to help me edit and post and hopefully guest post.  I was going to ask Katy if she wants to guest post, too.  Maybe see what Priscilla thinks, we’re keeping this lo-key for the time being.  I’m projecting 80 hours of work to get everything up and looking nice.  Also, since I can’t take pictures of people here, it’s against the rules, I need to figure out imagery to add to the site.  Blogs that are all text are usually more utility blogs, for informational purposes.  I want this to be more of a story of my journey and think some imagery is going to be necessary to make it flow.  Also, still on the fence on 

1. Use my real name
2. Use pics

I’m just not sure if I want to out myself like that quite yet.  It could be dangerous.  I mean, what if people actually decide to read this.  Other problems to solve include the domain name which I think has to be the title of my writing.  

Also, as I think about posting this, I really kind of get anxious.  I mean, some of it is just ranting, some of it really negative and some of it probably just sounds like rambling and doesn’t really serve a purpose.  I’m so ADHD and I think it shows in my writing, because sometimes my thoughts can be all over the place and I’m not sure it makes sense to a normal person that’s reading it.  With that said, I’m actually very proud of this content, including the negative thoughts.  Life isn’t kittens in baskets with bowties.  It’s up and it’s down, back and forth, good and bad.  Authenticity counts and I think that’s what separates great artists from mediocre or poor ones.  Grit is relatable.  I have grit by the truckload, but I think I also feature a bowtied kitten or two sometimes, too.  Happiness or success can be relatable, too, right?  

I remember one of the conversations I had with Connie when she was here was how clicky it was, especially my first couple of weeks here.  She told me how when she first got here, it wasn’t like that at all.  It was something developed with a few of the patients that had been here 3-4 weeks before I got here.  Most of them ended up leaving AMA.  Connie left shortly after to go back to Boston, where she had a fancy job at a major insurance company.  She got her master’s from Cornell and was super smart.  I admired her a lot, but at that point I was having trouble connecting with people here.  As the names of patients have changed, so has the inclusivity, IMO.  There is this really beautiful feeling of unity among everyone here now.  I love that and I love feeling like I’m right in the middle of the chain binding us all together.  It’s unique, I haven’t really ever been around this before.  I feel very comfortable and so supported.  A few days ago when I missed all those meals, Betty said I was missed and I think others shared that sentiment.  I had so much self-doubt and I was wrong.  

10:15 and it’s snack time.  This is the time of day when anxiety starts to snowball.  I want to try and sit in the discomfort today.  Maybe I can harness that energy instead of fleeing from it.  It’s game time, [insert some stupid sports analogy here].  Why are sports analogies always football, baseball or basketball?  Why not women’s figure skating or gymnastics?  Fuck the patriarchy.  What if this nervous, anxious energy is the part of my brain where all my creativity comes from and I’ve been silencing that part of the brain, everyday.  “Sit in the discomfort.” Embrace it.  Feel it and let it dissipate.  It’s the motto of therapists, dieticians,MCs and BHTs alike.  Even the psychiatrists and therapists say this.  But then, the therapists give you coping skills and psychiatrists give you drugs to bring your discomfort down to a, “Manageable level.”  And who determines what that level is?  My threshold for anxiety is virtually zero right now and the only relief I get is when I’m sleeping and I’m not “awake” in my dreams or I forget them as soon as I wake up.  I’m on 4 medications to manage anxiety, hydroxyzine, lexapro, clonazepam and buspar and I swear I’m still 8/10 before lunch.  And group is so hard when anxiety gets higher than 8.  The energy is mostly positive in group, but I as a group, we all grow more restless with each meal and snack.  And maybe it’s that energy that I’m picking up on?  I very much believe that tiny, micro expressions and body language that signal to everyone else that anxiety is higher.  

Our group ice breaker was, “Name a famous scientist,” and I went with Marie Curry and her work with radiation.  If I remember correctly, she conducted the gold foil experiment alongside her husband.  She died from radiation related cancer I think.  I’m pulling this out of my 11th grade education, so I make no claims to accuracy.  Sunny says Einstein solved eating disorders with the falling man experiment.  A person in a vacuum that’s falling doesn’t feel their own weight (until they hit the ground).  Going up 11.2 km/sec2 you feel crushing pain and experience the pain long enough to no longer feel the pain.

E = MC2

Eat = more consistently squared

I feel sick.  It was a good analogy, but it’s heavy and hard to swallow.  I’m supposed to experience the pain long enough that I’ll not experience the pain any longer.  I guess I’m not at or through the acceptance part of the analogy yet, because I find it hard to believe that I can exist without pain or the eating disorder.  Belief is a motherfucker.  For a lesson about sitting with the pain long enough to reach the weightlessness of  outer space, that sure was fucking painful and my brilliant idea to not take the clonazepam before hand… I don’t know… I am feeling beaten down.  Why?  Because I can’t escape the facts and the facts are that the “joys” that the eating disorder gives me aren’t counterbalanced by the weight of death, which is much heavier.   But then I go back to the fact that I know the eating disorder wants to kill me and there are days when I feel totally okay with that.  Somedays I even ask for it.  I didn’t have to come here to learn or accept that part of it.  

Then there are days like today where I wake up feeling mostly rested, shower and get dressed.  And from the moment I see my peers, I’m happy to be alive to see them.  I’m happy to be alive to talk to Juniper and even my Mom.  I’m excited about coffee and the conversation that comes with it.  I’m excited to sit at the Aries table.  I feel like I’ve found my people.  I feel appreciated and wanted.  People other than Danielle are interested in me.  Girls that aren’t afraid to challenge my thoughts and aren’t intimidated by me.  I love that.  I feel at home and everything happening feels so normal.  These are good days and perhaps I’ll struggle less today.  I feel hope and hope is a motherfucker, too, because it gives you the internal reasons to persevere.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had hope.  A really long time.  This feeling of normalcy, I don’t want it to go away.  I want to catch it with my eyes, ears, nose, tongue, fingers and stuff it in a bottle and put it high upon a shelf,  so it’s safe from being stolen, but I can use it whenever I want.  Why am I feeling this way?  Because there are people here that understand me and that’s something I convinced myself couldn’t exist outside of my relationship with Danielle.  Even though I know that at the end of it all, she never really understood me and she wasn’t interested in getting to know me.   She’s poser and authenticity means nothing to her, it’s not her value.  Well, it is mine.  I’m claiming it for the first time ever. I proclaim that my values include being my authentic self, regardless of the consequences, because everyone deserves the chance to express themselves as their brain sees and feels they should be, so long as they don’t harm others in doing so. And being that this is one of my core values, I will no longer accept anyone in my life that doesn’t share this value and express themselves authentically, because I want to be surrounded by positive influences that not only accepts my authenticity, but celebrates it with me.  We should cherish ourselves and each other.  I feel cherished, because I have friends that accept and relish in my authenticity.  They bring out the most authentic me and we celebrate that.  We admire each other’s courage and strength and thereby form a connection which is the foundation of the support that I’ve longed for and needed.  This feels good.  It feels real.  

I’ve taken too much bad advice from Danielle, who in the end thought I was dumb, a waif, a cunt, a bitch, a slut, a whore, vain and superficial, all because I wanted to express myself as a girl differently than she expresses herself.  Her advice was bad and I never should have taken it to heart.  Yesterday in therapy, I was on the cusp of crying, because I thought about my lost connection with Danielle.  I wish I had cried, because that pain was real.  But what is even more real is how I feel now.  I’m not alone in this world.  There are other people that understand and appreciate me and I don’t have to feel shame or guilt anymore.  That’s a burden worth shaking off of my shoulders.  Those feelings weren’t my values, they only kept me from being authentic.  Danielle’s harsh criticisms didn’t fan my flame, they tried to extinguish it and came really close to doing just that.  But Danielle is a phoney that feels threatened by authenticity.  Maybe she is smart, but she’s not smart enough to recognize the things that make me unique are my most authentic qualities.  I am NOT broken and I never was.  My heart aches for Danielle, but not because I miss her, but because I know that the real authentic Danielle is a cold narcissistic bigot that offers this world nothing but her hatred of others.  She always told me she was a bad person.  That may have been the most authentic thing she ever told me about herself.  The rest was just a mask and watching that mask fall off is a disgusting reveal.

12:49, I barely made it halfway through lunch and got up and left.  I’m way too sensitive, but Sara kind of snapped at me and it really hurt my feelings for some reason.  We were talking about extra room time.  I realize that she’s just enforcing the rules and I wasn’t mad at her for saying after dinner, she would open rooms back up.  That’s what we always do, but I was just telling her last time we had a holiday weekend like this and we didn’t have a real MC, they let us have a little extra downtime.   I think it was Easter weekend.  I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, but she got really defensive and snapped at me.  Now is one of those moments where I can feel the cry in my chest and behind my eyes, but I’m not crying.  I want to, because I want that release and that flood of neurotransmitters and hormones.  I want to feel better about the situation.  I got up and excused myself from the table after I ate my green bean salad, one square of my grilled cheese, and drank my water.  I just didn’t want to sit within sight of Sara’s gaze for the rest of lunch.  I’m sorry if I let Maggie and Katerina down.  But this wasn’t just normal discomfort, my feelings were actually hurt.  Sara asked me if I was ok after we were out of the cafe.  I know she didn’t mean anything by it.  I can be realistic and honest and say, she was just reacting in her natural way.  But that didn’t make it any less hurtful.  She snapped like I said and did something wrong, even though I know I didn’t.  I won’t let this spoil my day.  I took some hydroxyzine and I may curl up next to nursing for the next group or maybe I’ll do the opposite action and go to group.  

The extra room time feels warranted today because our first group ran over and I just didn’t feel like I got a chance to rest.  My brain feels over stimulated and my body feels tired and weak.  I feel less energized than I did before lunch and a little nap would do me good.  Sorry Dr. Parsley, but I need some rest during the day.  I’ve been using this routine of being up at night and then having downtime during the day for a while and it works.  Maybe not as well as just getting a good night’s rest, but it works.  Also, I want to hide.  I don’t want to face the group since I got up and left.  Danielle would call me a pussy or some other horrible name, but my feelings are valid and my emotions are real.  I don’t feel bad.  I’m ok not completing lunch.  I plan on going to snacks and dinner. I need some music to put me in a better headspace, so I can rejoin the community for the rest of the day.  I’m thinking Lorde and maybe listen to one of her albums instead of the “It’s Lorde” playlist.  Maybe a start and a finish will help me feel a range of emotions and feel a sense of closure, for lack of a better word, around how I’m feeling right now.

This is my safe space, right outside the nurses exam room.  Over the last week, when I felt down or weak or sad, this is where I would come sit.  I don’t even want to check in with the nurse, I only trust Nurse Brandon right now.  Nurses Bailey, Marie and Alana all seem to be on some weird wavelength that just doesn’t feel good to me.  I blame Nurse Bailey for this.  Again, probably just me being too sensitive, but it’s how I feel.  I’m disappointed and let down.  Trust is such a huge part of this whole eating disorder thing and not just for me.  It’s something I’ve heard a lot of us say, over and over again. And Nurse Bailey broke my trust.  Intent vs. impact, I know she didn’t mean to, just like I know Sara wasn’t trying to be hateful to me.  But the impact is the same, regardless.  

 Maggie just came up to me, “Clara, what’s the code for the cabinet?”  Well, since you asked, it’s 1824.  I’d suggest jotting it down and hiding it in your room somewhere.  It’s not that I intend to get into the cabinet when there’s no staff present, I still make them open it for me.  I mean, they left the stupid keycard sitting on the desk and this is the 2nd time in two months that it’s gone missing.  Last time it reappeared from out of nowhere on the floor, outside of the sharps cabinet.  I found it.  I guarantee I won’t be finding it this time, even if I find it.  Geez, not going to make myself look guilty.  But even staff have to admit that it’s convenient that I know it.  I mean, fuck, yesterday they were already cutting down Splataaaah time by 15 minutes and the card was gone.  If they had to message around to all the right people to get the code, that shit would have taken 25 minutes and we have bodies that need to smell and look beautiful.  There’s no time to waste in the morning.  We have places to be, bitches.

It sounds like Sunny is talking about a movie for group.  I think that’s a solid enough reason to skip out on group and hang out next to nursing.  Maybe I’ll watch that Kevin Bacon show.  It’s getting pretty good, for the sort of cheesy, ex-FBI-agent-with-a-drinking-problem-and-lack-of-self control-gone-rogue-but-must-be-present-to-find-the-genius-seriel-killer-slash-cult-leader.  Yes, it wreaks of network TV.  And is the role waaaaaaaaay to shallow for award winning Kevin fucking Bacon? Yes, it is.  Besides, he plays a better bad guy than a fallen super hero seeking redemption.  But, none-the-less, I’m in too deep now and that’s all I’ve got.  And as far as missing group goes, we always start movies in there and then everyone just kind of quietly gets up and starts doing their own thing, mostly in the hallway or if they can get their room opened, in their room.  I’m not exactly ducking out on everyone, because they’ll all duck out 10 minutes into the movie.  Maybe it’s the G rated movies that we all find kind of annoying.  I mean, I like watching G rated stuff with Juniper sometimes, but I don’t typically watch Hannah Montana love stories for funzies.  I’m not even complaining, I’m just stating a fact.  I want some depth if I’m going to commit my eyes and ears to the screen for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Okay., they did open rooms for a few extra minutes, after the last group.  I guess that’s what Sara was trying to say.  She just said it in a way that made me feel small and insignificant or like I had said something wrong.  After the years of hearing Danielle talk down to me, maybe that’s part of the reason I’m extra sensitive when people use a harsh tone with me.  It’s me, not them, I need to grow thicker skin.  I can work on that, add it to the list of imperfections that could make me feel broken, but in light of my recent revelation are part of who I am.  

I have the ever so slightest bit of guilt around my ED behaviors today.  I guess I’m restricting, calorie counting or some other dumb ED behavior.  But it kind of feels like justice for being talked to in such a harsh way.  I think patience and understanding are two of the main components when working with the mentally ill.  We have compounding issues leading to our ED and even just raising your voice or saying something with a condescending tone has a real effect.  We are, after all, real people.

Something worth mentioning and that I’m rather proud of is my much improved front kick which I’ve developed in the Splataaah in toilet stalls.  It wasn’t something I planned on learning, but I do give my 11 months of taekwondo complete credit.  Learning it again was like riding a bike.  Why the front kick you ask?  Are perverts looking beneath the stalls, trying to catch a glimpse of the no-no square or panties on the floor?  No! Eww!  It’s because these toilets have a flush button that is on the wall and when you push it with your hand, sometimes it squirts water at you.  Also, unwashed and unsanitary hands have no doubt touched the button and there’s no telling what a bacteria culture might grow, should it be swabbed and plated or whatever.  I think it’s part of ERC culture and almost a rite of passage to develop a solid front kick to flush the toilet, after it’s properly checked of course.  I was hesitant at first, I mean it’s been decades since I’ve really tried to kick anything.  And I wear shoes that mostly slip on, so there is the very real concern that a shoe could wind up in an unflushed toilet.  But facts are facts, the buttons shoot toilet water down and sometimes directly at you when you push them.  I know it’s clean toilet water and probably nothing to be afraid of, but it is toilet water and I’m not a plumber, so I think that’s gross.  I think I first noticed Rose doing the toilet flush kick on my first day here.  And I was left wondering, why not just use your hand and give it a push.  But then, upon my first use of stall #4 it all came to light, there’s something not quite right about these toilet flushing mechanisms.  Rose was right.  These toilets must be flushed with a kick and a kee-yaaa.  Only, I don’t really do the kee-yaa part, because that would be weird and everyone in the bathroom would wonder what the hell is wrong with me.  “It’s my training.  I was a yellow belt 4 stripe almost ready to test for my green belt.  They emphasized the importance of belting out a loud ‘kee-yaaaa’ whenever you do a punch or a kick.”  But I fear that, alas, no one would appreciate my formal training from when I was 8 and I doubt it would catch on with the rest of the group.  It would make me an “other,”  and that’s simply something I don’t want to do.  So if you find yourself at ERC and ready to make a flush, don’t feel bad using your feet, but don’t bother with the kee-yaaa.

I’m the only one here wearing sunglasses, which does have me greatly worried about the unprotected status of everyone else’s retinas.  Don’t they know, per Danielle’s dumb ass, this could cause a much unwanted separation.  I mean, Danielle said it, so it’s probably bullshit, but it is a great excuse to bust out the Gucci glasses.  And with recent trend of dressing up every day, I finally don’t feel like a fucking asshole for wearing ultra mod pink Gucci’s when I’m catching some rays on the patio.  I don’t mean to brag, but these things are fucking bangers and look so fucking good on my face.  I could be wearing a Burger King work shirt and one of those cardboard crowns that they give and these glasses would still make me look cool, like I know something about fashion and Burger King that nobody else knows.  

I just wish my hair was longer.  I’m going to grow it down past my shoulders for the first time ever.  I think the longest I’ve had it was to my shoulders and even then, it wasn’t cut right.  I also want to commit to you all, here and now, that I’m going to spend a little more time out in the sun this summer.  My hair bleaches out to white if I just let the sun do its job;  And even if I don’t stay outside enough to get a tan, I get these really amazing natural highlights.  That’s what I’m thinking about right now, natural fucking hair highlights.  That and finally wearing that dress tomorrow.  Brandon better show up.  I have no reason to think he won’t, he’s been here every weekend and only came one time when they wouldn’t let him come up.  I was as guilty for not getting him on the list as he was for showing up 20 minutes late.  But the fact that he was here still meant a lot to me.  It’s the thought that  really matters.  And tomorrow he should make it on time.  Also, they might give us a little extra time tomorrow, because it’s a holiday weekend and we’ll probably be short staffed again.  And sometimes they forget about us in the telephone room, which is, in fact, the best room to find yourself in, should your boyfriend come for a visit. I do have a list of concerns:

1. My good concealer is still in my confiscated stuff and unless Corrine was here, I don’t think anyone else is going to go into my luggage to help me find it.  So I’m left with those 2 concealers that just aren’t that great.
2. My gel eyeliner pen sometimes gets a little out of control and I end up looking like I have a black eye.
3. Without proper concealer, it kind of looks like I have dark spots under my eyes which is a little depressing
4. I get really nervous doing makeup with the other girls.  They’re all so much better at it than me.  I want to ask for help, but I’m terrible about asking for what I need.
5. He doesn’t come until after lunch and my makeup could use a little refresher by then anyways, which is not allowed.
6. Don’t touch my eyes all day.  And no crying, at least until after the Brandon visit.

Conclusion, I’ll just ask for help.  I know Betty will help.  It’d be neat if Belle or Priscilla helped with my eye makeup, it’s such an important part, maybe the most important part.  It’s going to be fine.  I don’t know why I’m so excited about this visit. I guess it’s just because it’s the last visit before we get to actually see each other outside of the hospital in over 2 months and I’m wearing something special that I bought just for him. 

It’s 7:03 and the day is coming to a close.  All the stress that builds until dinner time is finally over and it’s just one snack left.  The snack that I’m going to pretend I’m asleep for and try to skip.  It’s just cookies and milk, but I’m trying to shave off as many calories from the day as I can without drawing too much attention.  Yes, that’s the eating disorder, but it’s also me, the human, that doesn’t want to gain weight.  I’m not comfortable with it.  Not even another .5 lb.  My team knows that.  They know I’m going to fight kicking and screaming to any meal plan increase.  I don’t know what’s so magical about PHP that they think they can suddenly get me to change my mind and start eating more and suddenly think weight restoration is a good idea.  

Yes, I want to be healthy and I want recovery, but no I don’t want the changes that come with it.  It’s so weird because I’ve been through drug rehab and all that bullshit about having to go through all those layers to be pain free… non-existent.  I went to rehab because I was tired of waking up and figuring when and how I was going to get cocaine for the day.  Then I had to figure out how to do it and not get caught or bitched at.  I had to try and keep a job where it was really fucking obvious that I was blitz out of my mind.   And that shit was expensive as fuck.  $9000/month for over a year.  And it wasn’t even a good blow.  Shit was cut all to hell and probably had fentanyl in it.  The only thing that really feels familiar is that I was willing to let the drugs kill me, just like I was willing to let the ED kill me.  Similarly, I don’t want to die from drugs or an ED.  But that doesn’t mean that I have acceptance. And with drugs it was so simple.  Go to rehab, 29 days later I checked myself out AMA and went home.  I had one relapse 6 months later that lasted 2 weeks and cost about $2500, just before Christmas.  Then I told on myself.  I call Danielle and told her what was going on.  She came and got me.  She didn’t yell, she didn’t fuss, she just told me she loved me and was glad I came to her.  I haven’t touched the shit since and I haven’t even really been tempted.

But this eating disorder gives me something so much better than a 15 minute high.  It gives me the confidence that I really wanted.  It makes me feel the way I want to feel all the time.  This eating disorder is so much harder to quit than drugs.  Danielle said I’d fail at this.  That I’d say whatever I had to say to get out of here and then I’d go right back to what I was doing.  I’m still here, I asked them to let me stay longer.  And now I’m committed to going to PHP.  I don’t want to, I want to quit and go home.  But I’m going.  I just hope the lightbulb goes off sometime soon because I’m getting tired of lying to myself and saying I want recovery when really all I want is to stop eating, retrain my brain to ignore hunger again and start losing the weight that I’ve gained while I’ve been here.  I’m waiting for that, “Eureka!” moment that has yet to materialize.  When do I get my moment? 

It’s not tonight.  Tonight I’m refusing HS snack.  Sorry to disappoint my Aries kindred.  I really like being in there with them at our table. It’s a special group, they really are my people.   But if I go, I’m going to eat my snack and I don’t want to eat the snack, so I don’t want to go.  Ohhhh.  Such a conundrum. 

I ate some cookies, I took a few sips of milk, but I was mostly able to restrain myself to about ¾ of one cookie and 2 sips of milk.  I drank all my water and all my tea to take up as much of the 15 minutes as I could and once time had elapsed, I stopped munching, save 2 very small bites.  It’s really the fluids, the tea in particular that allowed me to slow down my eating and restrict.  I like to have control over how much I eat.  It gives me a sense of power and accomplishment.  I feel kind of bad if that influences anyone else, but I just wanted to cut my calories today and given that it’s a long weekend, I won’t have to answer for it until Tuesday.  So I would count today as a success.  I ate all of my breakfast, because I like breakfast, even though bagels aren’t my favorite.  I ate my broccoli and one square of grilled cheese for lunch.  See above, I got upset with Sara and probably for the wrong reason, but it was a real feeling and I left the cafe because I couldn’t handle it.  I attended dinner and completed it, it was just a PB&J which is pretty easy.

Tonight we had girls night in Splataaah with eye masks  courtesy of Ella which was so fun.  I feel so included.  Priscilla said it made me look so cute.  Why are you so nice to me Priscilla?  I have such a girl crush on you.  Not romantic, totally platonic, but just fascinated with you and your brain.  You’re so much fun to be around.  I hope we get to sit together at meals all the rest of this week.  I just love hearing what you have to say.  Your hot takes on literally everything.  And I know I’ve said it already, but I LOVE when you challenge my thoughts.  You’ve never made me feel weird or awkward and you let me be young and fun with you.  I hope we can be friends after we’re out of here.  You just seem like someone that I could find myself texting with or sharing my window shopping sprees.  You’ve got such a great style, cute makeup and an adorable smile.  And you’re soooo charming.  You’ll make a fantastic ambassador, no doubt.  For your age, you’re already so worldly and cultured.  You appreciate the old and the new which makes you unique for someone your age.  I adore you.  Thanks for making me feel so included.  You’re a unique special person with a wonderful brain.  It works overtime.  I’m gushing, but I feel like you’re my people.  It’s hard to find my people.

1:57 AM GET OUT OF MY DREAMS.  She was there again, torturing me, taunting me with her cruel words.  Smashing glass on our bed.  Claiming she’s moving away.  Refusing to be close.  Tormenting me by bringing that person in our home and letting him fall in love, so that she had a “sure thing,” like she once told me once about him.  It’s cruel.  

6:17 AM  I fell back asleep and I know I continued to dream, but I don’t think it was this same dream.  That particular dream was especially chilling because we were having a conversation.  I remember talking to her and hearing her voice talk back to me.  That’s unusual for my dreams, they’re usually like silent films.  But her voice is so vivid, it’s still fresh in my mind and it’s almost like she was taunting me.  Everyone keeps saying, “It will get better”, but my question is, WHEN.  We haven’t spoken since February, not even a text.  She sent one email when I checked in here that was positive and then another a month later telling me she was coming to take my cat.  Beyond that, she texted my mother a few times, who she hates, to be a go between. My point being, it’s not like I’m holding onto something that’s already dead.  I have accepted that she’s never coming back and that she’ll never look at me again with kind eyes.  Radical acceptance, right?  I’ve accepted that the kind and caring person who accepted and loved all people never really existed.  She’s really just a bigoted redneck with fancy grammar and a Karen haircut.  She’s not special, she’s a narcissist. She never loved me, she abused me and used me to get things she wanted.  It wasn’t support that she was providing to help our family flourish, but rather it was an opportunity to elevate herself in the eyes of her family and friends, all of whom are successful and wealthy.  She wanted that life, but she wasn’t willing or isn’t smart enough to do the work to get there.  I think it’s more of a lack of will.  She’s not dumb.

So why won’t she stop hounding me in my dreams?  We always believed we were connected in some sort of spiritual or metaphysical way.  I could sense her even from 2000 miles away.  And I know that it sounds crazy, but I still believe it’s true.  Getting a divorce doesn’t make that connection go away.  And if that’s the case, I fear I’ll never be free of the thoughts, the dreams and the hope that one day, things will become normal.  Normal.  What does that even mean?  I don’t know anymore, because I can hardly remember what a normal night was.  Before the kid, before the drugs, and before all the rules changed. Before she painted me as a villain and herself as a victim.  

At least the busyness of the morning is enough to help push some of those thoughts aside.  Thank god dreams dissipate as rapidly as they crawl through your brain.  I’m not a morning person, per se, but I do like the busyness of the morning.  So many things to accomplish and usually such a limited amount of time to do it.  It works well with my ADHD.  I work much better under pressure, with a deadline or a goal of some sort or another.  I always did well on papers in school and I rarely started them sooner than a couple days before they were due.  And I almost never wrote a second draft, I just tried to make each sentence count.  So even if that meant spending 18 straight hours writing and rewriting the same paragraph until I got it perfect.  I suck at editing, my eyes just scan over the text and small errors, like a missed comma, just glide right by eyes. Since I was never much for rules, I almost always relied on the way a word, sentence or paragraph sounded as a whole.   

But morning is the time when all of the most important things happen.  There’s the waking up process, which usually starts with one eye open and a silent, “goddamnit,” followed by a yawn and stretch, which is my own personal way of acknowledging that my brain has switched from recharge to function mode.  Then there’s the denial stage where I know I’m awake, but I pretend that rolling over and closing my eyes is actually going to make some sort of difference, but rarely, if ever does.  Following the denial, there’s a flip of the blankets with my legs and exposing my body, which is rarely covered with more than a small piece of thin cloth. Here is the exception, I wear pajamas.  At home, not so much.  Here it’s such a blitz.  Lying in bed, mostly awake, from about 4:30 until 6am.  Then all the fun happens at once… get out of bed, make bed, pick an outfit, layout outfit, get in line for Splataaah and doing all bathroom stuff (weight, pee in a cup, shower, hair, makeup, brush teeth), get in line for meds, journal and have breakfast.  Today went well overall.  

The vibe is slightly lower than yesterday, but still overall positive.  I need to make sure that I’m engaging my friends that are struggling today.  That includes Betty, Audra, Priscilla and Raine.  I’m using distress tolerance, labeling emotions and opposite action today.  I’m also going to try and urge surf my body checking.  I haven’t been that focused on fighting those urges while being here.  I just feel like I’ve been so focused on the food aspect of treatment and trying to meet goals or milestones that working on actual urges has taken more of a backseat.  

Chris is once again our MC today, which means options for groups, which makes me so anxious.  But that’s what distress tolerance is for, right?  I do find that not picking the group topics keeps my brain more calm and steady.  I’m also going to use headphones to drown out the sound of the discussion.  I’m happy to let others pick, my goal is just showing up.  All the choices seem pretty good anyways.

I feel distracted today for some reason.  Like my brain just isn’t working at full speed, almost like a brain fog that’s distorting my focus.  I wonder if it’s my newest medication, Buspar.  From my Dr. Googling I learned that Buspar works by regulating the balance between dopamine and serotonin.  But since I have multiple medications working on those same neurotransmitters, I wonder if it will make the Vyvanse less effective.  Ugh.  Where is my focus?  The conversations around me are loud and my own thoughts are quieter.  Maybe that’s the point though, right?   Slow my brain down just enough that I’m not rapidly overthinking every single thought I have.  I don’t want to get up and leave the room.  I want to sit still and feel the discomfort.  Let it flow through me and then hope that it disperses after some time.   

My main intention from this last week was to stay present and try not to let negative thoughts control my actions.  I’ve been semi-successful.  On some days I’ve done much better than others.  But it’s the loud Danielle days that really send me for a loop (so trite, sorry).  Like the dream or just the wishful thinking and it seems like during the inbetweens is when it is the loudest.  Sometimes music helps, but not always.  Also I know there’s going to be downtime in a few minutes, because I need to charge my laptop.  That’s my least favorite.  Because I have no outlet.  Well, I do have my journal and I’ve found I like doodling in there as much as I enjoy writing.  I should have used my time here at Willow to get good at sketches again.  I used to be much better.  But also, my art brain has been hard to access recently.  It just feels like all my energy is going elsewhere and I can’t find focus in any one art project long enough to complete it.  I don’t know why writing is so much easier than painting, sketching or even music.  

This dream I had was so real and vivid, but what made it different from most of my dreams was the conversation we were having (more like an argument).  The thing that stands out the most was Danielle smashing glass on our bed and her choice in a replacement for me.  Someone ultra masculine, but not intelligent.  Also, very much not the person she actually chose over me.  It was weird.  And her voice, it was so loud and vivid and sounded just like her.  And my tears felt so real as she yelled at me and told me she was never coming back.  The bed is particularly significant because she made such a big deal out of no longer sharing a bed with me.  That was one of the most hurtful things that happened during the breakup.  I felt so empty and cold at night without her for months.  Maybe that’s another reason for not wanting to go home.

I want a new bed frame, new box spring and mattress. Something that feels like mine, not ours.  Something that doesn’t hold her ghost.  And there needs to be a new arrangement of some sort.  Something opposite of how it is now.  I’d almost choose another room to live in, but I don’t want to move back to the party bedroom, that would just be too much.  I don’t want to paint the room again, but I need to redecorate.  Pull the fake plants down from the ceiling and the projector screen (it needs to be further away anyways.  And the closet, I’m going to fill it with my clothes and clean out any remnants of her stuff.  The two or three things she left for whatever reason.  God, that bag that she loved so much and just left behind.  Even before we were cut off, she was trying to erase me.  I feel that even now and I think that’s what the dream was about, our struggle, the push-pull ebb and flow of our battles.  The trauma bond that kept me begging her to come back and stay.  It’s the same bond that makes me want to pick up the phone everyday and send her a message or call.  I don’t even know if she has that number anymore.  I won’t actually do it, that would be the wrong decision for so many reasons.  The primary one being that anything I do or say, she’s going to use against me.  She’s no longer a friend, ally or companion.  I hate saying or writing those words.  Radically accepting the finality of it all.  Closing a chapter before I feel like it came to a conclusion.  Just an abrupt end, like the Sopranos finally.  Scene and… darkness.  A living death of my favorite and closest friend.  Oh, it’s so much to process.  So much to think about.  I’m 3/10 on processing big emotions today.  I don’t feel like I’m ready or that I ever will be.  

Maybe Jude and I should sell the house and buy another one.  I doubt we’d find one as big, but do we even need that much space.  It’s just space to fill with things we don’t really need, right?  George Carlin said we buy a small space to fill with things until we need a bigger space to fill with more things, until we need a bigger space to fill with things and the cycle continues.  What is all that space for anyways, it’s just me and Jude.  I don’t think that’s going to change any time soon.  The downside is Jude’s perfect garden in the front, we’re unlikely to have anything like that where we move and she’s so proud of it.  But it also feels so much like Danielle.  Those pieces of her keep my heart spinning in neverending circles.  But unlike her, I’m not trying to erase all memories, only the bad ones.  I don’t want us to never have existed, I just want the fights, the berating, the yelling, the hitting… I want all the good and none of the bad.  It’s vicious, this thought loop.  It hurts from my toes all the way to my eyes.  I feel the tension.  Today, it’s this that is driving my anxiety.  

I talked briefly with Priscilla about this and she said, “dreams aren’t real,” which is true.  But the feelings and emotions that result from a dream, even if it’s just my brain trying to protect me in some way or…???  The feelings are real.  I used to get so mad at Danielle when she’d have a bad dream about me and wake up angry.  I thought it was dumb, but it makes much more sense now.  These vivid dreams provoke real emotions and I think I have to process them just the same way I process any emotions.  Sit with the pain, feel the feeling, let it dissipate, right?  But what of the parts that sit in my subconscious?  The parts I don’t distinctly remember, but are nonetheless there.  They trigger these feelings, too, and it’s almost like the invisible bully that you can’t confront or fight back against.  Are those the ones perpetuating my anxiety?  Feeding my ED? Are they the reason I can’t just close the chapter and start a new one?

I wish that I wasn’t weird sometimes.  People find happiness or at least contentment in bracelet making or building a Lego project and I’m glad for them.  But tuning out my thoughts enough to work on something like that feels impossible.  Meditating is impossible.  The only exception is music and usually complicated music.  Not the songs I play, but the songs I wish I could create.  I’m my own worst critic, I’m sure, but I also lack the technical knowledge and skill to create songs like that, I guess.  Maybe not.  We can control our thoughts, therefore we can be whatever we choose to be.  It’s a matter of focus and knowing exactly what you want those thoughts to be.  I think that’s where most people get hung up.  You can be rich, you can be a good Mom, you can be a great artist, you can solve world hunger, but it takes laser targeted focus, down the micrometer or smaller.  The power of thought is so underrated.  Just because Oprah isn’t talking about it anymore doesn’t mean it’s stopped working.  

What about the power in just letting your thoughts land where they may and accepting the things that they produce on their own?  What if I don’t want to control my thoughts, I want them to fly freely from my brain to my fingertips, my tongue or through my legs to my feet and toes.  I want them to be positive though.  Is that the same as trying to control them?  Is positive thinking just muscle memory like so many other skills we hone and develop?  Music is muscle memory.  It’s about hearing the scale in your head and allowing your finger tips or lips and tongue to project the right pitch and tone.  You practice the skill of building those memories and they become automatic.    

I’d like to make this a turning point in the journal.  A moment of clarity that leads to automatic positive thinking.  A moment where I decide for myself to choose this whole recovery thing.  I’d like for the sun to shine on me and it starts to align in my favor.  Maybe Mercury could do something special with Mars or the stars could swirl and dance in my song.  And let my song be that moment.  I’d like for that to happen and truthfully, I feel really good today.  I have a level of community and friendship that is in the making that is really special.  I love when two people find each other fascinating and are stimulated by the other’s thinking, even if it’s radically different.  I love feeling like someone takes my words for what they are, even if they are the wrong word.  And I really love being challenged in thought when the thoughts that challenge mine create a more cohesive vein of logic.  Those are the days I feel connected.  Those are the days that my eccentricity or weirdness or whatever you choose to call it makes me feel special, loved and appreciated.  I love that even though I’m older than some, people can still feel my youth.  That’s how I’m feeling today, and it’s nice.  

I think it’s fair and accurate to say that the thing most missing from my life has been human connection and bonding.  Since the transition, I’ve cut off the friends that wouldn’t support me which left me with a huge gap in human connection.  And it’s not like I’m missing those friends anyways, they were toxic and as Josie said, “Why keep people around in your life that don’t accept you as you are?”  She was so right.  Leaving my last job was the best decision I’ve made in the last year.  I deserve friends that not only respect me for who I am, but appreciate me, love me, cherish me.  I am not broken.  There is nothing wrong with me being who I am and expressing myself as such.  It doesn’t make me weird, it makes me authentic and authentic people are the stars that shine the brightest.  I’ve always had a flair and glow, I just took off the mask and I’m letting it show.  And I do feel good about myself.  I don’t have to feel shame or embarrassment.  The world is changing and people that fall outside of the norms are becoming normal and revered.  There is of course resistance to this change, just like all social revolutions.  But, despite what the news says, despite the despicable politicians, podcasters, youtubers and bloggers that fear what they don’t understand, the world is becoming a more accepting and loving place.  The hatred of old religion is dying a slow, but noticeable death and that’s why the loud and vocal minority of people who would have me thrown in an asylum, silenced or shamed are waving their arms, flailing their bodies and stomping their feet.  They

My thoughts are slower today and I’m not sure how I feel about that.  I did end up taking clonazepam after snack, because the anxiety would have kept me from participating in group, which was actually really fun.  We played mafia.

My computer died and I thought it died the final death.  But it was just the battery.  Anyways, that’s why this ended so abruptly.

Yesterday was one of the most distressing days that i’ve had in a while.I skipped all meals and snacks starting with lunch.  They are going to ask me today why I did that and I don’t have a good answer other than I just feel drained being around other people and anxiety is really high.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t like going to groups anymore because I don’t have anywhere to sit.  Katy and Belle totally stole my couch and I can tell Ella isn’t all that keen on me sitting with her, maybe because I’m too fidgety or something.  I don’t think she’s doing it to be mean or anything, I think maybe she just likes her space, which I get.  But it leaves me feeling kind of pushed out of group and like I don’t have anywhere to go.  It feels like a dumb thing to be upset about and it kind of is.  And it’s not like I’m upset with any particular person or anything like that.  I’m just frustrated by the overall situation.  

Also, Chris’s groups are really hard.  He always does really hard material and it’s just more than my brain can process at the moment.  I’ve been ruminating on Danielle thoughts too much and there’s been too much daydreaming about things going back to the way they were.  I know in reality that’s never going to happen and I should just let it go.  That’s easier said than done though, I am still grieving in a big way with Danielle.  I think that’s what triggered the anxiety yesterday.  That and just not wanting to be around anyone.  I was really sensitive to light and noise.  Being in the cafe made me very uncomfortable and to be perfectly honest, I intended to skip lunch completely.  I would have if Courtney hadn’t come and asked me to eat with her.  There was nothing challenging about eating a quesadilla.  It’s a simple food, I know what’s in it.  It’s not a ton of calories, I don’t think anyway.  So, yeh, kind of a wasted lunch with the dietician if you ask me.  But she’s the expert.

I plan on asking Dr. Parsley to step down to PHP next Tuesday, the 26th, instead of waiting until June 1st.  He’s going to ask why the change and I need to be prepared to give a good answer.  I think I have several reasons.  The biggest one is that when I made a pros and cons list I came up with over 40 reasons to step down to PHP and 9 reasons to stay.  That’s pretty telling.  I’m ready, I don’t need to take up space here any longer.  Someone else needs this bed.  Most of the challenges or reasons for wanting to stay don’t really make sense.  And besides, I want to be free to move around.  

Now the thing that I’m not going to tell them is that I plan to restrict even more in PHP.  I’m going to disappear around meal times.  I’m going to skip groups.  I’m not going to eat HS snack, ever.  I’m not going to cook for myself on the weekends.  I have no intention of completing the program.  As soon as I can, I’m going to quit.  I just don’t think I’m ready for recovery.  But let’s keep that a secret between you and me.  

Recovery means giving up too much for me.  If I made a pros and cons list for continuing the program and recovery, I would have 100 reasons to keep the ED and like 4 for recovery.  It’s just a fact.  I need to get back to life.  I want my kid back.  I want my home back.  I want my pets back.  And I want my body back.  I don’t like the push-pull of trying to get better.  I’d rather just let the ED pull me.  It’s easier.  I will never aim for a target weight of 150 lbs.  That fact alone is enough for me to say, I don’t want recovery.  There’s nothing in it for me.  I can still keep my values (Juniper, primarily) and my ED.  I don’t have to choose.  I didn’t get very sick at all from the ED.  I just need to up my caloric intake slightly and I’ll keep my organs working just fine.  I intend to hide the ED much better this time and not get caught.  I never want to find myself back here.  I just want to go home.  I want to be in charge of all the aspects of my life.  I don’t need assistance from anyone.  It’s always been just me.  Well, now it’s me and Jude and I intend to take the best possible care of her that I can.  I’m going to get the house paid off and work my ass off and try to save as much money as I can.  I’m going to give juniper what she needs.  No one else is going to do it.  And I guess my radical acceptance of the month is:  it’s on me.  Danielle is gone.  She’s not coming back.  It’s on me.

The SI has improved.  It’s not 100% better, but it’s been silenced enough that I can push through it and get through the day.  I’m less impulsive, I don’t think I’ll hurt myself at home.  The anxiety is bad, but that’s mostly because of how restricted my movement is.  Once I get out of here and I’m able to use that energy for something else, I’ll be a lot happier and less anxious.  Also, I’ve got this writing thing that I’m doing and quite enjoy, most of the time.  I want to set up the blog and start posting.  And maybe some readers somewhere will find me.  I’m going to make it all organic and I’m not going to include many, if any pictures.  I’m doing that on purpose.  I don’t want to be a star, but I do want others that are dealing with similar issues to have something they can read.  I want them to see the non-linear path that I’m on and not feel so alone.  And at some point, I’d like to publish a book.  I don’t know that my writing will ever be good enough for that.  Danielle always kind of hated my writing.  It’s not super technical, I don’t use super complex sentence structures or word play or anything specifically fantastic.  But I have been writing brutally honest.  More honest than I’ve ever been in my entire life.  There’s something to be said for that.  I think that’s why Against Me! was so popular and so good.  Gut wrenching, disgustingly brutal, radical honesty.  People dig that.  It’s not sunshine and rainbows, because life isn’t sunshine and rainbows.  

There are days when I’m going to do nothing but rant and rave and complain.  There are days when I’m going to curl up under a blanket and hide like a mouse.  And then there are going to be good days, where I have positive things to say.  Where I feel like I want to recover and take steps towards that goal, maybe.  But the thing that I do promise is that I’m not going to hold back any thoughts.  I’m going to talk about myself and my experience in a way that is bold, radical and truthful.  And if, by chance, some editor out there sees the blog and thinks there could be a book hidden in there, that would be great.  And if not and I never have a single reader, that’s fine, too.  The goal isn’t fame and fortune.  My values have moved away from being rich or famous or important.  My values are now about honesty and truth.  

And the truth is, I have mental illness that I’m going to contend with for the rest of my life.  It wasn’t diagnosed until I was 42 and we’re still figuring out exactly what it is and how to manage it.  I don’t feel like we’ve gotten that much closer, but I do have hope that one day we will.  And in the meantime, let this journal serve as a map of the journey.  The only promise that I’ll make is that I’m going to always ask for help when I need it and will never abandon Juniper.  She is my entire life.  She’s the reason for waking up and the reason to fight.  Because she needs someone strong to fight for her.  My promise to her, before she was born, was that I would seek out and help her find every opportunity possibly available to her and I intend to do that.  

So yeh, take from this what you will.  I’m grey.  Not good. Not bad.  I just am.  Today I just exist in the grey space of life.  My colors may change throughout the day, week, month or year.  But today I am grey and that’s ok.  Onward.

Now it’s time to get up, make the bed, take a shower and push through this day.  It’s going to be brutal, but I’m going to push through.

I wore a dress to sleep in last night and when Betty saw this morning she got all excited.  She loves skirts and dresses.  She even offered to let me borrow a short dress a few weeks ago.  Maybe on my last day here I’ll take her up on the offer.  But, she got all excited because she thought I was going to wear that today.  I decided to be brave.  I’m wearing my green skirt just for her.  I’m not all that sure about the quality of my leg shaving, I may look like a wildebeest, but that’s just a risk I’m going to have to take.  I do, however, wish I had some cute socks to wear with my mary janes.  I’m over thinking this.  No makeup today either.  Going natural and practical, except the skirt, which I’ll probably change out of when they open rooms before lunch.

I can still taste a pill that got stuck in my mouth this morning and it’s disgusting.  The kids are whispering in the corner, I wonder what secret plot they’re putting together.  Maybe they’re going to burn this place down.  Maybe they’ll start a riot, like they do in prison.  Set some toilet paper on fire, throw it at the guards.  Take them hostage and hold them in the group room until a list of demands are met.  Real 2-ply toilet paper, 2 cups of coffee at breakfast and 1 cup for lunch, more outside time after each group, hoodies officially allowed in the cafe and last but not least, yoga for all, starting on day one and every single day.  Is that too much to ask?  Then one of the hostages goes down.  Mind you, we’re not violent people, but we’ll use our secret stash of hair dye to turn their hair orange.  Not blonde, fucking orange and burnt to a crisp, so there’s no fixing that shit.  It’s going to be a long regrowing process that could take years.  Nothing is worse than burnt orange hair.  NOTHING.  But that’s just an idea, not sure what they’re really talking about.  Maybe it’s all phase II business.  Maybe it’s vacation.  I don’t know.  I hate not being in on a secret.  But it’s ok.  They’re kids.  I’m a grown up, automatic exclusion.

I feel like there’s going to be some hate that I’m stepping down without going to Phase II or III.  Because Phase II and III are just an illusion of progress.  They have nothing to do with the actual medical recommendations.  That’s essentially what Dr. Parsley told me.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t cause a stir.  I almost want to be one of those, “Disappear in the morning without saying a word,” cases.  Like, I’m not particularly close with anyone and I don’t think I’ll be missed.  Actually, my negative attitude is probably more problematic than I am helpful.  Maybe I shouldn’t say that.  This morning, the new girl, whose name I don’t know yet (oops) , stole my shower spot and I was kind of bitch about it. I could have been nicer.  I mean I didn’t yell at her or anything, but I wasn’t super polite.  I get protective over my shower time.  But, the point of this isn’t that I was mean.  The point is when I got in line for meds I was late and that’s the reason I jump in the shower so early.  But, Belle let Rachel go ahead of her, because she wanted to do makeup.  And Rachel let me go ahead of her, but she has to time her insulin just right.  So anyways, I ended up at the same spot that I normally end up for morning meds.  And the real point being, Rachel does care.  Rose does, too.  I know that.  

I went to the med window this morning to get my razor and who’s there, fucking Nurse Bailey, who says, “Clara, nice to see you.”  What the fuck.  Shut up Bailey.  You think you can be a cunt to me when I’m in crisis and then just say something nice and I’m going to let that shit go.  Fuck that.  I’m a girl, we hold grudges and don’t let go.  I’m not letting go of that shit.  Fuck you Bailey.  Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.  I give zero shits about your pleasantries.  I won’t be bribed with your crooked awkward smile and your soft kind words.  I won’t be charmed.  Take it and shove it…  oh is that negative?  Let’s reframe.  RULE NUMBER ONE, BITCH, DO NOT BE A BITCH.

I feel pretty good after breakfast.  I sat with Allie, Priscilla, Anelise and Betty at our table today.  The conversation is so good when Anelise and Priscilla are at the table, they just have such a good vibe and so many interesting things to talk about.  I feel like I’m learning new things every time we talk.  Priscilla was telling me about her favorite Audrey Hepburn movies.  I realized I need to watch more of them.  I ADORE Audrey Hepburn and Priscilla has such an analytical mind, so hearing her take on the deeper meaning of movies is really cool.  And I realized yesterday that Anelise has a certain cadence and enthusiasm in everything she talks about, so I love to hear her talk.  The vibes are just so positive this morning.  Everyone has been complimenting me on my skirt and cherry coke shirt (which is apparently banned, because it’s food related), but everyone loves it.  I’ll take a picture later.  For my intentions today, I said I would attend groups and snacks and I was grateful for my friend Betty.  She encouraged me to wear the skirt and made all kinds of positive comments.  Then she gave me kudos after intentions and said she was glad I was there and she hoped to see me attend groups and meals today.   I was excited to be sitting with Priscilla and Anelise, because it’s been at least a week since I’ve sat with her and she just brings good energy wherever she goes.  She called my outfit, “so cute” and Katy said something similar and she liked, “the way I styled it.”  Even Eliana had something sweet to say about it.  I guess I just really appreciate the encouragement.

I was going to ask my team to move up my stepdown date, but I think it’s really important to me that I make Phase II before stepping down.  I realize it’s not necessary, but It’s good to have a goal to work towards next week. I think that’s part of the reason I haven’t been pushing myself the last two weeks.  I just felt like there was nothing to work towards.  But I’m on the same level as Anelise and Priscilla and I think if we all stepped up next week,  before I get stepped down to PHP, it’d be a really cool accomplishment.

Chris is going over groups and as I said yesterday, that brings a lot of anxiety for me, so I’m trying to zone out a little bit and let the rest of the group pick which groups we do.  I’m going to stay in the group room (exposure therapy) and either listen to music or play guitar.  They all think it’s neat that I’ve seen so many 90’s musicians.  I want to play “Say it ain’t so” for them.  I kind of feel like a rock star in my skirt and cherry coke shirt.  Oh, and both Anelise and Jake have a Cherry Coke shirt.  Unfortunately, they didn’t bring it with them, I wanted to have a cherry coke shirt day.  Oh well.  

Let’s talk about paralysis by analysis for a minute and how it applies to my recovery, my writing, and my song writing.  The concept is one I learned from marketing forums.  The idea was simple, if you come up with an idea for an ad, be it an angle, a photo, ad copy or anything else, you shouldn’t think very hard about it.  Instead, you should make 5 variations of that idea.  Four of which have only 1 small change and a fifth that looks or feels completely different.  Then you should test all of them and see if there’s a winner.  WIth music, because I’ve always wanted to write amazing songs, I focus way too much on my lyrics and just get frustrated and quit.  But something I learned from Pablo Picasso, Kurt Cobain and others is that you should just throw the idea out there and if it sucks, keep doing it anyways until you have created your masterpiece.  With Kurt Cobain, it was listening to his old demo tapes where he would just say silly words that fit the melody if he didn’t know what else to say.  I listened to a Guns N’ Roses demo of November Rain once, too, and it was the same thing.  It sounded nothing like the final polished version.  It was full of mistakes and parts where he was totally off pitch.  At the Picasso museum in Paris (my favorite museum that I visited) there were tons of his sketches and doodles that eventually turned into masterpieces.  On one canvas, he had painted over it so many times with white paint, it looked like an inch of bad idea that he scraped until he finally painted something he was happy with.  Danielle has this same issue with writing.  She’s a fantastic technical writer and writes really interesting essays.  But she loves writing and literature so much that she’s afraid to put anything out, because of the fear of rejection.  I get it.  It’s the same as my music paralysis. 

Writing this journal has been the opposite experience for me.  I don’t know if I’ll ever even let someone else read it.  I go back and forth.  I don’t care about grammar or technical writing skills.  It’s all just been jotting down the things that my brain is churning over.  There’s a lot of repeated gibberish, quite a bit of ranting and lots of ups and downs.  But because I’m not trying to write something great, I can at least be honest.  It also reminds me of the play I wrote with Muriel (we should talk more about her later, she’s one of the coolest persons that I’ve ever met and kind of my idol) and the other French group.  It started as an idea with a specific structure.  But when I joined the writing group (We called ourselves Five-to-Nine Productions) I just got to spit out ideas for dialog.  I wasn’t worried about whether they would like it or not.  Rather, I just threw around ideas until we all came to the conclusion that it was the right words for that scene.  It felt like Picasso painting over his canvas until he found the right shape, color or texture.  

With writing this journal, it’s more about getting it all down, everything that pops in my head and then worrying about editing or changing things later.  I think that’s similar to how Marguerite Duras (Danielle’s favorite French author) wrote.  Well, except that she got really hammered when she would write.  I think I’m beyond that.  I hate drinking and I don’t feel like it makes me particularly creative and smoking weed might make me too lazy.  Cocaine would be interesting, it does make me play piano like Mozart.  But, alas, that chapter of my life is closed and I have no intention of reopening that book, there are just too many negative consequences.  But I don’t think my rough draft has to be perfect or poetic in nature.  It just has to be real. 

If I apply this same concept, paralysis by analysis to my recovery journey, maybe there’s something to be said for just showing up.  Paint the canvas as many times as it needs to be painted.  The final result will be something beautiful if we don’t get caught up on one particular idea.  The idea that you think is going to be most important, may end up not mattering at all. And the silly test that you give yourself could wind up being your “why” for recovery.

Priscilla just spent 15 minutes chatting with me during outside time and I gained so much insight just hearing her talk.  We run thoughts by each other and I love when she challenges the word I use to describe something.  She has a precision to her vocabulary that is really neat.  One of my favorite parts about writing (and that writing ad copy helped me get closer to mastering) is precision of vocabulary.  Finding the shortest, most succinct way to say something, not necessarily the most beautiful or poetic.  When writing ads that part is super important, because your goal is to strike an emotion in your reader in the blink of an eye.  Very few people view a website because they want to click on an ad and many people (the ones that aren’t using ad blockers) are actively trying to ignore your advertisement.  They’re on a site for a reason.  Of course, if you’re targeting correctly, hopefully your ad at least somewhat coincides with the page that it’s on.  But that’s not always the case, specifically with branding or if you’re targeting by demographics and not subject.  With ads I was always challenging the way it looked or sounded and then of course tested it.  With recovery or treatment, I should be challenging the way I think about my ED and the core causes of it.  I should be trying to find the best, most precise words to describe what emotions I’m feeling.  Hearing Priscilla challenge my word choice is incredibly helpful.  I love words, but reading is so challenging for me, I tend to get too distracted.  So my vocabulary is more limited than avid readers like Priscilla and Abigail.

Something Priscilla and I have in common is we both feel like we interrupt or get impatient when we’re talking with other people.  It’s embarrassing to me when it happens, I feel like a rude jerk.  It’s not that I’m not listening or not interested in what other people say.  It’s that my thoughts come so fast, but also are so fleeting, I’m afraid it will be gone before I have a chance to speak it.  I admire Priscilla’s courage to be herself and speak her mind and how she doesn’t get caught up worrying about how it’s perceived.  So much of my anxiety is just feeling embarrassed that I’ve said something dumb or out of place.  I also worry that my out of the box thinking is not going to be received.  Is being weird or eccentric good or bad?  Priscilla challenged my thought  that it’s a negative thing and I can partially agree.  But sometimes my thoughts feel so strange or like they don’t fit the conversation because I relate to things in a different way.  I know that can be positive.  For instance, I love problem solving, because I’m good at finding solutions and work arounds for complicated or challenging problems.  But I’ve also found that sometimes my thoughts don’t land the way that I mean them to in conversation.  I want to take some of Priscilla’s courage and apply it to myself.  Part of the reason we are here is to learn to be ourselves and challenge our own self doubt and negative self talk.  Nearly all of us admit that it’s a problem.  It’s important that I find a way to reframe my self doubt in such a way that I can feel good about participating in conversation without feeling awkward, weird or anxious at what I’m thinking.

On a side note, we also discussed how I could publish this without violating patient confidentiality.  I’m going to use pseudonyms instead of real names and if they want, they can pick their own name.  It’s kind of fun that way and much less revealing.  I’m also going to remove anything that directly describes the name of the facility or the unit we’re in, so that everyone feels safe.  I’m also going to remove the city and state, just to be on the safe side of things.  I would never want to violate someone’s confidentiality or make them afraid to share or be vulnerable because of some stupid blogger writing down what they say.  But also, I think it’s so important to share what I hear and talk about both with other patients and staff.

Rounds went better than expected.  I’ve set my goal of making Phase II before I step down in a week from Tuesday, which gives me the weekend to make sure I’m meeting all my goals, such as attending groups and completing meals.  We’re increasing the buspar dose to 10mg.  I keep waiting for Lexapro and Buspar to do their magic.  Maybe they are working some, I can’t tell in terms of anxiety.

This, too, came up with Priscilla, in regards to how and where we find motivation.  There is a big part of me that says, “Phase II is dumb and it’s not a measure of success”, but Priscilla pointed out that it could be seen as a marker or milestone or inch stone of the treatment process.  The real values that will help me recover come from within and it’s okay if I don’t know what they all are yet.  I have some and they are Juniper and surgery.  

That’s enough for now.  Others will come as I progress through the treatment process.  My team seems satisfied meeting me where I’m at and letting me set the pace for the remainder of my time at Willow.  I want to get the most out of being here.  It’s a unique experience and I’m lucky to have been afforded the chance to come and to stay as long as I have.  I need to recognize my own self worth and accept that the people around me do value my presence, both peers and staff.  Betty said it out loud this morning and that means a lot to me.

Group ideas today, pass or don’t talk as much, less pressure, listen to music (maybe one earbud), appreciate my new seat (I kinda like it), stay positive and remember the value/goals, and STAY CALM.  I informed Chris (MC) that I might be quiet today and that I’m practicing distress tolerance.  I’m going to distract myself if it gets to be too much.  My main goal is sitting through the discomfort.  I don’t know why group has become so uncomfortable.  I don’t know what my brain is associating groups with some sort of distress.  I like group.  I thrive in group.  I enjoy hearing perspectives, being vulnerable and adding to the conversation.  I find group is where you learn the most about yourself and your peers.  Today’s first group is “validation” and that should be a positive topic.  I was going to take hydroxyzine, but Nurse Bailey said it was too early.  I was going to walk away and she asked if I wanted to take the clonazepam.  I was trying to save it for the afternoon panic, but I think she was right.  Don’t let the anxiety grow and snowball and then keep me away from lunch or groups.

What is validation?  What is a part of validation?  How do I define it?  Per Priscilla, it’s being seen authentically, both in struggles and successes.  Or seeking it as a means of escaping the uncomfortable.  Also, being understood. Permission and acceptance of who you are, to be yourself.  Seeing ‘me’ for who I am and not being lumped into a group that doesn’t necessarily fit. Meeting you where you’re at.

Pause on that group – Milo the kitty is here.  He’s a longhaired orange Mainecoon from the Ukraine and he’s the coolest.  He’s so fucking chill.  The group is flocking around him and he just eats the attention up like tuna.  I think he thrives on it. We all got our pictures taken with him.  I may or may not post later, lol.  He’s so cool.  I wish I had done makeup today.  I feel like my face looks so manly today.  I hate that.  Ugh.

Okay, back to validation.  I think I would define it as recognition of an expressed feeling or emotion, neither negative nor positive.  Katy says, “permission to take up space, beyond feelings and emotions, how you are raised”, so beyond just feelings or emotions to recognize opinions.  Ella sounds like me, she has trouble trusting and seeks validation and reassurance.  Per Chris, “not necessarily agree, but allowing for different views.  It can be a dialogue, back and forth or question asking, starting point for problem solving.”  Anelise, “can be understanding with disagreement.”  Raine is asking if calling a problem, “just your eating disorder talking”, but how that kind invalidates the fact that the ED is part of who you are.  My eating disorder is me, it’s a way to make a statement about how I’m hurting.  “I am my eating disorder,” pretty much everyone.  The challenge is balancing giving yourself grace, but also holding yourself accountable for your actions.  I guess two things can be true.  Being nourished makes it harder, because during the eating disorder, you give yourself permission to choose ED behaviors, but in recovery, the push-pull is very real.  Nourishment isn’t the cure, addressing the underlying causes is the correct treatment.

I’m using music to distract during group and I really like how I’m able to switch back and forth between the group and the music.  My brain automatically bounces back and forth as various things are happening.  I can have it as a score for group, with focus on the music when things are quiet, but lower when someone is saying something of value.  It’s a good discussion and this is definitely helpful.  “The Reckoner” is such a beautiful score for this discussion and currently my favorite Radiohead song. “Jigsaw Falling into Place” also works well.  I’m zoning out, I don’t want to be too consumed in this group.  I might need some space, but I don’t want to isolate.  Ugh.  I want to be part of the group.  I want to be strong and focused and present.

I’m ready for roomtime.  I need to recharge.  Chris’s groups are hard.  I want to send Brandon a cute message in my cherry coke shirt and skirt.  I’m going to ask Belle to do my makeup on Saturday for when Brandon comes.  I want to look young and my makeup to be expressive and exciting.  I want to pee, again.  At least peeing in a short skirt is a pretty simple task with a few steps.  Skirt up, panties down, pee, panties up, skirt down, make sure your shirt isn’t tucked into your skirt or panties all the way around.  Proceed to the hand washing station.  

Just reflecting on something Raine said just before we got out of grow.  Audra brought up the topic of weight restoration and how failing to restore weight increases likelihood of  relapse.  And Raine said what I’ve been thinking for the last few weeks, especially with the push-pull of the team and me on weight restoration.  She said, she feels like by the team she hits PHP, she’s already relapsing.  This is almost exactly what I’ve been trying to say for the last few days at least.  The more I feel like I’m gaining weight, the more I want to restrict and the more I find myself thinking negative or ED thoughts.  The more I want to hide in my room and not come out and the more I feel out of control.  I don’t want to gain weight.  I’m fine with the nourishment part, I guess.  I’m not excited about it, but I recognize I need to eat some meals to maintain a healthy body.  Okay, fine.  But I just can’t get on board with their weight restoration goals.  They just sound terrible.  I know I’ve ranted about this plenty, but it was nice to hear someone else say it.  I just feel like if I had to choose whose eating disorder most mimics my own, Raine would be it.  I mask well and I came in here and thought I wanted to recover.  But as time has dragged on and I’ve learned what recovery actually means, the further I feel from actually doing it.  I do want to make phase II before I leave Willow.  It’s important that I meet that criteria, both for myself and for my peers.  But back to what I was saying, I’m going to PHP, not with the goal of getting better, but with the goal of getting out of here.  I want to get my certificate saying I’m sane, healthy and responsible and I want to go home.  I’m going to PHP not because it’s the next exciting step in my journey, but because of the 40+ reasons I listed, none of them recovery related.  I want to have recovery oriented thoughts and I want to participate in the group, but not to heal, more so because I like everyone so much and I want to encourage them.  I want to see them recover and be healthy.  I feel like everyone deserves it, except me.  My ED does want to kill me and I’m struggling to challenge that thought, probably more so than any other thought.  “Most of your work is going to be done in PHP”, my team says.  How am I going to do work if I’m already checked out?  I don’t know.  I want to stay positive, but I am very skeptical.

Not to just repeat myself, but I wish I had done my makeup today.  Or even better, I wish I had let Betty do it.  At least some cherry red lips would be nice, maybe a little blush.  I had no idea this outfit would be so cute.  And now I feel like I’ve under achieved with my makeup and it all just kind of went to waste.  I have another opportunity on Saturday with my dress.  I think I’m going to wear it without the leggings.  I’m feeling bold.  But I do want to shave my legs again.  I guess I missed a few spots, oops.  In all fairness, I get full body waxed every five weeks.  This is the longest I’ve been without being waxed in several years.  I hope Josie is there when I finally get out of here.  She’s going to be so mad about the shaving, but she’ll just have to deal with it.  I want to wear dresses and skirts.  Enough.  I think they just called lunch.  Like it or not, here I come.

So far today, I’ve made it through Breakfast (easy because of coffee), group, snack, group, lunch.  I’m not feeling particularly swell, but I don’t feel awful yet either.  Mostly grey.  Not good. Not bad.  I just am.  I’d like to lean more yellow today, but I don’t know if it will happen.  The vibes have been good and the conversation not so heavy that I can’t make it though.  I wonder what’s next, I don’t want to go to group and my room is open, so my plan is simple.  Make it through this group and then hope the door is still open and go hide until snack.  I hope it’s not something super heavy.  I hope I can handle it.  I do have permission to walk out if needed.  To get space and air.  Ohhh nooooo, I think this might be community.  I’m not all that keen on community group.  It’s such a bitch fest and I don’t want to hold myself accountable for any of my partnering in illness behaviors.  Also, I miss Polly.  they would always say, “it’s ok” when I’d talk about something maladaptive that I was doing.  I really hate misgendering them.  Fuck me.  They/thems fuck with me, just because it doesn’t sound right in my brain.  I’m fine with the ENBY concept, just struggle with the grammar part.  Please don’t take it personally, it’s me, not you.  I’ll keep trying until I get it right.  I hope that’s ok.

It’s cute, Betty has a morning outfit and an afternoon one.  I’m committed to my skirt for the day.  I went with it, I’m not going to back down now.  Each outfit is new and looks a little bit different.  I dreamed last night that I was shopping for overalls.  Actually, I think I might have shopped for that last night before bed.  I don’t remember.

It’s 4:42 PM, we just finished Chris’s group outside. I’m not really sure what the point of the group was, but it was kind of fun.  I was on a team with Rachel, Raine, Priscilla and myself and we were to design a machine of any kind and then present it to the group.  There were 3 total groups and the variety of machines was very interesting.  We made a robot that detects your mood, emotions, feelings, etc.  and provides you with encouraging support through positive affirmations, validation, hot & cold packs, tissues and more.  Other teams made a brain scan device that helped detect mental health issues at an early age and with absolute precision.  And the final team made an app that is a toxic person detector.  It allows you to take a picture of a person and find out about their background, history and general attitude towards life to determine if they are a person worth getting to know or not.  I think the best part of the group was seeing how radically different all of our devices turned out to be.  It was fun.

It’s dinner time, I switched from the skirt into some comfy pants  and will eventually make my way into my PJs, after dinner.  I have met my goal/daily intention of attending all meals and snacks thus far.  I may still skip HS snack though.  My stomach kind of hurts and I don’t really want the calories.  I hate how my body functions when I eat normally.  That’s one part of the ED that I liked.  My stomach never felt like this.  I didn’t even really feel hungry anymore.  Maybe in the morning, but I’d just drink a shake and be good until mid afternoon when I’d drink another shake.  I would sometimes have a third shake, too, if I was really hungry or felt woozy.  Or sometimes, I’d binge on cookies or something like that.  I’d usually be on a strict 500 calories diet for the next 3-4 days if I binged on cookies.  The longest I ever went without eating was 5 days, I think and it wasn’t even really that hard.  I didn’t really miss food at all.  I feel like as soon as I walk out of these doors, I’m going to revert back to that way of thinking, so that I can slim back down a little bit.  I guess I just don’t believe this process is somehow going to magically make me not care about how I look and feel and how my body functions.  I don’t have a lot of hope for that.  But I do have some excitement about going to PHP.  Just the extra freedom around the bathroom and where I can hangout all day, passes that I can get away from the building, dates with Brandon, etc.  But, at this point, I feel like I’m already relapsing and  the additional freedom is going to give me the opportunity to go balls to the wall, so to speak.  As Ella says, once it starts, it’s kind of like, “Okay, let’s do this,” and my brain will just turn back into anorexic mode.  Is that too negative?  Let me reframe…  I’m going to have to fight really hard if I don’t want to end up sick again from anorexia.  I’ve got a lot of work to do.

It’s been really nice being here with so many girls.  I think I’m going to ask Belle to do my eye makeup on Saturday for Brandon.  Maybe Belle and Betty can help me get it just right.  I need my proper concealer that’s in my confiscated bag.  That concealer is 100x better than what I have in Splataaaah.  I’m going to wear my new dress.  I need to work on shaving my legs a bit more.  There were some hairy patches that I found while wearing my skirt today.  I want to be baby soft for him and hopefully we end up in the telephone room and I won’t even complain if he gets a little handsy.  A girl has needs and his attention is definitely part of that.  But back to what I was saying, girls, lots of them, being around.  It’s been fun.  I didn’t get to experience being a girl when I was younger.  I had lots of female friends and stuff, but I never let on that I felt more comfortable being around them than guys or whatever.  We didn’t go shopping or do makeup or giggle like this group does.  I love the community.  We even talked about it a little bit today.  We’re not clique-ish.  Everyone is welcome, we try to make new people feel at home.  Everyone pretty much gets along, there’s not really a hierarchy per say, everyone is equal (at least in my mind.)  Everyone gets a voice and no one is ostracized or left out.  And I feel like the younger girls are especially good about this.  I am doing my best to do better with it.  It’s just a really comfortable environment and I’m going to miss it when I step down.  I guess we could add #10 to my list of cons.  I know there will be community at PHP, but it’s not the same as living with people.  That’s valid, right?  And I worry that I’ll be starting all over with different people and the vibe will be different.  And what if I hate my roommate at the apartment?  Who knows what I’m going to get.  I think that’s going to be pivotal.  Courtney said everyone eats HS snack together.  I’m planning on ducking out for HS snack.  But, let’s say Polly is my roommate, what am I going to do, let them down?  Of course not.  I’m going to do whatever I need to do to encourage them and promote their recovery.

20 mins until dinner.  Bless these BHTs for not locking the doors.  It’s been nice having access to my room all day, even if it’s just to change clothes or shoes.  And there’s always this really awkward time right before dinner where there’s not really anything to do but hangout in the hallway.  My introvert is always so drained by this time of day that I don’t want to hang out.  I just need a few minutes of down time.  Maybe some self reflection.  A little journaling.  I even leave my room door open.  I don’t want to be closed off, I just want to sit in my own space.  I guess I miss having my space.  I miss being home.  Two things can be true.  I love the dormitory style life that this hospital provides.  The community, the variety of people here, the nursing and other medical staff, etc.  All ready to help any time of day, 24/7.  It’s a great environment for me.  If I’m having a total meltdown, it’s fine.  There’s someone here to help, unless it’s Nurse Bailey.  That cunt sucks.  Yes, I said cunt.  Deal with it.  Have I mentioned that I was in crisis and asking for help and she told me to piss off?  That happened.  That was real.  Anyways.  Everyone else is cool.  

I will go to all meals, snacks and groups.  I may not eat anything at dinner, I’m not sure what I’m having.  I’m not going to feel ashamed for restricting if it’s something gross.  Like lunch, it was gross.  It was some kind of vegetarian sandwich, but I didn’t like the sauce and the bread was all mushy, so it was gross.  I tried it.  I ate some.  I just couldn’t finish it.  No. Fucks. Given.  Let’s see how dinner goes.

I had grilled cheese.  No veggies, no sides, nothing.  Just a plain grilled cheese sandwich.  They have reduced me back down to the same levels of food as when I got here.  Interesting.  I told them I had already relapsed.  I told Dr. Parsley that last Friday or whenever it was that we chatted.  He asked me how I felt about that and the honest truth is that I feel fine about it.  I don’t want to eat anything else.  I went to meals today because Betty asked me to come.  I went because I didn’t like how no one was talking to me in Splataaaah last night after HS snack.  Ugh.  The social pressure is kind of intense.  I’m going to go to HS snack, but I’m not taking a single fucking bite.  I don’t want the calories.  I ate breakfast.  Lunch was gross. I ate my shake.  I ate my grilled cheese.  I won’t eat the cookies.  They’re delicious and I love cookies, but I’m not going to eat them or drink the milk.  If anyone asks why, I’ll tell them… my stomach fucking hurts and I don’t want to put anything else on it right now.  That’s true.  How am I going to make phase II.  Maybe I won’t.  Maybe I’ll hang out with the underachievers until they kick me to PHP, where I will starve myself, refuse to go to the hospital at all and refuse to eat.  The grilled cheese with no side was a message.  They were sending me a message.  Just finish what’s in front of you.  Weird.  I feel like it’s some sort of mind game they are playing with me.  I know I picked a vegetable to go with every lunch and dinner, so why did they dumb it down?  To make me feel accomplished.  I don’t.  I feel patronized or something.  This is meeting me where I’m at I guess.  I’m fine with that I guess.  I’ll live with it I guess. I’m guessing they have some sort of tricks up their sleeves.  This is where that whole trust thing becomes a thing.  

I really enjoyed today, however.  I started off with some weird vibes, but the green skirt and cherry coke shirt was the right move.  A power move.  Not even Betty shows off her legs that much.  I seriously might borrow a dress from her tomorrow or the next day.  Her “short dress.”  Or maybe I’ll wear that green dress that I slept in last night with some sort of cute top.  That red top.  Not the newest one.  That one is cute, but I like the other one for this outfit.and I think my strapies will kind of show around the collar. All six of them.  I’m fine with overkill.  It’s the layers that make it work. 

I have to shave my legs a little better.  It’s a challenge, you know?  Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but the Splataaaah opens at 6:30 AM, 6:25 if we’re lucky and the BHT is on it.  My shower time is at 6:30 AM, which I pick because I want to get my meds before breakfast.  That gives me 15, maybe 20 minutes to pee in a cup, gather my things for my shower, lay down 4 towels, so I don’t flood the bathroom (more on that later), change into a gown, get a weight, get everything shower ready (shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shower gloves, razor), exfoliate, wash and condition my hair, clean all the bits, shave thoroughly, then try to shave my legs.  The light in the shower area is less than ideal and I have fine blonde hair (thank god).  But I’m going as fast as I can, because I don’t want to make the next person late getting in their shower.  And go forbid I show up late to Splataaaah, because someone will swipe your shower.  Betty, my pal, even tried to do it one morning.  I’ll give Maggie a pass, she’s new and she didn’t know.  It’s fine.  But I’m just saying, the minute that door unlocks, girls gotta pounce or else.  What am I getting at?  I’m just saying, I don’t even normally shave my legs.  I wax.  It’s so much better than shaving.  But until I get out of here, I have no choice.  It’s shave or look like Tarzan or his wife or something.  Maybe three dresses in a week is pushing it though.  You don’t want to be the cutest dressed every day.  You gotta let the other girls shine.  Don’t be the thunder thief.  If I didn’t list that in the rules, I should have.  That’s a bitch thing to do, and RULE NUMBER ONE: DO NOT BE A BITCH.  Unless Audra tells you that you can be.  She has that authority.  Yesterday, I’m pretty sure she called me a bitch five times in the same sentence, but it made me feel good.  

While we’re on the subject of Splataaaah, let’s talk about it.  Its original name is Spa A, but Polly added a worm like thing, a dinosaur and some extra A’s at the end of Spa.  I added the L and T, so now it’s Splataaaaah.  I hope it stays like that after I’m gone.  I hope the legend of Polly and Clara persists.  Anyways.  They call it spa, but it’s just a community bathroom.  There are 4 toilets, 4 showers, 2 changing rooms, 5 mirrors, a special bathroom they call the 1:1 bathroom that I don’t really understand and a sink with a separate mirror and sink next to the special 1:1 bathroom.  Then in the middle of this lovely spa, there is this weird community trough sink thing.  There are a couple of things worth noting here.  All the drains, both in the shower and the trough thing are made to keep you from being able to purge and hide it or whatever, so none of them drain particularly well.  For the trough in the middle, the water must not drain well at all, because it always smells like… sewer water or maybe a dirty fish bowl.  Water that has bacteria clearly festering and growing at an alarming rate.  I’m really not sure how the health codes people haven’t shut down the hospital for that.  Seriously, it’s a health hazard.  And the faucets have a red and a blue button on either side of the faucet.  Normally, with these types of faucets, you push the button and it slowly pops back out and the water stops.  But not in our Splataaaah.  As soon as you release the button, the water stops.  So if you’re washing your hands, you have to touch the button with one soapy hand to clean the other, then use the clean hand to rinse the soap off of the first hand.  Gross.

Now let’s talk about the showers and their fabulous design.  The stalls are 4 feet wide and 4 feet deep.  They have a small table of sorts to put your clothes and things on and it kind of sticks out of the stall curtain a little bit, so you never have 100% privacy.  Not that we have any peepers anyways, but just saying.  The show itself has a curtain that is just a little bit too short and not quite long enough, so water is going to leak around the curtain.  This is especially true, but the “hang yourself proof” shower heads that look like something from Shawshank Redemption are not in the middle of the shower, or the inside near the wall… they are on the outside, so water is hitting the back wall and the shower curtains as soon as you get in.  And remember those drains I was telling you about, the puke proof ones.  Well, they don’t work all that great in the shower either.  So, if you don’t want to flood the bathroom, you get 3-4 small towels and make a fortress.  The key here is four towels deep, about an inch from the drain.  If you get them too close to the drain, they’ll absorb more water than actually goes down the drain and you’ll have a horrible mess on your hands.  Too far away and the water just sneaks right past.  If you get it just right, your bottom three towels will be soaked, but the top one will be relatively dry, giving you a dry towel to carry all of them over to the towel bin.  I’ve been here just over 2 months and I’m still discovering the best ways to take a shower, but I do like stall 4.  A lot of people complain about the pressure in stall four, but I like the pressure.  Also, being the less popular choice means it’s usually not booked all the way to Splataaah closing time.   No one really tells you about the drainage issues or why we need 5 towels to take a shower.  That’s sort of just one of those things you learn on your own after a few days here. 

And then it all comes crashing down at HS snack.  That was a horrible shit show from hell and I’m not even really sure what happened.  It started with Betty talking about her marriage ending and she’s destroyed.  I can see in her eyes, she looks as scared as the day she arrived here.  Then there was a really ill advised talk about weddings that kind of made things worse.  Then Priscilla ends up hunched over and in tears.  I asked if she was ok and Anelise just waved me off.  I had no idea.  Fuck.  This sucks.  I care about all these people so much, so to see them hurting really hurts.  They are good people.  Betty is a really good person.  Priscilla is a really good person.  They all are.  Every single person in that cafe is a good, kind hearted, wonderful person.  It breaks my heart to see them crumble like that.  I know those feelings.  I’ve been dealing with very similar emotions to Betty, except, she’s been married for 30 years.  I was married for 8 and it feels like an organ being ripped from my chest.  She met with her husband today and she said he was stone cold.  I know that feeling all too well.  The person that once doted on you and couldn’t see you enough, now looks with cold, dead eyes.  It’s more than any person can take in a day. I know Betty is strong.  She has kids that love her and will make sure she’s taken care of.  And her husband may be some bigshot lawyer, but no judge is going to allow a 30 year marriage to dissolve without making sure she is taken care of financially.    That doesn’t make it hurt less though.  My heart breaks for her.  I told her to come find me if she wants to talk or text me.  I’ll stay up all night with her if need be.  That’s a lot to go through and a lot to swallow in one night.  She needs support.  I can do that.

And Priscilla, I don’t know what happened.  I’m so worried about her.  She was smiling and giggling and correcting me like normal and then all of the sudden, on the floor practically.  I asked if she was ok, but I didn’t realize how serious it was.  Geez.  What an awful feeling. I’m hoping it was just her emotions getting the best of her because of the wedding talk.  That’s something we can work through.  She didn’t know.  All of us were doing it and none of us thought about it.  We just get started on a topic and have a tough time stopping.  And most of the time, marriage would be a fine topic of conversation.  Geeeeez.  That’s so awful. 

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.

I woke up at 11 PM, then 2 AM, then 4 AM, then at 5:30 AM  and for some reason, I’m ok with that.  I’m not angry with this morning for the first time in several weeks.  I feel tired, but refreshed.  Maybe today will be nice.  It’s another grey day outside, but I’m feeling more yellow or green today.  The battery on this computer is about to die, so just a quick check and then I’m off.  

[note to self to scan in written journal pages here]

I guess I just feel kind of positive today.  I don’t know why.  I had a nice breakfast with Anelise (I think I’m butchering the spelling), Allie, and Raine (although I think she’s having a rough morning, she didn’t say much and didn’t do morning intentions, kind of worried about her).  But Anelise is just the most darling little thing you’ve ever seen.  I know I’ve said this before, but she is so, so very smart and always has interesting and fun things to say and talk about.  We talked about how she and her boyfriend wanted to go to the mountains for her birthday, but couldn’t because of her health.  But, next April 4th, she’ll be 21, which will be way more fun anyways.  Not that it matters, but she’s also dating a black guy, which I think is super cute.  He’s really tall and has locks, kind of like Brandon.  It just feels like we have something in common, both being in an interracial relationship.  She’s also blonde and she’s a finance major.  She loves accounting and I can tell, she’s TYPE A to the T.  She was also talking about her rabbit, I think she said he’s a netherlands dwarf or something like that.  He’s white with a little bit of black on his face.  She said rabbits are smarter than cats and dogs and then told us about how silly he is.  Her exact words were, “He is such a high maintenance little bitch”, lol.   I just love how bright and precocious she is.  Her youth makes her so fun to talk to.  I like hearing her use slang and she always says hi to me in the morning and asks how I am.  It’s fun.

Allie is cool, too.  She’s a little older, blonde hair just below her shoulders and these cool clear, thickish framed glasses.  I think her age makes her a little more wise, but also she lacks some of that youthful excitement.  She’s 28 (I think) and she feels her age.  Her goal is to get out of here before June 1st, which is really fast.  But she’s on a mission and doing really well.  I think she’s completing most of her meals already, even those she has an NG.  A lot of her discussion is centered around how she may be leaving AMA, but her team is still supportive of her.  I can’t remember if it’s a concert or vacation she’s trying to catch.  Either way, I think she’s got the right mindset.  I love that she works with adult special needs clients and she loves her job.  She talks about it all the time.  

I tried to wear my green skirt and new polo today with the black leggings, but it just wasn’t working, so I shifted to all black, with my radiohead shirt and “the” black hat. I’m going to order another one just like this one (and keep both) so I have a receipt for it and wear it at some point where Danielle can see it.  Fuck her and her hat.  I did full face makeup today for the first time since the first couple of weeks that I was here, and I’m nervous that it looks stupid.  My good concealer is still MIA.  It might be in my confiscated, but when I tried to get it last time, it was this big ordeal and Corrine got the wrong one.  I didn’t want to hassle her to try and find the right one.

This is a new look for me and obviously with the leggings I worry about an unsightly bulge. \ But I think it’s pretty unnoticeable with my long shirt.  I want to get some extra long shirts like some of the girls have to wear with leggings.  Danielle hates leggings, so fuck her.  I have 2 pair now, 1 white, 1 black.  I’m going to wear the white ones this Saturday with my new dress for when Brandon comes.  He asked me if I ever wear skirts or dresses.  I actually love wearing them, but Betty is really the one around here that wears them.  She offered to let me borrow one.  Maybe I’ll take her up on it tomorrow.  She also likes helping me with my makeup, I’m going to let her do that, too.  Hers is always flawless.  I just can’t seem to get my eyeliner right and it’s kind of driving me crazy.  I hope Betty and I can become good friends after we leave her.  I really like her.  She’s so cranky, but she’s a really great part of this unit and I think now that everyone knows her, she fits right in with everyone.

I had a really positive moment of self-reflection this morning at breakfast for daily intentions.  For the first time since I’ve been, I said the thing I was grateful for was my team and how patient they have been and how they’ve worked with me to find solutions to our sticking points.  My meeting yesterday with Courtney and Alina went fairly well.  I think they’ve realized that pushing me too hard too fast kind of makes me shut down and then we all lose.  If they’ll let me set the pace for the most part, then I’ll do much better.  I am already a goal oriented person, but I don’t like it when goals are set for me.  I’m quite proficient at setting my own goals.  I’ve been doing that the entire time I’ve been here and I’ve met or exceeded all of them, except for my goal to make Phase II.  But apparently, per my conversation with Dr. Parsley, I don’t have to be Phase II to step down.  I also just wanted Kristen and the other staff members to hear me say something positive about my team.  I know Kristen is taking notes, even if only in her head and that she will probably pass this along to the team.  I feel like we’re in a good spot for the first time in a while.  I do actually feel like we’re a team today.  It’s a little scary to say that outloud, but it’s how I feel.

It’s weird how when people disappear from the unit, the energy automatically shifts.  It’s been shifting in a youthful, fun way.  My favorite patients are Priscilla, Anelise (butchered spelling), Katy, Manon, Audra, Rachel, Rose and Betty.  They all have such big personalities.  I miss Kirsi and of course Polly.  We did lose a bit of the inner child expression when Polly left.  They had such a unique personality.  I wish I had their courage to be myself like they do.  I’d wear my sparkly skirt every day.  I’d be wearing it now, actually.  Fuck, that would have been really cute with my leggings and all black outfit and would make me less worried about “the bulge” (which i don’t think is that noticeable anyways.  I got small leggings and I think I should have bought extra small ones. These are just a tiny bit big, but that helps hide things, too.  But, my butt isn’t as cute as it could be.  It’s a give and take.)  I ramble.  I know, I am worried about how I look.  But no one else here has to worry about their gender expression, except Katy, who also hates the way their body functions.  They also have long hair and wear cute makeup.  

Audra had me for Kudos this last week and she got me a radiohead guitar book that has tablature and lyrics for a bunch of their coolest songs.  It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to learn a new song that way, but it was such a sweet and thoughtful gift.  Audra is a musician and has a minor in music (I think).  She plays standup bass, which I think is ultra cool.  I wish I was that accomplished and especially with an instrument that cool.  She’s a libra and battles with BP2.  She has rainbow colored short hair and shaves the sides.  It’s cute.  She expresses herself really well and honestly, I think.  She’s also had a pretty hard life.  Both of her parents died and I think she’s been doing this on her own for a while, which I respect so much.  She’s from Indiana, but she actually goes to TN quite often and said she used to hang out in Smyrna, Murfreesboro, Lebanon, etc.   She knows what MTSU is, lol.  I can’t believe someone here actually knows about my home town.  I like her a lot.  She said I remind her of her sister and says something nice to say every day to make me feel good.  She also has been battling with her insurance.  One day when she was particularly stressed out, I wrote her a note and just told her how unique she is because she’s a musician and how we see the world in rhythm and pitch.  I also said that I know she’s going to survive this, no matter what her insurance ends up doing, because she’s a survivor like me.  I think one of the most interesting things about her is that she refuses to fly, so she took a 4 day trip to get her.  Day one on a bus (I think down to St. Louis) then 3 days on a train.  I’ve always wanted to take a long train ride across the country.  It’s not the most comfortable way to travel, but I think it would be an interesting experience.  Anyone that works that hard to get here, deserves to be here and deserves recovery.  One other interesting fact about her is she’s also battled with drugs and alcohol, like me.  She said that she bounces back and forth between the eating disorder and abusing drugs and alcohol.  I can relate.  With my eating disorder being challenged so hard, I have had occasional thoughts about drugs since being here.  No real intent, I don’t think, but the thoughts are there for the first time in quite a while.

Ugh.  10 until 10 AM and snacks are already making me nervous.  At least I know that my meal plan won’t change this week.  Courtney told me that yesterday.  I think she knows, again, that pushing me with that much change, when I’m already so worried about stepping down, will have a net negative impact.  I’ll just skip more meals and snacks to make up for the extra calories.  I should be noting that in my daily check-in.  That is an eating disorder behavior that I haven’t really given much thought to and I should.  It’s a real issue. Since we have 20ish minutes until snack, I’m debating playing guitar for a little bit.  I don’t want to jinx it, but I might actually feel slightly more calm this morning.  Thinking about it makes me anxious though, so maybe that’s the secret, try not to focus on anxiety.  Try to focus on what I’m doing.  Be present in the moment and don’t let my thoughts consume me.  That’s what this journal is for.  

It’s nice to have a more positive outlook today.  I can assure you that my goal is not to be a negative Nancy all the time.  I like positivity.  I know the power of positive thinking.  I let Danielle and her nihilist behavior affect me way too much for way too long.  Another good reason to keep Danielle out of my life.  I thought she was lifting me up, but she was actually just dragging me down into her pit of despair.  I don’t need to have negative energy around me.  She stopped fanning my flame a long time ago and I should have seen the writing on the wall then.  I regret that I didn’t take action, but I guess I don’t know how I could have separated myself from her any earlier than I did.  

Fuck, I have to pee again.  It’s like every ten minutes, I swear.  They make us drink so much water here.  BRB. 

I definitely see the appeal of leggings, they are super comfy and warm.  I did find them to be a bit of hassle to put on, they got all twisted and shit.  But once I got them oriented correctly, I’d say they’re brilliant.  I can’t wait until I have surgery and don’t have to worry about bulges and such.  Girl clothes are so much more fun than boy clothes, there are so many more options and they are just more comfortable in general.  Fuck, my dad was bitching about guys wearing tight jeans last time he was out here.  He’d shit a brick if he saw me in leggings, lol.  My lips are extra chapped today, which is so annoying.  I’m applying chapstick like every 20 minutes, trying to get the dead skin to fall off.  It’s gross.  Isn’t that like Rule #2, DO NOT BE GROSS.  It totally takes away from my makeup and is ugly.  Ugh.

When we get room time after snack, I’m going to try doing some video updates from my room.  I’m too shy to do them in front of the group, but I think I want to document more than just a snapshot of the day.  I think seeing and hearing me talk could be valuable to this journal.  It will help me remember the days more in the future if I choose to go back and read any of this shit, and will make for a more interesting blog.  I’m debating setting up the blog and working on that for my remaining time at Willow.  I think if the girls see the blog up and running, I can let them post their own pictures, if they want.  I can also let them guest post blog entries and share the whole thing with their networks.  I’m sure some of them have followers on Snap, IG and TikTok.  I don’t know, it just seems like it’d be fun to have everyone here interact.  Priscilla already told me she’d subscribe.

Kristen said the cutest thing as we were walking to snack just a few minutes ago.  She said I’m giving off “celebrity at the airport vibes”, lol.  It’s the hat.  It has to be the hat.  Which needs to be washed, btw.  I’ll throw it in the laundry this week.  Also got complimented on my Radiohead shirt by Minon.  She’s like the epitome of cool.  She’s French and absolutely stunningly beautiful.  She’s another smart one and just has a unique history and a unique energy.  Of course she’s into fashion and style, too, which is fun.  Her makeup is always flawless and her blonde hair extensions are beautiful.  

We have to do menus now, it’s like my least favorite part of the week.  I hate all the food so much.  I do mostly write-ins, which means I eat:  grilled cheese, cheese quesadilla, PB&J, and Buttered Noodles.  I’m pretty tired of these things, but every time I try to get something more complicated, I end up not eating it at all.  I think they’re going to push me much harder in PHP to incorporate more variety and things with more ingredients.  I still have the cooking trauma, however, so it’s kind of hard to picture me cooking ever again.  We shall see, I suppose.  This week, I think I only tried one thing from the menu.  The rest were write-ins, except at breakfast.  I can usually find something I like at breakfast.  They did switch up the menu a little bit on me, but I just wrote in diced walnuts if I didn’t see them.  I’m not going to eat an egg or anything like that.  I just can’t stand the thought of it.  That was stressful, as always.  I try to just do it as quickly as possible.  I do, however, go through and circle coffee on every page first, then double check it when I fill out the breakfast part, then after I’m done with the whole menu, I go through and check that coffee is circled on every page.  Nothing ruins your day faster around here than forgetting to circle coffee on your menu.  It’s a lesson I only had to learn once.  I was kicking myself that entire day and that’s one rule that no BHT is going to budge on, because it has to do with diet.  Not even Aloha Frank would budge on that one I’m afraid.  

See sample below.  It’s basically going through and circling a certain number of fats, proteins, vegetables, dairy and fruit for each meal.  I don’t really eat meat, at least not very often and I’ve found the vegetarian options to be pretty bad most of the time.  Hence all the write-ins, which Courtney said she was going to put a stop to, but she hasn’t hassled me much since saying that.  Not trying to be a bitch, really.  But if she were to force me to eat something actually on the menu at every meal, I’m not going to eat.  And I’m not doing any supplement anymore.  Ever since that day that Betty said the vanilla supplement smelled soured, I can’t get it out of my head.  I do have to drink half a cup with my blueberry muffin during AM snack, so I just down it like a shot and then drink a bunch of water and pinch of a bite of muffin to try and get the flavor and smell out of my mouth and nose as quickly as I possibly can.  

Note Millie, the highland cow above my menu.  She’s been my pet replacement while being here.  One of the girls suggested I get her, I can’t remember if it was Ella or Rachel, but I ordered her that day and she stays by my side everywhere except the cafe, where she is banned.  She weighs about the same as the kittens and is close to the same size.I so have to pee again.  OMG.  it just doesn’t stop, my bladder must be the size of a grape.  I am drinking a ton of water, especially today, since my lips are so chapped and I feel dehydrated.  

I hate asking them to open Splataaah, so I usually just wait for one of the other girls to and jump in.

I just got grabbed by Dr. Parsley and I get really anxious talking to him.  I don’t think he’s a bad guy or psychiatrist, but I always worry about changes being made that I don’t agree with and it makes my life more difficult.  We talked about sleep primarily and how it affects mood throughout the week.  I do think that’s my primary issue.  I know he’s suspected bi-polar disorder since day one, because of the family history.  It scares me a little bit, because I don’t know what he’ll want to try and I really, really don’t want that diagnosis.  It just carries such a stigma and the treatments for BPD are pretty limited.  Maybe I do have Bi-polar disorder.  I don’t know.  I’m just waiting for him to drop that bomb shell on me.  He just gave me tips on getting better sleep.  No naps.  Don’t stay in bed if I wake up.  Get up, do something relaxing in the hallway, then try lying back down.  Not gonna lie, no naps is kind of brutal.  I like taking naps.  I think because my schedule has been so wonky for so long, I’ve come to depend on naps to get through the day.  Life nap free doesn’t sound so great.  He said taking naps, “reduces sleep pressure”, which I’ve never heard or read about.  I might do some research of my own on the subject.  I didn’t mention it, but sometimes when I wake up, I do get up and pace.  There were at least two mornings that I paced for over two hours.  And I’ll be honest, I was just really grumpy on those mornings.  It was when things weren’t going so well with the team and I was ultra stressed about leaving.  I’ve since changed my attitude.  I don’t know what he was getting at and that worries me.  That meeting felt like a poker match, which makes me feel more anxious.  I’m in such a good mood today and I don’t want this to spoil it.  

Oh gawd, he thinks the impulsive spending is me being manic.  He probably thinks the same thing about me waking up in the middle of the night.  I really don’t think those things are mania.  I know what induced mania feels like and it’s not the same.  Also, with the shopping, I’m building a new wardrobe from scratch.  You have to take that into consideration.  I sometimes go a year without buying anything, but in this case, I’m still trying to define my style and figure out what to wear on a day to day basis.  Being around the other girls, I’m seeing more of what’s trendy.  I hope I don’t dress too young, but I do want to look youthful.  Anyways, it’s less about impulsive spending and more about I want to look good, bitch.  This is concerning.  I am concerned now.  I am anxious now.  Fuck me.  Not in a bad mood, just nervous.  I said that I thought he thought I was bi-polar on day ONE and was using a “guarded diagnosis”.  This concerns me very much.  Am I going to end up on lithium and kill my kidneys and liver?

That’s me and Millie in my room at room time.  If I look nervous, that’s because I am.  Dr. Parsley scares me, I guess. Kind of a lot.  He was asking about my mood and the up and down swings.  I know those questions and what they are about.  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  I also accidentally emailed this whole journal to the print email address here, so there is a possibility that they read it and I think the last portion that I saved and sent did not end on a super happy note.  But it’s not like I’m in just a terrific mood with boundless energy today.  I’m just in a rather positive mood.  And energy, I can assure you that it is not boundless.  Actually, quite the opposite, I’m rather sleepy.  I really want a red bull or a coffee right now.

Is writing this journal making them think I have boundless energy or something?  Now I sound paranoid, which is probably because I am.  I just don’t know what Dr. Parsley is thinking and that really worries the hell out of me.  Now I’m so nervous, I want to take clonazepam.  Interesting that Dr. Parsley is saying don’t fall asleep.  I am really tired right now, but my anxiety about lunch and now about our meeting is really overwhelming.  Also, I feel like he was asking questions that he already knows the answer to and that kind of upsets me.  You only do that when you suspect someone is lying, right?  He asked how my meeting with Aline and Courtney went.  I know damn well that they meet every day to discuss their cases and come up with a game plan.  So to ask me how that went… you already know that.  You talked to them and you shared your thoughts on possible diagnosis.  Shady.  That feels shady to me.  I’m probably over thinking it, but it definitely feels really shady.  I hate when Drs. don’t share what they are actually thinking.  I felt like the last meeting went better because he was incredibly honest and “shot straight” so to speak.  This felt more like curve ball questions or an examination, but without telling me that he’s doing an examination.  Idk, it just feels weird.

Let’s focus on the positives, reframe, if you will.  Juniper is coming in less than an hour and I’ll get to go see her.  My relationship with my mother is improving.  Our game plan for right now is pretty good.  I think the plan is still the same, June 1st.  Actually, at this point, if they said they wanted to keep me in Willow longer, I would be concerned.  I’m ready to get out of here.  My pros and cons list really kind of sealed the deal for me.  Let’s do PHP and see what happens.  If they ask me to step back up to Willow, I would have to think really hard about it.  If they ask me to stay at Willow longer, I would probably say, “no” and try to discharge AMA.  Oh, shit, I was supposed to be thinking positively.  It is positive to say I want to get home though, IMO.

I can’t wait for my hair to actually get longer.  I need to go see Stephanie, assuming Danielle didn’t smear my name with her and she refuses to see me.  That would be dumb, but I wouldn’t put it past Danielle.  Anyways, positive self-talk… I want her to trim it up, so I can keep growing it out.  It feels like it’s taken longer than usual to grow this time, but I guess I was starting at near zero.  At least it’s at cute girl length now.  Seeing all the girls here with long hair has made me want mine to be really long.  Seeing Manon’s extensions kind of makes me want to get extensions.  It’s super expensive though.  Might be a while before I can afford that.  When we talked about extensions before, Stephanie said it would cost somewhere around $2000-2500.  I want really good ones that look natural.  Actually, I didn’t even know Manon had extensions.

I love Juniper visitation time.  It’s only an hour, but it’s really nice.  We read “Fox in Socks” and that was enough to make her sleepy, so we just snuggled for an hour.  I almost fell asleep, too.  And so did my mother.  It’s so sweet when she grabs both hands.  She’s just my little best friend and I miss her so much.  It’s a nice way to start the afternoon.  And I think I handled my mom pretty well.  She loves to ask inappropriate questions.  “Will you be cooking?” “What’s the apartment like?”  “So you’ll be doing your therapies there?”  Me:  “Mom, please don’t talk about food, that’s a no-no subject.”  And I realize that if I incorporated her somehow into family therapy, they could answer those questions.  But I also feel like that gives her way too much power.  She’ll start thinking she has a say in my medical decisions and I just can’t let her touch my life that closely.  She’s making all these changes around the house and I know she thinks she’s doing a good job, but I don’t want to come home to a different house.  We’re literally pulling my life apart, piece by piece and when I get home, I don’t want all the pieces to be different.  I don’t know why she doesn’t understand that.  I still love Danielle.  I still think about her every fucking day.  I still wish she would call me and apologize and tell me everything is ok.  I know that’s not realistic, but in an ideal world, she’d come home and everything would go back to normal and she’d love me again.  What am I feeling?  Sad.  Why?  Because Mom reminds me every day about how my life is never going to be normal again and how the 2nd most important person in my life has stopped loving me and moved away.  I hate it.  I want to cry and I would if I could.

I do kind of want my snack, since I didn’t really eat my lunch.  It was some sort of pita bread plate with cheese, hummus, cucumber slices and baby carrots.  I ate the baby carrots and cucumber slices and drank my water.  I

Now I want to play a game with Kristen.  We talked about this earlier, she’s been tasked with finding me before every meal and making me go and my goal is to hide from her (and Dr. Parsley) and sleep through PM snack, a strawberry shake.  I can feel my stomach telling me to eat more, which is a perfect time to test my strength and my, “I don’t want to eat” mantra.  Oh boy, I think i’m back and at least part way on the “fuck recovery” train.  I want them to step me down to PHP with me at a calorie deficit and weight loss, just because I think it’s kind of funny.  What’s the point of eating if I don’t have a goal?  What’s the point of eating if I’m being stepped down, regardless of how I eat while I’m here?  Like, I genuinely don’t care.  I want to step down, because I’ll be able to restrict a lot easier.  I can tell them I’m eating dinner, when I’m actually not.  I can skip groups, meals and snacks, just by staying in my apartment.  I have literally no intent on completing this program.  Danielle was right.  It’s just going to be a huge failure.  Danielle was right, I’m just going to say whatever I need to say to get the fuck out of here so that I can go back to what I was doing before.  I don’t think anorexia made me unhappy.  I think my life falling apart in front of me made me unhappy.  With the negative energy gone, I don’t think it will be as bad.  I have Brandon to keep me company on weekends and Susan and I have a busy schedule leading up to Friday.  So, I feel like everything is going to fall into place for me.  I just have to do the rest of this shit, so it looks like I complied and the state leaves me and juniper the fuck alone.  I just want this divorce over with, the house paid for and to move on with my life.  I hope Brandon will eventually give up his poly life and dedicate himself to me.  I don’t mind what’s her name that he hangs out with on most weekends.  They don’t have sex.  But I’d prefer it if he ended it with his other partners.  I can take care of his needs and I want him to be part of my family life.  But that’s not feasible if he’s always on the go, always trying to make some function or another.  I need stability and consistency.

I’m not sure where to hide.    I was going to crawl underneath some furniture, but all the furniture has people on it, so that feels a little weird.  I don’t want to look weird or creepy or something.  AHHHHHH!  I don’t know.  I think Kristen is going to win this round today.  But there’s always tomorrow.  I don’t think she’ll be here tomorrow, so I’ll just stay in my room during room time and not go to lunch.  I’m glad I restricted most of my lunch today and I can pretty much guarantee that I’ll skip HS snack.  FUUUUUCK.  Is this the ED talking?  My mom kept saying that she’s telling everyone how well I’m doing.  I’m not doing well, I’m barely skating by with a D-.  The only thing that I’m really doing correctly is not leaving AMA.  

It’s another freezing ass cold day in the hallways here.  It’s around 40 degrees outside and I think they have the A/C running or something, because it’s only about 65 degrees inside.  I’m going to order a fucking thermometer and carry it with me everywhere that I go.

It’s a quiet crowd in here today.  The group room is shut down because our MC has to bounce between units and PHP.   I’ve literally only seen her for like 30 minutes today.  We are over capacity.  They have 7 people in 2E, and while they have 11 more beds, they only have 1 nurse and 1 BHT.  I guess there are some legal parameters around the ratio of staff to patient that they have to meet, which makes sense.  Kind of related, they keep talking about how I can step down and then step back up if I need to, which of course would be awful.  But one of my biggest concerns is that they would put me on 2E or even put me upstairs, where I hear it is always colder and more miserable.  Although, I do hear they are pretty fun up there.  I don’t want to try PHP and fail and have to come back to Willow, that would be shitty.  But I don’t want to complete PHP either.  I am going to break all the rules, skip all the meals, refuse all the groups, etc.

Susan said she would smuggle me a coffee drink, so I’m going to have her do it next week when they come to visit.  Besides, I’ll be discharging in 11 days, then it’s game on Red Bull zero sugar.  Game. Fucking. On.

I’m sorry if you’re reading this and it’s bringing you down.  Just remember, recovery isn’t linear. Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll wake up and feel much better about the whole thing again.  And then something will bring me down and make me feel bad about the whole thing again.  And then I’ll repeat the cycle over and over, until they put me in that apartment and I stop eating altogether and skip groups.  Or maybe I won’t.  Maybe I’ll see my friends there and they will encourage me to carry on and I’ll do great.  Who fucking knows?  I just know that most of what they’ve talked about in terms of being treats or rewards, sounds absolutely abhorrent to me.  Cooking, being responsible for my own meals, group after group after group.  I just don’t see myself thriving.  I’m barely making it to groups here, now.  I’ve figured out ways to skip meals and snacks without drawing much attention.  I just don’t want to eat.  I do not want to eat.  I don’t want my peers to be disappointed, but I really don’t want to eat.

I was hiding under a chair.  Kristen was nowhere to be found.  Then some lady who I don’t even know (asian looking, blue hair) says, “aren’t you going to go to snack?  Looks like they forgot you.”  What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? I just said, “yes” and pretended like I had fallen asleep and didn’t hear.  I don’t want to do art group, so I’m going to go hide by nursing.  Jesus.  If they come find me for art, I give the fuck up.  And I swear there was someone at the double doors fucking waiting on me.  What is this shit.  Like literally everyone in the building is fucking making me go eat.  I don’t want to eat you fuckers.  It’s like they all know, if I show up at the table, I’ll probably eat.  But if I can avoid the cafe altogether, I don’t even miss the snack.  

I’m ducking out of art group and I don’t feel bad.  The teacher is a little too hippie for me and plus, I just don’t want to do art today.  I’ve been writing, that is my art.  It’s the being around a bunch of people though that really bothers me.  I don’t want to be part of the peer group today.  Rachel is with me.  She’s pacing instead.  Ok, weird asian blue haired lady is leaving the nursing area.  I’m going to curl up in a ball by nursing.  Maybe Alana will see me and take pity on me and let me go to my room.  I really, really don’t want any part of dinner or HS snack.  I’m determined to stay away.  Ok, she left the area.  The coast is clear.  I’m going for a nap.  That nurse that misgendered me is down there.  She already feels pretty bad for me and I think she’s going to probably be really nice to me out of guilt.

4:58 PM and dinner is looming.  Fuck Dr. Parsley and his no nap policy.  I will nap and I will do so proudly.  I mean, don’t I still have plenty of sleep pressure if I fall asleep at 9 PM on the nose.  I just woke up, but I could go back to sleep.  And the cleaning crew totally left my room open.  I’m thinking, if I sneak back in my room now, Kristen will be totally thrown off guard, because she’s expecting my door to be closed and locked.  She might not notice me not being there until she’s in the cafe.  And what if she’s already sat down, what are the odds that she’d get back up to come find me.  I’d say, with her level of motivation, maybe 5:1.  That’s pretty good odds, I’ll take a 20% chance any day of the week for a bet that has no repercussions.  It’s all upside really.  And if I win, it’s a pretty big win.  A missed dinner and ¼ eaten lunch is a pretty huge score for the day in terms of restricting.  I love it because I’m just fucking with them at this point.

Kristen is in splataaah.  I’m doing it.  Going to sneak down to my room, lay on my bed and write with headphones in and play dumb.

I’d like to say, I’ve started a mail blitz revolution here at ERC.  SO MANY PACKAGES and most of them are just clothes or other fun shit.  You’re welcomed ladies.  Glad I could make you stay here at ERC so much more fun.  It’s like a fashion show up in this bitch.

Kristen caught me.  FUCK!  She’s too good at her job.  But I love her, so I’m going.

Gross, gross, gross.  I’m soooo fucking tired of cheese quesadillas, but anything else I try beyond that, I just won’t eat.  Case and point, lunch.  Gross. Gross. Gross.  It was like some sort of pita bread and hummus.  Did I talk about this already?  Anyways.  I’m over it.  It doesn’t matter, lots of people step down to PHP from Phase I.  Apparently, the phases are just a lie.  It doesn’t matter if you eat or not.  Let me out of this place.  I want to step down tonight.  I’m tired of being here.  I’m tired of eating the same thing.  I don’t want to eat anything.  I’m so over food.  I just want to relapse already and go home.  I feel like I’m cheating with my diet of three things anyways.  If I have to choose a life of cheese quesadillas or death, give me death.  Quiet, gentle, sleeping death.  Ohh no… so not recovery focused.  This path isn’t linear. Let’s call this a low point in the night.  

So here’s the plan for the rest of the night.  Go to the med window at 6:30 PM to get a good spot.  Get night time meds.  Go lay down in my room and fall asleep before HS snack.  How many snacks do you think I miss before they try and talk to me about it.  I wonder if they’re figuring it out.  If I’m stepping down regardless, then I’m going to eat what I want and when I want.  Unless Kristen chases me down and makes me go to meals.  Guess what? She doesn’t work tomorrow.  Shawna is sweet, but she’s not going to track me down the way Kristen does.  I was actually surprised at how well she’s done over the past few days.

I sent Brandon this photo and asked him if I was giving off “celebrity at the airport vibes?”  He said, “ I think you look adorable and stylish.”  He gets it right literally every time.  He’s the best, I want to keep him.  Thanks Brandon ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Just had a nice video call with Jude. Apparently, last night I didn’t talk to her long enough and she got upset, so I talked to her for 10 or 15 minutes.  I get so frustrated with my mother.  She keeps interrupting me talking to Jude.  I’m asking Juniper questions, I don’t need her to respond for Jude.  Jude can tell me on her own.  It’s really annoying.  And then she does the, “guess what I did?” BS.  I hate that.  It’s annoying.  Like, why are you making this fucking conversation about you.  I’m talking to Juniper.  I don’t want to know what you did at the house.  I want to hear Juniper talk to me. And she can’t hold the camera so I can see Jude for some reason.  It’s weird.  “MOM IT IS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD.”  ****le sigh****  Grace.  Give her grace.  I need to figure out a way to communicate these things to her without hurting her feelings.

She also “him’d” me two or three times in that call.  That shit is obnoxious.  I don’t think she’s even trying.  Compound that with the TWO nurses that did that today.  One apologized (twice and I could tell she felt really bad), but the other one didn’t even correct herself.  I know it’s not intentional and I screw up sometimes with the they/them’s ENBYS but, it still hurts my feelings a little bit.  That’s why I like dressing ultra fem and I feel like if I don’t, I get misgendered.  It’s so frustrating.  Oh well.  Next topic.

That’s something I can say I love about Brandon and Susan.  You know, Susan has not once misgendered me.  She knew me for at least 6 months as [DEADNAME] and yet, she hasn’t messed up one time.  I wish Susan was my Mom.  She’s so normal.  She has normal social skills, she talks about normal stuff.  And horses.  Ok, I don’t want a different Mom.  I just want a Mom that’s self-aware.  And Brandon, he treats me like a delicate princess.  I even like how he talks to me like I’m a girl.  Not condescending or anything, but just likes to give me his man advice.  It’s cute.  I can honestly say that I am the most myself with him.  My voice goes up in pitch and softens.  I feel the most feminine with my arms holding on to him and with his hands holding mine.  I’m just Clara to him, he sees me as nothing else.  It’s been like that since our first date.  I adore him.  I’m gushing again.

Seeing Juniper more is the #1 reason for getting out of here.  Seeing Brandon and having time alone with him is my #2 reason for getting out of here.  I can’t wait to be held by him again and to snuggle him all night, under his arm.  I get the tingles just thinking about it all up and down my body.

It’s a dark, dreary, rainy morning and I’ll be honest, I’ve got a bad attitude.  I’m trying to work on that though, I’ve got ‘In Rainbows’ blasting in my ear buds.  It just feels like a radiohead kind of day.  I’m preparing myself for the inquiry that’s going to come because of this weekend’s decisions to skip meals, snacks, etc.  Here’s the way I see it, and I’m probably wrong here, but, my discharge date is what it is.  Well, maybe.  I’ll either be sent home on the 26th or the 1st.  I don’t really care which one and frankly, I’m ready to get out of here.  But if that’s the date and everything I’m doing is just because, “I’m upset about my discharge date”, then fuck it.  That’s the bad attitude, I suppose.

My sleep has sucked for over a week now, waking up at midnight and occasionally drifting in and out of sleep.  But my thoughts when I do wake are usually full of anger or sadness that trigger severe anxiety.  I didn’t pace around this morning though, I just doom scrolled TikTok.  I can see the addiction, even though most of what I watched were dumbass videos in my feed programmed by the algorithm, which is probably just trying to figure out what I like.  Well, I can tell you what I don’t like.  These shit videos that say like and comment to see the conclusion of the video.  It’s the new clickbait.  If I still gave a shit about marketing, I’d be all over that shit.  It’s so easily replicable.  And the ads are not that clever, probably fiverr actors and the whole production cost $1000, so with a $100 product and $1000 in ad spend, you could probably triple your money pretty quickly.  And it’s all dropship operations with chinese made shit.  Anyways.  I don’t care about that any more.  I can firmly say that marketing falls outside of my values at this point.  I guess I have learned something from being here.  I don’t give a fuck about recovery, but I hate marketing.  Fucking snake oil.  I’m embarrassed I was ever part of that industry.

Kind of funny, however.  I found Janet’s TikTok, “Janet Does Makeup”.  Ok, J, first off, you need a better name.  You’re too generic and too broad.  Second, aren’t you a bit old to be showing off that beautiful face of yours?  Janet was my boss for 3 years or so and I love her.  But, i don’t know, seeing her whore out on social media is just kind of nauseating.  That shit was fine when we were 20 and trying to hustle.  But you’re too old.  You need to be putting makeup on a younger face with bigger tits.  I’m just saying.  They don’t want to see us Janet.  We’re not interesting.

I woke up with a grumble in my stomach.  Funny how when I was in the weeds with anorexia I didn’t have to worry about that.  I literally only ate to make sure I stayed conscious and could get Juniper around.  So, now I sit on the cusp on collapse and I’m bargaining with myself.  Is that where I want to be?  I think maybe so.  I’m just feeling so let down by this process.  The lack of ability for me to set my own goals and follow through with them is disappointing.  I guess if I can’t have control over my eating disorder, I just thought maybe I could have control over the recovery process.  They let me down, “my team”, and I don’t think there’s any coming back from that.

So, back to what I was saying earlier, I honestly just don’t give a fuck.  If I fall apart, if I eat, if I don’t, I don’t care.  The only person that would be able to convince me to keep going is gone.  I’m not doing it for me.  Sorry not sorry, or something. 

“Remember the Whys” is on a note card in front of Rachel at every meal.  I don’t really have any whys these days.  I’m not excited about anything and don’t really want to live.  So, yeh.  That’s how my day is starting.  Why?  Juniper. Yeh and I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.  I was surviving just fine.  

How am I feeling?  Distrustful and weary.  Why?  This process has left me with the same feeling I had when we were at Children’s Hospital.  That there is an agenda that doesn’t include what I want.  I had to move down to the end of the hall, I couldn’t help but feel like Jake was looking over my shoulder.  Not that he was being a dick, but I think I’ve been writing so much that every one is wondering, what the fuck is she writing about.  He probably couldn’t help but glance over.  I don’t blame him.  Jake is alright, but this isn’t exactly my shining moment and I’m not sure I want him to read this morning’s negative bullshit.

Nobody slept last night, that’s the word on the street.  But they all still have such positive attitudes.  What’s wrong with me?  More conclusive evidence that I’m just fucking broken and can’t be fixed.  We play this game called “Essence” in the cafe sometimes.  I may have written about it before, I don’t remember.  But one of the questions the guesser will ask while trying to figure out the picked person is, “If you were a car, what kind of car would you be?” Up until this point, I would hope that someone at least said something German, but a 2 door M3 Coupe.  Today, I’m just a rusted out, ‘78 Chevy Nova.  I’m held together by duck tape and super glue and just to get me started you have to hand prime the carburetor.  I have four doors, but only the rear passenger side opens and that requires a crowbar.  I shouldn’t even be on the road, I’m a liability.  Did those things even have seat belts?  I give off an obscene amount of emissions.  I alone am responsible for global warming.  I’m so rusty they wouldn’t even give me an antique license plate.  They just laughed and gave me the number for the junk yard.  Not for parts mind you.  Just to be squished into a heap of metal and eventually thrown into a furnace somewhere.  So that’s my plea to anyone reading this.  Throw me into the furnace.  Spare me the evaluation, you’ll just be disappointed.  I know I am.

My makeup looks like shit and I don’t care.  My hair is probably messed up because I changed hoodies in my room.  Seriously.  Kill me.  But today it’s all sunshine and rainbows as far as anyone else is to know.  I’m done being honest with anyone, including myself.  0,0 are my safety numbers.  Get me out of here sooner than later.  No loud thoughts today and my value is hope.  No vulnerabilities to speak of.  Sunshine and rainbows.  Can I stay safe here at ERC?  Of course!  What skills will you use, probably none.  Will I let the nurse know if that changes? Why the fuck would I do that?  No.  I tried doing that and the bitch told me to fuck off, so fuck nursing and fuck the staff.  Safe as a baby bundled up in her car seat.  Four straps, equalized distribution of force.  Crush resistant.  Nothing to worry about over here.  Just mind your business and keep moving.  Fuck you.  And that’s the nurse that I like, lol.  Bailey is a bit of a cunt.  She didn’t even deserve a cordial, “Good Morning”, because I could see her eyes roll when she got my weight this morning.  Fuck Bailey.  Go over to 2E you cunt.  Wow, I’m in a mood.  I make myself cringe when I read this.  I don’t want to be around anyone today.  I want to crawl into a hole and rot.  I’m in the wrong fucking building.  They should have sent me to the human scrap heap across the way.  They could pull me apart for spare bits and junk the rest in one of those yellow bins.  Hazardous waste.  That’s what I am today.  I’m a hazard for myself and anyone I come into contact with and I should be headed to the incinerator.  

Maybe I’ll stop hormones and just go back to the old me.  At least I had white male privilege.  I doubt if anyone would even notice what I weighed, if I was depressed, if I was anything.  And I get better pay, better opportunities, people don’t interrupt when I talk.  Like, literally, what the actual fuck was I thinking.  That’s like having Park Place and Board Walk with hotels and trading them for those shitty purple ones that no one even remembers the name of.  I’m playing to lose, not win. I could save my head, grow a beard, or not, it doesn’t matter.  I could actually pull my skin off and no one would notice.  I could stop crying and just go back to being angry all the time.  People fear anger.  Fear gets respect.  Do you know what tears get you?  A miserable fucking divorce.  I can’t think of one fucking thing that I like about myself today.  I’m just a freak of nature and I’m tired of being that.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Stupid Danielle and her gentle nudges.  Maybe this was her plan all along.  Turn me into some meek freakshow with tits so she could run away with lover boy, back to Nashville.  It’s where she belongs, she and all of her hatred.  And I belong in the scrap heap with Chuck, Matt and the rest of them.

My stomach hurts, my head hurts, I’m dizzy.  I’m going to eat a breakfast I don’t want and wait at the end of the hall in that chair that can see all the way down to the double doors.  I’ll wait to be summoned.  And then I’m going to say whatever they want to hear.  Or I won’t.  I don’t know.  Maybe I’ll be honest, “I don’t care any more.  Change the meal plan all you want.  I’m not going to eat it unless I’m hungry or it looks appetizing.  My goal is no longer recovery, it’s getting the fuck out of here.  ‘Suuuurrrrreee, I’ll do PHP’”, I’ll say.  That part is a lie.  I’m not doing PHP.  I don’t want to do the work.  They are right, I’ve outgrown Willow.  It has nothing else to offer me.  “Yeah girl, it’s 0,0”  Sunshine and RAINBOWS today.”  I’ll go home and continue on, because that’s what I have to do.  I don’t have a choice.  And I do enjoy my time with little Bee.  I miss her so much.  She’s my everything, so I’m not going to kill myself, not intentionally.  I’m not going to hang myself or slit my wrists.  But I’m not going to do anything to save my life either.  I’m going to eat what I want.  Vape if I want.  Smoke weed if I want.  I’m going back to freedom.  Danielle was right, this didn’t work.  I failed.  I’m ok with that.  Recovery and I just don’t share the same goals.  Please, discharge me.  Let me go. I don’t want to fight any more.  I don’t want to be part of this community any more.  And I definitely don’t want any friends.  I just want to go back to my little hobbit hole and do what I need to do to get by.  I’m not talking to anyone else.  I’m just smiling and nodding from this point forward.  I’m not sharing my feelings and I’m done being vulnerable.  I’m done giving compliments and I’m done fitting in or not fitting in, because it doesn’t matter.  These people don’t matter, just like I don’t matter.  Discharge me tonight if you want.  I want to go home.  I don’t want to care any more.  I have learned that it’s all just bullshit anyways.  That they aren’t really there if you need them.  That I haven’t grown or changed at all.  That I don’t like groups anymore.  That I miss my sugar free redbull.  That I miss my perfectly flat belly.  That recovery is just fucking lying to yourself until you believe that you are happy with your own imperfections.  It’s all a big fucking lie.  I hate this shit.  I do.  I really fucking hate it and I’m done.  Sorry ladies, I’m fucking over it.  Danielle used to say that all the time, “I’m over it” and it hurt every time she said it.  Well, you were right Danielle and I get it now.  I’m fucking over it.  I’m tired of groundhog day.  I’m ready for freedom of choice again.  I’m done with dinner questions.  I’m done being supportive.  I’m done being done.  Fuck everyone and everything.  “Hi Kiki, you lovely sweet lady, FUCK YOU TOO.”

Okay, 8:33 am and I have to admit it, breakfast improved my mood quite a lot.  It started with Manon not getting her coffee because she apparently forgot to circle it.  Kylee, who was sitting across from her, gave Manon her coffee.  Just a little act of kindness, but I know it made her day.  It kind of made mine.  About halfway through the meal, I saw Kristen, “The Enforcer”, looking at Kylee’s place and then Manon’s and her eyes going back and forth.  She totally saw what happened and didn’t say anything.  I think Kristen is a favorite around here.  Even though she enforces the rules, she also knows when to let the little things slide.  Example:  I was on the way to breakfast putting on chapstick and I think I heard her say, “you better put it away.”  I have to assume she was talking to me, since chapstick is banned outside of splataaah.  But it’s a dumb rule and Kristen knows it.  Other rules though, she will definitely enforce.  Staying out of our rooms, unless it’s room time, she’s really big on enforcing.  Table talk rules are another one that she will enforce.  But it’s okay, she’s actually really nice and smiles all the time.  I think she really enjoys her job and enjoys being on our unit.  That’s really cool, someone that finds purpose in what they do.  She’s also very smart and cultured.  She spent a year (I think) teaching English in Thailand after finishing her degree in Sign Language Interpreter or some shit like that.  She claims that she forgot most of her sign language while she was teaching English, so she never pursued a job in that.  I guess maybe sign language is like any language we learn later in life, use or lose it.  I can barely even say, “I speak french like a 2 year old” any more.  Sad.  And I know what I said about Kiki earlier.  I didn’t mean it.  She’s so sweet and she says the nicest things to me.  

I just feel like I’ve been a big part of their team meeting in the mornings and so everyone is on guard about me, but I’m not exactly sure what that means.  It’s frustrating not knowing what’s being said about me and how that’s affecting their perception of me.  Do they think I’m faking it or something now?  I don’t know.  But it does make me hesitant to be open and honest.  And there is pretty much a 0% chance of me talking to nursing or anyone else about what’s going on, especially SH/SI.  I’m just going to ride the fucking wave today and try to get out of here sooner than later.  Honestly, let’s discharge this week, if that’s what my team wants.  I’m done “advocating” for myself.  And I’ll at least try PHP, because I feel like once I get over there and see my friends, I’ll feel more motivated to continue.  I’m just stuck right now.  I think Dr. Parsley was right, I’ve been ready for a while.  I shouldn’t have kept putting it off, I should just roll with the punches.   

My values today have changed since breakfast.  I want to be honest with myself and my team and my goals.  I want to see how we can work together to set goals that we can agree on and go from there.  I need to be more open to their thoughts, but at the same time, continue advocating for myself.  I guess the biggest part of my frustration is feeling unheard.  I appreciate what Dr. Parsley was saying about weight goals.  I hear that the literature supports getting to a weight that is an average of where you weight has been.  And I hear him saying that he would potentially look for more data, so that they could make a better recommendation.  From his point of view, he’s stuck, too.  He can’t make a medical recommendation that isn’t supported by the research.  Okay.  Fair.  I would challenge that by saying nearly all of the data he’s probably looked at is based on cis gender people.  Courtney said she hadn’t read much on trans women because the studies hadn’t been done.  I know from Psychology Classroom that this simply isn’t true.  At the time of recording her podcast on transgender women and eating disorders, she said there were over 200 peer reviewed papers, so actually an obscene amount of data.  I would feel more comfortable with their suggestions knowing that they actually read this literature, looked at outcomes and still came up with the same conclusion.  But since that’s not going to happen, how can their decision and goals be trusted?  I’m going to advocate for a target weight of 135, not 140.  Once we reach that goal, then we can reassess, but I need to know that’s the goal we’re trying to reach.  At that point, then we can make a decision on what to do.

Okay, let’s talk positives about stepping down to PHP.  Here’s my list so far:

1. Seeing Juniper for more than 1 hour a week
2. Seeing Brandon for more than 1 hour a week
3. Go get my a mani-pedi
4. Get waxed
5. Can wear whatever clothes that I want
6. Can wear my makeup however I want
7. Longer showers in the morning
8. Coffee/Energy drinks galore
9. Non-hospital Food.
10. Sleeping in my own bed again
11. Having a say in my schedule
12. Smoking weed if I want to 
13. Driving anywhere I choose
14. Sex!
15. As much shopping as my heart desires.
16. Don’t have to open packages in front of anyone
17. Use a regular razor for a better shave
18. Start electrolysis
19. Start voice training
20. Can play music I like as loud as I want
21. Can move around as much as I want
22. Can dance when I get out of bed in the morning
23. Can play guitar and sing whenever I want
24. Can use medications as I see fit
25. Bathroom privacy, flush when I want, don’t have to show anyone
26. Can work on my garden if I want
27. Can choose the people around me and in my life
28. Can work on my LPN goal if I choose
29. The Cats + Rainbow (this should be higher on the list)
30. Can exercise how I see fit
31. Don’t have to eat if I choose not to
32. Don’t have to have these stupid meetings with “my team”
33. Don’t have to rush when getting ready in the morning
34. Can sleep in sometimes
35. Get to make my own goals
36. Get to see my friends in PHP (if I chose to go, I have a choice)
37. Don’t have to give safety numbers to anyone
38. I made new friends and we can hangout outside of the hospital (shopping with Betty?)
39. Access to my watch
40. Sinks that have a normal knob for turning on and off.

Now, just for the sake of argument, let’s make a cons list:

1. Lose the safety of hospital setting (both Danielle and Self)
2. Less community around
3. More isolation
4. No one to help motivate me
5. Have to work on divorce stuff and get through it (no more excuses)
6. I have to figure out what and when to eat.
7. Having the ghost of Danielle follow me around
8. Responsibility (Adulting once again)

I guess those are my main cons.  Lots of upside to getting out of here though.  I have to remember that when I start to feel down.  Like, seriously guys, I’m not upset that I’m leaving anymore.  I’m over it.  June 1 or May 26 or tomorrow, I’m okay stepping down.  I was holding on to something that wasn’t real by prolonging my stay here.  My value today is honesty. Honesty with myself first.  I’m scared.  I know that my mental health isn’t great, it hasn’t been since I was 14-15 years old.  However, I don’t feel as depressed.  I think the lexapro might be helping that some.  If I stick with PHP, I’ll still have access to Dr. Parsley for another 8 weeks.  Our conversation the other day gave me more respect for him.  He didn’t talk down to me or dumb down the conversation.  That doesn’t mean I agree with the weight goal, but at least he was respectful and I didn’t feel like he was just reading from a playbook.  He didn’t use the Dr. tone.  I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with the rest of “my team” though.  I really dislike Courtney and Alina (if that’s her fucking name).  I know I shouldn’t be this black and white about things, that’s not the right way to approach things.  But I think they are spineless and I don’t feel like they are on my side.  Especially Alina.  I do begrudge her for pulling me out of my room in front of everyone that day.  She didn’t trust me.  I don’t know how I can trust her.  I’m going to be cordial.  I’m not going to apologize.  I’m going to answer in as few words as possible any question she may ask.  I will do my best to be honest with her, I just won’t go into a lot of detail.  With Courtney I think it becomes a little more challenging.  I need her to get on board with my weight goal, even if there is a caveat that we can reassess behavior once I reach 135 lbs.  That’s the major sticking point I have with her.  I don’t feel comfortable increasing my meal plan any more, because I don’t want to start rapidly gaining weight.  I worry that I’ll start and then it just won’t stop.  I think they know that’s what will happen and they’re counting on it.  All over this place there are signs and sticky notes that say, “you’re more than a number on a scale”  and “You’re more than an image in a mirror.”  What they don’t account for is the fact that me having a block body is going to make me more clockable as a transwoman.  It’s something that I don’t think cis people can truly understand or empathize with, because it’s something that they will never go through.  It’s not their fault, it’s just not something they can understand.  My passing or not being stared at is very dependent on how I look.  I was born into the wrong body and those male traits that I hate so much become so much more noticeable if I’m not small.  So, yeh.  I’m not willing to go over 135.  That’s a good weight for me.  Also, I just thought of this, but part of my weight prior to the eating disorder was muscle mass.  I have lost muscle so naturally, I’m going to be on the lighter side of things.  And they might not use BMI as a measurement, but many doctors and scientists do and at 135, I’m around 22 BMI which is on the low end of normal, which is exactly where i should fall.  I don’t know how to come to terms with my body in any other way.

I feel like this stuff is all boring and I want to journal about some sort of other self-reflection or introspective shit.  I want to have that breakthrough moment where it all clicks for me and I’m body neutral or something like that.  I keep waiting and it just keeps not happening.  And my thoughts ruminate.  

Am I willing to engage with strong emotions today?  “Meh” was my answer.  I did that yesterday and it took me down a dark road.  I sat in the pain, just like I’m supposed to do.  But I don’t feel better, even today.  Well maybe a little, I don’t know, it’s hard to say.  I still miss Danielle.  I still miss our family.  I still have so much self-hatred.  I still wish I had a time machine and I could do things differently.  What would I do differently?  I don’t know.  Maybe I’d never take the Petstore job and never meet Danielle.  All the love songs say the pain is worth the joy of falling in love, but I just don’t see it that way.  Danielle did save my life after the split with Lindsay though, I can say that.  I was actively thinking of ways to end my life at that point until she started texting me back. See, here I go again, feeling these feelings.  The grief, the loss.  My person.  I didn’t want to give up my person.  I wanted to stay with her forever, she just gave up on me.  Maybe that’s what hurts the most.  The first promise she made to me was, “I’ll never stop trying.”  And yet, she did.  I didn’t stop trying, but she did.  She gave herself to someone else, her mind first, then her body.  She made up reasons to stop trusting me.  They were bullshit.  I don’t want to go down this dark road today.

It’s a rainy day in Denver and even though I’m at the end of the hall where there are no windows, I can still feel the gray.  And I guess that’s just how I feel, grey.  The rain is good and I actually like grey days, so I don’t see this as an absolute negative.  It’s more neutral or necessary.  We must have grey and rainy days.  We must sometimes be grey ourselves.  For me, that means not having strong emotions one way or another today.  Maybe a skip day from all the feelings.  Maybe today is just a day.  A normal, average day.  Maybe I’m neither enthused or repulsed by recovery today.  Recovery just is, just as am I.  I don’t always have to be joy and sunshine or spitfire and exhaust.  Maybe I should stop searching for the supposed joy and just exist and see what happens.  Is this my breakthrough moment?  Am I finally seeing the light or something?  I don’t know.  I say that a lot.  I don’t know, because the answers are so blurry.  

Let’s start here, with this mantra:  “I exist in a neutral space, neither good nor bad.”  Today just is, it’s neither good nor bad.  I don’t have to label every day in black and white, because life isn’t black and white.  Grey exists in all various shades and it’s ok to be grey.  I choose today to exist in a neutral shade of grey, neither sinking into the earth or lifting up to the heavens.  I am.  Today will have uplifting moments that make me smile and laugh and will have downward spiraling moments that make me uncomfortable. It will also have neutral moments, where I just exist.  I will survive the three, regardless.  Today I exist in grey.  Today I exist in a neutral space, neither good nor bad.  

I have 11 minutes before snack time.  I need to give Eleana her kudos.  That means buying an amazon certificate, printing it out and writing her a note that hopefully has some meaning.  I haven’t spoken to her, so I can’t say what I like about her.  I can only say what I see.  She’s here and she’s trying and she can’t fail unless she quits.  That’s true for all of us here.

At least my snack was normal today.  Back to the regular ol’ strawberry shake.  I think they got the message.  God only knows what they’ll say to me when I get pulled later.  I think my response is going to be, “We have time to work on this in PHP, right?”  Posed as a question instead of a command.  It’s less aggressive and gives them the illusion that it’s their decision.  That’s what people in authority over your life want, right?  Is that thought too negative?  Let’s reframe.  Letting them make the final decision is the best way to ensure I’m getting the most out of my care.  There.  Was that so hard?  I can be positive.  I can have recovery oriented thoughts. Proof.

And I’m even going to go to group today.  Look at me.  So many recovery oriented thoughts.  Dr. Parsley gave me a stare down as he pulled Raine from group.  Tongue lashing on its way.  Is that too negative?  Let’s reframe.  Dr. Parsley and/or the other members of “my team” are going to provide feedback regarding my weekend, the PHP stepdown plan, my meal plan and my weight restoration goals.  Oh boy, that was a mouthful.  The anxiety snowball is rolling, but I want to use this journal and my other coping skills to try and manage it.  Let’s start with some music.  I started “In Rainbows” this morning, but paused on “The Reckoner”, so I’m going to pick up where I left off.  Rooms will be open in a few minutes, so I’m going to use that quiet time to regroup before my lunch challenge, whatever that might be.  And I’m going to continue working on my “Pros” list of reasons to leave Willow and rejoin the functioning adult world.  I’m going to try and diffuse any negative thoughts, FUCK YOU MR. NEGATIVE.  I’m going to give myself some compassion for not being perfect and not just jumping in line and doing as I’m told.  I’m going to write a letter to my entire team expressing my new found excitement to step down, so that there is no room for interpretation, I am sticking to the goal.  I’m ready for the next challenge.  Boom, reframed, BITCH.

I had a productive meeting with Alina and Courtney.  I guess.  They didn’t push any meal plan changes on me, we didn’t discuss weight and we discussed some of the most basic PHP goals, along with the safety elements that I’m most concerned about.  I asked for one month in the apartments here before trying to transition home and they seemed to agree with that.  I think we’re all on the same page that the transition home is going to be the biggest challenge for me.  We also discussed, just as Dr. Parsley and I discussed that if it’s too much being in the apartments, then the opportunity to step back up will be there.  I don’t know how much I believe that, knowing what I know about hospitals and how they like to run, but I want to trust them.  Further, Courtney apologized for the unexpected changes to my meal plan over the weekend.  She swears she didn’t make any unannounced changes and I’m stuck having to believe her.  I think that hopefully we’re all on the same page with the meal plan.  I don’t want to increase my meal plan right now.  I don’t care if my weight is trending. I don’t want to trend up.  I’m not comfortable with trending up.  I want to keep it the same.  I’m not a statistic, I am an individual and if it is as they are saying my choice at the end of the day, then I choose to maintain my weight, which is healthy.  I don’t need to weigh 150 lbs. to recover.  I’ll do the other work, I focus on the emotions and feelings that lead to the eating disorder to begin with.  I’ll sit with the pain.  I’ll do most of the groups and stuff.  I can do the work, but I won’t support big weight gains.  That part I am firm about.

I also can’t promise that I’m going to go to every meal or snack for the next 13 days or whatever.  I’m going to pick and choose what I eat.  I’m going to PHP regardless, so I no longer have any expectation for myself to keep challenging myself.  There’s no point in stressing out over going to meals and snacks that make me feel like shit, if the end result is the same. I’m going to PHP and I’m going to go with a positive attitude.  I’m looking forward to seeing my friends there and I’m looking forward to moving on from the hospital setting.  I’m happy with June 1st as a stepdown date.  I’ll accept an earlier date if insurance gives pushback.  I don’t care.  I’m indifferent to the date at this point.  I am so disappointed in Nurse Bailey yesterday and how I was treated, as some sort of burden.  I need a friend to talk to and she told me to fuck off.  I no longer feel that supported here anyways, I guess.  

When it comes to what I eat and when I eat, I’m probably going to be skipping any meal or snack I’m supposed to provide for myself.  I still don’t want to eat.  That hasn’t changed.  I do want to get out of here, but I don’t want to eat.  I will likely be skipping dinners and snacks.  I do not foresee myself doing any cooking or ordering in either.  A lot of that has to do with trauma around Danielle.  I just don’t see a way to push past that.  I don’t want to cook.  That was our thing and I don’t want to do it any more.  And I don’t want to order in because so many of those foods are just poor food choices.  Food doesn’t excite me any more.  It repulses me.  There’s just too much emotion tied to eating.  That’s why, in my opinion, I can drink supplements much easier than eating.

In fact, if no one comes to get me for lunch right now, I’m skipping that shit and taking a nap.  I don’t want to eat.  I’m not concerned about meals.  I have no incentive to eat, that incentive was my own goal setting and that has been removed.  I’m actually very good at setting my own goals, I don’t need to have those goals set for me.  Maybe they are seeing that now?  It kind of sounds like they are.  Uh oh, I hear Kiki giving the lunch announcement.  I’m going to act like I didn’t hear it and hope no one pops in my room.  Kristen is MIA for some reason.  I think they move her back and forth between us and 2E since they only have one BHT and one nurse.  That gives their BHT a break or something maybe.  I really want to just take a nap instead.  I’ll go to the next group, process with Amanda (hopefully).  That’s a productive group if we do what we’re actually supposed to do and it doesn’t just turn into some kind of a bitch fest.  Not that I don’t appreciate the ability to let it out regarding how we’re treated here and problems and what not.  But, process is supposed to be about those hard to talk about topics that might typically be off limits during other groups and certainly at meals.  It’s our one chance to say the tough things that many of us are thinking, but we’re not supposed to say outloud.  It’s not as good as the APN process, because nothing was off limits there, but it’s still better than our average group.  I do get a lot out of that one.  I don’t “like it” per se, because it does take a toll emotionally.  I guess any difficult emotion takes a toll, so where better to do that than with my peers.  And I get so much insight from Priscilla and from Anelise.  Kristen the enforcer just came to kick me out of my room.  More on this later I guess.

BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP.  MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE.  THERE HAS BEEN A FIRE EMERGENCY REPORTED IN THE BUILDING.  DO NOT USE THE ELEVATORS.  

That was a fun lunch interruption.

Fuck it’s cold in this building.  I’m wearing my heaviest hoodie and hanging in the hallway while everyone gathers for process.  I just don’t want to process today.  I don’t want to share 2-3 emotions with context.  I just want to hide away.  I want to sleep. I want to be cozy in my bed and close my eyes.  If I go to process I will almost certainly fall asleep.  I’m pretty annoyed about the sitting situation, too.  Katy took my seat, I took Polly’s seat, Manon to my seat, I moved over to Ella’s couch and Ella doesn’t want to be rude, but she doesn’t like sitting with me for some reason that she hasn’t stated.  I try not to take it too personally, maybe I’m annoying.  I’m very fidgety and bounce my legs a lot and stuff.  I just don’t like sitting alone and I earned that couch seat and Katy kind of jacked my seat and I’m kind of emo about the whole thing.  Then I was fine with Katy as a couch mate, but Manon wants to sit with her roommate and that makes sense, but then that doesn’t leave me anywhere to sit because of the Ella situation and that makes me sad.  And it also makes me not want to go to group.  I feel left out and frustrated.  I earned that couch seat.  I earned it.I would take Abigail’s seat until she gets back or I leave, but I think Maddy likes that seat and I don’t want to push Maddy further out.  It’s hard for her to go to group, so I want her to be comfortable.

I just don’t think I can process today.  And I don’t feel like I have anything constructive to add to process. But mostly, I just don’t want to be around everyone.  I want to take a nap instead.  I’ve just had so many strong emotions for the last week.  I don’t feel like I can contribute any more.  I’m exhausted.  Maybe this is one of my other big fears for PHP.  It was briefly mentioned that there are even more groups in PHP and I’m already struggling to be in a group these days.  Mostly because these groups hit pretty hard.  They’re really targeted.  Process is especially tough because someone almost always has a topic similar to something I’m already feeling.  Then all the feedback and all the thoughts around the feedback really kick me in the cunt.  I just don’t know what to do with myself.

Good news, my cherry coke shirt has arrived in the building.  Not my leggings, not yet.  But hopefully two of my new shirts.  I need a shirt to wear with my green skirt too.  I’m going to wear it without leggings if I can get my legs smooth enough.  Not that it matters.  We’re allowed to be hairy here.  But, I will say, Brandon asked me about wearing skirts.  So I was considering wearing my cutesy dress next Saturday, if he plans on coming.  I might even do full makeup.  But I’ll need a commitment from him before mid afternoon that he’s going to be here.  I don’t wanna doll up just for the girls on the unit.  That’s a lie, I do want to doll up, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to be fancy or something.  They take that shit really seriously, I feel like and they are going to judge my makeup hard.  

Wow, I’m looking into the group room and it’s literally everyone in there except me.  I’m an asshole, I guess.  I just can’t do process and I don’t like the girl doing process today.  I don’t remember her name, but she did it last week.  I think they stole Amanda from us.  I need to hear music.  I need to cope with my anxiety.  And besides, what’s my motivation for going to group, I’m not trying to get to phase 2 anymore.  And definitely not phase III, so who fucking cares.  Maybe the girls, but my team is over it.  I’m stepping down.  We have a schedule and nothing is going to stop that.  If I skip lunch or dinner or snacks.  If I skip groups.  I’m repeating myself.  I need a good editor.  Or maybe this writing is just trash, I’m not sure.  

Besides, I’m using the coping skills that I said I was going to use today, journaling and music.  I’m still listening to “In Rainbows” on repeat today.  I’m getting flashes of things I did with Danielle, both back when we were young and during our marriage.  I miss our marriage so much.  I miss our trips to Tagawa and planting the garden.  I miss everything so much.  Why can’t she just come home and be normal again?  Here I am about to cry again.  The death of a marriage is worst than the death of a human in a way.  When someone dies, especially of natural causes or in a car crash or something, they’re gone from the earth.  You bury them.  You know they’re in the ground.  But with the death of a marriage it’s so much worse.  They’re still alive to the people they chose to keep in their life, but they are dead to you.  She is dead to me.  I’m not allowed to send her a message to see how she’s coping.  I’m not allowed to tell her how I’m doing.  I’m not allowed to be friends.  We won’t get together, even occasionally.  We’re apart.  Alive, but apart.  It’s so sad.  I feel sad and I miss her, even if she was bad to me.  I miss her.  I don’t want to process this today.  I don’t want to engage with difficult emotions.  I want to escape them.  

I need something to cheer me up. Do I need some friendly conversation or a game?  I need a hug.  I really just need a hug.  I miss Kirsi, she left today and she was a reliable source of hugs.  She and Polly, they were my gotos for hugs.  I don’t think I have anyone here for hugs now.  We’re just not on that level.  Maybe that’s part of outgrowing Willow.  The people that I trusted and that trusted me have moved on and that’s how I know it’s time for me to go, too. I am grey today.  I am neither good nor bad.  Negative or positive.  I just am.  I must remain neutral today.  Neutrality, the act of committing to nothing other than existing in the space I exist.  That’s where I am, a floating bag of molecules with no home and no feels.  I am simply neutral.  No strong opinions, good or bad.  I just am.  That’s how I survive the rest of the WIllow venture.  I’m going to take some more hydroxyzine.  I want more clonazepam, but that’s probably unlikely.  Bailey isn’t going to help me out.  The other nurse might, if I expressed my panic to her and try the hydroxyzine first.  “Dear Nurse:  I am neutral, neither good nor bad.  To remain neutral, I need more benzodiazepines.”    Or some weed gummies.  I’d settle for weed gummies.  I want to go home.

I feel like the whole group room is staring at me, the outlier that didn’t go to process.  It’s too crowded in there, the group room..  I’m already panicked.  I want to lie down.  I want to scream.  I want to cry.  I want to forget everything I’ve learned.  I want to run through the doors.  I want to climb up the walls.  I want to sing.  I want to dance.  I want to run down the hall, shouting like a madwoman.  I want to jump on the furniture and kick this puzzle next to me.  I want to crush glass.  I want to smoke a cigarette.  I want to vape.  I want to roll a blunt and smoke that.  Kristen just locked my room.  I’m stuck out here for the remainder of the day.  Chances of getting to skip dinner just dropped dramatically.  And I can’t go to dinner, but not eat.  That’s a bad look.  Not showing up though.  That just looks like I’m having a rough day.  Kristen is so good at her job, damnit.  I can’t sleep on this couch.  I’m going to go lie down in the corner by nursing.  I want to give up.  Neutrality, the act of convincing yourself that you’re indifferent to all the things that matter most to you.  Be neutral, Clara, be neutral.

I get the rules and the structure here, it’s one thing I actually like and feel like I’ll be missing when I go to PHP.  I know they’ll try to give me structure, but I plan on flunking out, maybe.  Anyways, the one thing I haven’t figured out is why they keep it so fucking cold in here all the fucking time.  The thermostat says it’s 72, but there’s no way.  It’s more like 65 and I’m layered up as much as I can be, but my nipples are starting to hurt and once they start to hurt it’s like the point of no return.  My whole boob just hurts and to get it to stop hurting I need something like a small heater, the sun or a blow dryer to get them warmed back up.  No one gives you a warning about these things before you grow them.  I mean, fuck, I’ve bumped them into walls and counters and door ways and it’s so painful.  Don’t laugh, that shit hurts.  If you’ve had them most of your life, I’m sure you’re used to it, but for me, having them for only 9 months or something, I’m still learning the best way to protect them.  Once I have surgery, at least I won’t have to worry about the between the legs thing quite as much, but that’s a way off.  I’m sure having a vagina comes with it’s own disadvantages that no one is going to share with me until after the fact, too.  I look forward to the experience, I suppose.

I had to ask Bailey for meds and it’s like it’s such a fucking chore for her.  Well, guess what, your other nurse is on break or something, so you have to do her job.  God knows I won’t check in with you.  I wouldn’t want to burden you with my mental illness problems.  You, the psych nurse, are doing this to make a difference or maybe just for a paycheck.  I’m leaning towards a paycheck in your case.  Wow.  I guess I’m still processing that reaction from yesterday.  It was such a fucking ridiculous reaction.  Such a bitchy thing to say to someone that was reaching out for help.  I don’t always have all the right words Bailey, but I know I’m in trouble and I know I need support and you’re telling me to piss off.  Oh and the nurse you sent me to, she’s a condescending cunt.  She literally just made me feel like an idiot with superficial bullshit lines of questioning.  If you’re not trained in doing checkins or whatever, maybe don’t offer them shits.  She literally just made me feel worse.  And now I’m still ruminating on that shit.  

“Hi Monica.”  She waved as she Kiki walked by.  I want to hide and skip snack.  I just don’t want to eat today.  I want to skip dinner.  I might just hide in the corner or something, maybe behind the group room or something.  If I pretend I’m asleep they can’t MAKE me go.  I know, I know, I’m supposed to be recovery focused, but I’m feeling those urges.  To restrict.  To cut calories.  To drop weight.  I didn’t exercise this morning, but not because I didn’t feel the compulsion.  It was mostly because I slept like shit, again, and didn’t have the energy.  Depressing as fuck.  

Group is out, no more hiding.  They moved the wheel chairs that were in the corner by the exam room.  They were perfect for wedging myself in and curling up into little ball.  Maybe I will go behind the group room and lay down flat.  The question is, are the fancies done pulling patients for the day or not.  It’s 2:19 PM, so we’re getting close to quitting time.  I know Alina leaves at 3pm and I can assume the other follow suit, but who knows.  Also, I don’t want to miss mail time.  Fuck, I want to go to my room.  Why’d she have to lock it?

Sleep.  Journal.  Eat. Sleep. Journal. Eat. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.  I’m going to skip dinner and HS snack tonight.  I just don’t want the calories and I don’t want the group exposure… and it’s not like I can just not eat in the cafe.  If I go in there, I’ll be expected to finish my meal.  Me getting a supplement at this point is just kind of silly.  But I do make a statement if I no show for a meal or snack.  So that’s the plan.  

What am I feeling?  Indifferent.  Why? Because my actions at this point have literally no bearing on anything.  If I eat, if I don’t, if I show up, if I don’t, if I go to group, If I don’t… it doesn’t matter, the result is the fucking same.  If I try and hang myself, if I slit my wrists, if I crush a cyanide capsule between my teeth or put a gun to my head, the treatment plan is the same.  I’m not getting any special privileges, like going out on pass, but I don’t really want to go out.  I don’t like being outside of here.  I’m not losing anything.  I don’t have a goal.  Well, I do, it just isn’t their goal. I actually want to lose weight while I’m still inpatient.  Not having a goal is how I wound up on the 7 year college plan.  It also led to at least 4 years of hell after school where I just tried to survive.   I don’t have a plan.  I’m going to live in the apartments here for at least another month.  I’m going to skip as many meals and snacks as possible.  I’m going to find a way to exercise as much as possible.  I’m going to try and drop calories.  Oh no, am I being negative.  Let’s reframe.  I don’t want to see fat me when I look in the mirror, so I’m going to do something about it. 

Why the fuck is it so cold in here?  It’s like 40 something degrees outside today and I swear their thermostats don’t work or something.  I know what 72 degrees feels like and this ain’t it.  My nipples are hard as rocks and hurt like fucking hell through a bra, a shirt and this thick ass hoodie.   This shit is torture.  Part of the reason I want to be in my room is because it stays slightly warmer in there and I have access to blankets and additional clothes.  Why do they want us to freeze our asses off?  I should pace for a couple of hours just to fucking warm my body up.

They’re having the last group right now and I’m hanging out by the nursing station where no one can see me.  Why go to group?  There’s no upside.  It’s just more stress and zero upside.  I don’t want to think about hard thoughts and hearing others cry is just too heart breaking.  No, I’m out here, recovering in my own way.  I’m writing down my thoughts.  All the fucking thoughts that pervert my mind.  Mr. Negative & Miss Sweets doing their battle of good and evil.  Let’m do what they do, I’m just a tourist taking snaps and posting them to this page.  I do want my packages though.  I should have at least 3 today.  So I’ll chill down here by nursing and wait until I see Kiki carrying the massive box of packages down for distribution.  Then I’ll make my move and try to use that as an excuse to get into my room where I’ll hide until after dinner.  Hopefully it’s Brandon in meds again tonight, then we can get our meds at 6:45 PM instead of 7:15.  After everyone takes off for the cafe, I’ll wait 20 minutes, then come sit by the med room so I’ll be first to get my meds and watch Euphoria.  Get my meds, change into my PJs and fake sleep or really sleep, whichever, until after HS snack, wash my face, brush my teeth and go the fuck to bed.  Another ground hog day done.  Wake up and do it again.  Yeaaaah! Tomorrow is Tuesday.  You know what happens on Tuesday?  The same fucking shit that happened today + everybody gets labs drawn.  I’m hoping my bloodwork comes back whacked the fuck out.  I don’t think I restricted enough for that to happen, but I can always hope.  I want them to step me down at a lower weight with fucked up blood, just as a fuck you.  FUCK. SO NEGATIVE.  Let’s reframe.   I want them to look like fucking idiots that don’t know what they’re doing.  I’m tired of this shit. VIOLA!  Look at that.  A little reframe and everything feels much lighter.

My hands are ice cubes and so are my feet, despite wearing socks today.  There is no saving my appendages from the cold hallway.  I don’t think I’ve restricted enough for it to affect my bloodflow.  I’d be super surprised.   Okay.  Nuff yappin.  I’m taking another nap until mail time.

Mail time success, I got all three packages without delay.  In fact, everyone got their packages without delay and it took staff only minutes to hand out to giant crates of packages and watch each one get opened.  I got so much cool shit.  2 pairs of leggings, a really cute polo-esque shirt and a cherry coke t-shirt that reminds of the Dr. Priscilla shirt Audra Esker used to wear in high school.  We can have a talk about Audra Esker some time, but that time is not now.

What we will talk about right now is how Kristen was on my fucking ass today about going to snacks and meals.  I tried to hide at every meal and she came and found me every single fucking time.  She actually came back from the cafe for lunch to come and get me.  Then at dinner time, I thought I was being sneaky- there’s this spot kind of behind the group room that’s all tile/stone and the carpet is grey and if you lay down really flat, it’s almost impossible to see me on the mirror or the cameras.  Kristen walked straight over, “Clara (she says my name right, OMG!), it’s time for dinner” and smiled.  I can’t help but really like Kristen.  We all do.  She’s really good at her job, she’s ultra professional.  But at the same time, she doesn’t really act like she’s an authority figure.  It’s weird.  I think we all just respect her, so she never really has to speak harshly or be rude.  But she does draw a line in the sand and won’t let you cross it.  It’s interesting.  But it’s rare that she’s not smiling and making some kind of friendly conversation, especially in the cafe, at the most stressful times.  She won’t let there be awkward silence. And you can tell, she really cares about each and every person here.  It’s not put on or fake, it’s legit.  I think she has a really big heart.  That’s not to say that she didn’t drive me crazy today, tracking me down for meals.  I wanted to skip lunch and dinner, but what am I going to say when she comes and finds me, even after everyone is already in the cafe?  I can’t be mad at her, she’s doing her job.  I’m sure there is a note in my chart or something telling them to come find me. I’m going to ask her if I get a chance.  But she’s really derailing my weight loss plans.  She won’t be here for HS snack, however, so I plan on ducking out of that one.  It’s Mahalo Frank and Shawna (I think).  Mahalo Frank is just so chill, I doubt he’ll be on my ass.  Shawna is really nice, too.  And she’ll try and get me to come, but if I act like I’m asleep, she won’t MAKE me come.  “Clara, you coming to snack?”, she’ll say.  Me:  “No” and she’ll go about her business. I just feel like I’ve eaten way too much today already.  I feel gross.  It feels gross.  I feel gross.  But if I go, I have to eat whatever is in front of me, unless it’s something challenging.  If it’s challenging, I can refuse.  And I’m done with the supplement shit.  In fact, if I get a muffin + Supp. tomorrow, I’m not drinking the supplement.  Fuck that shit.  It tastes like ass.  Plus, that’s an easy way to shave a few hundred calories off that snack.  Those muffins are already calorie dense enough.  I need to call Juniper now, before she gets too sleepy and goes to bed.

They always make us do these affirmation type things every week and one of the questions is, name something you’re proud of this week.  I am really proud of how I have been trying to treat Mom with more respect, patience and kindness.  I’m giving her more grace, even when she messes up.  I’m communicating my feelings better.  And I’m holding my boundaries much better.  The big example of that I can give last week (or maybe on the weekend), she asked how my day was and I said, “it’s complete shit, it sucked”, because it was and it did.  It’s one of those situations where I just needed to be heard.  And she did her bullshit, “Well maybe tomorrow will be better.”  No, STFU.  That was my first reaction.  I told her I hate it when she does that.  She responded with some shit about how she’s a positive person.  I told her she was full of shit and I had to go.  But when I started thinking about it, I really felt frustrated because when you tell someone your day sucks, you just want to be heard.  By responding with, “tomorrow will be better”, you’re completely invalidating what that person was trying to say.  Who gives a shit if tomorrow will be better.  Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but today…the day we’re talking about sucked.  A few minutes later, when I figured all of this out in my head, I told her exactly that, “When you respond to ‘my day sucked’ with ‘tomorrow will be better’” it makes me feel completely invalidated.  She actually heard me for once.  Instead of arguing or saying, “Sorry, but…” she heard me.  It clicked for her and she actually apologized and said she would try to not do it again.  That is the first fucking time in my adult life that I think she actually got it.  I told her no big deal, and we moved on.  That’s how this shit is supposed to work.  Instead of getting so frustrated and angry, I need to be measured in my responses and explain my actual feelings.  If I do that, hopefully she can understand why it’s upsetting.  I know that she’s not doing it on purpose, but both the “maybe tomorrow will be better” and “I can’t help it if I’m a positive person” are invalidating statements.   I don’t know.  I just thought it was neat, almost a breakthrough moment in our communication and I was really proud of both her and myself.

I think that’s enough jibber-jabber for today.  This laptop is dying and I need to go get in line for meds, if I want to get them early enough to sneak back in bed before snack.  Plus, I’ve got Euphoria to watch.  Shit is getting good.  Really fucking good.

I hate weird stares. Did I just get a weird stare?  I’m too paranoid, I guess.  I don’t know.  I feel like I am.  I’m watching this banger of an episode of Euphoria.  It builds and builds and builds and at the end, someone is going to die.  Rue, Jules, Cassie, Maddie, Nate?  Someone has to die this season, because there’s just too much happening for a every mother fucker to not die.

It’s been a productive morning thus far.  I woke up from a nightmare at 2:30 am.  My favorite grandfather was sitting across from me at a table telling how ashamed he was of me.  I guess that’s something I’ve always really feared, even when I claimed  that I wasn’t scared of anything.  It’s a hell of a way to wake up, my first reaction was to cry, but that’s exactly what he would have been ashamed of when he was alive.  I cried the day we found out he had cancer and he laughed and gave me a hug.  But I could tell he was embarrassed, his 15 year old grandson was crying like a woman.  Imagine if I made him call me Clara, his granddaughter.  He would have disowned me.  Much the way I think my father would react and why I never plan on having that conversation with him.  Since I couldn’t cry (about the dream), I just got really pissed off and decided to walk it off.  Anger is a hell of a motivation to do something that  you’re explicitly told you’re not supposed to be doing.  I walked a little over 4 miles and was able to move quickly enough to get my heart rate elevated.  In other words, I’m building muscle and burning fat pretty rapidly.  I would imagine if I skip a few more meals and keep up the exercise I’ll start dropping weight pretty quickly.  I can’t imagine I’m consuming that many calories anyways.  Definitely under 2500 calories, with the skipped meals.  It’s not like they tell us this shit, so it’s all a guess.  But I’m pretty good at estimating this kind of stuff.

What fueled my anger?  It’s shit “my team” keep saying.  Stuff like, “you’ll take cooking classes and learn how to cook.”  Bitch, I already know how to cook.  I’m good at it.  I just never want to do it again.  That was something Danielle and I did together and now it’s ruined.  My kid has a G-Tube, so it’s not like I’m cooking for anyone but myself anyways.  Or they say things like, “we’ll order in something you really like.”  Dumbass, I lived on Postmates for 6 years.  I don’t like anything.  Nothing is appealing.  It all sounds gross.  I don’t want to order in, ever again.  It’s gross.  No.  Just fucking no.  If this is PHP, I’m going to walk the fuck out.  Oh, and that meal I’m supposed to cook for myself… ain’t happening.  No snacks, no meals for myself.  Fact.  You can get my weight to 500lbs, I’m still not going to do it.  Eating was something I did with Danielle and now she’s gone.  You want to talk to my mother?  FUCK YOU. NO.  My mother is not part of my medical decisions.  I’ve been on my own since I was 9 for the most part.  She doesn’t get to have a say now.  I love her, but NO.  The only person that I would possibly listen to would be Danielle,, but she doesn’t want me in her life any more.  So… I guess we’re just fucked, huh?  It’s not like Brandon has that kind of sway over me.  He can give me opinions and I’ll nod and stuff, but he’s not going to convince me to eat more or to do anything for that matter.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to try today.  But a few things are certain.  If there are changes to my meal plan, I am walking out of the cafe.  If there are changes to PM snack, I’m skipping dinner.  If you try to serve me a parfait, I’ll walk out of the cafe.  I just can’t trust that it hasn’t been tampered with and I already don’t know what ingredients are in it.  We were supposed to be rebuilding trust, so the unannounced changes yesterday really fucked with me.  It just felt like such a shady move.  I agreed to 135 lbs. And even though I do kind of like Dr. Parsley, he kept trying to push higher and I am not going to agree to that.  I need to know that we are working on the same goal before I agree to any changes.  Frankly, if you keep trying to make me go up on weight restoration goals, I’m going to go lower.  Keep testing me.  You won’t win this fucking game with me.

7:02 AM and I’m already showered, dressed, teeth brushed and waiting for meds.  The med line is kind of short this morning, which is really weird.  Did everyone just stop caring about meds?  It’s cool, I’m supposed to take Buspar every day at the same time.  Apparently, it’s really important with this med.  Dr. Parsley neglected to tell me that, but I conducted my own research.  I could really find much other than, it takes 2-4 weeks to start working too, so we’re not going to really know if the lexapro or buspar are effective.  Probably should have waited on starting a new med, but I kind of bullied him into it.  To be fair, I did warn him on day ONE, I can say whatever needs to be said to get what I want.  I mean, I am winning.  I guess.  I don’t know, maybe I’m losing, because I’m not doing the things they want me to do.  I’m doing things my way.  So that’s kind of losing, I guess.  I don’t know.  Maybe there is no winning.  I’m broken, remember?   I don’t feel any less broken today than I did yesterday.

I had an interesting and somewhat extended conversation with Nurse Brandon last night.  He’s kind of cute and I think he likes me, but I’m usually wrong about these sorts of things.  Anyways, he was grilling me on last night’s dinner and snack.  “Do I want to go to PHP?” Yes!.  On June 1st, I am committed to going to PHP with zero resistance or further negotiation.  “Why did you leave PM snack?”  Because my meal plan was changed without my knowledge or consent.  And frankly, something was in that shake that tasted really bitter.  Whether or not it was put there on purpose, I can’t say.  But it was gross and the taste stayed in my mouth for at least 20 minutes after I got up and left.  “Why didn’t you go to dinner?”  Because I was pissed about the meal plan change.  How can I trust any part of the meal plan if you’re making changes without informing me first.  I did not agree to the C+.  I’m not agreeing to C+.  I’m not agreeing to trying to get my weight to trend up.  I don’t feel comfortable with it.  So, you make all the changes you feel like making and I’m going to skip all the meals that I don’t want to eat.  Furthermore, I’m going to exercise in the early morning hours, before there’s really anyone here to mess with me about it.  Night BHTs don’t give a shit.  And I’m going to do so in a way that doesn’t draw attention.  If I must, I’ll pace in my room and just do wind sprints back and forth for an hour to get my heart rate up.  I don’t trust you.

The Enforcer, Kristen, is here today.  That means no sneak off into my room, she’ll have that shit locked before breakfast.  I might skip lunch though, because she’ll come by and tell me lunch is ready and lock the door.  This is horrible.  My ED thoughts are so strong this morning.  I guess.  I should turn this around.  What would the opposite action be?  But the eating disorder says, “Fuck opposite action”, “remember your goals”, “they aren’t the same as ‘your teams’ goals”.  And all these things are true, aren’t they?  Isn’t the ED correct?   I’m so confused.  I thought I knew what I wanted.  I felt like I was seeing the light and then the rug got pulled out from under me.

“What are your safety numbers today?”  FUCK, I don’t know. I usually just make some shit up.  I guess that’s what you’re supposed to do.  I said, “Four and Four” as though those have any real meaning.  I’m not actually thinking about killing myself the fast way.  I’m back on the starve myself to death train.  Do you think that’s why my dreams were so weird?  Because I’m back in suicide zone.  It’s a shitty place to be.  Or maybe it was really my grandfather speaking to me.  I think he would be ashamed and I would be banished from the family.  That’s part of the reason for me waiting so long to “come out”.  I’ve literally been waiting for anyone that I thought would care to die.  My dad is the last person.  It’s not that I want him to die.  I love my Dad.  But I don’t want to disappoint him.  And he would feel ashamed.  I’m kind of done with shame.  Fuck shame.  

30 minutes fly right by when you are waiting for meds.  Well, technically I’m no longer waiting.  I took my cocktail of pills and two puffs of nasal spray.  I do like sitting by the med window though.  It’s less lonely than by the community room.  No one really sits down there in the morning any more.  And I don’t want to go back to my room.  I’ve already made my bed and gathered my daytime wants and needs.  This is the most active area for the next 15 minutes.  

Anelise is the most darling little thing.  I think she’s 18 or 19 years old and really sweet.  This is her 5th visit to ERC, so clearly she’s been doing this since she was a little.  She says, “let me know if you need anything”. And I’m pretty sure she was talking to me.  I said, “same”  I really wish there was more we could do to help each other.  If I could take their pain and their trauma and then just end it all myself, I would.  But that’s not the way the world works.  We all have to “sit in our pain”, which means, suffer.  But we’re supposed to let those thoughts come and then go.  That’s where we get stuck.  We have the pain, we feel it.  Then we feel it again and again and again.. Until we break. 

[Note to Self: Scan in pages from written journal while computer was charging]

Ohhh and the nightmares persist.  I sleep and they hound me and I wake and they hound me.  I just left snack early to take clonazepam.  I sat down in the cafe and from the door everything looked like it was back to normal.  I thought.  One strawberry shake, no additional supplements.  Whatever.  “I’ll drink it”, I thought.  But when I get over to the table, a closer examination makes me realize that it’s not a shake at all.  It’s some sort of strawberry smoothie.   Not that I have anything against smoothies, in most cases they are fine.  I’ll go to Smoothie King or whatever generic smoothie shop there is and watch them make my made-to-order smoothie, usually a couple of fruits, some protein powder, maybe something for energy.  Whatever.  But this is a hospital setting and I have no idea what’s in this thing.  They already tried to scam me once during snack yesterday.  I made it known to Brandon last night the reason I didn’t want to eat dinner or finish snack wasn’t about PHP.  It’s not.  June 1 is a perfect date to discharge.  I’m happy with that.  But I don’t like changes being made to my meal plan without my knowledge or consent.  I freaked out.  I left.  I feel bad and guilty.  It’s not a good look, I’m supposed to be having recovery oriented thoughts today.  That was one of my smart goals.  But I can’t do that if they keep changing my meal plan.  I didn’t agree to a smoothie instead of a shake.  I don’t even trust the shake, to be honest.  But the smoothie is so thick and you could literally put anything in there and I would never know.  Was that the plan?  Ramp up snacks and try to trick me into eating them.  That doesn’t seem like a very “team” like thing to do.  It just makes me trust them even less.  And it’s a weekend, so there’s no getting a hold of Courtney.  We can’t even see what the meal plan looks like.  All the BHTs have is what’s circled on a sheet, which is taken from what we planned for the week.  I was already so apprehensive about meals.  This is just one more strike against, “my team.”  Aren’t we supposed to be rebuilding trust?  Is changing things behind my back really the best approach for doing that?  How can they possibly think that this is going to fly?

So, I zoomed out of the cafe and went straight to nursing.  First, the PRN.  Relief from rising safety numbers is coming.  Then I went to the exam room and I think I talked to Bailey.  She’s a good nurse.  She advised, “take the PRN”, and asked “what else helps?”  A cold pack it is.  Then she grabbed my computer, so at least I can write until the clonazepam kicks in and my anxiety rate comes down.  Why am I having so many meltdowns?  It’s weird.  They did this once before, a smoothie instead of a shake, and I just drank the fucking smoothie.  It’s not a big deal.  But the idea that Courtney planted in my head that there could be extra ingredients in my snack really makes me apprehensive, neigh, skeptical about anything I’m putting in my body that comes from the kitchen.

I’m already wrecked, because one of the dinner questions was, describe your dream home.  Of course, no one could know that this question could trigger me.  But my sense of home is so fucked up right now.  Home was with Danielle and Juniper and the chance of ever going “home” again is almost 0%.  I don’t see any scenario where that could ever happen.  And that makes me feel so incredibly sad.  I want to scream.  I want to punch a pillow.  I’m begging my brain to let my heart cry.  I feel the tears behind my eyes, in the pit of my stomach and up through my chest.  I feel the sadness and it is consuming today.  Today, I don’t want to start a new chapter.  Today I want the old chapter.  Danielle is the one person that could tell me, “you can do this.  Finish what you started.” and I would.  But she’s gone and from the looks of things, she harbors no happy feelings toward me.  She doesn’t want to be my friend.  She doesn’t want to hear my sadness or joy.  She wants me to vanish.  I want to vanish, too.  It’s days like today that I want to evaporate into another state of matter.  One without the responsibility of living life.  I think one of Polly’s last dinner questions was, “if you could be a marine animal, what would it be?”  My answer was something along the lines of a claim or some other sort of creature that sits at the bottom of the ocean and collects and filters particles.  I’m relatively safe from being eaten and my job is super simple.  Today, I want to be a clam and I want my shell to be closed.  I don’t want to work today.  I don’t want to feel the pain because I haven’t figured out how to release it from my stomach and my heart.  I haven’t figured out a way to diffuse the thoughts.  I just sit and it just hurts.

It’s so lonely here sometimes.  I’m not in group because I don’t feel safe right now.  My SH/SI numbers are on the rise.  Maybe 6/6 or something.  Who knows?  I can’t stand the thought of sitting in group.  This is going to sound super stupid, but I was sitting on the couch that Polly and I shared and Katy came in and took my seat.  So I took Polly’s seat.  Then Manon came and took my seat, so I slid down to Ella’s couch.  I asked and she said it was fine.  But then this morning, she moved back to the table with Kirsi.  I get it, Kirsi is a really sweet girl and I want to sit with her, too.  But having a solid couch mate for group is so important, so Ella moving really hurt my stupid feelings.  I guess I just feel rejected.  I want to belong so badly.  And in so many ways I do. But then shit like this happens and it makes me feel so lonely and unlovable.  That broken feeling all over again.  It just feels like I’ll never be loved again.  I feel unwanted and rejected.  And that stimulates the heartbreak all over again.  Then all I can think about is Danielle and wonder if nice Danielle will ever exist again.  I miss nice Danielle so much.

Let me explain nice Danielle and mean Danielle.  So, when we first got back together in 2018, there was nice Danielle.  She was beautiful and happy and so in love with me, we cried if we had to be apart for three days.  I was traveling back and forth from Seattle to Denver and Seattle to LA.  Each time, it felt like we were going to be apart forever.  But I always came back.  Then we moved to Denver and were so happy.  We just enjoyed each other’s company for what it was.  There were no expectations.  I think at this point, she really did love me for who I was and accepted me and all my strangeness.  If I close my eyes, I can still see nice danielle with her beautiful long brown hair and dark brown eyes gazing at me, wearing her red Cornell hoodie as we shared cigarettes and couldn’t stop talking.  At this point, she was highly medicated with lithium and her bi-polar disorder was pretty well managed.  She’d occasionally cry for no reason and her Dr. told her she needs more sleep than the average person.  So she would nap throughout the day and we’d spend mornings and nights together.  

But two Thanksgivings ago her psychiatrist, Judy, told her she didn’t think she was bi-polar any more.  Apparently that’s a thing?  I don’t know.  But also, her liver and kidneys were going to shit because of the high doses of lithium.  So she and Judy began experimenting with different medications to try and replace lithium.  And they found one that helped with the depression, a new med (i forget the name), and she began taking that.  I was supposed to help watch for mania, but mania for Danielle isn’t necessarily typical.  It’s not impulsivity or uncontrollable shopping sprees.  When Danielle is manic, she becomes very, very aggressive.  She becomes mean.  Top this off with the fact that she started drinking again.  Something she did very little of because when we got together, I told her I didn’t like how she treated people when she drank.  She’s a mean drunk.  She does the weird picking at people thing.  I got so embarrassed once in an Uber in Seattle, because she was essentially making fun of the dPolly and I suppose he hadn’t caught on.  So she stopped and we just smoked weed.  But, back to mean Danielle.  Two thanksgivings ago, we went to Tennessee for Thanksgiving and we ended up getting in this huge fight.  All I remember is I came back to the hotel.  I had eaten some mushrooms, so I was all mellowed out and she was sleeping.  I climbed into bed and tried to cuddle with her, something we did all the time.  But she got irritated with me and accused me of being wasted.  We had plans to go out with her friends that night and we were all going to eat mushrooms together.  She had eaten some, too, so I thought, Okay, we’ll start this party off a little early.  And I ate slightly more than her.  Anyways,  I climbed into our shared bed and laid down next to her and started playing with her hair, like I always would.  And she woke up, got really mad at me.  We had this huge fight and I remember just feeling so distant from her.  This was the first time I remember her being truly abusive to me.  It started with criticisms of me.  I was telling her how beautiful she looked and how much I loved her and she was telling me all the things wrong with me.  It was so hurtful.  But, I did what I always did when she was emotionally abusive, I tried to appease her.  She would criticize and I would promise to fix it.  This went on for several hours.  Then she got really mad at me and said she was going out without me.  That should have been the end of it, but… the trauma bond is real.  She said all these hateful things and I begged her to stop and to be nice.  When you’re trauma bonded with someone, the abuser will say or do really hateful or ugly things and the abused feels like the whole world is collapsing around them, until the abuser eventually says, “it’s ok” and makes up with the abused.  So as she is trying to leave, I am begging her to stop and talk to me.  I just needed her to tell me that everything was ok.  As the abused, I just needed the chaos that was happening around me to be settled.  She and I were in a small suite of a hotel room and I was afraid she’d leave without making things ok and that felt like the end of the world.  So I did something stupid and illegal. I blocked the door and sat in front of it.  She tried pulling on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.  So she started punching me in the face.  This was the first time she had ever hit me like that.  Out of anger.  If you ask her, she’d say out of fear.  Maybe it was both, I don’t know.  But I blocked the punches and eventually, I just opened the door.  I guess we were making quite a lot of noise.  Anyways, she walked out of the hotel and the hotel counter lady asked her if everything was ok and she said no.  I didn’t have any shoes on and I followed her.  I was just trying to get her to stop being angry and talk to me.  I didn’t touch her or block her path, I just walked in front of or beside her.  She eventually goes into a gas station where she tells the attendant, “this person is following me and trying to hurt me.”  And being the badass redneck that he was, he said, “No one’s going to hurt you here little lady.”  At that point, I knew there was nothing else that I could do, so I left.  They called the police who showed up at the hotel a while later and arrested me for the initial not letting her leave.  

We got the charges thrown out, but she left for several days for Kay’s wedding in South Carolina, Kay being her best friend.  When she came back, she had covid and the flu.  She fully intended to leave me at that point, but I took care of her while she was sick and we eventually made up.  She rode home in the back of the van on the bed and we spoke very little.  But that was the birth of mean Danielle.

So now when I think about Danielle, I try to picture nice Danielle, the kind, caring, empathetic person that tells me everything is ok.  But my thoughts many times go to mean Danielle, who looks very different from nice Danielle.  She has short hair with grey streaks and her face carries this anger that cannot be calmed.  As time went on over the two years since, mean Danielle became more and more prevalent.  Mean Danielle was okay with hurting me, both emotionally and physically.  Mean Danielle is erratic.  She yells at me.  She calls me names.  Cunt. Bitch. Pussy.  Nothing is off limits.  Mean Danielle gets mad over minor comments made on Christmas morning that mean absolutely nothing.  Mean Danielle tells me, “don’t touch me.” and hits me if I do.  Mean Danielle bit my lip and then beat the shit out of me, breaking my ribs, blacking my eyes.  Mean Danielle is who is living in Tennessee with her boyfriend, abandoning her family.  Mean Danielle cares only about money and power.  Mean Danielle doesn’t believe in me any more.  I don’t like mean Danielle, but I tolerated her, because every once in a while, I got nice Danielle that wanted to hug and kiss me and tell me that everything was going to be okay.  That we could never be apart for ever, that we love each other too much.  It’s thinking about nice Danielle that makes me so sad.  I’m crying as I type this, finally, because I love and miss her so much.  I know it’s the cycle of abuse.  I know I’ll never have nice Danielle back in my life and it’s that loss that causes so much grief.  She says that Clara killed Michael.  And maybe that’s the case, but mean Danielle killed nice Danielle.  My heart is broken.  I am broken.  I will never be the same.  Mean Danielle took my soul and left it to wander the earth, lost and incomplete.  I know that mean Danielle doesn’t love me.  But I still love her.  I would have stuck by her forever, even through the abuse, the violence, the lies.  I would stuck by her.  Why wouldn’t she stick by me?  We promised each other, good or bad, heaven or hell, we were bound.  And now she’s gone on with her life as if I never existed.  No one can replace her.  No one shared the energy that we shared.  I will never feel that close with someone again and even if I could I wouldn’t want to.  It wasn’t worth it.  My life feels ruined along with my heart.  I suffer and these thoughts aren’t being diffused.  They linger.

So of course I have an eating disorder.  I have trauma and I don’t know how to undo all the damage that the trauma has caused me.  I feel the pain.  I’m at the bottom of the well and the person that would sit with me until we could make our way out abandoned me forever.  I can’t fucking kill myself, that would make me a monster.  I have Juniper to think about.  But I can punish myself.  I can refuse food.  I can focus on my body.  These aren’t recovery oriented thoughts, I know.  But they are my thoughts. And right now, I just want to sit at the bottom of the well and let the water flood in and drown me.  At this moment of the day, I don’t want to recover at all.  I want to let the eating disorder do what it was designed to do, kill me.  I want my body to slowly shut down and I don’t want to wake up.  I want to be buried here.  I thought I would be buried next to Danielle, but now I’ll rest alone, forever.  The final heartbreak to the tragedy.  I’m crying now because I’m feeling these hard thoughts.  I hate pain.  I hate loneliness.  I miss my friend so much.   She understood me.  I’m broken, i’ll never be understood again.  Why did she have to leave?  I just want her to come back and save me.  Save me from myself.  Save our family.  Come home.  Sleep in our bed.  Wake up next to me. I desperately want to feel that safety that she gave me.  I felt so safe.  I had a home. I want her to hold me and tell me she’s here.  I want her to tell me she loves being my wife.  I want her to hold me.  I want to feel her skin on my skin.   I can still feel our connection.  Every day and every night, it’s there.  She haunts my dreams.  I wake up crying.  She was my one true love.  Our souls are supposed to stay together.  I can taste the tears as they run down my face and into my mouth.  They are heavy.  These are heavy, dark thoughts.  These tears weigh a ton.  I feel no relief, just more anguish.  Just grief.  Why did nice Danielle have to go away?

I don’t want to eat today.  I want to hide in my room, like a closed clam.  I don’t want to do groups or eat meals.  I don’t want to feel like I belong to this community, because it’s not my family.  It’s not home.  I want to dissolve.  Right now, I wish I had my belt.  I wish I hadn’t asked for help.  I wish I had my escape hatch.

I fantasize about being in our bathtub, the water filled with red rose petals from our garden.  My body is still, pale and silent and the water is red with blood and roses.  I want Danielle to see that image of me forever.  She can move, but she has to carry the burden of my romantic death with her for life.  She took away my soul, so I want to give her a final image of me.  Pale and without breath.  My heart no longer has any blood to carry and I’m finally at peace.  Maybe we will find each other in the next life.  Maybe our atoms somehow rejoin each other to create something new and beautiful.  A molecule that is a new work of art.  One that doesn’t end in tragedy.  I don’t think I’m going to get better.  I think I will die, either from this eating disorder, or from my own hand.  I don’t think I can heal.  I don’t think I can close this chapter and start a new one.  I think my story reads, “The End”. and the crowd stands up, silent and makes their way out of the theatre, feeling the anguish of the main character.  Applause would be inappropriate in the same way that it would be wrong to applaud at a funeral.  Just a silent goodbye.  

These are my thoughts.  They aren’t recovery focused today.  I don’t know how to be recovery focused when all I feel is pain.  To my community, I’m really sorry.  I’m letting you down.  I don’t mean to, it’s just me.  Broken me sitting alone, at the bottom of the well, crying as water fills the hole and drowns me.

I asked for support.  I asked for laughter.  I asked for conversation.  I asked for check-ins.  I need support.  I don’t know what that looks like beyond those things.  More clonazepam?  I want to be asleep and at peace.  Let me sleep, Kristen.  I don’t want to eat.  I don’t want to recover today.  I thought I did, but I don’t. 

But what if this final sleep that I crave so much is full of nightmares, recurring fucking nightmares.  What if my energy leaves my body and I become another being that seeks that same fucking things that I seek now.  Acceptance, love, home.  What if it goes from bad to worse.  Fucking life.  Why can’t you give us some hint at death.  Why can’t we scientifically analyze where our life force goes once it leaves our body still, pale and cold.  Once our eyes glass over and our body stiffens.  

Now I’m sitting in bed, hoping no one calls me out for lunch and I’m just wondering about this supposed joy that every one keeps bringing up.  Broken me can’t feel anything, especially joy.  But if I were to recover, then I could feel joy.  But to recover I must sit with the pain and diffuse the thoughts and the thoughts won’t diffuse, no matter how hard I try.  This is why giving up looks like my best chance.  But these aren’t recovery focused thoughts.  How do I make my thoughts recovery focused?  I partition of the pain that I’m feeling.  I’ve felt it now.  It hurt.  Now I have to find contentment in the things that I still have in my life. Juniper, for one.  She is joy.  She is a shining star on a clear evening in the mountains, where everything sits silently.  Where all the sky is lit by the moon and the stars and there’s no man made light to pollute the beauty.  Where the universe is visible to my naked eye.  Juniper makes me happy.  I miss Juniper.

I want to make a new family.  I want Brandon to be part of that family, but I don’t know if that is realistic.  He’s great and he really cares about me.  But he’s committed to so many different things that make him happy.  Danielle said, I’ll never be enough for him.  And while I know she was just trying to hurt me, I also think she was partially right.  He’ll spend weekends with me, but his life is complex, too many moving pieces.  But I want to give him a shot.  He wants to get to know Juniper better.  He’s come every weekend to see me and cheer me up.  We snuggle, we kiss and we talk about life.  He’s a good listener.  He shares with me his struggles and successes.  He’s balanced.  But I’m only one stone on a scale that has 1000 stones.  I guess I’ll just have to see where we end up.

At least when I think about him, I can stop crying and I get butterflies in my stomach and tingles all over my body.  

I guess all this nonsense about, “I’m here all day” and “come back if things get worse” etc is complete bullshit. I am ripping out my hair and actively trying to come up with something else besides my belt (they took it) to hang myself.Like this isn’t a fucking joke and I’m not doing it for attention.  And here I have no accountability to Juniper, she’s taken care of, so it’s bombs away.  I’m just not quite sure what to use.  I asked Bailey for help and she told me to go see the med nurse.  I’m not even sure of her name, but she’s really bad at her job.  She said, “let’s do a check in, would that help?”  And I told Bailey told me to piss off, which is true.  So we go outside to do a check in and it’s all shallow, superficial questions.  I’m trying to explain what’s going on in my head and she’s just saying, “yeh, that sounds tough”  and “well maybe you’ll learn to like it again” or some stupid fucking bullshit. No.  Just fucking no.  I don’t know how either of the nurses could be more dismissive.  And I guess someone briefed them on me and said I’m worried about going to PHP or something and that’s why I’m skipping meals.  No, you fucking idiots.  I’m fine with going to PHP on June 1.  That’s great.  What I’m not happy about is my meal plan and the bullshit Courtney pulled over this weekend.  What I’m not ok with is gaining more weight.  What I want, and I keep telling you this, is to quit and relapse.  Like, 100% relapse.  In fact, I would discharge tonight if they’d let me.  I know they won’t, but if I could walk out the door with all my stuff, I’d do it tonight.  I’d agree to go to PHP and just never show up.  That’s kind of my plan anyways.  Sign me up for PHP and then just not go.  Not eat.  Relapse.  I don’t want recovery.  At least not today.  And if I still had my belt, I would absolutely hang myself right fucking now.  Plan.  Intent.  It’s all there bitches.  And you’re telling me to try a hot and cold pack.  Fucking brilliant.  How do I make this any more clear?  So now I’m just left with the question of, what can I use in lieu of a belt.  Sheets would work, but I’d need a way to cut them.  I don’t think any of my strings are strong enough, like from hoodies or whatever.    I’m drawing a blank here.  But I am a crafty motherfucker, so give me enough time and I’ll figure it out.

Do I need to have Kristen print my suicide note in 22 pt font and make a few copies?  What do I need to do?

I DO NOT FEEL SAFE.  I HAVE VERY HIGH SI.  I’M NOT JUST TRYING TO GET ATTENTION.  I HAVE A HALF-WIT dumb PLAN and I HAVE INTENT.  Oh.  but I guess those are the right questions to ask me, because, “She’s anxious about going to PHP.”  Seriously?  Who the fuck briefed these assholes on me.  They did a terrible fucking job.  And now I don’t want to go talk to Bailey because I feel like I’m annoying her.  She was a bitch just a minute ago.  Like, what the actual fuck?  I don’t know what to do.  Urge surf my suicide attempt.

Jesus. I feel so alone right now.  I feel like no one cares.  These fucking nurses.  They were supposed to be the ones that care.  And they don’t care.  I don’t know if they just don’t think I’m serious or what.  But it hurts.

It’s 6:01 PM – I ate dinner.  I didn’t want to, but I did it.  I plan on skipping HS snack.  I’m going to try and get my night meds early and fall asleep before snack.  If the night nurse is who I think she is, I’m also going to try and talk to her.  I can’t remember her name, but she’s really fucking nice.  She’s a little bit older and will take me seriously.  I’m so disappointed in nursing today.  Why did Bailey blow me off and act like I was an annoyance?  It’s crazy.  

Dinner questions were fun.  It never takes more than one guess for the whole community to guess me.  It’s kind of funny.  I only answer if I can come up with some elaborate, ridiculous answer. I’m funny.  It’s a fact.  I write funny answers that are sweet, but also capture my personality.  My idea of a perfect date, a shopping spree and fashion show for Brandon, who compliments my purchases.  My ideal house, a home with love, laughter, companionship and a reasonably sized, but not obsessive, vinyl collection.

I feel like I’m literally waiting for nursing change, so I can have a real conversation.  What a fucked up scenario.  I’m ratting Bailey out and she’s going to get in deep shit.  Like what the actual fuck.  I deserve to be heard and taken seriously.

I guess it’s the depression today.  All the writing that I’ve been doing.  It is a lot to process.  But I don’t feel better.  I actually feel worse.  I feel lonelier and more abandoned than ever.  I feel hopeless and lost.  I want to die.  I don’t have a solid plan.  But I have the intent.  I shouldn’t have told on myself the other night.  I should have kept the belt for just such an occasion.  But, aye, there is the difference.  That nurse actually did her job and gave a shit.  I just need someone to hear me.  And Jackie, if that’s her name, sucks.  She just placated me and hug- boxed me.  I don’t need someone to try and make me feel good.  I need someone to sit in the well with me.  To validate me and take me seriously.  Jen is here tonight.  I plan on bringing it up with her that Bailey told me to piss off.  That was really fucked up.  You work in a psych ward.  Maybe you should take patients seriously.  I am high risk for fuck’s sake.  And I’m very impulsive.  And I’m extremely fucking resourceful.  I’m very high stress right now.  I’ve got big changes coming up.  I don’t care about going to PHP you fucking twats.  I care about not feeling safe.  I care about not dying.  It’s such a weird predicament to be in, because I want to die, but I don’t want to at the same time. 

I just had a nice chat with Nurse Brandon.  I like him, he’s legit.  He was asking about safety numbers and I told him my SH/SI was 10/6, which it is.  I’m not making this up and it has nothing to do with the step down date.  I am happy with the step down date.  Seriously, motherfuckers, I negotiated that date and it’s a date that I am absolutely committed to and want to step down.  I want to get the fuck out of here.  I want to see BF Brandon and spend some real time with him.  I want to see juniper for more than an hour a week.  But in terms of is the SH/SI real, yes it’s fucking real.  I am goddamn high risk, you fucking twats.  I think Nurse Brandon believes me, which is nice.  He wanted to chat more about it, but there was a line of like literally everyone on the unit.  I asked him to make a note in the fucking chart, I am happy with the goddamn stepdown date.  The SH/SI has very little to do with that at this point.  What it does have to do with is my failed marriage and losing my best friend and feeling alone, even when I’m sitting with a big group of people.  It has to do with not wanting to gain a bunch of weight and lose my figure.  It has to do with not being ready to take on this divorce.  This divorce is going to be a nightmare.  It’s literally me fighting with my best friend and the love of my life over the division of everything we’ve worked on and everything that mattered for the last 8 almost 9 years.  That’s what it’s about.  It’s about all the above bullshit that I had to sit with today.  I sat in the pain and I’m still sitting in it.  It’s about knowing that part of recovering from this illness is going to be facing things like cooking and ordering food.  It’s about knowing that after a few weeks, I leave the apartments here, where I’m surrounded by supportive people, well, mostly supportive people, and will be doing this alone.  Nurse Brandon sees that.  And my response was, I have to leave sometime.  I can’t stay here forever.  No, talking to Alina or whatever the fuck her name is, doesn’t help.  I have high SI.  I am high risk.  There is tons of research on this.  Even after transition, risk of SI remains really high, especially when you combine the social aspects of shit.  Including marriage, family, and friends that either choose to accept you as you are or don’t.  Danielle didn’t.  She rejected me.  Not just as a romantic partner and spouse, but as her friend.  That’s why I have high SH/SI.  That’s why being safe is so important for me.  I’m not in a good place.  I’m going through hell and I’m about to do it on my own again.  And that thought is terrifying.  But I’m not choosing not to eat because I think they’ll let me stay longer.  Actually, it’s quite the opposite.  Dr. Parsley is committed to the step down date that we agreed upon, so I figure, who gives a shit what I eat and don’t eat, or if I gain or lose weight.  The date is going to stay the same.  So I don’t even really have to try any more.  I can just give up now.  Up until the point where Alina and Courtney cornered me in a room and gave me a 2 week plan to get me out the door, I thought I was setting goals and working towards them.  But apparently my goals weren’t good enough, so “my team” made goals for me.  Fine, so be it.   I’m on board with the plan.  But I’m not going to continue going to meals and I’m not going to eat shit I don’t like.  I’m going to eat what I want.  I’m going to go to meals when I fucking feel like it.  There’s no point in caring anymore.  

And frankly, it was the meal plan change without my knowledge that made me not eat those snacks.  First it was the weird shake + supplement and the bitter shit that I bit into.  Then it was the change to a smoothie without my knowledge.  I don’t know what’s in that shit.  I think we covered this already.  And I don’t trust it at all.  So no, I’m not going to eat it.  And then there’s also the fact that our target weight goals are not the same.  They think they are throwing me a bone by making my target weight 140.  They’re not.  I said 135 and I mean 135.  Keep pushing me to go higher and I’m going to fucking quit.  Fuck them and their goals.  I feel disgusted by the thought of being 140 lbs.  I’m not going to be happy about it.  So, my active goal is to lose as much weight as I can in the next 16 days or whatever.  I’m going to skip any meal or snack that I can and I’m going to over-exercise as much as I can.  I’m going to walk 4-6 miles per day, which is about what I was doing at home with the step counter.  And I’m going to try and make a calorie deficit.  I’m not going to get on board with their plan until Courtney and Dr. Parsley agrees that 135 is an appropriate target weight.  135.  Not 137, 138, 139, 140.  One Hundred and Thirty Five.  That’s it.  That’s all I’ll agree to do.  Anorexia sucks.  I want my body autonomy back.  I want to be the one making decisions about how much I should eat and when.  I want to make decisions about how much I should weigh and how I want my body to look.  Is that the eating disorder talking?  Maybe.  But I don’t care, I’m past the point of caring what they think is appropriate.  And unlike most of the other girls here, I don’t let my parents dictate to me what I do with my health care.  It’s my body and my decisions.  As I said, the only person that I cared about what they thought was Danielle and she fucking abandonned me.  So, fuck it.  I’ve already started my relapse and I’m going to dive in head first the moment I’m free from here.  I’ve gained nothing from being here and I’m ready to go home.  I’m only agreeing to PHP because they are insisting.  Sure, sign me up.  I’m not going to go and I’m not going to eat.  I don’t want to eat.  That’s my real mantra.  I don’t want to eat.  I can be hungry.  I can live on 500 calories a day.  I can make 10,000 steps a day.  I’m going back to where I came from and I don’t care if it kills me.  I’ll be happier dead.  But NO, I’m not trying to delay my step down date.  I AM FUCKING HAPPY WITH MY STEPDOWN DATE.  That’s a date I chose and that’s the date I’m committed to stepping down.

Now, about this HS snack.  Fuck it.  I’m going to sleep.  I’ll see you all at 2am, after my nightmares wake me up again.