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Oh boy, where to start.  Last night was a disaster.  I just had so many complex emotions and so much anger, frustration and fear.  Why was I feeling that way?  Well, obviously, I’ve talked above about my feelings towards leaving the safety of the hospital setting.  But last night I just felt hopeless.  This entire time I’ve been here, I’ve had SI, but last night I actually had a plan and I guess I had intent.  I designed a way to hang myself with my belt from the door.  I mean, my plan is to go home, relapse and starve myself to death.  I told the clinical director that was my plan.  But last night, I just thought, “why wait, why not just end it now.”  That way, no one from home has to find me dead.  It will just be like I was here and then I wasn’t.  I don’t know ,it just seems like that would be an easier pill to swallow.  But, as you can see, I’m not dead.  I’m still breathing, no one has had their life ruined as of yet.  I used the support I’m given here and went to nursing and the nurse (she’s super sweet and I trust her) was able to get me to admit I had a plan and I was going to carry it out.  I hesitated to tell her my plan at first, but they were going to conduct a room search no matter what, so I just told her I was going to use my belt and I demonstrated how it would work.  Apparently, my engineering skills were on point, because it would have worked.  I would be dead.  I planned on doing it right before everyone came back from dinner.  It would have been a horrible scene for all the patients here and no doubt it would have been really traumatizing.  Especially for the people that care about me here.  And there are quite a few that I think genuinely care.  Betty, Rachel, Rose, even Raine would have all been really upset.  Kirsi, too.  She’s a bit distant, but it’s just her own struggles that make her that way.  She cares.  

So anyways, I told the nurse what was going on in my head and we talked about it for quite a while.  Then she was able to get me a 2nd dose of clonazepam.  That brought my anxiety level down to a manageable amount and I was able to go to sleep.  

I skipped most of the meals yesterday and I restricted at breakfast this morning.  I still don’t know what’s going to happen.  I know that the clinical director was unable to get a team change for me.  I know the clinical manager is a fucking liar, big suprise.  So, now my option was, discharge and go home last night or have a meeting with Dr. Parsley and see what we can figure out.  I owe my team an apology.  I was emotional and not the coolest to them yesterday.  I mean, I do have real grievances with them, but I should have kept my emotions in check and had a conversation like an adult.  Instead, I pretty much threw a temper tantrum and it literally got me nowhere.  I should know better than that after all the time I spent in the hospital with Juniper and what we learned about dealing with hospitals.  Assertive, not aggressive, gets way more accomplished.  So I guess my goal for today’s meeting is to be assertive and talk about what’s really going on in my head.  About my fears about stepping down.  About my plans for relapse (that I’ve already started).  I just have to lay it all out and see what they say.  I’m so uncomfortable and I hope I can undo some of the damage that I did yesterday.  

I’m also just very anxious.  I don’t know when this meeting is going to come about and I kind of want to hide until it does.  That’s the thing, my anxiety is still really high, it hasn’t improved.  The lexapro doesn’t seem to be doing anything for anxiety.  I wanted to get my medications under control before leaving supervised care.  Last night is a specific example of why. My thinking can be very erratic and impulsive.

I’ve also been self harming, but in the least harmful way possible.  I’ve been pulling out the hair in my arms.  Aside from pacing, which is SOOO bad, and journaling, which requires a little bit of concentration, the hair thing brings me anxiety relief.  I need relief.  Clonazepam works, but Dr. Parsley even said it’s supposed to be for when thoughts get out of control and I need a parachute to save me from a crash landing.  It just feels like I’m free falling and have had so many crash landings.  I know that I’ve been taking it a lot, but the clonazepam was helping me get through meals.  That sandwich that I couldn’t eat on Wednesday should have been no problem.  If I had taken the drug before lunch like I have been doing, I would have been able to eat, I think, at least.  I’m grateful for the nurse last night.  I think she probably saved my life.  She really does care, I could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes.  She also knew all the right steps to take to help keep me safe.  I’m grateful for being here last night.  I feel so defeated.

So now what?  That’s the million dollar question.  It almost feels like the hospital is looking for an excuse to get rid of me and that sucks.  Oh and there’s this thing with my insurance.  They keep denying claims, saying I don’t have coverage, when I actually do.  Insurance is so fucked up and I know that the business office has at least a little bit to do with the decision making process.  Maybe they need my bed, too.  I don’t know.  But I know I’m not ready to go home.  That’s one big step that I just don’t think I can handle.  My Mom, as cool as she’s been, doesn’t understand mental health.  And it’s not like my team can talk with her and she’ll have a lightbulb moment.  She just doesn’t understand mental health, at all.  She thinks that praying will solve depression and bi-polar disorder.   I do believe in a God and I don’t understand him, but I think he’s here and everywhere.  I just don’t think he works the way she thinks he does.  I’ve seen miracles and I do believe I’m blessed by him.  I just don’t think he makes mental health issues go away.  At this point, I feel so broken and like nothing is going to work.  I think  Danielle was right.  I’m just not able to be repaired.  I feel like I’m not sick enough to be here, but going home is just setting me up for failure.  It’s such a disgusting place to sit.  

I was starting to self harm again, pulling at my arm hair, so I talked with the nurse (same one as last night.)  I’m fucking freezing today, too. It sucks to feel so uncomfortable in my head and my body all at the same time.  I don’t know if it has anything to do with restricting yesterday, but I guess it could.  It could also just be that they keep this building fucking cold as fuck.  The thermostat says 71.  I don’t really believe it, it feels more like 68 degrees here.  I didn’t wear socks today with my mary janes, and I’m regretting it, because it’s my hands and feet that get cold first.  Anyways, we decided as a team that taking clonazepam now was probably a good idea, so I took it.  I only get 1 a day, so it’s kind of nerve wracking knowing that I don’t have it in my back pocket for later in the day.  But I also don’t want to pull at my hair all day long.  It’s really the first time that I’ve found a way to self harm since being here.  But it provides some weird sense of relief.  Like, it’s something to focus on instead of the pain and fear that I’m really feeling.  Or that sense of no control over what’s happening to me.  Those are the thoughts that are weighing me down the most.

I restricted breakfast.  I ate the muffin and the peanut butter, but skipped the yogurt and apple juice.  To be fair, their apple juice is not very good.  I don’t know if it’s some sort of low sugar apple juice or what, but it’s gross.  I like yogurt and have it almost every morning, but I’ve started my relapse and it will continue until I know what my future looks like.  I drank my coffee.  It was delicious.  I do miss drinking coffee and energy drinks.  I guess if I go home, I can start drinking energy drinks again.  I’d like to say I’ll limit it to 1 a day or something, but it’s going to be 4-5 a day, just like before.  And I’m going to smoke lots of weed, especially at night, because it makes me sleepy and makes me relax (most of the time, if I don’t over do it.)  I’m going to skip as many meals as I can get away with skipping.  So, if PHP makes us do 2 meals, 2 snacks.  I’m skipping 1 meal, 1 snack at home.  I’m just not going to do it.  I’ve never eaten this much and I don’t intend on doing it now.  And if I can restrict here, under PHP it should be a breeze.  They are setting me up for failure, 100%.  This is why I feel like they don’t really care.  I feel like Dr. Parsley just wants to get me off his plate and out the door.  He thinks that if I go into some sort of PHP program, I’ll be ok.  I won’t.  I’ll probably quit after a few days.  I just can’t picture myself getting over here 7 days a week for 8 weeks or whatever.  It will just be too much.  And on top of that, other than the van, we only have one vehicle.  And it’s in storage and probably needs some work.  I don’t have the energy or brain power to handle even the most simple of tasks.  I feel terrible.

Oh and they did this weird thing at breakfast where they segregated us.  I sat with Maddy and Rachel, which is fine.  I like them both.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about Maddy at first, but I actually really like her.  She has really high anxiety, just like me.  She’s struggling and has a step down date of early June.  She’s on an NG tube for fuck’s sake.  It feels like churn and burn for residential treatment.  Again, it feels more like a business decision than a medical one.  I know, from experience, that doctors do follow clinical management’s discretion on what treatments, how long, when to discharge, etc.  It’s a game they play with management.  They have to seriously advocate for a patient if they want them to have a non-standard treatment protocol or extend treatment.  In some cases, their hands are truly tied and they don’t have a choice.  But in my case, I think Dr. Parsley and my team folded too fast.  A week earlier they said that I needed to be here and that going home wasn’t a likely possibility.  Yesterday, they were ready to sign the order.  Hospital care in this country is such a fucking scam.  I’m not jumping on the medicare for all train, because I think that would degrade the level of care we receive and limit funding for new treatments.  Most places hate taking medicare/medicaid now, because apparently, sometimes the payments can take years and they always negotiate a rock bottom price.  What happens when a hospital is not properly funded?  They can’t attract talent.  It will be the death nail for smaller, specialized treatment facilities and I think those places play a vital role in health care.  APN, for example, was exactly the right place for me to get treatment.  I was there with my peers and a lot of their struggles were similar to mine.  If I hadn’t gone there and had to go to a typical hospital, I don’t think it would have worked.  It was the freedom that they gave us, along with the type of clientele that they attracted that made the experience so worthwhile.  And yes, it was set up like a resort, but that doesn’t mean that the work was any less challenging.  It was hard work.  And they were VERY strict about not missing groups.  Like, they said missing 1-2 groups could make insurance decline to cover treatment and get you kicked out.  I took that part very seriously.  I think the only time that I missed a group was when I was having tooth pain that was so severe that I couldn’t get out of bed.  Anywho… it was what I needed.  And yes, I left early and didn’t do their PHP.  While I do have some regrets, being so far away from Juniper and Danielle really sucked.  I only got to see them once (I think) the entire time I was there.  It was a long visit, but it just wasn’t enough.  Jude needs to see and hear me every day.  She needs to hear that I love her and that I’m proud of her.  It’s key to making sure she feels safe while I’m gone.  Double so since Danielle is out of the picture.

I don’t know what to do with myself.  These down times are really challenging.  No group, no meal and I don’t really chat a lot with people outside of group or meals. It’s not like my thoughts ever really stop, I guess that’s why I’m so anxious all the time.  I just have a lot of thoughts.  Before I started writing, I guess I didn’t realize this was the case.  One of my barriers to song writing is that I never felt like I had anything to see.  Writing this journal in particular has changed my impression.  I have too much to say, I just have trouble organizing my thoughts.

While we wait for this meeting, let’s talk about breakfast and our conversation.  I sat with Maddy and Rachel in some sort of weird isolation setup that they did.  Everyone else says they think the arrangement is random, but I’ve always felt like they group certain people together.  Putting me and Maddy next to Rachel was supposed to encourage us to complete our meal plan.  Putting phase II and III together makes sense, because they nearly always complete 100%.  I wish Priscilla was at my table, though.  She says the most interesting things and I genuinely want to hear what she has to say.  She’s one of the brightest people here and her brain is magnificent.  Anyways, Maddy, Rachel and I talked about our outside therapist.  Maddy is meeting with hers today virtually because of something that happened yesterday.  I’m not sure what that is, but something really triggered her and she struggled to make it to meals and snacks and to complete them without leaving.  No judgement, I know what that anxiety feels like.  I know how those challenging thoughts can lead to restricting.  It’s a chance to take control of a situation that feels out of control.  She said she had been with her therapist for 4 years.  That’s amazing.  If I can ever pay Annie off, hopefully I’ll be with her for even longer.  I miss her, she got me and she was so protective over me.  That also came up, too.  How a good therapist is there for you at the right times, even with their firm boundaries.  Annie knew I was being severely abused and so she would respond to me, even when it was crossing a line.  She also made sure I had  resources and a safety plan in place for times when she wasn’t available.  The more I think about the women’s shelter thing, the more I think she was right.  I should have fled with Juniper, if only temporarily, gotten the restraining order and made sure the narrative was correct.  Annie was trying to keep me safe. I think she was the first person to tell me that Danielle is a dangerous person.  At the time, I didn’t really understand what that meant, but it makes more sense now.  She was dangerous physically, clear from the times she beat the shit out of me.  She was dangerous mentally, because she was emotionally abusive and that was a massive trigger for SI.  She was dangerous in concept, because she creates a false narrative in her head and tries to use that to turn people against me.  She saw it long before I did and she wanted to keep me safe.  I owe her a lot, because I would still be fixated on gaining her approval somehow now, if it hadn’t been for her.  I trust her and I trust her judgement, she was right about everything that she said.  I miss Annie.  I hope I get to see her again once I’m done with this shit.

Fuck snack.  I drank my shake as slow as fucking possible.  I declined the supplement which was 16 fucking ounces.  Like, WTF?  No, I’m not going to drink your shake and I’m definitely not drinking 16 oz of boost.  Gross.  That would actually make me puke.  Plus, I don’t even think that aligns with the policy.  Policy as I understood it is that if you’re snack is liquid, you have until the end of supplement time to finish.  Not that I was about to finish my snack anyways.  I don’t know what Courtney has added to my snacks.  I don’t trust her, duh!  And she could be adding ingredients that make it contain more fats, sugars or proteins and I might not be able to recognize the change.  So I drank about half.  That will have to do for now.  I’m not completely restricting, but I’m not going to eat more than I feel comfortable eating.  And until this dreaded meeting, which I’m beginning to wonder if it will even happen, I am going to work on my relapse. I’m going to train my brain and belly to ignore hunger signals.  I’m going to cut my caloric intake.  I refuse to drink any supplement at this point.  It’s gross and I’m tired of it.  I’m tired of feeling like everyone has a say except me.  At the end of the day, that’s what I’m feeling, I guess.  Unsafe and out of control.  No wonder the eating disorder is winning the week.  No wonder I feel like retreating.  

The big meeting is looming for after lunch sometime.  I’ve taken all the proper precautions.  A nice nap, my benzo, my antihistamine.  Mentally, I’m not prepared all that well.  I just want to get it over with and be done.  I owe the guy an apology, so we’ll start with that.  I’m sure he’s seen way worse, but I still messed up.  I don’t want to get kicked out and leave.  My meeting was totally counterproductive to my goals, which are to get better.  Nothing less than that will be considered a success.  Now, how we accomplish that goal is really going to be the tricky part.  I think that I have to get across to Dr. Parsley my fears about PHP and the challenges that it’s going to pose stepping down to that program.  It’s multifaceted and while some of the fears are certainly founded, some could be me catastrophizing.  I do tend to do that. And some could just be afraid of change.  I feel like there’s so much fear in my life right now.   A lot of it is just unknown.  But some of the fear is real.  I do believe that at this point there is nothing Danielle isn’t willing to do to try and fuck me over, inclduing making things up, using police, and even physical violence.  She’s definitely capable of all these things.  I’ve talked a lot about how things in the relationship have come into focus since we’ve been apart.  One of those things is realizing that she is an accomplished and very convincing liar.  She had me believing her lies for years, including the fight.  Including that the decision to take progesterone somehow betrayed her.  Now I know it’s all bullshit and was just a way to control me.  It’s based on her fantasy land and had literally nothing to do with me. I digress.  

Other fears about PHP include lack of supervision.  I already want to relapse.  Wait, no, I am already relapsing.  I’m skipping meals and snacks and I’m holding on to ED thoughts that I should be diffusing.  That’s real.  That is happening.  I am finding times and ways to over exercise.  And the thing is, I don’t plan on stopping any of these behaviors right now.  In fact, I feel it coming, stronger and faster than ever.  I haven’t forgotten how to ignore hunger pains.  I haven’t forgotten how to obsess over exercise.  I don’t need a watch to count my steps.  I haven’t forgotten the lies I can tell myself to justify behaviors. 

Oh cool, a fire alarm.  Those seem to happen all the time here.  Here we go.

My oh so productive meeting with Dr. Parsley went as follows:

Me:  I don’t want to be discharged in ten days.

Him:  I think that’s appropriate

Me.  I won’t be able to commute from home to PHP.

Him:  You can have the apartment for “a few weeks”

Me:  I don’t want to weigh 150 lbs.

Him:  Courtney and I think that’s appropriate.

And yet somehow, he got me to nod yes to everything.  So I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve decided to renege on all of my agreements.  Discharge me whenever you want.  I’m already in relapse mode.  I’m going to eat what I want, when I want.  I’m going to try and avoid going to meals when possible.  I’m going to make an effort to lose weight during my remaining time here.  Fuck them and fuck their goals.  Kiss my ass Dr. P.  You’re a nice guy, but I don’t want to recover.  I see no benefit to that, so I’m going to actively try and get back down to 125lbs to start.  I don’t give a fuck what you think.  I revoked all my ROIs (supposedly), so they shouldn’t be able to give records to anyone.  I’ll get my psych meds through Miriam or UC Health (finally got my appointment for the trans clinic.)  And I’ll hide any record of me actually being here.  What they don’t know, they don’t know.  Fuck eating disorders, I don’t have one.  I don’t want to be a lard ass.  Fuck neutral body image, I don’t have a neutral body image, but when I got down to 125, I had a really positive body image.  This entire stay has been a huge fucking waste of my time and I’m fucking done.

So here’s how this will go.  I’m going to go hard over this weekend restricting every meal I can r and exercising as much as fucking possible.  If I wake up at 2am, I’m going to pace from 2am to 6:30am.  I’m going to eat only very few things, like green stuff, except at breakfast.  I’ll eat my cereal.  But I’m not finishing the meal.  I’m going to complete 0% for the next 10 days.  Fuck them and their treatment plan.  And regardless of where they send me after this, I’m going to actually just go home.  I’m going to no show for PHP.  Fuck PHP.  Fuclk this whole fucking program.  I don’t want recovery.  I want to be skinny and hot.  Fuck my body.  I don’t give a shit if it kills me.  I know my values, and my values are looking cute as fuck in a pair of jeans and not having a gut and huge ass.  At the end of the day, he didn’t really give me anything.  He wants my target weight to be 140.  Fuck that.  135 is what I said.  That’s all I’m willing to do, but since I can’t see my fucking  weight, I won’t even know when I get there.  So fuck it all. We’ll see how they like it when I reverse trend this shit.  “Hey Courtney, looks like my weight is finally trending!”  Fuck you, you fat bitch.  Fuck you and your 150 lbs.  The harder you push me, the more I’m going to resist.  You can take all your fucking scientific findings and shove them the fuck up your ass.  

Now I’ve got to play the game of, “will the BHT let me open my packages tonight?”  I’ve got like 3 of them, sitting right there, just ripe for the opening.  And really, I don’t like opening shit in front of other girls.  So I’d rather just open them when it’s all quiet and there’s no one else around.  But, it’s Dinette tonight and I don’t know if she’ll allow it.  Maybe I just want to discharge and go home.  I don’t know.  Like, is it even worth playing this game anymore?  I’m not going to get better, Danielle was so fucking right.  I’m going to leave early and give up, because they aren’t going to stop pushing me until my ass looks like Jennifer Lopez’s ass.  I’m going to write them a letter I guess and we can discuss it on Monday.  I just feel like I gave away too much in the negotiation.  Really, I hold all the cards, they have nothing on me.  They can’t communicate with my mother or anyone else.  The only person that could have persuaded me to do what they want was Danielle and she’s long fucking gone.  So FUCK’M.

I ate some breakfast.  Some cereal and a few apple slices.  I refuse to drink the milk, scrape my plate, eat the yogurt or finish the apples.  My mantra today is, “I don’t have an eating disorder.”  I want to go home, I’m giving up.  Fuck recovery and fuck this place.  I’ve been here for 6 weeks or 7 and I’m not better.  I can’t do PHP because it’s  just not feasible.  So I quit.  And since I’m giving up, I figured, why not relapse now, why wait?  I can get a jumpstart on it, so by the time I’m home, I’ll have trained my body/stomach and brain to ignore the hunger again.  I’m going to go for 250 calories per day this time.  I’m going to get to 100lbs.  Why even mess around with 125 or 115.   I’m going for size 0.  I don’t give a fuck.  I want to die and this is the way to do it.  There’s nothing that anyone is going to say to convince me otherwise.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  Fuck group. Fuck treatment.  Fuck recovery.  Danielle was right.  I didn’t want to be here.  I pretended I did, but I didn’t, because I don’t want to get better.  

I walked around eight miles this morning, about 2 hrs of walking.  If I average 1 mile per 15 minutes, that makes 8, right?  I don’t need to count steps, just have a timer and I can calculate how many miles I’m walking.  I woke up just fucking pissed the fuck off.  I can’t get the thought out of my head that my treatment plan is a business decision and nothing else.  Fuck them and fuck Anthem.  My new goal: ICU.  Let’s let Anthem pay for that shit.  Fuck our fucking insurance system.  I’m going to ask to be discharged AMA.  They will resist.   I’ll insist.  Let’s call it self advocacy.  My other plan is to hand them an envelope with, “a revised calendar,”  which is actually just their bullshit calendar torn into tiny bits.  I don’t approve.  I don’t approve of the treatment plan.  I refuse any changes to my medications and I refuse a feed tube.  I was going to refuse weight this morning, but I had 10 minutes to kill, so Rose could finish up in the shower.  But no more weights, no more pee cups, no more labs, no more treatment.  I won’t talk in therapy.  And for rounds, the only thing I’m going to discuss is my immediate discharge.  Fuck hospitals.  I will be polite, assertive.  I will not raise my voice and I will not show emotion.  I’m playing poker with Dr. Parsley.  Oh, and I’m revoking all ROIs, including those with my medical team, i.e. Miriam.  

So, here we go.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Discharge me.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Discharge me.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Discharge me.

About that letter, I’m on the fence sharing it with them.  On one hand, it’s good to be open and honest with your team.  On the other hand, I’m not sick, I don’t have an eating disorder and I want to go home.  So what’s the point of sharing my thoughts?  I’m very angry.  I’m angry that they concocted that two week step down schedule.  I am angry they tricked me into agreeing to it.  I’m angry Alina didn’t have her normal session with me.  I’m angry they ambushed me like that.  It’s like the care conference bullshit all over again.  I really hate how Drs. do that shit.  They team up on you, so it’s harder to resist.  I don’t trust them and when they all start parroting each other, I become even more suspicious.  I’m sure they had a conference on what to do with me, because I’m not just going along with what they say.  I would imagine that has something to do with why Alina didn’t see me yesterday at our normal time.  It was weird and it pissed me off. I wanted to read her the letter and let her disseminate it to the rest of the group.  Now I’m going to be sitting in a room with four people smiling and nodding at me as they tell me what’s best for me.  No thanks.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  Discharge me.

I panicked yesterday. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stopped eating.  I should have taken the clonazepam before lunch like I had been doing.  That’s how I was getting through these fucking meals.  Also, where the fuck was Courtney.  We were supposed to eat that lunch together and she just ghosted me.  Weird.  It’s like my whole team just ghosted me yesterday.  Weird.  I don’t trust you fuckers.  You’re up to something and I know it’s no good.

I really enjoyed hearing Priscilla and Analise talk this morning.  They are so smart and just listening, I learn so much from them.  They are adorable.  Priscilla gave her dissertation on The Beach Boys, which I thought was really cool.  I admire how much she’s into the band members and their stories.  She told me the name of a movie about them that I really want to watch.  I’ll have to ask the name again.  I do feel a little dumb trying to join the conversation.  She uses big fucking GRE words that I need to look up.  My English is so fucking basic.  Nonetheless, hearing them talk is really interesting.

I’m sorry I’m letting my peers down by not eating.  I’m sorry guys.  I’m a bad example and I should be ashamed of myself.  But like Ella K says, “if you’re struggling, your team should see that.”  I’ve been eating simple meals, but even those are a challenge.  It’s embarrassing to let them see my failure, my peers that is.  I don’t care if my team sees or not.  It’s not like it’s going to make a difference.  

Why wait to relapse?  Why not just get the party started now?  I’m sitting at the chair at the very end of the hall, right before the small hallway that goes to the cafe.  From here, I can see everyone that comes in and leaves the unit.  I keep waiting for those double doors to swing open and to see Alina, Courtney, Dr. Parsley or possibly Nancy.  I’m not going to sign my treatment plan.  One of the things it says is that Dr. Parsley is going to educate me on weight restoration goals.  Fuck Dr. Parsley.  I don’t care what he has to say about it.  I find Drs. to be pretentious, know-it-all  assholes and I don’t really care about his opinion.  Lexapro isn’t treating my anxiety, I would say that it’s the same or worse than when I came here.  That was his big stab at making me better.  It’s not better.  Meals are still stressful as fuck.  Anxiety still snowballs throughout the whole day and turns into a giant boulder by lunch.  By dinner and HS snack, I’m just so fucking defeated, i haven’t got any energy left.  Here come the patients.  Group has ended.  My daily intentions sheet just basically said my mantra, “I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Discharge me.”  Same with the online check in, I denied everything and stated that, “I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Discharge me.”  I put all zeros/denies for self harm and suicidal ideation.  I’m going to deny everything from this point forward.  I’m going to eat what I like and refuse the rest of it.  I’m not going to go with their plan any more.  I’m done with their plan.  Their plan sucks.  Plus, I think denial is the first step in a solid relapse plan.  I can pace early in the morning and get 8 miles of walking in, so I should be burning more calories than I’m taking in and I’m going to refuse weight from this day forward.  Fuck them.  They can’t make me stand on a scale.  I’m not going to debase myself any further.  Maybe they can send a note to the business office, “patient says she’s all better, discharge in 72 hours.

Okay, so I went pretty hard on the exercise.  My muscles already feel a little jelly and my butt hurts a little bit.  I guess that’s the most I’ve moved in months.  Honestly, it felt good.  I was pissed off and I wanted to process thoughts and I know for a fact that walking in a bilateral movement helps process heavy thoughts.  I don’t want to be rude to anyone or lose my cool, so I think moving around a bit is the best option.  Plus, I’m done with treatment, because I’m not sick and I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want them to discharge me immediately.  And I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone, I want to do the 5am vanishing act, like Kelsey did.  One day I’m here and the next day, my room is empty and I’m gone, never to be heard or seen again.

How will I get to the ICU?  I need to drop down another 30lbs or so, which if I go to 250 calories a day, I should be able to hit in 30-45 days.  That will crash out my blood work and send the Drs. into a chaotic panic.  Fuck insurance.  Fuck my team.  Yesterday we talked about how it’s a stigma to invalidate our illness.  That’s exactly how I felt about their calendar.  Totally invalidated.  Fuck.  Fuck rounds.  Honestly, I want to bolt through those double doors and down the fire escape and out the door.  I don’t want to talk to anyone. I feel bad because Betty has been trying to talk to me and I don’t know what to say to her.  I think Betty is a good person with a big heart. She asked me if she had done something wrong and that made me feel really guilty.  No Betty, you love all of us, I really believe that.  Even the girls that are mean to you, you love them and care about everyone’s success.  I give you a ton of credit for that.  And I like that you get up in the morning and put on something nice, do your makeup and your hair.  It makes you feel good, you said.  I understand that, it makes me feel good, too.  I don’t do a lot of makeup here, because I feel like I mess it up and all the girls judge me for bad makeup.  You want to help me, but that’s a little embarrassing in front of the other girls.  But no, you haven’t done anything wrong, you’re a delightful woman.

No, this is self sabotage, which we’ve talked about before.  Well this is the live action version of it. Just checked in with the medical NP.  “How are you doing, physically?”  Fucking peachy bitch.  I’m not sick, I don’t have an eating disorder.  Discharge me, I want to go home.  I don’t want  treatment and I don’t need recovery.  I’m recovered. VIOLA!  Like magic, ALL BETTER!  I want to go home and resume my life.  I want to eat when and if I want to eat.  I want to set my own weight goals.  I want to move around as much as I want.  I want to shit without having to have someone else look at it.  I want to shower in my shower.  I want my dog.  I want my cats.  I want to hold Juniper as much and as often as I can.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  Discharge me.  I want to go home.  I want to sit outside and smoke weed.  I want my dog to pounce on me and play too much.  I want my cat to sleep on my face.  I want to take my house back over.  It’s my house.  I want my own money.  I want to continue the care of Juniper.  I want to live alone.  I want to finish my divorce.  I want to forget about Danielle.  I want to be tiny and fragile.  I want my BF to fuck me endlessly and then hold me in his big, strong arms and say sweet things to me.  I want him to undress me.  I want to dress sexy for him.  I want him to protect me and be my friend.  But I want to do it my own way.  I don’t want to eat 6 times a day. I don’t want to eat 2 times a day.  I want to drink a shake or 2 and call it a fucking day.   I don’t want someone to watch what I eat.  I want my autonomy.  I don’t want to do 2 months of PHP.  I don’t want to do any PHP.  I don’t want to see my peers from here.  Except Abigail.  I need to text her and find out how she’s doing.  I want to see my roses bloom.  I want to watch Juniper’s garden grow.  I want to make the grass green.  I want to see the wildflowers.  I want to vape.  I really want to smoke some weed and watch TV on my giant ass TV and my comfy couch.  I want to care for Juniper. I’m her Mom and her Dad.  I want her to have me there, so she feels safe and content.  I want to watch Queen videos with her and listen to Radiohead with her.  I want to dance with her.  I want to watch Sesame Street with her and do all the hand motions and kids at home parts.  I’ll say the words for her.  I know she’s thinking about them.  I want to take her to school and to therapies.  I want to make sure she gets back into hippotherapy.  I want to see her get her bike for her birthday.  I want to watch her ride it around her garden.  I’m so proud of her and all the hard work she does.  I love Juniper more than anyone or anything else in this world.  I want to drink too many energy drinks and too much coffee.  I want to pace around the house and be obsessed with keeping it clean.  I want to buy Juniper’s clothes and dress her how she wants to dress.  I want to brush her hair and her teeth.  I want to bathe her.  I want Rainbow around to protect me and keep anyone from fucking with me.  

Put that on hold, here they come.  The fucking assholes just walked through the door.  Dr. Parsley in tow.  I guess it’s a real Dr. day instead of the NP.  At least he has decision making power.  Release me doc, I don’t want to do treatment any longer.  False alarm, they grabbed someone else first.  I’m basically hiding at the end of the hall.  I don’t know if they saw me here or not.  I’m ready for the tongue lashing.  Truth be told, I feel awful today.  It’s a combination of no sleep, being anxious and angry and over exercising this morning.  But I’ll get used to it.  I just feel icky now.  Also, all the stupid fucking meds that they have me on right now make me queasy.  Especially the stupid fucking vitamins.  I don’t need a bunch of vitamins.  Fuck vitamins.  I don’t want my blood work to look good.  I don’t want my body functioning properly.  I don’t give a fuck.  If being healthy means being miserable, what’s the fucking point.;  I’m not sick, I don’t have an eating disorder, I want to discharge and go home.  Uh Oh, here comes Alina.  Ohh, she took a left into the exam room.  Probably another false alarm.  Now she’s heading back down the hall.  She turned back to see if it was me sitting down here.  Yup, bitch, I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.  I’m journaling.

I want to take a moment to express some gratitude for Kiki and I forget that BHT’s name, but the one whose brother is a sheriff.  She’s really nice and she was concerned this morning and tried to get me to talk.  She asked me what I was feeling and I told her, “fucking piss.”  But then she asked what was going on and I said I didn’t want to talk about it.  I don’t.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to go home.  Fuck treatment.  Fuck recovery.  Kiki tried to get me talking, too.  She asked how I was doing and I shrugged.  She responded with, “You’re beautiful, don’t forget that.” and a heart shape with her hands.  She’s so sweet.  These girls are so nice and they really do care.  Like, really, honestly do care about all of us.  It’s weird because they are all younger than me and their primary job is to enforce the rules of this place.  But I love them and I want to do what they ask, because they are so kind.  I don’t mind them being in charge of me, because it’s rarely an abuse of power or authority, minus Monté. Her thing with hats and hoodies is silly, but it’s also not worth fighting over.  I won’t do that again.  I’ll just take off the hoodie, if it comes up.  I took off my hat for her last time.  She thinks she’s just doing her job.  I don’t know why she’s the only one that enforces those rules, but they are in fact rules, so who am I to disregard them.  I don’t want to make their jobs hard.  I don’t want to be a bitch.  DO NOT BE A BITCH.  Like rule #1.  And giving them a hard time is being a bitch.  I think that’s why the other girls got so irritated with me.  I’m not a bitch and don’t want to act like one.  I want to be likeable.  I guess I am because Shawnee (sp?) let me go to my room yesterday to rest.  And Kiki is checking up on me.  And the sheriff’s sister tried to talk to me multiple times.  I hope I wasn’t rude about it.  I just didn’t know what to say.  Like, how do I talk to her about all the bullshit I’m dealing with.  I have 60-something pages of bullshit and thoughts.  How do I put that into a 2 minute conversation in the hallway?  And at 4:30 am?  My mouth doesn’t work yet at 4:30 AM.  My body barely does.  Albeit, I had no lack of energy to walk this morning.  I want the girls to like and respect me.  So don’t be a bitch, ok?  

I hate groups.  I don’t want to attend today at all.  No thanks.  I’ll just write instead.  How am I feeling?  Betrayed.  Why?  Because I don’t think my discharge plan was about my health, I think it was about my insurance.  I think they pushed way too hard, too fast.  I think I was bound to crash out after getting their shitty calendar.  I think I should have ripped it up right then and there. I think any meal plan increase will mean I restrict myself more.  I think I am hard headed and I find a way.  Today, I’m just trying to find a way to be done with this bullshit.  It’s 9:57, so we have snack in a few minutes.  I never know when they are going to actually call snack though.  Could be 3 minutes, could be 20.  You just never know.  I think I’ve been typing so much my fingers are sore.  I guess that’s better than walking so much my legs hurt.  I don’t want to be emotional or vulnerable today.  I don’t want to be part of the process.  I don’t want recovery.  I don’t need it.  I’m not sick.  I don’t have an eating disorder.  I want to be discharged and go home.  Because I’m not sick and I don’t have an eating disorder.  AM snack almost always means a shake.  I refuse to drink it.  I don’t know what they are putting in it.  I don’t trust Courtney.  What if she made it a C+ without telling me.  I don’t know what they are and aren’t allowed to do.  She seemed to back down when I said I don’t approve.  But who fucking knows.  They can probably claim medical necessity and do what they want.  That’s what really kicked off the restriction.  I don’t know what’s in my food and I sure as fuck don’t trust Courtney or anyone else for that matter.  Trust is a major issue for us, remember?

Rose and Rachel still pace the most of anyone around here.  I don’t like to pace around them because it’s a compulsion for them and I don’t want to trigger them since they are trying to reduce their pacing.  But also, they are the ones that got me into pacing.  I guess I didn’t realize how many steps you can fit into a 2 hour time frame.  I’m going to walk every morning from 4:30 to 6:30am going forward.  Less people to bitch at you.  I don’t want to get caught by Courtney or Alina, they’ll chastise me about it.  Fuck them.  I didn’t ask for their opinion on the subject.  I’m tired of waking up at 4am and having to just lie in bed and pretend that I’m still sleeping.  It’s boring and it makes my thoughts go beserko.  It drives my anxiety up to a 10/10.  It causes SI and SH.  Fuck lying around, feeling bad.  At least give me an outlet for that energy.  I want to dance and sing to Katy Perry.  I want to move.  I want to burn calories.  I want to work on my figure.  I’m not body neutral.  I care about how I look and that’s not going to change.  I don’t want to be bigger.  I’m broken and can’t be fixed.  And besides, I’m not sick, I don’t have an eating disorder, I want to go home.  Discharge me.   After snack I guess, the shit is going down.

It’s cold.  This stupid fucking building is fucking cold.  Especially this hallway.  It’s always cold here, every fucking room, but this hallway is the worst.  It’s 10:45am.  How I feel really pissed off and anxious.  Anxiety is 10/10.  I can’t do groups today.  I can’t be in that confined space with that many people.  Especially because Mannon took my seat and I feel like Ella K. doesn’t really like having me sit next to her.  It’s so awkward.  But, Mannon wants to sit next to Katy because they are roommates and I get that.  I don’t want to be a bitch.  So, it’s whatever.  I should go pee.

I want to melt away.  Not die, not “Not wake up.”  Just melt away like a snowman.  It existed and was, but now it’s no more.  That’s what I want my story to be.  I came around on a spring early morning, survived for 45 years and then just melted and became different molecules.  I want my molecules to become something else.  Not dirt though.  I want to become air and water maybe.  Or wind or clouds in the sky.  I want to exist, just not as a human.  I want to be something that requires less work and less thought.  Clouds don’t get sick.  Clouds don’t worry about mental health.  They form and float around for a while and then they turn to rain or snow, or they simply evaporate away.  Maybe I’d rain and turn into a puddle for Polly to stomp in or a snowflake that turns into a snowball that Rose can throw.  But regardless, I’d just melt away or evaporate or maybe I’d land in a beautiful lake in the mountains and settle at the bottom and just sit and be.  No thinking required.  No body to speak of and no one to disturb or hurt me.  I wouldn’t have to worry about trust, or being accepted or being loved.  I’d just be.  Why can’t I just be?  Why can’t humans just be and exist?  We’re too complicated.  Our brains have become too advanced and now we can’t go back to simpler times.  We didn’t always act like this.  A cave woman had really two roles.  It was to make a child and then protect that child from harm.  Maybe she learned some basic skills, but language was so basic, I doubt she had many thoughts.  I doubt she had a lot of anxiety.  How can you have anxiety if you don’t have thoughts?  Isn’t that what anxiety is, just an overload of too many thoughts, too fast?  That’s how it feels to me.  I’m tired of having to think all the time.  I’m tired of worrying about human worries.  It’s all just too fucking much.  Maybe that guy that invented the lobotomy really changed the world and we’re just too stupid to still appreciate it.  They don’t do lobotomies any more, do they?  Sign me up!  I want to have my brain scrambled so that I only care about the most basic of functions.  I could eat without feeling fear, go out without feeling fear, stop worrying about what I looked like or if girls would accept me.  They’d probably fucking hate me, but I wouldn’t care.  I don’t think that lobotomized people care about style or weight.  I doubt they have much preference on food at all.  It’s all just food to them, right?  Do they feel or recognize love?  What about loss?  Do they feel grief at all?  I don’t want to feel grief any more.  And I definitely don’t want to feel pain.  Pain is the bain of our human existence.  Whoever said without pain there is no pleasure didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.  I’ve had love without pain, at least for a while.  I’ve experienced someone caring so much about me they would jump in front of a speeding bus to save me.  I’ve seen it first hand, it does exist.  It just doesn’t last.  But that shouldn’t mean that it can’t.  Some love lasts a lifetime and has very little pain associated with it.  Why can’t I have that kind of love?

Maybe that’s the kind of love Brandon wants to give me.  He says he won’t hurt me.  He says.  Well, Danielle said she’d never stop trying and look where that ended up.  She gave up on us the moment she had a chance to go be crust punk nashvillian hipster.  

Rounds are a crock of shit.  My team is fucking shit.  I don’t like them.  I actively dislike them, actually.  I don’t trust them and I don’t want their advice and I told them as much.  Fuck their plan.  I don’t want to be part of their bullshit, backhanded undermining dumbass shit any more.  No, I won’t sign a treatment plan.  No.  Absolutely not.  Talk to my mother. Hell fucking no.  Are you out of your fucking minds.  And revoke all ROIs with any other Dr I may have.  Fuck you.  Talk to my mother.  Fuck you.  Are you fucking nuts.  No.  Absolutely fucking no, no, no.   Why would you think I’d let you do that?  No, the idea is to send Mom packing back to TN and for me to take my fucking life back.  Fuck groups, fuck my team, and fuck your stupid fucking treatment plan.  Talk to a clinical manager, whatever.  I don’t care.  Sure.  Let’s have some kind of conversation about how trust is a major fucking factor. And you have blown away all trust with your bullshit calendar.  I don’t want to talk about weight goals.  I don’t want to talk about medications.  I care what the normal policy is.  And I am not doing outpatient care.  I don’t have time and I just don’t fucking care, because I’m not sick.  I do not have an eating disorder and I want to go home.  Surprised?  It’s fun, it’s it.  Being ambushed with some stupid fucking meaningless idea.  Fuck you.  Fuck you very much.  I don’t like you.  I don’t trust you and we’re not on the same team.  I could tell it hurt Alina’s feelings, but fuck her.  She couldn’t even be bothered to come see me yesterday.  Why in the actual fuck would I like or trust you?  I trust a cashier from Burger King more than I trust you.  Fuck you.  You pulled me out of my room when I was in distress and made me walk in front of the entire unit.  Why the fuck would I trust you?  You don’t trust me.  You don’t seem to think I’m capable of gauging my feelings enough to know when I need to have space.  You don’t trust me enough to let me have 20 minutes before dinner and after group to decompress from being around so many people and showing vulnerability.  I fucking hate you.  Also, you were kind of a bitch today when you came to get me.  So extra super deluxe ultra fuck you and while you’re at, go fuck yourself.  Lots of fucking take place here, but not with me.  You’re done fucking me, you fucking assholes.  I just don’t like you people.  I find you to be fake and shallow and the fact that you thought doing a 2 week step down plan was a good fucking idea shows that you know nothing about me or my goals.  It shows that you don’t know what drives me and that you have no idea how to treat me.  Fuck you.  Really.  Fuck you.

I’m going to my room and I don’t intend on coming out for the rest of the day or night, until after dinner.  Then I will go get ready for bed and go to sleep.   I’m so mad I could shit.  It’s like the more that I fuckiung think about it, the more annoyed I get.  Here’s the fucking plan, Mr. Care m

Clinical director just stopped by to tell me that she can’t really do anything.  She’s going to talk to the other psychiatrists and see what their recommendations may be.  These fucking white coats stick together.  The thin white line.   It’s fucking bullshit.  The other option was ED Care.  No.  Absolutely not.  Start over at a different fucking place.  Fuck you.  No.  I’m not doing that.  If the step down recommendation is 2 weeks, then fuck you.  If the target weight goal is the same fuck you.  My plan is to relapse as hard and as fast as I can.  But this time, i’ll do it better.  I’ll use all the neat little tricks that I’ve learned while I was here.  Binging on water, laxatives, other drugs, over exercise like a fucking champion.  My goal is to make my heart stop in 45-60 days. Fuck you. Step down is not a good option, I’m not doing it.  I won’t go to PHP.  I will not travel from home every day to here.  I don’t have a vehicle and out of principle, I’m not paying uber/lyft $60/day for 4 months or whatever the fuck.  Fuck this place.  Fuck the Drs. here and fuck this stupid fucking clinical director that doesn’t sound like she can do much of anything.  Fuck them all.  I hate this fucking place and I hate all of the people here.  Well, all of the fancy people here.  They all fucking suck.  Fuck food. Fuck eating.  Fuck living.  Fuck you.  And fuck your stupid fucking plan.  Fuck you all.  I literally hate every single mother fucker behind those closed doors. You shady fucking fucks.

I’m so fucking pissed and I’m panicked and fucking pissed and fucking pissed.  Did I mention that I am fucking pissed the fuck off.  And I really need to piss, but I’m afraid to come out of my room, because I’m afraid they are going to lock me out.  I’m terrified.  I am fucking terrified.  If you can’t do something better than what was being offered, just send me home.  I’ve already started my relapse.  I want to quit.  I just want to quit.  I want to stop wasting everyone’s time and I want to quit.  I never should have come here to begin with and I’ve stayed way too long.  It’s just been telling myself one lie after another to convince me to stay.  I fucking hate this place and I hate everything about it.  It’s all fucking greedy ass fucking money grubby pieces of shit.  All the fake shit that they put on is just more proof that it’s bullshit.

It’s already starting off weird.  We can feel it, Maddy, Kirsi and me.  And something tells me we’re not the only ones. Everything just seems out of place.  It started this AM with Kiki being 10 minutes late.  But really, before that, because NONE of us have been sleeping through the night.  It’s that feeling of impending doom, like a storm is coming, but it’s not showing up on the radar.  But the animals are stirring, they aren’t eating, they are restless.  I can’t put my finger on it, but I do have my suspicions.

Monday’s 2 week step down notice has “business office” written all over it.  Anthem has been denying claims and giving themselves huge discounts, while refusing to pay ERC for some reason.  I’ve been getting the emails for several weeks and I wondered when it would catch up to me.  It doesn’t feel like a medical decision at all.  I’m not trending up in weight, which is one of the treatment plan goals and probably why Courtney has been so pushy about increasing my meal plan.  She also only asked that I have 3 consistent days of completing my meal plan.  Guess what.  Not this week.  I’ve yet to see the fallout from that, but I skipped dinner last night.  I plan on restricting anything that doesn’t look appetizing.  Let’s play.  If insurance and ERC want to play a game, I’m all in, because this discharge has nothing to do with my health and everything to do with money.  Fucking greedy fucking bastards.  Oh, and the denial reasons are weird, like something with being billed twice for the same date, which is bizarre. I appealed one decision and haven’t heard back.  This is just shady insurance being shady.  This is why the system in America is broken.  It’s all about trying to cheat, haggle, and steal.  I’m sure I have a dollar value assigned by the insurance company and I’m exceeding my value.  

And this is when things were really starting to fall into place.  I was working the steps and actively trying to get better.  But letting the business office dictate my health really makes me want to request a 72 hour discharge.  Let’s play chicken.  I plan on giving my letter to my therapist, if I can get it printed in time.  I’m so much better with written word than I am with speaking my mind.  I’m not even saying it’s a well written letter, it’s emotionally charged.  But I think showing some emotion to my team and expressing how concerned I am will hopefully be helpful.  I intentionally made it sound treatment resistant, because, frankly, I am still treatment resistant.  It’s not just a matter of what I want and while Danielle is a factor, the fact is, the step down plan feels like a business office decision and it should be a medical decision.  I know I’m strange, because most people are so ready to get out of here.  I’ve heard so many people say they are ready to go.  Well, I’m not.  I’m comfortable here, but I’m also very concerned about going home and trying to do PHP from home.  We only have one vehicle now and Juniper is more important than my PHP.  She has therapy and school and she cannot miss those appointments.  Also, just the stress of being back at life without any halfway point is going to really task my brain.  There’s just so much happening at home, there just isn’t any way to stay recovery focused at home right now.  I know this.  I miss Juniper desperately and she is my motivation to go home.  But I have to go home well.  I cannot be sick when I leave here.  This is my chance.  I feel like I get one shot at getting better.  And the stakes could not be higher.  If I fail at this, they could take Juniper from me and that cannot happen.  Not only would I relapse, but I would no longer have a reason to live.  Juniper has kept me safe for six years and she will keep me safe for the rest of my life.  She’s the reason I get up in the morning, she’s the reason I’m fighting for my life right now.  Without her, my purpose on this earth is done.  Without her, I don’t want to find another reason to go on living.  

Ok, we have this BHT named Kiki and she is so chill and cool.  She does a good job, but she talks to us like we’re all friends.  We went outside and she told us all about where she was from and how she got here.  She’s from a small town in North Carolina and when she was pregnant in 2017, her town had violent crime rates comparable with Chicago.  And there was no real reason that she can name.  So, she said after she had her baby (I think Carly is what she named her), she packed up her things, blocked everyone on her phone and headed west.  I guess another reason for leaving was because hard drugs were literally killing a huge amount of her friends.  I can relate, that’s one reason I got out of Murfreesboro.  There was nothing there for me but death and destruction.  If I had stayed, even if I had gone to work at Vanderbilt, I would have been absolutely miserable and I would definitely have gotten deeper into drugs.  I was still pretty young when I left, I don’t think I had very good insurance (it was pre-obama care), and I certainly wouldn’t have asked for help from my family or friends.  I would have spiraled downhill. I had to get out.  Kiki had to get out, too.  She packed up her U-Haul and didn’t tell anyone where she was going.  She had toxic friends and family that she didn’t want to expose her daughter to and that makes so much sense.  I think I knew deep down that the thing holding me back was the toxic or at least limiting relationship with my family.  And I wasn’t wrong.  So many of them struggle with drugs and alcohol.  Nobody is really successful except my brother Eric, and I’m pretty sure he’s back on opioids now.  I hope not, but the evidence doesn’t look good.  I guess you can run, but you can’t hide from such a terrible addiction.  I’ve read about friends that went down the opioid path thanks to bad Drs. overprescribing oxycontin.  It’s the same story a thousand times over.  Cousins, aunts and uncles all continue to struggle with that awful drug and what it turns them into.  It’s depressing to think about.  And then there is the religious aspect.  I was oppressed and shamed into being something I was not.  There is no way that I could go back home and be myself.  I hate that, but I wouldn’t be accepted by family, especially the over religious family, like Debbie.  Not only is she a fucking racist, she’s a bigot, too.  All in the name of Jesus.  He washed the feet of prostitutes, but in his name, DOWN WITH THE FAGGOTS.  I don’t get it.  But I do believe that if our culture permitted public stoning, her racist ass would be first in line to cast the first stone.  What a sad state to live in and no wonder I’m traumatized.  No wonder I didn’t want to tell anyone about who I am.  I do know my mother, who now accepts me, would give in to peer pressure and end up using conversion therapy or something equally as awful.  Maybe an exorcism?  I don’t know, but I do not ever plan on going back.  I’ll probably be absent from my Dad’s funeral, because his brothers would be mortified to see me.  As a kid, even having long hair got me judged by my uncles.  I wish I could say they aren’t bad people, it’s just how they were raised, or the culture they grew up in, but the reality is, they make a choice every day to stick with these beliefs.  

So, yeh, I’ll stay here with Juniper and we can live free from the insanity that is the bible belt.  Fuck all their hate and fuck being part of a family who doesn’t accept or love me as I am.  Fuck a family that wants me to put on a suit and tie and pretend to be a tough guy.  That’s never who I was and I refuse to go back.  Oh, and Danielle, enjoy your bigoted crust punk life in Murfreesboro.  I know those aren’t your values.  Or are they?  Maybe it’s you that tricked me into marrying someone that I thought was loving and accepting of all different types of people.  You’re not.  You’re a bigot.  You are abusive and you are a liar.  You are the one that wears the mask now.  It took courage for me to be myself.  You’re a coward that hides behind the mask of an ally, when you actually harbor hatred against me, the person that you claimed to love.  Your values and beliefs are clear now.  You like to say you know who I am now, well guess what I see you, now, and everyone else is going to see you, too.  You’re going to be exposed and I will be vindicated.  And along with you, your supposedly liberal friends are going to be exposed, too.  You’re all bad people.  You were right, you’re a bad person and so are the people you associate with.  Deep down, you’re just a bunch of bigoted, hateful ass rednecks.  That’s all you’ll ever be.  You’re just like your mother and father.  Filled with anger, hate and entitlement.  Why do bad things keep happening to you?  Because karma is real and it catches up to you as often as you betray your supposed values.  At least I’m learning to be real and refusing to live in fear and oppression.  Guess what?  I don’t miss you.  I don’t need you. I don’t want you.  You were a lie and fell for it for 8 years, but I am free now.  I am free from your destruction, you sickness.  I am free from the violence and the abuse.  You will carry on and your true colors will show through again.  You’ll keep up the facade for a while, but eventually, you’ll shine through as your real self.  And when you do, your life will crash around you again.  It’s nobody’s fault but your own.  Maybe one day you’ll accept that.  Until then, expect the worst, because karma is coming for you.

Group was hard today.  It was supposed to be about stigma, which was a good discussion.  We heard a lot from Ella K., Priscilla, Analise and Betty.  I tried to chime in some, too.  And I definitely related to a lot of what we talked about regarding stigma.  But then the conversation took a bit of a twist as Betty talked about her sexual assault by her boss.  I thought it was going to trigger the other girls, but in a strange twist Priscilla and Analise opened up about what they had been through and how they found themselves here.  Priscilla is so fucking insightful.  She’s one of the smartest people here.  But what I heard on repeat is that, we’re often accused of being vain, that race/ethnicity can have a reverse stigma (“You’re hispanic, so there’s no way you could really have an eating disorder”), that it’s vanity, that it’s a choice, that we’re to blame.  In reality, what we all seem to have in common is that we have been hurt in one way or another, that even if we’re not type A, we want to calm the chaos in our life by being able to control something.  This feels so familiar.  Priscilla said her life seemed chaotic, because she’s not Type A, but her ED gave her the illusion of control of something.  That’s how I felt, too, the last few months before I found myself at ERC.  My life was crashing down around me.  I was all alone, I trusted no one (also very common among us) and the ED was the one thing that I could grasp on to that gave me a sense of order.  Wow.  I’m not alone.  And regardless of the trauma, big or small, ongoing or short lived, we all seek to make it feel like we’re the ones controlling our eating and not the other way around.

Another take away that I haven’t thought about before is that there is a difference between disordered eating and having an eating disorder.  My mom asked me a couple of weeks ago how long I think I’ve had an eating disorder and I don’t think I could really answer.  But Priscilla distinguishing between the two really put things in perspective for me.  I’ve had disordered eating since I was very, very young.  Well before my teenage years.  I would starve myself of breakfast and lunch for one reason or another.  In some cases, like lunch for example, I hated school lunches, thought they were gross and just refused to eat because of that.  But if I think and dig down very deep, maybe I’ve always wanted a sense of control, going back to 3rd grade when I remember my life feeling chaotic for the first time.  The body image aspect comes into play off and on for years.  When I was 15, I remember staring at my shadow and liking how my image looked slender and feminine with my long hair.  The mirror wasn’t in play, but I would obsess over how my shadow looked.  I had disordered eating then for sure.  I’d take a few bites of dinner and then leave the table.  My parents were really big on, eat until you’re full, because their depression era parents would make them eat every bite on the plate or potentially go without during the next meal as a lesson.  I don’t blame them for how they taught me to eat, but at the same time, I think it contributed to my disordered eating.  I learned to starve myself starting around kindergarten and it just never stopped.  

Danielle accused me of being vain for looking in the mirror so much and body image was very much part of my eating disorder.  However, it is a stigma that it’s vanity or that I somehow wanted or asked to be anorexic.  I wasn’t vain, I was beaten down.  My self esteem was at near 0 because of the abuse from Danielle, abuse and trauma from my neighbors and oppressed negative religious experiences as a child.  I was body checking not out of vanity, but out of self preservation, trying to hold onto anything good that I could find about myself.  Danielle shamed me for asking for help.   Like somehow asking for help meant that I wanted attention.  Priscilla brought up validation.  I wasn’t looking for attention, but I was seeking some sort of validation that I was hurting.  That the trauma that I’m going through is real.  My eating disorder gives me a way to show up in the world as sick from emotional pain.  I think it’s why our eating disorder brains want and need to stay sick.  As long as our pain is sitting below the surface, we need our eating disorder to be acknowledged that we’re hurting.  Then we can go back to the thought diffusion talk that Monica gave us a few days ago.  As long as we refuse to sit with the pain and then diffuse the thoughts, we cannot get better.  But sitting with the pain is really hard and I think that’s something that most of us have in common.  We would rather use the eating disorder to numb the pain than to sit with the pain or have the wound opened, so that it can eventually heal.  

I still feel the pain and grief of my loss of relationship and I haven’t quite figured out how to sit with it and diffuse the thoughts, yet.  I’m trying, but it’s very hard. Everyday, I have moments where the things Danielle said and did still hurt, so I stay sick.  Everyday, I have moments where I still feel the shame of being trans because of my upbringing.  So I stay sick.  I do see now that if I want to get better, I’m going to have to face these things and diffuse the thoughts.  If I want to get better and no longer need the eating disorder to show up, I’m going to have to accept the pain is real and allow myself to heal.  I guess that’s why I still feel broken and why I am holding on to this eating disorder so hard.  Radical acceptance is one of the hardest skills to master.  And sometimes, even if you’re willing to accept certain things, you can’t because you don’t know they are there.  Example, me not knowing what a trauma bond was until one therapist finally pointed it out to me.  Other examples, not knowing that I was being emotionally abused until multiple therapists could name the behavior that was abuse and then I witnessed it in real time.  The criticizing and constant berating, that was abuse.  But now I have to sit with the pain that the abuse caused, if I want to get better.  Alina wants me to challenge those thoughts in the sense that they weren’t accurate or fair critics.  That because Danielle has created this alternate reality for herself, the thoughts and criticisms weren’t valid.  What I haven’t been allowed to do is acknowledge that those things were painful and true or not, they hurt.  I hurt.  And my eating disorder allows me to show up wounded.  Deep down, I’m a baby bird with a broken wing hobbling around.  I want the world to see me hobble, so I restrict.   This is maladaptive, but before I can use coping skills to manage this hurt, I have to be willing to sit with the hurt and allow myself to feel just how deep these wounds go.  That’s the trick, right?  And while the eating disorder is the  outward display of this pain, my brain simultaneously wants to bury these horrible thoughts as deep and dark as it can.  They’re still there, but accessing them is difficult.  So I stay sick.  I don’t want to stay sick, but I haven’t found a way to sit with the pain and diffuse the thoughts.  I feel broken because the hurt is there, regardless of if I can consciously bring it to the surface to sit or not.  I stay sick, but not because I choose sickness.  I choose recovery, I just have to find the way and that path is not easy to find.

1:16 PM and I don’t know what the fuck just happened.  I haven’t had fear like that since first coming here.  Every time I would go to pick up the sandwich I would pull back.  I don’t know why. It was simple ingredients and just simple food.  I ate this sandwich multiple times, but I pulled it apart and ate with my fork.  Taking a bit of all the ingredients was scary.  I did a really poor job.  I’m embarrassed, what the fuck is going on today.  I feel this immense pressure to somehow push forward..  I could barely take a bite.  WTF?  I don’t get it.  Even eating the loose piece of lettuce was hard.  The only difference today was that I didn’t take clonazepam before lunch, so my anxiety was a 10/10 and the food was complicated.  I’ve been eating simple stuff, like grilled cheese or cheese quesadilla.  This was complicated.  I also feel tricked and like my team is working against me.  I don’t trust what’s in the food, I feel like they are trying to pack weight on me without my consent.  They made a schedule to boot me out of here without my consent.  I haven’t had to supplement in weeks and it just seemed like so much.  What the fuck is wrong  with me.  I had these big breakthroughs before lunch, but my anxiety got the best of me.  How am I feeling?  Terrified.  Why?  I can’t meet my goals.  Also, they want me to leave in less than 2 weeks now.  Like 10 days or something.  I’m so scared.

It’s 3:15 pm and the clonazepam has had time to work.  I’m at least someone calm now, but I feel defeated.  Alina has not pulled me today and it’s not likely she will, since it’s already after 3.  She doesn’t work long days.  Fucking coward.  I don’t trust that bitch any more than I trust fucking HItler.  Also, where the fuck was Courtney, we were supposed to each lunch together today and she was a no show.  Also, fuck this program.  You’re only a failure when you give up and I’m 1mm from giving up, asking to discharge and just going home.  Fuck PHP, fuck getting better and fuck this entire team.  They have failed me and I have failed them.  So it’s a mutual, “FUCK YOU” for everyone, imo.  I just can’t get over how much that meeting yesterday looked like the meeting when they were going to tell me that I was going to be discharged.  FUCK THEM.  They are fucking lying cowards.  We’re supposed to have some sort of level of trust here and I have none. NONE.  I don’t believe their motives and I don’t believe their words.  They hide behind their titles and protected records that I can’t see.  If this wasn’t a business decision, I would actually be fucking amazed.  In fact, tomorrow, I am going to ask to be discharged immediately.  I’m as good as dead.  I will walk out these doors and start starving my body again.  I don’t need to eat.  I’ve proven it.  Fuck this shit.  It’s all a big fat fucking lie.  It’s money and greed and I don’t want to play along any more.  Discharge me.  I’m going home, sending my Mom home and I’m going to die.  Fuck it. Fuck them and fuck this stupid fucking eating disorder.  Fuck Danielle and fuck everyone, except Juniper.  Send me home.  Just let me fucking die.  I’m giving up.  I failed.

Where the fuck is Alina.  That fucking shady ass bitch.  Fuck her.  She can’t even show up once this week?  I get ambushed and that fucking bitch can’t even show up one time to fucking talk to me.  Fuck her.  Fuck my team.  Fuck this place.  They’re letting me sleep through the last group.  Good.  I don’t want to participate in some fucking hippie ass bs therapy that doesn’t fucking work anyways.  This feels like it’s been a giant fucking stupid waste of time.  Danielle was right.  I’m a fucking failure.

Safety.  Safety is the other thing that we all seek.  Priscilla and Analise both said it, too.  We’re looking for some sort of safety and our eating disorder gives us that.  They are taking that away from me.  So fuck them.  I’m going home to die.  I’m going home and I’m going to do this anorexia shit so much more efficiently than before.  40,000 steps a day.  250 calories a day.  Watch  me.  I’m going to nail relapse way harder than I nailed this shit to begin with.  Send my ass home.  Let me fucking die, you fucking cocksuckers.  Take my safety away and I have nothing.  If you won’t give me safety then I won’t play any more.  Fuck dinner, fuck food.  Fuck progress, fuck values, fuck winning.  Fuck it all.  Fuck this whole fucking experience.  It’s all been one big fucking lie.  I don’t want to play any more.  I don’t give 2 flying fucks what my team thinks.  I don’t want to go to phase 2 or phase 0 or phase anything.  Fuck this whole fucking place.  And especially, especially, fuck my team.  They are fucking morons.  I only feel bad about my peers, because I’m freaking the fuck out and I know they see that shit and it affects them.  I feel bad about that.  And the staff, I love them.  They are some really kind hearted people that really care and do their very best.  But i don’t feel a fucking thing for “my team”.  They are a sorry excuse for a medical team.  They got bullied by the business office to make a medical decision that they shouldn’t have made.  Fucking cowards.  Every single one of them.  Fuck Nancy for not listening to me.  Fuck Courtney for poisoning my food.  Fuck Alina for not showing up.  I should have switched to a different team when I had a chance.  I don’t trust Alina.  I think she’s full of shit.  I haven’t trusted her since she pulled me out of my room that afternoon.  And Courtney is a fucking snake in the grass.  Her fake smile and condescending fucking tone, it’s all fucking bullshit.  Fuck you Courtney.  You’re a massive fucking failure and you’re terrible at your fucking job.  And the fact that the nurse (sorry, I forgot your name) emailed my team yesterday and said I was freaking out and not one person has stopped by to check on me… you fucking suck.  You fucking suck and fuck you.  Discharge me.  Send me home.  Let me fucking die.  If you don’t care, neither do I.  

I’m going to do anorexia so fucking good this time, 20lbs a week.  I’m going to 100 lbs in lightning fucking speed.  I’m going to get back on zepbound and double dose that shit.  I’m going to a water only diet in two weeks flat.  Danielle was right.  I’m a failure and I deserve to die.  Fuck life.  Fuck caring.  I hate this fucking shit.  I hate my body,  I sure as fuck hate food. I hate eating it.  I hate seeing it.  I hate smelling it.  I hate every fucking goddamn thing about food.  Food is fucking disgusting.  I’m done with fucking food.  I’m done with all of it.  I hate treatment.  I hate recovery.  I hate it all. Fuck PHP.  I’m not fucking doing PHP.  Fuck you for trying to make me do PHP.  I’m done. Fuck it all.  Fuck me. And especially, especially, fuck you.  

I went to dinner.  I did not eat.  I feel out of control and like the world is chaos.  But this time it isn’t Danielle, it’s the fucking healthcare system in our country.  It’s the shitty ass shady fuckers at Anthem, denying claims that should be getting approved.  It’s Anthem, fucking over the hospital.  It’s bullshit.  They kill people.  They kill people and rake in billions in profits by using tactics that should be illegal.  Yet there is no real regulation of that shitty fucking industry.  And I’m not into socialized medicine, I think it’s a scam.  But our system is broken, too.  I fucking hate it.  It’s built around finding bullshit reasons to deny claims and making people and hospitals alike fight like hell for coverage and money.  The reasons they give for denials are complete fucking bullshit, but they are allowed to do it.  It’s such shit.  Such fucking shit.  

I called Jude to tell her I love her and goodnight. That’s the only good thing that’s happened today.  Tomorrow is going to fucking suck.  I lost my letter that I wrote and I don’t want to do rounds.  I want to just discharge and go home.  I want to give up.  I’m a quitter and I want to quit.  I want to prove them all right.  Fuck proving them wrong.  Everyone wants to prove them wrong, I want to make their lives better and prove them right.  I am giving up.  Fuck these fucking greedy fucking assholes.  But what kills me is that the hospitalists play along.  They act like what they are doing is normal, like it’s justified for some bullshit fucking reason.  You’re not fooling me, bitch.  You got told to make a plan and you did it like the little fucking sheep fucker that you are.  You’re a bad person for doing that.  You’re untrustworthy.  Fuck you.  Fuck you all.  Have I mentioned FUCK YOU!  

I filled out the rounds sheet for tomorrow with the following answers:

Name: Clara

Values you’ve been working on this week: None

Successes this week: None

Challenges this week: None

Goals for

Individual Therapy:  Relapse

Family Therapy: Relapse

Psych/Med:  Relapse

Group: Relapse

Relapse, but do it better this time and actually succeed at my end goal.

Share one or two things you would like to discuss with your team this week during rounds:

Fuck PHP, Fuck Recovery, Discharge Me, Send Me Home

Urger to Restrict: 10

Urge to Binge: 10

Urge to Purge: 10

Urge to Exercise: 10

Body Image Distress: 10

Are medications effective?  No

Medical Issues: No

Anxiety: 10

Irritability: 10

Sadness: 10

Obsessive Thinking; 10

Urge to use drugs or Alcohol: 2

How many hours of sleep are you getting:  None

Rate level of suicidal thinking: 10

Urge to self harm: 10

Have you acted on the urges:

Discharge me

Seriously, discharge me, this place is bullshit.  Fuck you.  Fuck you for tricking me into thinking you gave a shit and fuck you for making me think I had a chance to get better.  Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck You.  You fucking suck.  I hate this place and wish I had never come;.  I want to die.  I am going to starve myself to death and this time, it’s going to work.  Fuck YOU.  FUCK YOU.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Fuck you for making me feel safe.  Fuck you for not listening to me.  Fuck you for forcing your stupid half-wit plan down my fucking throat.  Fuck your meals.  Fuck your snacks.  Fuck your groups.  Fuck your therapist.  Fuck COURTNEY EXTRA FUCKING HARD.  Fuck you all.  You’re pieces of fucking shit. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck. you. FuCCCCCK.  YOOOOOOU.  

This is what giving up looks like.  FUCK YOU FOR MAKING ME CRY.  FUCK YOU FOR MAKING ME CARE. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

How am I fucking feeling?  Like shit.  Why? Because you ambushed me with some shit plan that the business office told you to come up with and force down my throat.  How am I feeling?  Hopeless.  Why?  Because there’s no hope.  Because I can’t get better.  Because insurance dictates what doctors do and doctors are cowards that won’t stand up to hospital administrators.  FUCK YOU.    

I haven’t been this fucking angry since I had Juniper in the hospital and they tried to do this shit to her.  You greedy fucking shits.  FUCK YOU COURTNEY.  YOU FUCKING SUCK.  I FUCKING HATE YOU.  You’re a WORM. FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR JOB.  

How am I feeling?  Betrayed.  Why?  BECAUSE YOU PIECES OF SHIT BETRAYED ME.

I don’t trust anyone and especially you sick fucking puppets.  FUCK YOU. YOU FUCKING COWARDS.

And where the actual fuck was alina today.  It’s like she just ghosted me.  She’s a fucking coward, too.  Fuck you.  You fucking cunt.  Oh and by the way, you’re a shit fucking therapist.  Absolute shit.  We haven’t worked through a single goddamned fucking thing.  I have gotten NOTHING from our sessions.  I’m still a traumatized, abused fucking spouse and you’ve done literally NOTHING to help.  I FUCKING HATE YOU.  I lost all faith in you the afternoon you kicked me out of my room when I was in fucking distress.  Fuck you.  You fucking whore.  FUCK YOU.  

Tell the business office that I haven’t met ANY of the fucking goals for discharge.  NOT FUCKING ONE.  FUCk PHP.  I’m not doing PHP.  FUCK YOU.  Discharge me.  I just want to go home and forget this nightmare of fucking lies and bullshit. You’re fakes.  You’re phonies.  Pat yourself on the back all you want, YOU fucking fail.  You’re giving up, so I am too.  Fuck you.

It’s 5:29 and I’ve been up since midnight, I think.  I don’t think they gave me seroquel last night.  There’s no way I only got three hours of sleep if I took my sleep meds.  I tried to go back to sleep until 4am and then I gave up.  I did some online shopping/browsing.  Lots of cute tops, but I haven’t bought any yet.  I gotta let the stuff I got this week make it’s way here before I order more.  

How am I feeling?  Fucking confused.  Why?  Because WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DID I WAKE UP AT MIDNIGHT?  Now I’m going to be tired all day and I worry the anxiety is going to really kick in hard.  Also, my stomach hurts and they won’t give me any promethazine for some reason.  It’s definitely been twelve hours, I think.  I really don’t know.  I’m not responsible enough to keep up with my own meds, that’s why I’m in the fucking hospital.  I think this step down bullshit is hitting me much harder than I realized.  I guess if they let me stay in the apartments here, it might be manageable, but if I have to go home, especially every night, I’ll never make it.

Katy Perry inspires me to wake, sing and dance.  It’s a KP morning.  I don’t want to sit and write right now, I want to dance down the hallway.  It feels like I’m being strangled and held down. It’s also very conflicting, because every fucking IOP, therapist etc. has told me to exercise more.  Miriam seemed really concerned about the amount of exercise I wasn’t getting.  I’m not even doing a ton of pacing.  Just 10-50 minutes at a time.  It’s really more about counting tiles and memorizing the patterns in the carpet tiles.  It gives me something to occupy my brain, which is running wild.  How am I feeling?  Exhausted, but anxious as fuck.  And I keep passing Polly’s room, but their name tag is gone.  Serious question though, how is John Mayer still a thing and how do I remove him from the KP playlist.  His song sucks.  It just does, it’s boring and the melody gives me a headache.  The country crossover song, that I don’t the name of and no idea who the artist is, it’s alright.  I’m not a fan of country music, no secret there.  Growing up in Nashville made me hate it.  I think it was the country music takeover of KDF, I’m still angry about that.  April 1, 199X, but it sucked.  It doesn’t matter I guess, radio all sucks because it’s all Clear Channel and that company sucks and plays the same 10 songs on repeat for each genre.

I didn’t ask to wake up this early and I’m not a morning person.  In fact, I prefer staying up late.  And if I do have to wake up this early, I don’t want to sit and work or journal. I want to take my meds, drink my caffeine and take my shower and get ready.  I do miss my mornings and getting up and dressed and putting on makeup.  I really like doing my makeup.  I don’t like doing it here.  If I put on more than just a touch, I think that’s faux pas or something.  None of the girls do full face makeup, except Betty.  Oh, Betty.  And she wants to help me.  And it’s sweet, but, “Dear Betty, it wouldn’t look like shit if I wasn’t putting it on in front of every girl in the unit. I feel like I need to hurry and get it on and move out of the way.  There are five mirrors and 20 girls.  You tell me how that’s supposed to go. I have moved my shower to 6:30 am instead of 7am.  For some reason it actually works out better.  I get done in Splataaah and there’s no one at the med window.  It’s weird.  And then as we get close to 7:45am and breakfast, there’s another mad rush.  Plus, this way I’m not pissing anyone off.  Raine, talking to you girlie.  She was so annoyed that I beat her to the med window every morning.  Problem solved, you kids knock yourselves out.  The only problem with 6:30 showers is that we’re supposed to pee in a cup, change into a gown, get weighed, and get in the shower and be done by 6:45, which is impossible, especially when they open Splataaaah either right at 6:30 or a few minutes after.  And lately, the nurse has been taking forever to bring the scale into the weight room.  So, whoever signs up under me ends up getting the shower at 6:50-6:55 and that throws the whole morning off.  But it’s not my fault.  It’s the lazy BHTs taking their fucking time getting spa open.  Oh, one other thing, i have to check out my razor from nursing and nursing is particularly defensive about opening the med window until 6:45 am.  So I have to knock, wait for them to tell me to wait, and yell back (but not aggressively), “Could I just have my razor, please?”  Then they recognize my voice and gladly help.  But it’s a whole thing and it drives me a little crazy.  I don’t really understand why razors can’t just be kept in sharps.  It’s weird.  I get if SH is super high or there is continued evidence of SH.  I just don’t get it.  But, rules are rules, I guess.

I got scolded by my team yesterday for pacing.  Well you know what, MY ANXIETY IS NOT UNDER CONTROL.  I’m still taking bennies every day.  I’m pretty sure that’s not good.  The Lexapro might be helping with depression.  Actually, I think it absolutely is.  But it’s not helping with anxiety.  I still have rapid fire thoughts.  The only way I can manage them is by journaling or moving.  I’ll just tell you now, I like the journaling thing.  But it can’t be my only coping method.  And when I get home, I’m going to start running again.  On the bright side, it will almost certainly ENCOURAGE my appetite, because that’s what working out does.  This zero movement shit is just such shit.  The other thing is that I just get bored.  And dancing and moving in the morning is how I like to wake up.  I like singing to, but I’ll spare the unit my unrehearsed KP.  They don’t deserve that.  Juniper has to deal with it, she’s my daughter.  Daughters are subjected to their parent’s singing, it’s sort of a right of passage I think.

The dinner question for tonight was picked by Katy and I love it.  Top 3 albums that you can’t live without.  Geez, is that even a question:

1. Radiohead – Ok Computer
2. Nirvana – Nevermind
3. Beatles – Abbey Road
4. Radiohead – In Rainbows

You can’t have just three and #1 and #4 are pretty much interchangeable, just depending on my mood.  I can never decide which one is better.   Every time I do the Radiohead discography playlist, I hear OK Computer and say, “Oh, it’s definitely OK Computer” until I get to In Rainbows, at which point I’m like, “How could I say that, It’s obviously In Rainbows.”  It’s kind of a mind fuck.  In Rainbows is so much more complex, but the flow of OK Computer is amazing.  Like, perfect, amazing.  That’s part of the reason Abbey Road makes the top 3.  I mean, the white album has so many classic Beatles songs, but it’s eclectic.  They were pretty much broken up as a band at that point, so when they came back together to record Abbey Road, it had this amazing flow, probably the inspiration for thousands of other popular albums.  You can’t have #1 or #2 if you don’t have #3.  It’s just a fact.  Kurt said as much in multiple interviews.  And Thom rambles on about the Pixies, but there would be no Pixies if there were not Beatles.  It’s really just a natural order of things.

Awwwww.   So sad, I’m not nearly hipster enough, clearly.  Karma is a bitch.  It’s coming for you O’Flynn.  It’s going to catch your ass faster than you can blink.  I can’t think about that now.  It’s too much.  Sit with sad feelings?  Maybe later.  I don’t have the spoons today.  At least not yet.  It’s 6:23am.  I can’t tell if they just opened Splataaah or if it’s just Abigail with her 1:1.  My stomach is so pissed off this morning.  What the fuck?  How am I feeling?  Nauseated.  Maybe it’s the anxiety or lack of sleep.  I just feel bleeeeh.  Maybe it was that vanilla wafer that hit the floor.  5 second rule might not apply in a hospital setting.  I hope I don’t get sick again.  That would definitely set me back, maybe 2 weeks.  Actually, 4 weeks is what I see as a reasonable step down period.  I just want to do the steps.  I want to Phase II and Phase III.  I want to work all the way through the program.  And I’m just not ready to leave the security of these walls.  These walls keep the bad stuff out.  They are my protection, my safety.  I haven’t felt this safe in years.  I mean even at APN, if I had called Marco, he could have pulled right up to the cones and handed me drugs.  Not that I wanted to get high at APN.  1) I didn’t want to get high any more and 2) They would have spotted it immediately and I would have been kicked out of the program.  And it was a fun program.  ERC isn’t really fun, at least not like that.  We don’t have a gym or a spa.  The food is straight up hospital food.  But, it’s not clicky here.  I mean, sure, you have kind of groups that have been in the weeds together.  We’ve laughed together, cried together, hugged each other and been vulnerable around each other.  So naturally, we’re going to feel close to certain groups.  I guess maybe that’s part of the safety, too.  It’s more than just the walls.  It’s knowing that the people around me aren’t judging.  It’s knowing that we take up for each other.

Abigail is leaving for ACUTE.  I’m so worried about her.  Going to ACUTE means her labs probably don’t look great.  She’s been in a wheelchair for weeks now and I rarely see her eat very much.I think she wants to get better.  This illness is so fucked up.  Even when you decide you’re ready to get better, there are so many barriers.  It’s a mental illness that affects both your body and your brain.  It’s a mental illness that kills, as Danielle pointed out to me in an email, before she decided she hates me.  I don’t want anything bad to happen to any of my peers here.  I love them, they are all such special people.  Abigail has my sense of humor, I think I’ve mentioned before.  We joke about every day being the same.  So every night, one of us says, “are you ready tomorrow, its XXXXX” , and the other responds, “so ready.”  And usually someone asks, “What’s happening tomorrow?” and we reply, “the same thing that happens every day.”  Except, today is different because my friend is leaving.  Abigail is so smart, she acts like she isn’t, but she’s obviously brilliant.  She reads more than any person I’ve ever met and apparently, she’s dyslexic, which makes it that much more incredible.  She’s from Seattle (Ballard), and knows all my favorite old haunts from when I lived there.  Her Mom has been here nearly every day to support her.  I want recovery for her.  I want to see her get better and thrive.  I guess that’s part of the treatment process.  She’s been here to wake me up to go to meals, one day she had to wake me up twice.  She has a big heart and I really care about her.

It reminds me of Raine, too.  She’s been here almost as long as me now and she’s making slow progress.  But she has been adamant since day one that she doesn’t want to be here and she doesn’t want to recover.  Her reasoning, she’s been through this before and it didn’t work and she doesn’t think it will work this time.  But I want it to work for her.  She’s really smart and I love her brutal honesty about life.  It’s not all roses and rainbows.  She’s very realistic, albeit at times, maybe a little cynical.  And she definitely was a little cranky with me for being 2nd in the med line every day.  I haven’t told her, but she’s the reason I started taking early showers and doing med line 2nd.  Now she’s usually at least one person ahead of me.  She also rolls her eyes at me less.  This goes back to girl girl dynamics.  She loves to paint.  She’s on her 4th paint by number project and they all have turned out really amazing.  She swears she doesn’t want to recover, but she LOVES her family and they are the ones that made her come.  So right now, I think she’s kind of where I am, white-knuckling it.  She’s starting to eat more and I’m proud of her.  She and Abigail are fun in the Cafe when we play global and Raine specifically can name so many fucking countries and knows where they are on the map.  She’s exceptionally smart, like a lot of the girls here.  She’s also checked on me when I wasn’t doing well and woke me up a few times to go to a meal or snack.  She said that she doesn’t want recovery for herself, but she doesn’t want to derail anyone’s progress.  I believe her, but I also see her trying.  She comes to every group.  She participates most days.  She comes to every meal and tries to eat a little something, even if she isn’t  completing the full meal.  I want recovery for her.  I want her to thrive and have a long life.

I guess that this is part of the process and why we do this in a group setting.  We can see in others what we can’t see in ourselves, yet.  The PHP letters talked about this amazing JOY that’s supposed to happen when you’re in recovery.  Many of us said the same thing, “where is this magical joy and when does it magically appear.”  And the thing is, I still can’t see it for myself.  I still feel broken and beaten.  But yesterday when Polly left, I saw it in them.  They were pretty upbeat most days, except when they had a meltdown.  But yesterday was a different type of upbeat.  They said they want to be normal.  Polly knows that neurodivergent people won’t ever be normal in the sense that will think and act like most people.  But we do have an opportunity to live our lives like normal people do.  We can have jobs.  We can find happiness.  We don’t have to be weighed down by the burden of our eating disorder.  We don’t have to be scared of certain foods.  We don’t have to let our body image control us.  That’s the thing about eating disorders and something I have to accept.  By trying to control my body, my eating disorder controls me.  If I can just accept this radical truth, my thinking might become “green light” thinking, instead of “yellow light”  thinking.

But to get there, there’s a great deal of radical acceptance that I must go through and I feel so defeated by my thoughts.  I have to sit through the pain, right?  Well, I’m not ready for more radical acceptance quite yet.  I want to be, I think.  But I’m just not there.  Radical acceptance of Danielle being the person that she is was enough for the month.  To radically accept recovery for myself, I would have to accept things that I’m just not willing to accept, yet.  I’ll get there eventually, but this process is slow.  I’m so scared about going to PHP, because I don’t think I’m recovery minded enough to do this on my own.  I will skip meals and snacks. It will start as occasional, but as pain builds and pressures consume me, I will find myself in the exact same position that I was before.  I’m not ready for that.  I don’t think I am.  Why is my team so sure of themselves?  Why do I only have to show consistent eating for 3 days.  Why do I only need to eat PB&J and grilled cheese?  No one else is on the write only meal plan.  Even Courtney said we’d work on more challenging meals.  Guess what, ordering in is not going to make me want to eat more.  Actually, thinking about greasy, fried foods, or big meals still makes me sick to my stomach.  I don’t ever want to eat like that again.  I don’t want to gain a bunch of weight.  I don’t want to lose my figure.   And I don’t want to eat.  I’m white-knuckling.  I’m doing this because the other option is they take away my meds and give me a feeding tube.  Then I really have no autonomy.  I sound like a broken record, but I do not trust my team.  They’ve given me no reason to trust them.  They are working against me.  There’s no convincing me.  I have to self advocate, I guess.  No one else is going to do it for me.

What are my core values?  Juniper.  Why?  She’s my daughter and I love her and only I can truly care for her and raise her the way I want her to be cared for and raised.  She’s my Bee and I’m hers. Something that makes Tuesday special is I get to see her today, for one hour.  I only get one hour a week and I truly cherish it.  It’s the best hour of the whole week.  It typically involves her falling asleep on my shoulder and if I can get Susan and Mom to let me relax, I will take a nap, too.  It makes it feel like home in the “welcome room.”  It’s like we’re both able to just relax and forget about this whole separation business.  Juniper is my family and I’m hers.  We need each other and I promised her I would take care of her as long as she wants me to do so.  We’re going to own our house, our car and our van.  It’s going to be Juniper and me again, soon.  That’s my core value, taking care of my little Bee.  It gives me purpose.  She’s the reason I’m still alive, that suicide was never really an escape plan.  I couldn’t leave her to Danielle.  Danielle wouldn’t take care of her.  She couldn’t.  She couldn’t manage a fucking weekend, let alone the rest of her life.  She’s too selfish.  Plus, Danielle is having health problems.  How severe?  I don’t know.  But her kidneys aren’t doing what they are supposed to be doing.  She’s drinking again, and her liver isn’t super happy about that.

Meeting with Nancy instead of Dr. Parsley this week.  She’s very sweet, but I don’t really care to meet with her alone.  For one, if she makes changes to my meds, she usually puts them in the computer wrong, which sucks.  But two, she’s an NP, not a Dr.  As much as I make fun of Drs. and their attitudes, it’s also nice to have someone with an extra level of education and insight.  Dr. Parsley is definitely a Dr.  But I wanted to hear thoughts on why I didn’t sleep last night.  Is that a side effect of Lexapro?  I don’t know.  Nancy thinks it is just a disturbance on the unit and I will say, multiple people I talked to this morning said they were up and down all night.

I’m going to have to advocate hard during rounds if I want a different step down schedule.  I think 3-4 weeks would make me feel a lot more comfortable about stepping down.  Although, I think Kirsi, Ella, Jake and Rose will all be stepping down soon, too.  I should have been sitting at the table with them and Polly the last few weeks.  That would have made sense.  But the safety aspect of things, I just don’t feel safe, still.  I don’t feel like I’m going to be safe in the world.  I don’t think staying at home during PHP is a good idea either.  Nancy says, “yes, stay at home and do family sessions with Mom, so she knows how to support.”  Ya’ll don’t know my mother.  She’s somewhat aloof when it comes to medical things.  She’s been supportive while I’m here, but there are going to be challenges, especially around Brandon and my gender identity.  I can’t tell if she’s really supportive or if she’s just faking it.  I also think having the support of other people in my pod would be helpful.  I’m nervous about stepping down and even more nervous about going home.  Plus, going home, I’m going to want to smoke weed.  I don’t know how they will treat that.  I’m an adult, it’s legal.  I should be allowed, but rules are rules.  And being back home, I’ll definitely want to smoke weed.  I’ll definitely want to exercise.  I will 100% body check.  I will 100% weigh-in multiple times a day.  I can’t just stop these things.  That’s why I’m not ready. I’m still too, yellow light thinking to be at home.  I’m not going to eat right at home.  And mom won’t hold me accountable, she doesn’t know how to do it.  Even if we do therapy, it’s not like she’ll listen to what they say.  It’s just how she is.  Rules don’t apply.  She doesn’t get it and she never will.

Oh fuck, here we go.  Snack time and I already feel bad about the shake they are going to make me drink.  I don’t want a shake.  I don’t want a snack.  I don’t want to go to cafe.  I don’t want to play games and I don’t want to talk.  I want to hide under a blanket the rest of the morning and skip lunch, too.  I want to recover, but I don’t want the results of recovery.  I’m doing the steps, but only because I have no choice.  It’s 10:11 am.  The anxiety is coming, I’m sure.  I want to move around.  I want to sing and dance.  I want to memorize tiles.  All I have is time.  What am I going to do when I get home and I can pace?  I can skip snacks and meals.  I can exercise as much as I want.  I’m not ready for this and going home is a really bad, bad idea.  Stepping down is a bad idea.  I’m just starting to accept treatment and they are kicking me to the curb.  I don’t trust myself and I don’t trust my team.  I don’t trust anyone.  I trust Juniper and I know she wants me to be home.  How am I even supposed to get here?  We only have one car now.  Danielle took my car.  And they need the X3 to cart Juniper around.  Fuck.  There are so many moving pieces.  My life is so much more complicated than they realize.  I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready at all.  They are setting me up for failure.  I’m going to have to quit because there isn’t going to be a way for me to do this.  FUCK!  If the X3 was paid for, I’d go buy a Porsche.  Just because I know it would piss Danielle the fuck off.  Enjoy your crust punk lifestyle, bitch.

The times in between meals are sometimes the worst.  I dread going, but I want to get it over with and move on with the day.  The sooner we get our snack, the sooner we can eat lunch, the sooner we can do these groups, the sooner we finish all meals and snacks and the sooner I get to go to bed.  I enjoy waking up and getting ready and I enjoy going to bed.  Everything in between is just some sort of forced clusterfuck that I despise.  What am I feeling?  Annoyed.  Why?  My team isn’t hearing me.  I don’t feel like I have any more say in my treatment.  I don’t feel like we’re on the same page and I don’t think they understand me, at all.  If they did, they’d understand how broken I still am and they wouldn’t be pushing me out the door.

And while we’re on the subject of being pissed off, menu planning is the worst shit.  I don’t like any of the choices, and it just sucks picking out food.  I don’t want to eat, remember?  That isn’t recovery focused thinking.  I need to change my attitude, but I’m not ready.  I’m not ready to leave and I’m not ready to go home.  I definitely do not want to go home.  FUCK!  YOU ARE NOT HEARING ME!  Team my fucking ass…  I am scared.  I am scared of leaving this place and I’m definitely scared to go home.  Danielle could show up at any time or try to sick the cops on me or god only knows what else her demented  sick brain has come up with.  I do not want to leave, I know that.  I know it’s not safe, I AM NOT SAFE AT HOME.  I will never be safe there.  She’s evil and she’s out to get me.  She wants to hurt me.  Fuck.  I’m back in that mindset.  I saw Diane’s email and I’m hurting, I’m scared.  What is that bitch up to.  What kind of maneuver are they going to pull?  Her lawyer is afraid to talk to mine?  I don’t understand and I’m terrified of these people.  They are liars and manipulators.  They are going to try to cheat to win.  I am not safe. I AM NOT SAFE.  This is why my therapist wanted me to go to a shelter and file a no contact order.  She was the one that got just how dangerous Danielle is.  She wanted to protect me.  She tried to protect me.  If I leave here, I’m not safe.  I can’t go.  I won’t.  Please, please, please don’t make me leave and go home.  I’m not ready.  Please.  Please. Please.  Don’t make me go home. I’m already relapsing in my head.  I can’t be at home.  I can’t do it.  It isn’t safe.  I’m scared, for fuck’s sake, I am terrified.  I’m going to write them a letter.  I’m going to make sure that I’m heard by giving them all a copy of the letter and signing/dating each one. 

The letter reads:

May 12, 2026

Dear Team:

I’m writing this letter because it’s easier for me to articulate my thoughts and concerns in writing than speaking most of the time. Yesterday, 05/11/26, I was presented with a step down plan from Courtney and Alana and I have grave concerns about the timeline presented as well as the challenges associated with a step down this quickly.  I tried to bring these things up and don’t feel like I was heard.  So let me be as clear as possible.

I do not feel like stepping down to PHP in two weeks is a realistic timeline for me.  I realize that I will continue to get care in PHP, similar to what I get here.  However, I will lose the safety of the hospital setting that is vital to my recovery.  I am deathly afraid of Danielle, as I’ve said over and over.  If I am to remain recovery focused, I must first have safety.  

Furthermore, while I do feel like I am making progress, I am not in a recovery mindset yet.  It’s not that I don’t want to be, but many of my thoughts are, per our group conversations, more “Yellow and Red Light” thoughts.  For example, I am eating right now, but only because I feel like I’ve been forced to do so by threat of increasing my meal plan or changing my medication.  I still feel utterly repulsed by food.  I still have an immense amount of anxiety around meals and snacks.  I don’t feel like that has improved at all.  I’m “white-knucking” meals and I’ve only begun to really accept treatment in the last 1-2 weeks, because I’ve only felt safe for the last 1-2 weeks. 

I feel like my mental health is still extremely fragile.  Yes, the SI has improved some over the last week, but my anxiety is still 8 or 9/10 every single day.  And the SI is still there, lingering in the back of head and occasionally becoming loud and intrusive.  Attending meals still causes me immense stress.  

Yes, I do want to step down to PHP eventually, but stepping down in less than 2 weeks and especially returning home will make recovery almost impossible for me.  The amount of stress that I will be responsible for when returning home is a lot for a stable person and I do not feel stable yet.

In regards to weight restoration goals, I have made it known that I do not accept the goals you have provided.  They are unrealistic for me. My natural weight fluctuates between 135-140lbs.  This was prior to the eating disorder, but before I was put on olanzapine, which made me gain 30+ lbs.  Any goal outside of this range is completely unacceptable and I do not agree.  I am eating somewhat stable now, but forcing weight restoration beyond what my body naturally wants to accept does not seem right and will cause relapse before I even get a chance to recover.

Please take my thoughts and needs into consideration before making any additional recommendations.

Sincerely,

Clara W.

Jesus, fuck. Can I be any more clear?  What you’re suggesting is to sabotage my recovery before I ever even have a chance.  Yes, I want to move on with my peers and yes I want to progress, but without safety, there is no recovery.  Going home isn’t safe.  What more can I say?  This is a bad idea and it really pisses me off.  This is why I don’t trust my team, at all.  They don’t get me.  We’ve only barely scratched the surface on the trauma.  I honestly feel like we haven’t done any work at all.  We’ve just talked about challenging Danielle’s “Truth” thoughts.  The actual beating that I took and the psychological and emotional abuse has barely come up.  I don’t feel like I get real sessions with my therapist.  They are too short and they don’t dive deep enough.  Is it that my team is the wrong team, maybe?  I’m losing my mind here.  The thought of leaving makes me sick to my stomach.  I’m so fucking anxious,  I can’t sleep.  And frankly, I want to sabotage their plan by skipping night time meals and snacks.  I want to leave here stable.  I don’t want to check boxes and rush out the door.  Why are they pushing me out the door before I’m ready?  I wasn’t ready to go to phase II yet and they want to kick me out of the hospital.  Jesus.  Fuck.  whose side are they on here?

I will get there.  I will have a proper time and be ready.  It’s just not yet.  Not fucking yet.  How do I feel?  Angry.  Why?  Because they know that I’m not ready and they are pushing me, too fucking hard.

6:51 PM.  Schemin on the stream or something, it SABOTAGE.  I slept through dinner.  I set it up perfectly so that’d be in my room, Kristen wouldn’t know that I was here, so she wouldn’t wake me.  Courtney will be pissed, but if we’re working against each other, isn’t that what we do?  Undermine each other’s efforts?  That’s what we’re doing here, right?  Sabotaging each other’s efforts? That’s what it feels like. I’m sad I missed dinner.  Mostly because my dinner question answers were really fucking good.  I’m not sad I missed the meal.  I wanted to miss the meal, because I didn’t want the calories and I didn’t want to meet Courtney’s goal, because it’s not my goal.  I don’t give a fuck.  I do want my snack though.  I’ll definitely have a snack.  I got zero sleep last night and I needed to rest.  I have all the excuses, look I’m bargaining.  I don’t want to go to PHP.  I’m terrified.  Look Courtney, no consistency.  Oops.  And I bet the bitch passes me anyway.  I hate this. 

Kirsi got me the sweetest kudos.  It’s a chain with a heart and a J on it.  It’s so sweet and so fucking thoughtful.  Her note was really sweet, too.  It’s the type of note that I will keep forever.  I’ll keep all these notes forever.  Kirsi I owe a lot to, I was breaking down one day and she was there and I asked for a hug and she literally held me up.  I was shaking and hyperventilating.  And she held me.  She’s a sister.  I know Danielle said a lot of stupid shit, but the sister thing is real and Kirsi is a sister.  We’ve got each other’s backs.  It makes a lot of sense.  Much more sense now.  I wonder if she’d like me more now.  Wait, no I don’t.  She’s a cruel cunt.  But she was right about the sisterhood thing and I think I might be part of it here.  Maybe that’s part of the reason I don’t want to go.  I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m well.  Not yet.  

I’ll print the letter and give it Aliana tomorrow or whatever her fucking name is.  Fuck.  I think I have some paperwork with it on there somewhere.  I really should know that.  I hate names, and sometimes I just can’t remember them.  It’s not because they aren’t important, it’s because I don’t focus on a name.  I focus on the story and she has a wonderful story.  She’s from Africa, but came to America some time ago.  She still has a strong accent, but is easier to understand than Nancy.  Nancy has an easier name, but much harder to understand when she talks.  Is that some sort of crazy inverse relationship?  Probably not.  Just overthinking on this one.  

Today, the unit was more calm, starting with this morning.  Lindsey got a new nickname, Hey Siri, because of her use of Siri to text her Dad and anyone else in her life dumb enough to give into her bullshit.  So, what I’m trying to figure out is, if she stole a 2024 Porsche, why are they worried about the target theft.  And no one takes $2500 of shit from Target in one go, they’ve been stealing for months or years, Target uses facial recognition to track the thefts over time and when they have Felony level thefts, they spring the target police on you who take you and back and show you video, potentially across stores across the country of you stealing shit.  There is a calmness about the unit.  I’m worried about Ella R.  though.  And Toby.  Toby is a nice kid.  I wish him the best.  And with that thieving bitch around, they’re going to need luck.  That hoe sucks.  However, I am finding much less to write about without all of her great content.

I’m embarrassed to go get in the med line.  I feel ashamed, not for fucking with Courtney, but for letting down my peers.  I’m supposed to be setting an example and I slept through dinner.  Not a super cool thing to do. What the fuck is wrong with me?  I’m broken.  Remember?

It’s 9:12 PM and I was 3rd to last to get my night meds, meaning I have at least a solid 30 minutes before I fall asleep.  And that’s just enough time to tell you about the funniest part of my whole day.  I’m in Splataaaah brushing my teeth.  Shit,  I just realized I didn’t wash my face.  Oops.  Anyways, Katy walks in and without missing a beat says, “It’s waaaay too quiet in here without all that hacking.”  It was so perfectly spot on.  The timing was impeccable.  I really like this Katy character.  They are quite alright.   They referred to it as the lore of Lindsey, who is now famously famous in the unit.  But yeh, Katy is alright. I think there is mutual respect there.  And it’s weird, we have a ton of the same thoughts at the same time.  It’s been a while since I’ve known someone like that.  Good news is, I don’t want to marry them.  I just want a really amazing friend that is smart and likes good music and thinks my sense of humor isn’t weird.  They get it.   It’s cool.  Also, they are a libra.  DANGEROUS.  But, it’s worth it.  I hope we become friends, they are unique.  I really like all the girls here.  I’m not a bich, not anymore.  Polly did that for me.  They made me normal and accepted.  Thanks Polly.  I miss you so much already.  I’m doing my very best to keep your spirit alive here until I join you over in PHP.  Hopefully in a few weeks.  Not too soon, but not too far away.  Hopefully.  I miss Juniper more every day.  I do need to go home, I just don’t want to go home sick.  That’s all.

It’s MONDAY and we’re off to the races.  We had a bit of slow start getting into to Splataaah, but it’s all good.  I made a B-Line for stall 4, which I will no longer be using, but more on that in a minute.  I woke up with the slightest bit of SI.  Like, I said outloud, but I didn’t mean it.  And anxiety could be down, just a touch.  And I mean, down from like 9/10 to 8/10.  I don’t know.  I don’t want to be too hopeful, but I also don’t want to be negative about the whole thing.  Polly is chipper.  That’s good, they haven’t been up this early in weeks, so I think that’s a good sign that they are ready to go.  I’m excited for them.  We’re all excited I guess.  Gotta look for the positives.  It’s going to be a good week.  This week, I’m going to Phase II damnit.  Fuck, what’s her name, the BHT.  I like her.  She’s another tough one, but she’s really nice.  She’ll sign off on my Phase II app.  I know Alana will, too.  Courtney will, she basically said as much last week.  So then it’s up to Dr. Parsley.  For him to sign off, my anxiety has to improve.  But I don’t want to lie or trick myself.  Renee.  That’s her name.  How does Polly remember all their names? 

Polly is reading off “motivational” stickers that sound like they’re designed to inspire factory workers.  “Work more, Talk Less”, what kind of communist bullshit is that?  Geez, we’re supposed to be up and excited and motivated to do things.  Those actually remind me of my freshman high school English teacher.  I was always stirring up trouble there.  But I could write a paper and memorize Shakespeare, so she liked me.  Actually, my friend Joe was in that class with me.  And she determined, freshman year, that Joe was a bad seed.  As it turns out, he was.  I’m pretty sure he’s in prison now.  If he’s not, he’s definitely on parole or some kind of probation.  If he’s not, I’m sure he should be. We called him Opie, because, well, he looked like Opie.  But the last time I saw him, he just looked strung out and had a shit attitude.  I’m all for shit attitudes in the right place and time.  But you have to be willing to adjust.  Adaptation, that’s the goal, right?  Perseverance, that’s the other one.  Find you a way to adapt and you persevere through the bullshit to get to the end goal, right?  This should be easy, I’ve done it a thousand times.  This is no different.  You find a way.  I will find a way.  I make things happen.  Magical, amazing things.  Just because Danielle stopped believing in me doesn’t  mean that it’s no longer true. I just have to remember my values.  Remember my goals.  The motivation comes from within.  I can feel it, maybe.  I’m trying at least.  Maybe that will be my motto today.  I’ll try again.  You only fail when you give up.  I’m not giving up.  Not today.

My ‘friend’ (term used loosely) in college use to name the days of the week by the drinking specials at bars around town.  Examples, Manic Monday, Two for Tuesday, Wacky Wednesday, Thirsty Thursday, Freaky Friday.  There are no specials on Saturday or Sunday, you drink because it’s a weekend and if there’s football on, you drink because of that.  It’s basically an alcoholic’s guide to being an alcoholic.  John was 9 years older than me when I started school and he didn’t like me very much.  He called me a snake in the grass and said I had shifty eyes. It made me very self-conscious around him.  He was my roommate Michael’s ‘best friend.’  Michael told me he only kept John around for the entertainment factor.  We lived together for about 4 years pretty happily, but eventually John became too much for me.  He’d come over and criticize me, then watch my TV, play my playstation, eat our food, drink our beer, and smoke our weed.  None of those things were much of a problem, except that he was rude to me and talked shit about me behind my back. So, I banned him from the house, which Michael hated.  He ended up not renewing our lease and he moved out as a result.  That sucked because I didn’t want to live alone and he was actually a pretty good roommate.  He taught me a lot of life skills that my parents and brother or other people didn’t really teach me.  Like, for example, keeping the house tidy.  It’s not like we were clean freaks, but Sundays, before football, we would take out the trash, clean the litter boxes (we had 3 cats), vacuum, empty ashtrays (damn right we smoked inside), etc.  Once a month we’d do a trip to walmart, together, we’d both pitch in financially and get supplies for the house.  Shit I wouldn’t have thought to buy.  Trashbags, mopping solution, bathroom supplies, etc.  We both had cell phones and we had a house phone with an answering machine.  

Anyways, being here reminds me a little bit of that.  I’m learning how to be a functioning adult mentally.  I’ve let my mental health decline for years now and I’ve never been truly mentally healthy.  So, my goal for being in residential treatment is functioning like an adult.  Just like I had to learn how to be a good roommate, I have had to learn how to be on this unit, especially with all the other women.  See above, rules apply.  But at the same time, I’m trying to make my brain healthy.  The tricky thing about an unhealthy brain is that it wants to stay unhealthy.  It gives you all the reasons in the world to stay sick.  It argues with you, makes shit up and lies all the time.  It distorts how you see yourself.  It tells you to hate what you see.  It makes mildly annoying things seem like the end of the world.  It keeps me from being authentic.  So my goals for the day and week are as follows:

• Perseverance
• Adaptibility
• Authenticity

I am resolved this week to make progress and not let my sick brain hold me back.  I am going to stay strong and persevere.  I am going to make the best of this week that I can and adapt to the upcoming changes.  I am going to be myself and not feel ashamed or embarrassed.  I’m going to continue to let my inner child shine through, especially on days when I’m feeling down.  I am going to talk back to my sick brain and remember my values.  I won’t let Mr. Negative scare me away from making progress.  I’m going to hear his voice and tell him to shhhh… he doesn’t own me.  He doesn’t control me and his voice, although he wants to be protective does not help me achieve my goals.  

What does this mean?  I need to focus my energy on getting better.  Focus was something I used to be really good at, but I’ve lost my way.  All my best work was done with laser focus on a single solitary task.  So, I’m announcing here and now, I’m going to focus my energy on getting better and going to the next step.  I may not be well enough to go home, but I’m taking the right steps, I’m going to show up and I’m going to do my very best.  That’s all I can ask of myself. It’s what Juniper would ask of me, because it’s what I ask of her.  I am trying, I have tried, and I will try again.  It’s perseverance that has gotten me through the toughest tasks and biggest goals.  I’m so sad, but I will adapt.  I will sit in the pain, so that I can get through the pain.  I won’t avoid it any longer.  I am determined to win.  That’s what I do, I win.  And this is just another opportunity to prove everyone wrong.  Keep underestimating me.  Do it.  I dare you.  And when I succeed, I will be smiling ear to ear.  And you can stomp your feet and be mad or angry or sad.  But that won’t affect me.  

It’s like I forgot that I know how to win.  It’s not by being afraid, it’s by being fearless.  There is no fear that can hold me back.  Not any longer.  I refuse to let fear defeat me.  It’s Mr. Negative that tells me to be afraid and Mr. Negative, while seeking to protect me, holds me back from reaching my full potential.  He tells me I don’t belong and that I can’t do things.  He makes me look in the mirror and find my flaws.  Fuck Mr. Negative.  You’re not my friend, you are my enemy and I will see you caged and silenced, so help me, I will.  You’re the dPolly of horrible anxiety.  You make me question myself and talk negatively to myself and that does not help me achieve my goals.  Your values are not my values.  Your values are shame, guilt, embarrassment, fear, anxiety.  You see the world through a dark lens, where no one can be trusted and everyone is out to hurt me.  But this isn’t correct.  Most people are good.  Many, many people love and appreciate me.  I hear you speaking to me now as I type and I know that this is just you trying to survive.  But I’m telling you to stop talking.  You words are meaningless, they don’t reflect my reality and it’s my reality that matters.  

In my reality, the real reality, I am not the villain.  I am not afraid.  I welcome change.  Change means opportunity for improvement.  Change means a chance at happiness that I’ve been denied my entire life.  Change means I talk pretty to myself.  Change means I’m Juniper’s real Mom, because Danielle doesn’t know how to be a Mom.  Change means the criticism is done.  Change means I don’t have to believe everything that Danielle said to me.  Change means I don’t have to tolerate being put down, belittled and abused.  Change means I’m no longer going to let the trauma bond that we formed break me.  I’m standing up to you by being myself.  My true, beautiful, authentic self.  Change means that the trauma you imposed on me does not run my life.  I will process it and I won’t ruminate on it.  Change means accepting green light behaviors.  Change means being confident.  Change means being kind and patient.  Change means loving unconditionally.  Change means I don’t have to tolerate people in my life who treat me poorly or refuse to accept me as my authentic self.  Change means letting go of the fear brainwashed into my head as a child.  Change means being honest with everyone, including myself about who I am and what I’m about.  Change is going to lead to a better life.  I will not fear change, I will embrace it and adapt. I will persevere.

Everyone gathered around to wish Polly good luck.  I want to cry, I did during breakfast a little.  No one saw me, but it was there.  But I’m going to reframe.  This isn’t losing a friend, it’s watching a friend grow and excel.  It’s ok to be sad and miss a friend, but it’s not ok to let that sadness dictate my success or theirs.  I want to be a good friend and be encouraging.  I want to see them leaving as motivation to go to phase II.  I want to sit at the senior table and get some adult privileges back.  Phase II means I’m a step closer to holding Juniper every night.  Phase II means I’m a step closer to spending time with Brandon.  Phase II means I’m a step closer to PHP and joining my friends there.  I want to go to phase II.  Embrace the change.  Accept it, embrace it, adapt to it.  It’s going to be worth it.  Consider that the joy the PHP letters talked about is real.  Remember what my peers said.  Rose, who knows people in recovery said none of them regret recovering, but those that stay sick do have regrets.  Polly said they want to live a normal life.  I do too.  I don’t want to stay sick any more.  I want to heal and get better so I can live.  There’s more to life than these walls.  I can find safety in other ways.  Danielle is no longer part of my life, she can’t hurt me any more.  I can grieve the loss of my friend, but change means I am no longer bound to the trauma.  I will accept and embrace the change.  Danielle, this note is to you.  I am not a villain.  I was trauma bonded to you and my reaction was that of someone that was trauma bonded.  I did not attack you.  I was not trying to hurt you.  I was trying to make amends, because it was Christmas and I desperately wanted us to heal.  But it was a pipedream.  Your brain is sick, too.  Very sick.  You’re not taking the appropriate medications and you won’t get appropriate help.  You will continue to blame me for all of your problems, until you realize I’m no longer affecting your life.  Then you’ll find a new target.  Your mom, one of your sisters, or maybe O’Flynn.  I kind of hope it’s him, but it doesn’t matter.  You have to blame your problems on anyone but yourself and you are choosing to stay sick.  You’ve pushed away the people that love you most.  I was not trying to hurt you, I was trying to make things better because staying upset makes me feel like my whole world is in chaos.  I kissed you because you were saying the most vile, hateful things you could think to speak and I was telling you that I loved you anyways.  I did not put my hands on your neck.  You made that up. It’s a fact.  I did not do that.  I did not pull at your legs or try to keep you from leaving.  I kissed you, twice.  The second time you bit my lip and wouldn’t let go.  I bit you back because I wanted you to let go, not because I wanted you to be hurt.  You punched.  I took the first few punches as my punishment.  Then I held up my arms and tried to block them.  You hit me in the head 9 or 10 times.  I had 2 black eyes and lumps down the side of my head.  I dropped to the floor in the fetal position and covered my head.  You continued to hit me.  When my face and head weren’t a good target any more, you started kicking me.  You kicked me so hard in the ribs that you probably broke a rib.  I couldn’t sleep on my side or stomach for over a month.  If they were to take an x-ray, they would probably find a broken rib or maybe multiple.  None of the things you did were in self defence.  They were done in anger.  You were not trying to get away, you were trying to hurt me.  You think because you’re a woman that you get to use violence any time you get angry.  And anger is the emotion that you know best.  It’s how you process sadness, grief and fear.  You are a dangerous person.  

Your reality is a warped reality and facts support this.  You must paint me as a villain to excuse yourself for doing the cruel, vile and hateful things that you’ve done to me.  You wanted to give up your responsibilities of being a parent.  That’s a vile thing to do.  If your brain wasn’t sick, you’d see that.  But I must be a bad person if you are to excuse yourself.  You promised me forever, multiple times.  You said you love me, the person, multiple times.  You’re a liar and you know it.  The only way to excuse yourself is to make me a villain.  I am not the villain.  I’m not a bad person.  I am a traumatized person.  You are the source of much of my trauma.  Your abuse is the source of my trauma.  Yelling at me for hours is the source of my trauma.  Criticizing me for hours is a source of my trauma.  It is abuse.  You are an abusive person, just like your sick father was to you.  You’ve become the exact thing that you hate.  You are no longer capable of loving me or anyone else.  You’re vile, bigoted and mean.

You choose to stay sick.  You refused help when it was being offered.  You are in denial about how sick you are.  You’ve been getting sicker since you stopped lithium.  You are still bipolar and the meds you were taking were not working.  You are in denial about being sick and needing help.  It’s not your fault that you’re sick.  But it is your fault that you choose to stay sick.  It is your fault that you cheated on me and stopped trusting me.  It is your fault that you lied about what really happened to your friends, so that they would convince you to leave your family.  You’re selfish and so are they.   It’s your fault that you are disregarding everything you learned at camp that made your brain healthier.  It’s not your fault that you have cluster B behaviors, but it is your fault that you refuse to do anything about it.  You know that you’re abusive.  You know that I’m scared you’ll hit me.  You’re controlling and use manipulation to keep me controlled.  And you choose to stay sick.  That is your fault and no one else’s.  

You’re wrong about me.  I deserve treatment.  I am worthy of it.  I am worthy of recovery.  I am not just saying what they want to hear to get through the program.  I’m doing the hard work.  I am following the exact guidelines that my team has set out for me.  I deserve to feel joy and happiness.  I deserve a chance at being myself without being made to feel guilty.  I did not do anything wrong by coming into the bedroom that night. I was asking to make amends.  You yelled at me.  Abuse.  You put me down. Abuse.  You attacked  my character. Abuse.  You are an abuser.  I am not a bad person for being myself.  I was willing to stay married and make it work, but you are violent and dangerous.  I do not have to tolerate an abusive relationship.  I am more than just our relationship.  I am intelligent, funny, kind, witty, encouraging and lovable.  I’ve made new friends and that’s how they see me.  They don’t think I’m a bad person.  They see a good person and they care about me.  People care about me.  I am getting the help I need to thrive and to have a good life going forward.  You have no power over me any longer.  You’re not in control of me.  I will never let someone control me like you did, ever again.  I will survive and thrive.  I am not a bad person.  I am not an abusive person.  I am not a scary person.  I am kind.  I am empathetic.  I feel what others are feeling and relate.  I have emotions other than just anger.  A whole range of emotions and that’s ok.  I get to feel those feelings.  I can feel the sadness, so that I can feel the joy.  I am worthy of recovery and I want to get better. I am worthy of recovery and I will get better and you can’t hold me back any longer.  You have no more power over me.  I am free from you.  

I just had a meeting with Alana and Courtney and I hate our meetings, because I never feel like we’re on the same page. Courtney is threatening to increase my meal plan again and I basically told her, “don’t”.  Our goals are not aligned and if you increase our meal plan, I will restrict.  I don’t trust her.  And they want me to step down to PHP in 2 weeks.  That seems really, really fast.  I don’t think I’m ready.  I’m just barely beginning to accept the idea of treatment.  There’s a part of me that wants to do it, because a little more freedom, more walks, more chances to see Juniper.  But the biggest part of me knows that I won’t be ready in 2 weeks.  The love to just bombard you with things and then ask, “so what do you think about that?”  I think that’s too soon.  I think I want to skip dinner and lunch and snacks.  I think if I get a meal that looks gross, I’m definitely restricting.  I think I hate this fucking ideal.  It sounds absolutely wretched.  I’m hiding in my room now, they didn’t lock it today. I’m hiding from the last group, I don’t want to go.  I was feeling fine until they sprung that shit on me.  Now I’m full of self doubt.  I would be in full panic mode if I hadn’t taken the benzo.  My feet are going a hundred miles an hour.  Like OMG, no. No, no, no.  Just no. And what sucks is that I won’t be able to talk about this again until Thursday.  I’m not ready.  I need to feel safe.  I don’t feel safe outside of these walls. I don’t know if I ever will.  I need to heal more.  My brain isn’t ready.  I’m not safe.  It’s not safe.  What a fucking thing to spring on me in a 10 min session, which is fucking bullshit, btw.  I do not trust Courtney.  I do not trust Alana.  This is fucked.  They said they wouldn’t push me out if I wasn’t ready and I’m definitely feeling pushed out.  So here’s my fucking plan.  Go hide in a corner by nursing.  Try and avoid group, I don’t want to go.  Go and hide and skip dinner and skip HS snack.  Get my meds early and go to bed.  Restrict.  Restrict.  Restrict.  This is a protest.  I don’t think I’m ready.  I can’t lose the safety, not yet.  PHP won’t give me what I need.  I need these walls.  I need these cameras.  I need this community.  I’m not ready to leave.  I don’t want to order-in a meal.  I don’t want to.  I think that sounds disgusting. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.  Why did they do this?  Why did they go behind my back and make a plan that I don’t approve of and shove it down my throat?  I’m not ready for this.  I want to hide.  This is disgusting.

Lindsey makes the strangest sounds in the bathroom.  She uses my shower stall, too, so it’s kind of concerning.  There was hacking and growling and coughing and well, she’s definitely violating one of the rules.  DO NOT BE GROSS Lindsey.  She’s had a day.  She’s shown up late to every single fucking meal, except one.  She’s not come to any groups.  And she’s been on the phone all day, talking to her probation officer or something.  Apparently, there are some shop lifting charges.  So it turns out that sticky fingers was a busy little bee back in Jacksonville, FL.  She allegedly stole a black 2024 Porsche, went to Target and stole $2500 worth of shit.  Got arrested and charged with grand theft and grand theft auto.  Bitch has sticky hands, palms, feet and apparently very good taste in fine German machinery that she can’t afford.  She is a DR., but who knows if she’s still licensed to practice.  She must be some sort of klepto or something.  OMG, I can’t believe that they let this bitch into our unit.  Like, seriously ladies, lock up your shit, she’s coming for it. Now to be fair, I wouldn’t have dug this deep if I hadn’t heard her announcing to the whole unit that she was on probation and about to get off for all the charges.  She even has an article in People magazine.  And based on her stealing habits here, it doesn’t look like she’s learned much of a lesson.  There’s something about her voice that makes me absolutely insane.  “It’s not fair.  That’s not fair.  Blablabla.”  It’s like she just can’t stop the bitching.  It drives me fucking nuts.  I guess she thinks she’s a celebrity, because People magazine did an article on “The Dr. Caught Stealing at Target”.  Maybe that’s where the entitlement comes from.  Jesus.  Why are we so lucky?  At least she’s moving to 2E permanently after tonight, supposedly.  And she just doesn’t stop.  She’s late to every meal.  Being late occasionally, I think we all get.  But every fucking meal.  Come on.  And that hacking in the shower, GAAGGGGG.  So fucking gross.  DO NOT BE GROSS BITCH.  It’s like rule #2, right behind DO NOT BE A BITCH.

I feel pretty good, I get to see Juniper tomorrow, something to look forward to and I know she’s looking forward to it, too.  I’ve been better about calling today.  Sometimes twice a day.  I don’t have to wait until I get home to start being a better parent.  “Remember your core values.”  That’s easy.  Juniper.  Juniper is my core value.  She’s what matters most in the world to me and I matter most to her.  I need to get home to her and the only way I do that is if I progress.  And I only progress if I follow the plan and the plan says, eat 100% three days in a row and my dietician will sign off that I completed 100%.  It’s surprising that they are letting me write in so many “meals.”  A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a salad are dinner many nights.  It’s better than that disgusting blob of dough and cheese that they call pizza.  That shit is intolerable.  There is never going to come a point where I find that to be edible.  Yes, I’m just that picky.  Yes, I will eat walnuts with my cereal, but if they ever try to feed me that much cottage cheese again, I’m going to spit it in their face.  I don’t even like cottage cheese in small quantities.  I was going to suffer through because I didn’t see another option.  At least for now there’s no meal plan increase, I pushed back pretty hard on that.  Courtney tried to say it had to happen and I just said, “no, I don’t approve.”  Apparently that worked, because then she started trying to bargain with me, “you could have a C+ snack” which she called, “the same snack, with a few extra ingredients.”  So probably some sort of protein powder or fat powder.  Which, by definition, means it’s not the same snack, it’s a bulked version.  Jesus.  I’m not fucking stupid.  Quit treating me like I am.  And as a matter of fact, I don’t give a flying fuck what the Dr. says my weight needs to be.  There is nothing that that shady douche is going to say to convince me that I need to be overweight.  I stay between 135-140.  I wasn’t really using ED behaviors until I got down to like 132.  THEN it went into high gear and I dropped like 10 lbs pretty quickly.  That’s the point where I was reaching no return.  Either they just suck at their jobs, or they don’t know what they are talking about.  Or maybe they do and I’m being obtuse.  But I’m never going to be comfortable gaining that kind of weight and if you fuck with my meal plan, I’ll just restrict.  I’m already eating too much.  I’m too full all the fucking time.  I hate how my body feels.  I hate how it’s functioning and you guys suck at convincing me otherwise.  Like, the girls really buy into this neutral body image bullshit?  How?  Why?  It’s literally this idea that you have to not care about how your body looks and feels.  How the fuck am I supposed to do that?  And how is that even healthy at all?  It doesn’t make any sense. It’s completely irrational.  

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Some of the other things we were talking about today were kind of reasonable.  We talking about the FEAR acronym, which basically means making unrealistic goals, ruminating on thoughts, and some other shit that I could actually agree with.  And whatever the opposite was.  Shit, I don’t even remember.  But it basically said do the opposite of FEAR and feel your feelings. Yeh, ok.  Feel them.  My question was, “how?”  How the fuck are you supposed to sit with these awful painful feelings that send me into a panic attack or make me start crying like a baby.  Monica says, “the answer is compartmentalization.”  Right, just compartmentalize, feel all the feels, and don’t dwell on the thoughts.  I guess I’ve kind of been doing that.  I cried this morning. I cried last night.  I’ll probably cry again tonight.

I was right about one thing, Polly leaving completely changed the vibe of the unit.  They have a childlike quality that made every day a little brighter.  And now that light has moved across the street into an apartment to be an adult and normal.  It feels terrible. They were missed at lunch and dinner.  They answered the dinner question and said something really sweet and something funny.  It made us all sad and happy for our friend.  That’s the nature of these types of places.  People come and go.  We were lucky to have them here for as long as we did and we’re fortunate they walked out the front door to PHP.  That’s a good thing.  That’s a happy celebration.  I have to remember that and remind myself of that every time I get sad.  And we have new friends here.  Katy is cool.  They are gender diverse, so we have that in common.  They like really fucking good music.  And they are really motivated and very smart.  And they think I”m funny, too.  So the big litmus test will be, do they call me Claire, or CLARA. Why don’t they pronounce the A.  There’s an A there and this is english and we pronounce the final vowel (except E) and consonant in American English.  We’re not some weird Brit English shit that thinks we’re French.  But even if we were, WE WOULD STILL PRONOUNCE THE FINAL A.  Who the fuck shortens Clara to Claire.  If I wanted to be Claire, I would have picked the fucking name Claire.  But I didn’t.  I picked CLARA, for good reason.  I picked a French name with the English pronunciation.  It’s not rocket surgery fellas.  You just sound it out.  Hell, even my mother gets it right, when she’s not deadnaming me.  Grace… you have to give her grace.  But I don’t have to give every other motherfucker here that calls me CLAIRE grace, because it’s writting on all the fucking paperwork.  CLARA. CLARAAAAAAAHHHHH.  Say it like you mean it and mean it when you say it.  Goddamn.  I don’t mean to be so moody, but I’m just saying…  

Priscilla is such a dollbaby.  I poke my head out of my room and she’s standing at the counter talking away to the BHTs.  Lindsey is standing right next to her and she says, “Getting lots of content for your novel.”  “So much content, Priscilla.”  Her smile is just adorable and I love her energy.  If I could have a little sister and spoil her like crazy, I think it would be Priscilla.  I mean this kid thinks deeply.  And I know we’re not supposed to glorify perfectionism here, but I love her comment about, “if I get a 99 on a test, I’m going to be obsessed over the one that I missed.”  That’s not perfectionism, that’s demanding excellence.  I love people that demand excellence.  We just can’t do it with our bodies, Priscilla.  We have to feed ourselves.  You and me both, we have to eat and our bodies have to function or else we will die.  It will kill us. And I don’t want Priscilla to die.  She’s got as lot to offer this world.  She’s smart, she’s funny and she’s insightful.  And her shopping obsession is so cute.  She’s all Lulu Lemon.  I think she FINALLY got her package today that she’s been waiting on since she got here.  I know those feels.  But my favorite thing is that she treats me like one of the girls, like literally, 100% I’m just a girl and we’re just talking about shopping, cute boys and cute girls stuff.  I’ve been pretty well accepted here by most of the girls.  I mean we’ve had our ups and downs, but the fact that Priscilla comes in and shows me her Lulu shopping spree and gossips with me is really fun.  Priscilla, you would make an awesome little sister and I would take you shopping every week.  We’d hit Lulu and Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus. I’d expand your world into designer bags and sunglasses and white works.  Oh and jewelry, lots of jewelry.  Every girl should be dripping in bling and shiny things.  I like you a lot.  You’re super cool and you make me feel young.  I love your vibe and energy.  

I had a really nice dinner tonight and made Katy feel really good.  So, one of the dinner questions was, “who inspires you?”  Everyone automatically knows my answers because they long and drawn out and I say way too much… But my answer was as follows (paraphrased),  “I’m inspired by a lot of people.  Katy Perry inspires me to get up in the morning and sing and dance.  Lil’ Wayne inspires me to be myself, fuck what everyone says and thinks.  50 Cent inspires me to drive a Bently and hide my money in an offshore account, so my ex-wife can’t get it.  But this week Katy inspired me to journal more, so I’m going to go with Katy, final answer.”  It was cute because Rachel said something to the effect of, “I’m not reading this novel”, and hand the note to Katy.  Katy read it and was giggling all the way through, until they got to the bottom and saw the part about they are the one that inspired me me this week.  They asked me to keep the note, and I said, “of course.”  Their reaction really made my night and my note really made theirs.  It was cool.  It’s neat when you can touch someone and hopefully make a new friend.  They are my new couch buddy, since Polly sat on the floor all week and we are getting accustomed to each other.  But I think we’re going to bond.  They are a libra, so we’re kind of bound by the cosmos.  I need to find out their birthday.  So help me, if it’s between Oct 5 and Oct 9, I’m going to freak out;  I like libras and they like me.  We also think a lot alike when we’re play Contexto and other cafe games.  It’s fun.  Katy, you are way too fucking cool.  And your favorite band is Nirvana.  Nirvana changed my life in 4th grade.  I stopped listening to pop music and became immersed in the seattle music scene, to the extent that I could, from Nashville, TN.  I learned to play guitar and grew out my hair to be like Kurt Cobain.  And on the day he died, I saw it announced on MTV new and I cried.  That was my hero and he should still be alive.  He was brilliant as a song writer, but even more so as a philosopher.  Anyone that appreciates Nirvana is Okay in my book.  You’re cool and I can tell you have a good spirit.  You’re here to do the work and seeing how diligently you take notes throughout the day is really inspiring.  I respect you.  And the fact that you’re gender non-confirming means we have something in common.  We are others and we’re not afraid.  I get to be me and I know you’re not judging me for that.  It’s cool.  I lost my friend Polly today, but I think I gained a new friend and that makes me happy.  Hopefully, for the rest of my stay here, I can make you laugh and you can make me think and we’ll find a special bond. 

OMG.  Night meds are starting to kick in, i need to brush my teeth before i pass the fuck out.

Wow, what a morning!  How am I feeling? Mad, Sad, Anxious

Why?  Well, I’ll talk about mad first.  I ordered cottage cheese for breakfast (apparently) and instead of the small cup that I normally get, I had a giant fucking bowl of the stuff.  I don’t really like cottage cheese that much and it took the majority of breakfast time to eat it.  It sucks for 2 reason: 1)  I normally try to finish my meal and then I have 10-15 minutes to sit back and relax and enjoy my coffee and I try to drink all my water.  Coffee is one of the few treats that we get here and it’s kind of a big deal.  We only get ONE cup per DAY, so it’s something that nearly everyone here savors.  2) I feel tricked.  Courtney had said no new meal plan increases until next week, at the earliest.  This was clearly a lie.  How am I ever supposed to trust my team if they keep doing things behind my back and without my consent.  It’s so frustrating.  I want to trust Courtney, I really do, but it’s nearly impossible when changes are made.  And this was a big increase.  Now my stomach hurts and ohh, btw, I tolerate cottage cheese.  I don’t like it that much.  I work in science and everyone always refers to infection as “cottage cheese”, so I feel like I’ve seen too much and know too much.  

I’m Sad.  Why?  I think we’ve talked about it enough.  There is change coming tomorrow and I don’t want to deal with it.  I hate change.  Fuck, I’ve ranted about this for days.  But it just seems like all my favorite things in life are changing so rapidly.  I’m grateful for what I do have.  My mother (it’s mother’s day btw).  I’m grateful for the people in our unit.  We’re a pretty close knit group. Oh, and we have 4 new admits tomorrow and our unit is full, so we’re concerned (as a group) that they’ll split our unit.  That would be super fucked up, considering we’ve all been here together for so long now.  Ouch.  That’s going to destroy me.  Please don’t take my friends.  Geez.  It’s bad enough that Polly is leaving.  Too much change, too quickly. Fuck me.  But, adaptability has always been one of my core values.  I will never give up.  Remember? 

I’m anxious.  Since my breakfast meal plan was ramped up, what can I expect for the rest of the day?  I have no idea.  My anxiety doesn’t usually kick in until after lunch, or at least after AM snack.  But now I have legitimate meal anxiety and it’s beyond my control.  And the super deluxe ultra fucked up thing is that I can’t even talk to Courtney about until tomorrow (or Tuesday, or Wednesday) whenever she gets around to me.  I don’t feel ultra high on the priority list.  I think this is her way of forcing me into phase II.  I definitely don’t feel ready, yet.  But, I’m getting close.  It would be nice to make it to phase II before all my peer group leaves.  I am finishing most meals, even when it’s gross and I don’t want to.  Positive self-talk, “remember your values.”  My value is perseverance today.  And adaptability.  These are natural to me.  I’ve always been strong willed and determined.  I’m always under estimated.  

Okay, now let’s talk Lindsey, because there’s so much to share.  Let’s start with her walking around Spa Aaaaah  with that grilled cheese between her thighs, just hanging out.  Like, what the actual fuck?  Do you see any other girls around here walking around with their junk out?  No body wants to see that, girl, shit, come on.  But it gets even better.  She walks over to the mirror counter where we set our bins while we get ready.  She grabs a bottle of mouthwash out of Rachel’s bin and drinks the whole goddamn bottle.  Then she steals Rachel’s shower time.  Rachel kicks her out, so she steals Rose’s instead.  When Rose asks her to get out, she says, “No”.  Ok, bitch, you know how the shower times work, because I fucking told you about it 2 days ago, when you signed up for 3 different spots.  Seriously, fuck off with the playing dumb shit.  Then she walks over to Ella’s bin and steals her leave-in conditioner AND PUTS IT IN HER OWN BIN.  Like just straight up steals it.  Ella comes out of spa, just like, WHAT THE FUCK?  Who the fuck is this person.  It’s weird, because other than my missing shampoo that reappeared a few days later, we don’t really worry about stealing around here.  Everyone leaves their stuff lying around, and it’s an unspoken rule, you don’t touch other people’s stuff.  Generally speaking, everyone on the unit is really cool.  So, having a thief among us really fucking sucks.  Now I feel like I have to watch all my stuff all the time.  Especially bathroom stuff.  If she’ll steal Ella’s stuff right in front of her, what won’t she steal?  Such fucking bullshit.  Now, it’s a game of wait and see what happens. Kristen, our delightful, but very strict BHT is on the case and going to hopefully take care of it for us.  I like Kristen, she’s bubbly happy and very encouraging.  But she does enforce most of the rules.  At least we know where we stand with her though.  But for someone like Lindsey that is super entitled and bitchy, it’s not going to go over well.

The anxiety is building, like a snowball rolling down a hill.  It’s gathering its strength and going to crush me by lunch time.  I’m so tired of anxiety.  I’ve never been like this.  Well, not until Danielle started flying out to see her BF in Nashville.  That was like super-ultra-deluxe panic attack week.  But now it’s a different type of anxiety.  And I don’t understand why.  Only that it’s daily and Clonazapam is the only thing that brings it down.  I don’t understand the meal anxiety, especially. Where did this come from?  I’m so tired of this eating disorder.  I want it all.  I want the body that I want and to live free from this food anxiety.  I want both.  I think that’s what I struggle with the most.  I’m having trouble letting go of the ideal body image that I want.  I don’t want to gain weight and I definitely don’t want to gain 20 more pounds.  That’s crazy.  But I do want to get better, at least today I do.  I go back and forth.  I think that’s normal.  I hear it is at least.  I don’t even mind doing the work.  I just don’t want to look like a boy, again.  I don’t want my body to morph back into a blob.  It’s my biggest fear, I think.  I guess.  I don’t know, it’s hard to say.  No, I do know.  That’s my fear.  I don’t want to be a rectangle.  Body dysmorphia is real and it’s precisely the opposite of body dysphoria.  And from what I can tell, it’s really complicated treating both.  I guess that’s why 40% or some other ridiculous number of trans women have an eating disorder.  At least I know with certainty that I did not do this to myself, like Danielle kept insisting.  I was traumatized and fucked up by her AND my body doesn’t match my brain.  Well, it didn’t.  It’s better now, but if I go backwards, it won’t be.

They’re going to push me to challenge these thoughts, I know.  But that’s where I butt heads with treatment.  That’s where I find the most struggle.  I can’t have body neutrality.  It goes against my core value that if there is something about your body that you don’t like, it’s up to you to change it.  Neutrality says, don’t give a fuck about your body.  GAC says, change your body to match your brain.  I think this is cognitive dissonance.  Both can not be true in this case, can they?  And the staff and therapists here are really wonderful and want to help, but I don’t feel like anyone has the right knowledge to help.  I’m an outlier of the disordered eating population and it’s clear that Courtney doesn’t.  I don’t think Dr. Parsley does.  And Alana tries her best, but I don’t think she knows either.  I get that the science for trans people is relatively new.  My understanding is that the first studies were really done in the late 70’s to mid 80’s.  And most of those were relatively flawed, as trans science was mostly seen as some sort of perversion then.  And the means and methods of their studies demonstrated such.  For example, one of the big studies in the 80’s made an assumption that a relatively large population of trans women lied when they were surveyed.  This is crazy, how can you come up with a curve to represent lying from a survey.  If that paper hasn’t been retracted, it should be.  It never should have passed the peer review process.  Another huge issue is finding populations to study.  With so much negative press and scary political things happening, many advocacy groups recommend exercising extreme caution before participating in a study.  There are some bad actors out there that have ill intent and it’s important that we don’t give them fuel for their fire.  For example, the woman that wrote the now retracted paper on “Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria”  has been trying to recruit for another study, which undoubtedly again target the science behind gender dysphoria.  Be careful is all I’m saying.  We must all be careful. Bad science is real and it’s out there.  It’s such a fucked up world right now.  Civil rights are being rolled back, minority groups are being targeted.  It’s a real problem.

11:00am on the nose and we just finished snack.  I took hydroxyzine again.  I don’t think it actually does anything to help.  The snow ball has begun to turn into an ice boulder.  I can feel it all throughout my body.  I’m nervous and shaky.  There’s weight on my shoulders and pain in my neck.  My feet can’t sit still and my stomach is uncomfortable.  They keep saying it’s all normal.  I don’t believe them.  I don’t feel normal.  My head is kind of achy.  Not a headache, but just light headed, I guess.  I’m feeling anxious.  Why?  Because we’re not even half way done for the day and I’m already feeling this bad.  Also, anxious because groups have been so hard lately.  Both just being in the group room with everyone and worry about what we’ll talk about during group.  It just feels like every topic has been hard lately.  Maybe that’s part of the radical acceptance bit or something.  It’s weird because normally I thrive in group.  I like participating and talking it out.  I love hearing different perspectives and opinions.  It’s how we learn about and get to know each other.  It’s such an important part of treatment.  I’ve skipped too many groups this week.  

11:47 AM and we just finished group.  I made it through, although my anxiety has hit 10/10 as a result.  The subject was Red Light, Yellow Light, Green Light behaviors.  Examples of Red Light behaviors:  

• Excess Movement
• Impulsivity and irritability
• Louder Depression
• Self worth
• Restriction
• Isolation
• Medical Issues
• Using ED to Cope
• Numbers Chasing
• Dishonesty
• Obsessive Thinking
• Denial and procrastination
• Invalidation
• Purposefully Triggering oneself
• Not getting help
• Distress dysregulation
• Unrealistic goals

Yellow Light Behaviors:

• Just in case, keeping sick clothing
• Giving in once in a while
• Counting Calories
• White-knuckling 
• Relapse Planning
• Just this once mentality
• Romanticizing
• Body Checking
• Comparison
• Recovery limit
• Denial
• Justifying
• Awareness
• Routine rigidity
• Compensation
• Conflicted or indifferent

Green Light Behaviors:

• Values first!!!
• Using coping skills
• Asking for help
• Triggers are gone
• Seeing Whys and bigger picture
• Engaging with passions
• Feeling Feelings
• Mindful of triggers

Here’s where I struggle and why this group made me so anxious.  I’m not in the green area yet.  Most of my behavior and thought patterns are still yellow or red.  This is my biggest fear.  I’m not making enough progress.  I said that today I want to get better, because my value is being a good parent for Juniper #1, and a healthy brain so I can look at surgery sooner than later.  But I’m definitely white knuckling it right now.  I definitely don’t want body neutrality.  I am still bargaining with myself.  I isolate myself to cope.  I self-sabotage by restricting.  I body check frequently, at least once or twice a day.  I use avoidance.  I skip groups.  I rationalize why i should skip a meal or snack.  I look for excuses to do so.  I still want this skinny body.  I still have obsessive thinking. I don’t want to give up my sick clothes.  I’ve engaged in relapse planning. I romanticize my small body.  I’m in denial some days and justifying behaviors.  I compare myself to other girls.  

I think it’s safe to say, I am NOT in recovery.  And this is where that stuck feeling comes in, because I am doing what I need to do, or at least trying to do.  But I’m not in a recovery mindset and I don’t know how to get there.  And that makes me feel anxious and like I won’t ever get there.  That re-enforces that belief that I’m broken beyond repair.  It’s scary, because I know I have to get better to be there for Juniper, but right now, staying sick still has some weird allure that I don’t understand.  I am very worries about body image.  I know Alana is just going to tell me to challenge these thoughts, but the voice is so loud.  I don’t know how to challenge them.  To me, it just seems like there are too many negatives associated with being in recovery.  I don’t know how to reach that final stage, where I want to be in recovery.  Where I care about it.  Anusha said she’s in recovery because she knows her values.  Her values are what keep her driven.  I know my values, but maybe I’m just too selfish to recover.  Maybe I’m just to stupid to see the value.  There, see, I’m questioning my worth and using negative self-talk.  I know for a fact that’s yellow/red behavior and yet I’m doing it anyways.  I just feel like something is wrong with me.  LIke i’m different from everyone else and I can’t do this.  I hear Danielle telling me I can’t do this.  I see her sabotaging me and it makes me want to give up.  

They want me to progress.  Alana and Courtney are pushing me to do phase II, but look at how far away I am from being in the green.  I can’t even list 5 greenlight behaviors that I’m currently doing.  But yellows and reds… all over the place.  It’s so upsetting.  I feel worthless.  I want to go in my room and refuse to come out.  Kristen will be on my ass if I do that, but it’s what I want to do.  I want to quit.  I don’t.  But I do.  I’m arguing with myself.  I remember having these arguments when I was ready to quit cocaine and when I was ready to quit smoking.  The constant battle, back and forth, in and out, up and down.  This feels familiar, but different.  Here’s the radical truth.  If I walked out these doors today, I would go get energy drinks.  I would say I was getting lunch, but not do it.  I would restrict every meal that there are no direct eyes on me.  I would check the scale daily.  I would check the mirror,  real mirrors, so I could see what I want to see.  I would let my sick brain do most of the talking and convince myself I’m not sick and that I don’t need help.  I already want to compensate for the big lunch and fatty milkshake snack.  All these things are true.  I’m not better.  I’m white-knuckling it. I’m only doing it so they don’t take my meds away.  I’m only doing it because I love juniper and she needs me in her life.  I’m only doing it because I’m sad my friends are leaving soon and I’m going to feel alone here.  I don’t even want to admit I have an eating disorder.  I go back and forth.  Why is my brain taking so much fucking time to heal.  It’s fucking exhausting and everyone is growing impatient, including my team.  It’s yet another reason I don’t trust them.  They want to push me into Phase II when I know in my heart and brain that I’m just not there.  I’m literally being bullied into eating here.

I do love juniper.  She is a core value.  I promised her every opportunity and I have to give it to her.  I’m ready to be back in MY house and send my Mom back to TN.  I’m ready to be independent again.  I’m not ready for the isolation.  I need friends, real ones, that want to hang out with me because I’m me.  I need a support system.  I want people my age and younger, too.  Not just older people.  I am still filled with youth.  I guess that’s something my ED has cut into.  It’s made me feel older, maybe?  I don’t know, I can’t tell.  

And what am I going to do when I don’t have the crutch of clonazepam to lean on every day.  It’s how I’m able to get through lunch and PM snack.   Dinner is a whole other beast, especially if it’s something gross.  I don’t want to eat.  I’m doing it because I have to, but I definitely don’t want to, at all. I feel bloated and gross. I want to go run.  I want to burn as many of these calories as I can.  I want to restrict.  I don’t trust my body, I feel like it’s betraying me.  I want to restrict lunch.  Or skip it.  What are my values today?  Perseverance and adaptability.  I must find the strength to keep doing the hard things.  I have that picture of jude standing with her head up.  I ask her to do such hard things, I have to do it, too.

7 minutes until lunch.  I have 7 minutes to find the courage, strength and energy to go through another shitty meal.  I’m repulsed by the very idea.  Alana and Courtney talk about ordering in food, like that’s some kind of a treat.  It’s not a treat.  It’s gross.  I don’t want some fatty restaurant food.  Maybe a really big black coffee, but I don’t want sugary pastries.  I don’t want meaty burgers or greasy fries.  I don’t want sushi.  I don’t even want seaweed salad or edamame.  It all sounds absolutely repulsive to me.  I don’t like milkshakes anymore.  They are oppressive.  Here I am, redlighting the fuck out and i’m not even looking at a discharge date yet.  I’m not making progress.  I’m just being bullied.  I don’t trust my team.  Our goals don’t align.  I want to puke right now.  I’m so full and I don’t know where any extra food is supposed to go.  And i hate, hate, hate my body and it’s functions.  I hate eating, it’s gross.  Fuck you and your friend fucking foods.  It’s nasty and I feel disgusted eating it.  I would eat cake with juniper though.  My little sweet pea.  I love her and miss her so much.  I’m starting to cry.  I miss her every minute of every hour of every day.  She’s the reason I have to get better.  They’ll take her away from me, no matter how well I take care of her. They’ve already threatened me thanks to Danielle’s dumb ass conversation with the social worker.  DHS is going to be on my ass forever.  Thanks Danielle, you fucking twat.  

She don’t so much damage and she gets to walk away, scot free, feeling like the victim.  She’s really a vile fucking piece of shit.  She’s vile, but only because of her brain.  Her brain is broken.  Maybe more so than me.  And she’s not getting help, she’s being coddled.  What the fuck?  I thought her sisters were so fucking smart.  Apparently not, because the isolated her for staying with me.  They know she’s fucking delusional.  I get that they are sisters, but really?  You know she’s sick.  You know her brain is sick.  You drove out of my home and into that douche bag’s apartment.  I’m still so sad.  She’s an evil, mean cunt and I still love her and I still dream of her and I still just want her to call me and ask how I’m doing.  I still just want to talk to her for hours about nothing.  I still want that comfort and calmness that gives me.  I still am willing to be abused to have that.  That makes me still sick I guess and that sucks.  Abuse sucks.  I’ll never be over her and I’ll never fill this hole in my heart.  Fuck my life.  I’m broken.

Lunch was so gross.  More cheese quesadillas and a bunch of baby carrots.  I felt my stomach stretching.  My gut is working over time.  My guilt is building and I have regrets for finishing, even though I’m happy that I did it, sort of.  I really like Kristen, although her rules can be a little challenging sometimes.  If you’re chill with her, say please and thank you and follow the rules to the best of your ability, she’s really cool.  She doesn’t hold grudges and she will get your back if you need it.  She’s cool.and any issue that i have with her, I can resolve with my team.  She did rat on me for not leaving my room last week, which sucked.  But I also know that she’s just doing her job and in her mind, she was helping me, by holding me accountable for isolating.  It just that particular day really sucked, because I was having mega anxiety and my introvert was shining through. But today she’s been awesome.  One of the things I like about her is that she will always chat with you and she’s nearly always smiling, including on days when she is really tired.  She doesn’t really get moody, she’s even keeled.  What she does not appreciate is demanding shit, not taking redirection and consistent rule breaking.  At least you know where you stand with her.  She enforces some rules really strictly, like supplement and eating, etc.  But other stuff she let’s slide, like hoodies and such at the table.  Also very strict about red light topics (but in a kind way).  In a way that’s good, because some of the red light topics are very triggering for some patients.  I get that, it makes sense. The last thing that i want to do is send someone over the edge.

Well fuck me.  It’s 4:28 PM and somehow I slept through PM snack.  I didn’t hear them call it and I didn’t hear everyone shuffle down there.  No one woke me up.  Oh well.  This is the shit I’m talking about, I didn’t even want to wake up.  It’s an excuse, I’m rationalizing, because I didn’t want to eat anything else.  I’ll go to dinner for sure though, it’s Polly’s last dinner here and I don’t want to miss it.  But like, I don’t want to eat.  I’m terrified about what I may have picked for dinner.  Apparently, I got pretttttty fucking brave for the whole fucking menu thing on Tuesday. I’m really really sick of eating.

I don’t think I had a chance to talk about what I wore today.  I wanted to wear something childlike and whimsical for Polly’s last day.  Some of the girls wore onesies, which was cute.  But they only wore them to breakfast.  I, however, wore my black glitter skirt that leaves a trail of glitter, wherever I go.  It’s kind of magical in that way.  Everyone loved it.  I just wanted to be childlike for a day.  I probably won’t dress this silly again while I’m here.  But Polly brings out the inner child in all of us, I think it’s pretty safe to say.

Second, today was Mother’s Day and I got so many well wishes from everyone wishing me a happy mother’s day and calling me Mom.  It’s really touching that they see me that way and I believe they truly do.  Juniper may call me Dad, but to her, Dad is a nurturer and safety and provides.  I’ve got to get home to her.  I’ve got to try harder.  I’ve got to do better.  This shouldn’t be so hard.  I’m seeing my friends accelerate past me on a daily basis and I’m still stuck here, missing meals, missing groups.  It’s so frustrating.  I feel like I’m failing harder than hard. But the thing that everyone says and that I know is true is that I am a great Mom to juniper.  Mom is a title you have to earn every single day.  I show up.  I’m there when she needs me.  I make sure she is safe.  By letter her stay with my Mom, I’m keeping her safe.  Keeping Danielle the fuck away from her is keeping her safe.  I’ve got to get back to her sooner than later.  I’ve got to do this Phase II business.  I’ve got to take the leap.  I’ve got to trust that even though I’m in yellow territory, I’m making the right amount of progress and that it’s enough.  I’ve got to trust that my team wouldn’t push me to the next level if they didn’t think I was ready for it. Trust.  That’s a fucked up word, because the abuse and the trauma caused by Danielle has obliterated my trust in everyone.  I don’t even completely trust my Mom, yet.  I’m working on that, but it’s a long fucking road that I have to travel down.  

I’m disappointed in myself.  My goal today was to go to all meals and groups and I missed PM snack and I missed PM group (even if they are just watching Twilight).  I can do better.  But, I also must remember to give myself some grace.  I deserve it.  I’ve worked hard and I’ve apparently helped people. Kirsi was my kudos this week.  I normally write a letter to go along with a gift.  But earlier this week when Kirsi was having a really rough day, I wrote her a letter just telling her to keep going, be strong and overcome whatever challenge she faced.  It wasn’t necessarily meant to be her kudos, but she needed a little boost that day.  I’m terrible at spoken words, for the most part, but I can write a nice letter or email.  I’m pretty good at that.  People believe me when I write to them.

The winds are changing here.  Tomorrow there are 4 new admits. FOUR.  We’re completely full, so there’s going to be some unit shifting tomorrow.  Hopefully they leave our unit alone and just open 2E.  If they separate our group, it’s going to wreck a lot of our progress.  Especially with those of us that have been here for a while.  I brought this up earlier, but it’s one of those thoughts that has just kind of been ruminating all day and I can’t seem to get it out of my head.  I’m not super duper close when any one person here, but they are my friends and I think I’m mostly liked here now.  I feel safe and accepted.  The girls see me as a Mom for crying out loud.  I love them for that.  I don’t want to start over.  It’s such a scary proposition.  I need to start preparing to make an exit plan, though.  I need to be brave and go to Phase II.  I’ve got to start worrying about how I’m going to live my life in recovery.  That’s green light thinking.  That’s good. Now I just have to make it stick, which I can do.  Be brave Clara.  Be strong.  Being delicate does not mean being weak.  You can be strong and delicate at the same time.  You’ve got this.  It’s written all over the fucking walls.  YOU’VE GOT THIS.  I just haven’t believed it yet.  I’ve got to stand up.  I’ve got to let go of these eating disordered thoughts.  I’ve got to make the leap from yellow to green.  I’ve got to shut down the red thoughts and behaviors.  It’s the only way to get back to juniper and ensure that she’s getting everything that she needs.  It’s the only way that I’m going to be able to progress this amazing relationship with Brandon.  Besides, he’s a man with needs, if I don’t get out of here soon and he has those needs met elsewhere, will he even stick around.  Actually, I think he will.

Ok, this Lindsey shit is just starting to get ridiculous… every fucking thing is an argument.  She needs special sheets and special creams, special lotions and Rogain, don’t for the fucking rogain.  I mean, yeh, I feel bad for her in some ways.  But on the same token, like, you can’t just demand shit.  Stuff makes it way upstairs after it is checked in downstairs.  Then it comes up and a BHT or therapist has to approve it.  It takes time.  Nothing is going to happen instantly.  It’s a hospital and there are policies.  If you have a medical need, the Dr. has to approve it and write an order.  Badgering Kristen and Frank are not going to get you anything any faster.  Seriously, bro, chill the fuck out.  Your sheets aren’t making you itch.  You hypochondrism is what’s doing that.

God, I can’t shake the thought of Danielle today.  I know she keeps coming up in the journal, but I just miss her.  I keep thinking about all the time we spent together, all the good things we did.  How just going to the store or for a walk was a great adventure.  I miss her so much.  I wish she would just call me, tell me she’s all better and that she’s coming home.  We’d call off the divorce and I would be allowed to keep loving her forever.   I can take the abuse. I can take it, just come home to me.  I miss your voice.  I miss holding you and I miss our conversations that would go on for hours and hours about nothing at all.  I miss you so much and I don’t know why you betrayed me.  Why did you leave me.  When will this hurt stop.  When will I be able to think about something else.  I hate this.  I hate it so fucking much.  I just want things to go back to how they were.  I just want to see you when I walk in the living room or bedroom.  I just want to make dinners with you every night.  I want us to cook and laugh and talk to jude and take her places.  I want us to heal.  You’re my soul mate.  We were never supposed to be apart again.  How in the actual fuck did this happen.   It’s not just my heart that’s broken, it’s my soul.  It’s been ripped away from me.  I forgive you.  I forgive you for anything and everything.  I just want you to come home.  I want to be a family again.  I loved our little family.  It was unique and strange and it was everything we both loved.  Why did you stop loving it?  How could you stop loving me and Jude.  We are a team.  We were the perfect team, we always were.  This was never supposed to happen again.  We promised each other forever and forever and I meant it and I thought  you did, too.  Why would you betray me like this?  How could you?  You promised you’d never stop trying, but your promises are lies.  Lies upon lies upon lies.  I don’t think you understand what honesty even means.  Or maybe you do and you’ve just forgotten.  Who have you become?  It’s not the person you said you were.  That person was kind and considerate and didn’t judge people on things they couldn’t control.  That person said they’d never stop trying.  That person said I could trust them with my heart.  I gave it to you, completely and you tore it to bits after ripping me to shreds.  Your brain is sick.  Your brain is so sick that it told you to  stop trusting me.  It told you to get away and made up a story about me being a villain so that it would have an excuse to do so.  And in the process, you abandoned me and Jude.  We just want you to come home and be normal again.  When are you going to be normal again?  I know one day you’re going to wake up and remember that I’m your person and you are mine.  How long do we have to wait.  Until I’m on my deathbed?  How long will jude have to wait?  Until she’s fully grown.  It’s not fair.  It’s not fair and I reject this change.  This is one change too many and i reject it and demand you come to your senses and stop being an idiot.  Stop being this aggressive, hateful bitch or whatever the fuck you are now.  Come back.  Come home and let’s get back on track.  Let’s fix this.  There’s nothing in this world that we can’t do together, we can fix it.  But you have to try.  Send me a text and tell me you’re going to call me.  I need to hear your voice.  I miss your voice.  I miss you.  Please, please, please, come home.

I’m in my room and I’ve got the door cracked open.  It’s actually quite warm in here right now, because it’s warm outside and our windows are west facing on this unit.  Living out west and having west facing windows equals hot, hot, hot afternoons.  I’ve got my blinds pulled down most of the way, but Juniper’s pictures are lining the window sill, so I don’t want them down all the way.  And, honestly, I use the windows in the evening to body check.  I only do it 2-3 times a day, but I’m definitely still doing it.  I’m supposed to urge surf to not body check, but it’s just not working for me.  I’m just not confident enough.  I just don’t trust my team and I don’t want my body to change.  I guess that makes me selfish, but I want to be small.  150lb girl is not small.  I’ll never be happy being that size.  This goes back to my college years, when I was working out and trying to gain wait.  I had to eat like a pro wrestler to get to 145 and it never felt right.  And now they’re telling me to ignore the number on the scale.  Well, I don’t want to.  My brain is not in recovery.  I don’t think it can be.  I don’t want to be big.  I want to wear a size 2.  I like being tiny.  Brandon likes me little.  It’s sexy and I look delicate.  I don’t want to get bigger.

My bud this evening was Euphoria, but my real bud is my night time meds and sleep.  I want to wake up tomorrow and try this again.  I’m setting big goals for this week.  I don’t know if I’ll get close, but I’m going to try.  I have to make more progress.  I can’t stand still.  I have to move forward.  It’s so hard though.  I just have no desire to be what they tell me I need to be.  I’m never going to be happy if I feel like an ogre.  And if I get bigger than 140, I will feel like a fucking monster.  I’m not just fighting to be a pretty girl here, I’m fighting to be recognized as a girl at all.  It’s lovely when you’re in a place like this and (almost) everyone recognizes your gender.  Those that don’t just say it by mistake and I don’t even hold it against them.  I mean, i struggle with the enbys and they are part of my clan.  Something about the grammar fucks me up.  Oh, and their was Violet.  I miss gendered her like 20 times.  I didn’t mean it.  It just slipped out. But it slipped out because I saw her as him.  Which is why Betty saying him over and over is hurtful.  Like, either see me as a woman or just leave me alone and don’t talk to or about me at all.  

I think I hurt Betty’s feelings again at dinner.  Writing about Danielle just made me really sad tonight.  Knowing that my brain isn’t recovered really fucked me up in group.  Polly is leaving tomorrow after breakfast.  That’s got me all fucked up.  I just don’t want to talk to Betty about it.  And I didn’t want to leave the table. I wanted to sit through the discomfort.  There are times when I need to get up and leave.  But tonight I didn’t want to leave.  I wanted to stick it out.  On the bright side, I think I’m earning Katy’s respect, which is kind of cool, because they are a gender diverse person and they are clearly the coolest fucking person of this new gaggle of admits.  Their favorite band is Nirvana, which is fucking awesome.  And, they think my dinner question answers are brilliant and funny.  So that’s cool.  They did steal Polly’s spot on the couch this week, but Polly wanted to work on their painting anyways.  I miss them sitting with me, but I appreciate that they just needed to work on their painting.  They always have to be doing something during groups, probably just to stay calm and I think they finished their paint by sticker books.  Fuck I’m going to miss Polly.  They bring out the inner child in all of us, including the staff.  It just won’t be the same without them.

So now, it’s a matter of navigating this unit without the person that makes me feel ok.  

Ok, so this shit is goddamn getting hilarious.  Lindsey is telling Jack (BHT, super chill) what he “HAS TO DO.”  She thinks that she’s getting her shit tonight.  Na girl, them shits gotta get checked in, just like everything else.  She also said, it’s part of the rules, “he has to go over to her side with her.”  Na girl, Jack ain’t gotta do shit.  There are no rules, but you do what you’re told around here.  You’re not guaranteed room time.  You’re not guaranteed blankets from home.  You’re not guaranteed to be happy.  And demanding shit is just fucking funny.  I’m really super ultra tempted to steal her shit from the bathroom and hide it somewhere on the unit.  I just want to see her head explode.  She’s such a fucking ass.  I also want to erase her shower spot and fill in all the remaining spots with fake initials.  Like, bitch, you need to calm the mother fuck down.  What a goddamn hoe. I know I keep saying it, but it’s true. Sit the fuck down.  Shut the fuck up.  You are not important.  No one gives a flying rats fucking ass about your wants and needs bitch.  Oh, and quit stealing other people’s shit. Oh. And.  Fuck you.  Geez.  I hope I didn’t come across like that when I got here.  I see the problem now.  For real.  If I did, I’m sorry.  Like, really, truly sorry.  

This journal is supposed to be about my journey, right?  Well guess what, my journey has reached a pivotal point where I can see I was wrong. I can see what a spoiled ass I was.  And you know the funny thing is that Betty sees Lindsey behaving this way and she is repulsed by it, too.  I saw Betty and it made me calm down and Betty sees Lindsey and it makes her calm down.  What would it take to make Lindsey shut the fuck up?  Well, we  have 4 admits tomorrow.  What are the odds of a primadonna amongst the new recruits? Shit, I think it’s time go get in line for meds.  The line opens at 7:15 and I don’t want to be last tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll keep writing .  What the fuck else am I going to do while I wait.

Hey, it’s Nurse Brandon tonight.  I like him, he’s cute, for a white boy.  He walked in on me changing one night and it was kind of funny.  I don’t think he saw that much, but I could tell it kind of embarrassed him.  Not me so much.  At this point, who hasn’t seen me naked.  Totally cool. Really.  Although, it did make Brandon a little jealous. Not a little, quite a lot.  He wants to fight him.  Not really, but he did at least play like he’s jealous.  I find that hilarious and kind of cute.  Not that there’s anything to worry about.  The countdown begins, I’m just determined to not be last for meds tonight.  My goal is to be so sleepy by the end of HS snack, I wobble into the Splatahhh, brush my teeth, wash my face and fall into bed.  I’ll doubt I’ll even make it under the blanket.  I love seroquel.

There’s growing interest in my writing and it’s really cute.  One of the newer girls from this week, Priscilla, is about the most darling thing you’ve ever seen.  She’s cute as a button, she shares a shopping addiction (hers is Lulu Lemon).  But here’s the catch, she is super smart.   She’s 18 years old and extremely well read and already has so much insight into this eating disorder business.  I’m learning things from these kids that I had no idea, especially around relapse prevention and just eating disorder behaviors in general.  To give you a visual, she’s got long, dirty blonde hair and the cutest smile.  And I love how she talks to me like I’m on her level.  Like sharing tiktoks and telling me about celebrities.  It’s really fun.  It’s something with Gen Y (I guess she’s a why, I don’t think she’s an alpha).  They are just so much more accepting and empathetic. But hearing her talk about her shopping is one of my favorite things.  She has a package that was supposed to arrive last week that is finally downstairs and she should get it tomorrow. I’m genuinely curious to see what she’s got.  Priscilla is a great name for her, too.  She comes with a little spice.  You know, a little zing.  She’s showing me her mindful tiktok dancing and it’s silly fun.  I like her, she’s got a great spirit and she’s going to do awesome things.  I think she said she’s 18 and starting college in the fall.  She’ll be living in the dorms.  We had a chat about the importance of staying out of rooms as much as possible and just being around other people.  That’s what I mean about insightfulness.  She’s a smart kid.  So, Priscilla, if I end up letting you read this, this is my section dedicated to you.  You’re cool and ooze potential.  Your outlook and attitude speak volumes.  You’re smart, witty and like to laugh.  You like to learn and read. And there’s nothing wrong with a minor shopping addiction.  NOTHING.  Just can’t let it get too big, that’s all.  And, we’re the only Aries on this unit.  Aries have to stick together.

Okay, so there’s some hope.  I like the new girls.  New friends.  They’re all really young, but that’s ok.  I like hanging out with young people, it makes me feel young, too.  I love that they are already guessing my answers to dinner questions.  Am I that obvious?  But they are clever and they get my jokes and sense of humor.  Wasn’t I bitching that no one gets my sense of humor?  Well they do.  Katy called my answer to tonight’s question, “If you could be reincarnated as a sea animal what would it be?”  The obvious answer that most people go for is something like a shark or whale or dolphin.  But Rose and I had the same idea.  I love Rose.  She said sea slug, which is a wonderful answer.  I said, “something like a mollusk or a clam that just sits at the bottom of the ocean collecting debris.  They’re like the trust fund babies of the ocean.”  Katy called it brilliant.  Katy is brilliant, so I took that as a huge compliment.   Katy is the one that got me writing.  I saw them constantly journaling and it made me start writing.  And when I filled up one journal, I started this journal, while I waited on Chris to hook up a new journal and as it turns out, this is way better.  I can type faster than i can write and so my hands can actually keep up with my brain.  Bonus points.  I can actually read what I’ve written.  I’m not saying this is Pulitzer material or anything.  But I do think documenting as much of my experience as I can has some value.  Maybe someday Juniper will want to know more about me and someone can read this to her (or she can read it herself, the kid is BRILLIANT).  

Polly is packing and we’re all gathered outside their door.  Everyone is feeling this loss. Kirsi, Ella and Rose especially.  We love Polly.  I mean that.  We love them.  They are a bright shining star.  I gush.  But it’s all true.  And I hear them laughing down the hall.  I have to get out of here, so I can go to PHP.  Or maybe I should ask them for their phone number.  I don’t want to be weird or be a weirdo.  Meanwhile, Katy is sitting outside the group room on her own, journaling away.  I love it.  They inspired me and continue to do so.  And there is something to be said for not letting paralysis by analysis keep you from writing.  I wish I felt the same way about music.  I would have been a massive rock star and song writer, but I let my perfectionism get in the way.  With writing, I don’t give a fuck.  You can read this or not.  Makes no difference to me.  I’m not doing this for you.  I will say, I have one huge fan already, Danielle.  She loved reading my journal so much, she made an illegal copy of it and quote parts of it to use against me for like 2 months straight.  Thanks, love.   Snack time.  Let’s get through this, it’s going to be emotional for me, but I’ll do my best and then I’m going to bed.

Fuck it, I asked Polly for their phone number, we exchanged.  That makes me happy.  Okay! So all is not lost.

Now, before bed, which is approaching very fucking quickly, because night meds are starting to work, I have one more Lindsey story to share.  Mind you, she’s on 2E and they are basically telling her she has to come over here to shower and use spa for night time shit.  I do empathize with her a little bit, because it sucks she doesn’t get room time and all of her stuff is on the other side.  That has to be frustrating.  But her approach is just fucking atrocious.  She demands instead of asking.  She’s a cunt.  That’s right, the big C.  It should go without saying, DO NOT BE A STUPID FUCKING CUNT.  And she is.  A righteous one.  She’s rude and demanding and entitled and can’t just go with the flow. It’s one thing to be frustrated at the situation, but it’s another to take it out on staff or anyone else.  And the hits just keep on coming.  She was brushing her teeth in Splataaaah and all of the sudden she starts marking these weird gargling noises, followed by some hawk tua sound.  Rose walks behind me grinning and I’m trying not to laugh.  The other girls are all giving each other looks.  It was so funny and bizarre, all rolled into one. I think we outlined this in previous chapters on socialization with ladies.  Definitely a rule that you should not be gross.  That includes making lots of noise gargling and certainly no hawk tuas.  That shit’s just nasty.  Four new admits tomorrow and we can hope, yes hope, that they open 2E and do programming, meds and spa over there.  Lindsey will be their problem at that point.  Poor Toby.  He’s going to be stuck with that weird ass woman.  Hopefully the new admits will be cool and he’ll find some comradery.  My eyes are getting heavy.  It’s been a long, long day and I need to rest. 

Another day.  Saturday to be precise.  Let’s see, what’s going to happen today?  Well, one of the dinner questions is, “What’s your favorite word?”  And let’s be honest, my favorite work is some variation of, “fuck”.  “Fuck bunch”, “Fucking Shit”, “let’s fuck” or IDK any way you word it, fuck is the best word.  But, I don’t want to be lame and choose something predictable, so, I used chat GPT to help me find a, “new favorite.”  

Here’s what I asked…”Give me a word for a stuck up rich and entitled person that is so out of touch they don’t realize they are a bitch.”  Chat GPT delivers.  Some favorites are snob, toff, posh asshole, patrician.  But my favorite is dilettante.  It sounds french and snobby just in itself.  But the definition is oh so perfect, “privileged and shallowly involved in things”  It’s perfect and describes the slow motion train wrecks that come into the unit.  

Lindsey is hilarious.  So demanding and she doesn’t even realize it.  She’s so south Florida and a surgeon to boot.  She brought up that she was a doctor at least 3 times without being asked.  But even better were her demands this morning.  “Let me back to my side for chapstick and vaseline, my skin will dry up and die.”  Ok, maybe more a paraphrase than a direct quote, but I think you get the idea.  So fucking funny.  And Polly and I just look at each other and smile and quickly look down, trying not to laugh out loud.  It’s so funny.

Geez.  What am I feeling?  Sad.  Why?  My friend is leaving.  I have new friends now, too.  Rose and Ella both actually like me now.  Rose is such a wild card.  She looks so cute and innocent, but things I’ve learned about her.  1) She likes curse words, like a lot.  It’s really funny.  2) She enjoys microdosing mushrooms.  Psychonauts are a special breed.  3) She has a great sense of humor.  She actually gets my jokes.  It makes me really happy.  And Ella is coming around, too.  She still thinks I’m weird, but she’s found a way to accept it I think.  So anyways, I’m not totally alone here.  Oh, and Kiersi is so cute.  She’s like my big sister (even though she’s way younger than me.)  But all three of them laugh a lot.  Especially in the cafe when someone says something weird and we start looking at each other.  It’s like a chain reaction that can’t be stopped.  But Polly is still my favorite.  Anything Betty says makes them laugh.  Last night, Betty said she was grateful for me for my conversation and Polly immediately turns in my direction with a surprised look that turned into a grin that turn me into a grin that turned her into a laugh, that we both had to look away and cover our mouths so the laugh wouldn’t be audible.  The same thing happened this morning when Betty said she was grateful for Polly.  Geez, I’m going to miss that.  It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend to laugh with like that.

Now about that talk with Betty, she was trying to open up to me.  She’s had a hard  life, and while most of her problems are rich people’s problems and make her seem out of touch, she’s been through the wringer the last few years.  Last night she was telling me about her husband.  They’ve been together for 30 years, but apart for the last year or two.  And from the way she describes their relationship, he mostly puts up with her or just ignores her.  That has to hurt so badly.  It feels familiar, albeit different.  And before she left for one of her other two homes, he was being at minimum verbally abusive.  I told her that she deserves to be with someone that appreciates her for who she is and will be kind to her.  And she said she was scared to divorce, something about messy assets.  He is a big shot lawyer, so I’m sure he has a lot of protected assets, but 30 years of marriage, any judge is going to demand that he maintain her lifestyle, IMO.  But what do I know.  She cried when she talked about him.  It was real, I think.  She said the only reason her husband came to visit was because he wants her to have a good relationship with their daughter.  I don’t see reconciliation in their future.  

She also told me a little bit about her trauma.  She was drugged and raped by her ex-boss.  She won a big lawsuit.  She said I could google her.  I don’t really want to, it sounds very triggering.  So while I can giggle at some of the stuff she says and does and the fact that she’s so aloof, I also can empathize with her.  She can’t help it she’s rich.  She’s just out of touch and in a behavioral hospital setting, everyone is equal.  Money can’t buy privilege here and the more demanding you are, the more you strut your beautiful feathers, the more annoyed the staff and other patients and staff become.  The less willing to help you the staff becomes, the more frustrated the dilettante becomes.  And then, it’s a train wreck in slow motion.  They either demand to be released (not going to happen, it’s hospital, Drs. say when you can go) or settle in and realize they aren’t special here.  They’re just another patient with an eating disorder.  Speaking first hand here, I think that’s what a lot of the patients thought of me.  I didn’t mean to come across that way and I’ve toned it way down.  I’m just another patient with an eating disorder.  Don’t treat me like I’m special, I’m not.

To be fair, I’m also learning a lot about girl group dynamics.  I’ve heard for years that girls can be really mean to each other and OMG is that true.  Throw in the trans part and it makes it even worse, maybe.  IDK.  I can’t decide.  But things I’ve picked up on:  don’t be a bitch, always compliment the girl that dresses up for the day, don’t steal thunder, they hate it when you steal thunder, don’t be a princess, it’s ok to cry (it’s accepted and expected), say good morning and good night, don’t insist on being first, the more competitive you behave, the more they will try and knock you down.  Middle of the road is ok, don’t be the prettiest and don’t be the ugly duckling. Make sure you congratulate, celebrate and articulate- gratitude, acts of kindness, any other chance you get.  Don’t act entitled.  Show up on time.  Don’t leave early unless it’s an emergency.  Follow the crowd when it comes to things like how you dress, talk and behave.  Outliers look like competition.  See above. Money isn’t power here.  See above.  Don’t get too many new and shiny things.  Having the best makes you look snobby.  Gay dudes are you friend, they will get your back.  Don’t criticize or call out unless there is group consensus.  If an older or pretty girl offers to help you with your make up, it means your makeup looks stupid.  Let them help.  Don’t be gross.  Cute hair and makeup is ok sometimes, but make sure you dress down sometimes, too.  If you behave like a pretty princess, they will treat you like a bitch.  Funny is ok.  Giggles are a sign of friendship.  So are smiles.  We all have to pee a lot.  Talking about bodily functions is a signal that you’re, “one of the girls.”  That includes potty talk.  They love hearing about your kids, your cats, your dogs and your parents.  Loving your parents is cool. Appreciating them is even cooler.   Listen and don’t butt in to conversations.  Don’t show off with fancy beauty products, it makes you look like a fucking snob.  It’s ok to be skinny, it’s ok to be fat, don’t judge a girl on her looks, judge by her smile, her eyes and her heart.  Those are things that matter most in a girl’s world.  Be quick with your shower.  It’s ok to primp a little, but make room for others.  Don’t hog the mirror.  If you’re first in line every day, you’re a bitch.  Don’t be a bitch. DO NOT BE A BITCH.  Like seriously, DO NOT BE A BITCH.  Bitches get austrasized by the group.  So, DO NOT BE A BITCH.  Pronouns matter, especially to enbys, so get it right.  Apologize and correct yourself if you get it wrong, don’t dwell.  Don’t be too happy or excited.  It’s ok to bitch a little, but don’t make it your M.O.  That makes you a bitch, DO NOT BE A FUCKING BITCH.  Little touches of makeup that are done right are ok.  Full face makeup is kind of a no no, unless you have a reason (someone is coming to visit, you’re going out, etc.).  Learn some different hairstyles.  A headband every day is too cutesy.  The ones with the bow are no bueno, unless it’s part of an ensemble that requires cuteness. Make friends early with new people, don’t wait.  Being smart is ok, but you don’t have to be the smartest person in the room and you need to let other girls shine when they are better at something than you.  Don’t compete.  See above.  Try and add something to the group that no one else adds.  Polly is the strange one, Rachel is the house mom, Reina is the real one, etc.  I’m funny.  It’s ok to be funny.  See above.  A little quick check in the mirror is fine.  Double check makeup, teeth and hair.  Leggings are ok, but boobs are taboo.  Wear a bra.  Nips are not ok, even when it’s all girls. Down the patriarchy, but a certain level of lady is expected.  Don’t be gross.  See above.   But most of all, please remember, DO NOT BE A MOTHER FUCKING BITCH.

Your friends are the girls that will wake you up if you’re napping and it’s snack or meal time. If they let you sleep, it might be an indicator that you’ve done something that the group disapproves of and you need to make up for it somehow.  That can be humor, compliments, letting someone else go first, a general act of kindness, a note… something. I definitely have had days where they let me sleep, so I was probably a bitch that day. 

I mentioned above that it’s both okay and expected for you to cry, but you also don’t want to cry all the time.  That makes you look weak and girls are to be strong sometimes, too.  It’s a fine line and balance.  Younger girls think anyone over thirty is old.  They think you don’t get them and they are less likely to make you a mainstay in their social group.  I hate being one of the older patients here.  I’m automatically excluded from certain things.  I think they all think I’m funny, but maybe they don’t trust me or something.  I don’t know.   

I wish we were allowed to record and take pictures sometimes.  We’ve had some really fun nights here.  One night a few weeks ago, Gaby was still here and all the girls were strutting in the hallway with one of the nurses.  It was so funny and everyone was smiling and giggling.  Riley even had a smile and she never smiled.  I want a picture with Polly, but I don’t want to ask because I’m afraid it will be weird.  I want to ask her to add me on some social media app, but I don’t want to seem like a stalker.  Ugh.

The biggest thing that I’ve learned is that I don’t know shit about being a girl. I can look the part, stand the right way, sip, don’t slurp, etc. All the shit Danielle was trying to tell me.  But the dynamics part is obviously way more complicated.  

10:45 AM and we just finished our AM snack.    I’m already feeling the dread of lunch.  What the fuck have I signed myself up to eat?  I’m really sick of grilled cheese.  I’m super ultra deluxe sick of cheese quesadillas.  I think I forgot to utilize the bowl of buttered noodles this week.  Courtney is going to start pushing me to eat bigger meals this week, I can feel it.  Part of the reason I don’t want to go to phase II is that I’ll be expected to complete bigger meals without supplement.  And even with supplement, I’ve come to despise it.  I can’t get the feeling out of my head that the vanilla supplement is spoiled every time now.  Thanks Betty.  But the chocolate, which still tastes like ass, is so fucking thick and sits on my stomach like a lead weight.  I don’t want to eat and I don’t want to supplement.  I restricted last night.  I had a cheese quesadilla and the cheese was coming out the sides and it looked gross, so I cut it off.  It was just a small amount, but they gave me half a cup of supplement, even though I choked down the rest of it.  It didn’t seem fair, so I restricted.  I’ll suffer the consequences, I’m sure.  Courtney is going to be on my ass about it.  Alana, too.

Why has group been so hard this week?  I’m sitting outside the group room, but I don’t plan on going to group, to be honest.  I just don’t want to be in the group room with so many people.  It’s just a lot, especially after a snack.  I can sit here and journal and write and listen to music and it’s quiet and the energy is calm.  The group has gotten a little more sensitive with the new admits.  The girls are more touchy about redlight topics.  Not to say that we blabbed about them before, but if we did, no one really said anything.  I just have to remember to be more careful.  Not trying to ruffle the collective groups feathers.  Maybe that’s part of my hesitation about the groups.  Like, I don’t want to say the wrong thing and I say the wrong thing all the fucking time.  I have no filter and I don’t detect social queues.  It’s a problem and one reason I’ve struggled to make friends here I think.  My social queue detector is just defunct.  I’ve started to question if I’m masking autism or if it’s ADHD or something else.  Maybe I’m just socially awkward.  I’m not particularly sensory sensitive.  At least I don’t think so, I don’t know.  Isabell just came into the hallway and announced, “group time” to the three of us sitting out here.  She’s going to be annoyed by me today, because I’m probably going to skip all the groups.  

I kind of want to try and hide between the wheelchairs in the hall near the exam room.  But then I might end up drawing more attention from nursing.  I want to hide.  That’s how I feel, I feel exposed and raw and I want to hide under a blanket and I want to sleep.  Good sleep and no dreams to remember.  Just deep, comfortable, quiet, calm sleep.  I miss my bed at home. And my cats and my dog.  I miss my routine and I most of all miss Juniper.  I want to go home, but I’m nowhere near ready.  Even if I do PHP,  I’m going to cheat when no one is looking.  I want to get back down to 125 lbs.  I want to check the scale every day.  I want to body check every hour or every time I eat.  I want to just drink shakes and no real food again.  I don’t want to damage my body and I accept that these things will cause damage.  But I still want to do them.  The urge to do this shit is stronger than cocaine.  And it saves so much money and time.  I just genuinely don’t want to eat.  I know, I keep saying it.  It shouldn’t be my mantra, but it kind of is.  

Oh gawd, Betty and Lindsey just came out into the hall.  I guess they are skipping group, too,  Polly is somewhere in the hall, not in a group.  I don’t see her.  Maybe with nursing.  Betty is making a B-Line for her room I think.  Lindsey is demanding shit from the BHTs.  At least I’m journaling.  I’m at least trying to cope in a way that works for me, because the breathing BS and all the coping mechanisms are not effective for me.  At least not with my anxiety at 10/10.  Lindsey is demanding they let her go back to the other side.  They’re saying, “no.”  Too many demands, BHTs no likey.  You have to adapt, Lindsey.  You’re not special here.  Your surgery skills won’t get you privilege.  The slow motion train wreck is high speed and headed for certain disaster.  She’s back in the group room, just playing on her phone.  It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she’s doing voice to text while everyone else is trying to focus on whatever the group is about.  It’s Maddy, New Girl, and Me in the hallway.  Where is Polly?  I think they are on the floor near the med room.  I so selfishly want them to stay here until I’m ready to go.  It’s complete selfishness.  I am feeling sad.  Why?  Because my friend is leaving.

Now, the million dollar question.  Do I clonazapam or do I not clonazapam.  If I do, I can probably do group.  But then I’ll be drowsy.  My mind will be slow, but my feelings will be dull.  That letter the other day said, “sit with the pain.”  I’m not very good at that.  I mask, I avoid, I dance around the pain the like a bull dances around a red cape.  Maybe my sensitivity to pain is higher than most.  Maybe that’s why I’m always looking for an escape hatch.  I’d rather murder myself than sit with the discomfort.  I know it’s wrong, but it’s what my brain is telling me to do with my body.  

Maddy just took my spot on the couch in group.  Now I can’t go in there, even if I want to.  Goddamnit, wasn’t one of my goals to go to group.  This is like a new struggle and I don’t understand it.  I feel annoyed and disappointed in myself. I’m stronger than this.  I have core values, and those revolve around doing what I need to do, so I can get home to Juniper.  But I’m still scared.  I’m scared of being outside of these walls.  I feel like the world is going to come after me if I leave.  I feel like Danielle has some sort of evil plot twist that’s going to result with me in chains.  I fear Danielle a lot.  Trauma is real and she caused nearly all of it.  My heart breaks again, today, just thinking about it.  Better to push these thoughts out of my head.  Maybe I can focus on something positive.  She said she hated DBT, because it was basically talking yourself into being happy.  But I guess what I would ask her, now, if I had the chance is, “What’s wrong with talking yourself into being happy, if the end result is happiness?”  I think it was just her sick brain tricking her into staying sick.  It’s the same brain that told her not to go to the hospital for help.  It’s the same brain that told her I’m a villain and that I was doing the things that she was actually doing.  DARVO is so fucking real.

When will I run out of thoughts?  Actually, I never knew that I had this much to say, to be honest.  I guess, I’ve journaled before, but because it was paper and pen, I just stopped after a few pages, because my brain couldn’t keep up with my hand or wait, the other way, my hand couldn’t keep up with my brain.  And it’s not like I’m saying anything insightful or useful or am I?  Hard to say.  I guess I’d have to let someone else read this shit and frankly that’s a level that I don’t think I’m willing to go to right now.  At least not with anyone that I know.  Maybe that’s my problem.  Maybe I’m just too walled off to make good friends.  

I think acceptance is actually a basic need, below food, shelter, clothing, but it’s there.  As a marketer I used that one all the time.  Maybe this is karma.  I let my knowledge of human need be used for deviant purposes.  That’s why I don’t want to go back to marketing.  It’s all about knowing what drives human behavior and using that to profit.  I’m a capitalist, really, I am.  But greed and capitalism don’t have to go hand in hand.  Besides, all the BS marketing I did and look where I’m at and who I made rich.  Not myself, not my daughter, definitely not Danielle.  I made two guys that already had everything wealthy.  Ironically, though, I didn’t do it for financial gain, mostly.  I did it because it was fun trying to build something.  It was really fun being the best at something.  In certain circles, I am thought to be a genius.  I’m not, but they think so, and that feels really good.  At least it did.  I guess I don’t care about that any more.  That’s one real reason Danielle lost interest in me.  I don’t care about being a big shot any more.  That drive is gone.  I want to be the person that does the most good in this world.  I think that means just being an absolutely awesome parent to Juniper and living up to my promise of giving her every opportunity that I can to thrive, whatever that may look like.  Don’t get me wrong, I still want to shop, dress smart and cute and drive a nice car. I want to keep fixing up the house and making it beautiful.  But I most of all want to take care of Bee.  She needs me and I need her.

I want to be a better person.  I get so short with Mom sometimes and I don’t mean to, it’s just like I get activated and turn into someone else.  I hate being like that.  I hate that I hurt her feelings.  Yes, she has problems and her personality isn’t the easiest to get along with, but she does love her kids.  She’s just awkward, too, sometimes.  But she deserves grace, just like she gives me.  I need to be more calm.  I need to set better boundaries and be assertive but calm with her.  I can’t lose my cool.  I have to prove them wrong.  All of them.  I’m not a bad person.  I’ve done shitty things, but I’m not a bad person overall.  

I have an artist’s temperament, that’s true.  I struggle with big emotions and they come across very aggressive.  That’s precisely what I don’t want to be, aggressive.  That’s scary and I don’t want to be scary.  I want to be cute and cuddly, like a kitten.  I don’t want to be a bad bitch.  I want my aura to be pink and lavender.  Gentle, soft and warm colors that draw people in and make them feel safe, happy and comfortable. That’s the image I want to project.  Not a snobby, stuck up bitch.  I swear that’s what I’m trying to express with my clothes and makeup, soft and gentle.  Not fragile, but delicate.  That’s how I see myself.  I just hate the fact that when I break, it turns me ugly, like a honey bee that’s forced to use its stinger to defend itself, knowing it will likely die.  When I go aggressive, a part of me dies.  The sweet kind part of me falls to pieces and only thorns are left.  I don’t want to be thorns.  I’m a flower.  I want to be like Rose, capture the sun and share it with everyone.  I need to learn to smile.  Maybe that will come, it’s important for girls to smile.  My skin is softer and so is my heart, but my head is strong.  Willful, I think they call it. I’m supposed to be willing, but here we are.

I took the clonazepam. Fuck It.  It just means I can’t lie down.  I have to stay up and moving. Brandon is coming this afternoon.  I get to feel like his girl for an hour.  It feels so good.  Like the highest high I’ve ever had.  My stomach is butterflies and my skin a conductor for his electric touch.  If I had it my way, he’d rip my clothes off and fuck me in the room.  I’d be loud and everyone would hear and I wouldn’t fucking care.  Slut.  Whatever.  At least I’m not a bitch.  DO NOT BE A BITCH, BITCH.

I don’t know when food became such a stupid fucking problem.  I do know that I’ve never eaten the way they make us eat here.  I do know that for much of my youth, I skipped breakfast and lunch.  I’d eat a decent dinner, sometimes.  Sometimes it was mac and cheese or red beans and rice.  Sometimes Mom was gone and there wasn’t much of anything to eat.  Sometimes we forged her signature on checks to order a pizza.  Sometimes I’d find odd jobs to do for neighbors to make a little money so I could buy chips and soda.  I’m a picky eater, but not in the traditional sense.  Big flavors are fine.  I like vegetables, including the green ones that are really good for you.  I’m ok with meat sometimes, but only sometimes and only if it’s cooked in a way that I feel comfortable with.  It’s not about being well done or anything like that.  This is something Danielle and I had in common.  Chicken, for example, is fine, if it is seasoned, thin and cut into small bits.  Maybe that is an eating disorder behavior.  If so, this has been going on for far longer than the transition.  Come to think of it, I’ve had body image issues since puberty.  I was excited about puberty, but when it came to the way my body was changing, I didn’t like it.  I wanted to grow up, sure.  But not into a hairy, smelly monster with a deep voice.  I miss my sweet girl voice that I once had.

I remember puberty being a big deal.  But mostly because everyone else had already started it and I hadn’t.  Then, the summer that I started puberty, I was in Portland, TN with my grandfather and Dad.  Both of them are good guys, I guess.  But they wouldn’t like who I am, so maybe they aren’t good guys.  My whole concept of who’s good and who’s bad has been flipped on it’s head.  My concept of friendship is fucked up, too.

Let’s take a break from this trip down puberty lane to make a quick note, Lindsey is getting worse.  To be fair, she’s on 2E pretty much by herself.  So that means all her stuff is over there, including her room.  But she’s demanding that they let her go have room time and frankly we just aren’t staffed to have anyone over there with her.  And THIS IS A BEHAVIORAL HEALTH HOSPITAL.  Privilege is not a thing here.  You are not special, you aren’t important.  You are a mental health patient.  No one cares about what you want.  They will try and be nice if you are nice to them, but demanding shit will get you NO WHERE.  Actually, I’ve seen and mentioned how staff here are likely to spite you if you’re a posh bitch.  DO NOT BE A BITCH.

Now, like I was saying, puberty hit me in a weird way and a way that only makes sense now.  My body and it’s functions were changing, but in all the wrong ways.   My sweet, cute voice got lower and my cute face turned more masculine.  But not like, particularly masculine.  It’s like I spent the last 30 years in between male and female.  They call us shemales when we transition, but really, that’s what I was before I transitioned.  I guess if I had done the T therapy, I would have become more manly, maybe.  But I really did tremble at the thought of having more body hair, more facial hair, going bald, thicker and more coarse hair, etc.  Like, eww, no.  That’s not what I want, that’s not who I am.  I’m gentle, I’m soft.  Don’t make me more aggressive and more masculine.  So now I’d say I’m more she than I am male.  I’m pretty, like really pretty and I like that.  

Brandon is coming after lunch and he’s going to hold me.  He’ll cradle my hand between his big hands.  I’ll touch his arm with my free hand, my head on his shoulder.  He’ll kiss me and apologize for it. It’s cute.  I get so excited just thinking about it.  We’ll talk about this and that.  I do wish he wasn’t poly, if I’m being very honest.  I don’t mind Julia, because they don’t have sex.  But I’m grossed out by the thought of him sleeping with Joseph and I really wish he wouldn’t chase other transgirls around.  On the flip side of things, at least I’m sort of aware of what’s going on with him.  He’s not cheating.  I don’t think a poly person can cheat, unless they don’t tell me about it.  Danielle said, “You’ll never be enough” and I guess there is some brutal truth to that.  But he does love me.  I can tell, I’m special to him.  He took ME out on Valentine’s day and he knew he wasn’t getting anything out of it.  Not that I didn’t want to give myself to him, but it wasn’t feasible that night.  Anyways, he took me out.  Not Julia or Joseph or anyone else.  It was me.  He wants to spend 2-3 nights a week with me when I get out of here.  But today, I’ll settle for being kissed and those gentle touches that send sparks up and down my body, like direct current tied to my spine.  Those touches that make me unable to control myself.  I get wet and excited.  Sorry, TMI, but it’s fucking true.  

I know it probably seems a little flighty, but a quick Lindsey update.  She’s demanding from another BHT that she be allowed over to 2E.  And while it is a little unfair, it’s just the way it is.  Except it bitch.  You’re gonna have to sleep in the hallway during break.  Grab a couch or a quiet corner and make yourself comfortable.  We all do it at some point.  Ella (BHT, super cute, blonde and sweet smile, also a Swiftie) isn’t going to budge.  And, I just want to reiterate one more time, that they don’t like being told what to do or that they have to do something.  They don’t really HAVE to do anything.  They’ve got charting, and spa and they have to locate everyone on unit every 15 minutes.  We don’t have extra staff to go sit on 2E while you recharge in your room.  So, pull up a floor spot and make yourself comfy, bitch, cause they aren’t going to do what you want them to do.  Period.  I give her 24 hours before she’s demanding they let her go home.  They won’t.  But she will definitely demand it.  That’s like the trainwreck finally.  A big, giant burst of flames, screeches and stomping of entitled little posh feet.  Shit, am I a bitch for watching the whole thing in slow motion?  FUCK. DO NOT BE A BITCH.

I hate that I keep going back and forth between subjects, but I can’t help it.  Every day there’s something on the unit that works as a distraction.  I guess that’s part of the reason that I don’t really mind being here.  I’m so used to being at home alone with only the cats and dogs and of course Jude to entertain me.  Here it’s like a reality TV show.  19 strangers with mental health issues, committed mostly against their will, to live on a unit without access to TV, energy drinks or coffee, to find out what happens when patients stop playing nice, and start getting real.  Real Eating Disorders, Denver.

Okay, so I just need to make it through lunch without a panic attack, which I think I’ll be able to do.  Go in and eat the slop they give me.  Drink the water they give me and try and win contexto, because, I mean, I’m really fucking good at that shit.  It was so funny.  Yesterday we were playing, and Lindsey thought she was about to win it naming off various species of fish, when I throw out the brilliant associate, “Bait.”  As soon as it came out of my mouth, Lindsey says something like, “we were doing pretty well naming off differ…” and the BHT (I don’t remember who) chimes in, “That was it.”  Lindsey actually seemed sad that we won.  I guess she wanted to be the Contexto hero.  Na, girl.  That’s Rachel.  I’m Rachel’s trusted sidekick.  And together, we nail that shit, like every day.  And I’d like to mention, I also had the breakthrough word, at 29, that got us closer to the final word.  That’s how Contexto goes, you see.  You name random shit.  Most of the words are going to be in the thousands.  But then someone finds a basic word, “human” or “house” or “water” and that takes you closer, in the 100’s.  Then, it’s game time.  Now you need to find a closer association.  What connects all of the words that are in the 100’s.  Ok, boom, you find a word that’s under 50, now we’re getting somewhere.  Let’s go for the kill, at least one word under 10 and we’re in business.  Put it all together with a new direction that directly associates with all the words under 10.  And, winner, winner.  

Oh Lindsey, stop arguing with the BHTs girl.  They aren’t gonna help you right now.  You need to talk to your team.  But it’s the weekend, so there is no team here.  So really, you’re fucked until Monday if you’re lucky.  Probably middle of the week.  Our priorities aren’t their priorities.  And if it truly is an emergency, you’re better off going to nursing and expressing your distress, they have a little more power than the BHTs.  The BHTs are trained to say, “no”.  They have to draw a line in the sand.  Otherwise, they would get run all over by every primadonna that steps foot in here.  I get it.  I guess I got frustrated at first, too.  But once you learn the chain of command and how to approach things, it’s actually not hard to get what you want, when you want it.  Also, it helps if the BHTs like you.  You have to make them like you. Corrine and Ella are so sweet and cool.  I love having them here.  They would bend over backwards to help you accomplish whatever it is you’re trying to do.  But, you have to be cool.  You have to accept that they have authority over you.  You’re a mental health patient and they are basically enforcers of the rules.  Ok, so I was a bitch that one night about the hoodie thing.  But Shawna is the only one that enforces that rule and the cafe is cold, usually.  And I didn’t have a bra on, so my nipples would have been poking straight through my shirt.  So, I just went to bed.  I think I pissed off all the girls on unit,  Jake defended me.  But really, i should have just gone and gotten a sweater or something that wasn’t against the rules.  I also was just having a really bad day.

Uh Oh, 12:37, it’s time for lunch.  I really, really don’t want to go.  Corrine just popped her in my door.  She’s so nice.  I want to listen to her and do what she asks.  She’s cool.  I’m cool with her.  It’s a mutual respect thing and it works.  Ugh.  Lunch.  Wish me luck.

Still a lot of anxiety at lunch, but significantly less thanks to our good friend benzo. Thanks Benny, you really rock my world.  And what a fantastic lunch we had.  Contexto, 9 guesses.  Global.com 7 guesses.  Global.org org 4, but it would have been 3, but Betty through out india.  Like, na girl, we’re trying to go southeast.  Raine took us home with Ethiopia.  Rachel and I pretty much ran Contexto by ourselves.  It was so fun.  Rachel got the answer, Dinosaur, but I had 2 of the top 12 answers, so I felt pretty fucking good about the whole thing. Lindsey keeps bitching like non fucking stop.  She’s still arguing with BHTs.  It’s not going well and she’s making a real ass out of herself.  The FIRE. The SPARKS, The SCREAMS.  The HORRORS.  Bodies are lifeless on the roads.  I do kind of feel for her, she just wants her shit out of the bathroom.  But they just keep saying, “no.”  I swear, Lindsey, the more you try and haggle and argue with them, the more they will dig their feet in and tell you to fuck off.  You have to be cool, fool.  God, I hope I didn’t come across like that when I got here.  I’m so much nicer than that and I know how to take no for an answer.  And I know how to properly escalate.  I’d just like to point out that the mail policy has quietly been updated to recognize that we order essentials through the mail.  It’s our connection to the outside world.  No one knows it, but I did that single handedly.  You’re welcome 2W.  We can now get packages without a delay.  It’s great.  It’s gone from 2 packages a week to, please limit non-essentials.  That’s a much more rational policy.  I guess I made a good case.  I really wish I could be a lawyer.  I’d be good at it.

Ella, I just want to write this note to you that I’m sorry.  Everyone is a little high strung today.  I’m not, I took a benzo and I’m cool as a cucumber for the like the next 3 hours.  I’m just going to snuggle Brandon.  My voice naturally goes higher when I talk to him.  It’s cute and he likes it. Yeh, I started with an apology to Ella and ended gushing for Brandon again.  And since no one else is going to read this, I’d just like to point out how much i want him to get me naked and do it to me.  There’s something so awesome about giving my body to him so he can have his way.  Great if I orgasm, but even if I don’t, I likes taking me and I like being taken.  It feels natural.  Especially when I’m on my back, OMG that was intense.  But really anyway he wants to do it to me.  Flip me around, turn me over, sit me up, sit me on top.  Tell me what to do.  I like it. I even like giving him head.  He’s patient with me and isn’t too demanding, but occasionally pushes my head down kind of hard and it’s so fucking hot.  I’m just a mess.  He makes me a mess.

Oh boy, now Betty is pacing with her bag again.  The cool news is that we don’t have an MC this afternoon, so they’re probably just gonna let us chill in our rooms.  I need a day off from groups.  I’m just so tired of sharing and being vulnerable.  And the vibe is different.  It’s going to be an adjustment.  We have some really smart and insightful people on the unit.  Katy (they/them) and Priscilla (she/her), both very intelligent and they like to dominate the conversation a little.  I’m ok with that.  Sometimes I feel like I talk too much anyways. They’re new here, let them set the pace.  It’s just that, their pace is a little different and I’m having to catch up.  I’m use to Raine, Ella and me setting the pace.  So on one hand, it’s fun to hear new voices. But on the other hand, it’s a little frustrating when I feel like I can’t get a word in or I feel like we’re just flying in different directions.  Part of the fun with group is finding ways to connect with people.  Shared experiences and feelings make us all feel closer as a group.  

I think Lindsey just realized that she’s not getting her way, like at all. Ella says, “I’m opening the patio for those who want to go outside” and Lindsay responded with, “Can you open the group room?”  Like, no bitch.  Girl, you’ve got to slow your mother fucking roll. She was told no, so she said, “Ok, I’ll go outside.”  Like she was given a choice.  I mean I guess she was.  Sit inside on the couch and STFU or go outside on the patio and STFU.  TRAIN MOTHERFUCKING WRECK! BOOOM! 

I, on the other hand, am just waiting for Brandon to be brought up.  I do wish they’d hurry because they only give us an hour.  But, I’m going to be patient.  No point in being rude, or demanding.  It literally gets you no where.  Being a sweetheart, however, will get you favors.  Like extra minutes with your guest and shit like that.  I’m perfectly satisfied with that.  Actually, I have to say, most of the BHTs we’ve had lately are so fucking chill.  Kristen is probably the most annoying of them all.  I feel like if this were the Stanford jail experiment, she’d be the first one to start brutalizing the “inmates”.  Like, she just likes power a little bit too much.  She kind of gets off on saying, “no”, and enforcing the rules.  She’s also just a rule follower and I get that.  It’s her job.  And truthfully, I think she’s a sweet girl. It’s just hard going back and forth between staff that are relatively lax and those that are by the book.  There are less, “by the book” staff than others.  Something something.

Brandon just left.  We got a full our of cuddle time in the phone room.  So like, lots and lots of snuggles.  He keeps reminding me about how much he wants to, “spend time”, with me.  Ok, so I’m a little new at this, but I’m pretty sure he has plans for me and I’m not going lie, I have plans for him, too.  And I sure as fuck hope they involve him taking my clothes off and fucking me multiple times.  I can’t wait.  I could write a porno in this blog, but I’m not gonna.  It wouldn’t be appropriate.  Just know that I love spending time with him.  I”m getting more and more attached. 

I felt so relaxed after hanging out with him for an hour and all the snuggles, I didn’t even mind snack. Then, I fell asleep until dinner time.  They’ve let us chill in our rooms.  I took such a nice long nap.  Now, it’s dinner time, but I swear, I’m so fucking chill, I don’t even think care.  I hope it’s not something awful. 

I woke up and Lindsey is out there, I think she’s on the phone ordering more shit.  I already know she has no money, because she doesn’t get paid until the end of the month.  I think I heard something about a tax refund on April 29th.  That’s a long way away.  Is she using her credit card.  Ohh good lord, please tell me your credit card number.  I’m going to order her so much shit here.  Weird, fucking shit.  Please, Oh please, let me have your credit card number, Lindsey. We all need a good laugh and I will max that fucker out shit by her, for her, and to her.  I’m talking custom coasters, embroidered towels and wash clothes, 10 pairs of terrible shoes, some less than lethal weaponry, stickers, custom stickers, really red light topic t-shirts in all the wrong sizes, a book about medical ethics, a wig, extensions and some sort of pastry for the staff.  And not just on our unit, the staff of the whole building, including PHP.  I’m talking about dog sweaters and kitten mittens, strange “Adult baby” costumes, onesies, onesies and some really inappropriate skin tight dresses.  I mean, I’m pretty much going to have truckloads of shit delivered, all to her.  And all at her expense and it’s going to be GLORIOUS.  When she learns that they will no longer let her have packages, it’s going to be a hellscape.  When she sees it’s all on her credit card and that her shit is maxed out, she’s going to have a nightmare trying to get things returned from all the various vendors.  It’s going to be so fucking funny.

No luck with the credit card, but my dinner word was somewhat successful.  Pretty sure that none of the aloof snobs know what dilettante means, which is fantastic. And labeling it my, “2nd favorite word” did result in Raine asking what my favorite word was, “some variation of the fuck word” which resulted in someone saying, “I knew it.”  However, no one bothered asking what dilettante means, which was a little disappointing.  But, let’s take a moment to talk about the glorious nature of the fuck word and why it’s my favorite.  It’s really the most versatile word in the English language.  Happy, Sad, Angry, Mad, Joy, Pain and some Sexy.  It really does it all.  It can be a noun, verb, adjective or adverb and if you piece together your sentence correctly, it can be all these things in one sentence and sometimes one word.  For emphasis, you can add it to virtually any other word and it creates a stir. And it’s still considered the worst curse word we can use.  It’s such a dirty, dirty word. But not really, that’s just kind of silly.  So it actually just creates the illusion of a dirty word, when really it’s just a word.  There are so many words that are so much worse than fuck.  Words that have hateful, evil, vile and despicable meaning.  But fuck, no pun intended, gets the award, year over year.  Now there are some close contenders that I really do appreciate.  Words like cunt, bitch, dick, cock and balls. But put them all together and you still don’t get anywhere close to the power of fuck.  Fuck just rolls off your tongue and once you learn to say it, you say it all the time.  For me, it was third grade, when my mom decided I could watch R rated movies for some reason.  I learned it and loved it and started saying it almost immediately.  It was amazing that I said such a word and not only did the sky not fall down, but all my friends joined in for a ton of fucking fuck word fun.  It really added to zeal to our conversations.  I love the word, I really do.  

Dinner was so sad.  What am I feeling? Sad. Why?  Polly leaves after one more day.  We played got it and the words were polyurethane and jail break.  Aww… what a send off.  Perfectly weird and confusing. There will be no more got it.  There will be no more laughs.  To be honest, i just picked a radiohead lyric.  You can pretty much pull any radiohead lyric and as a single word or phrase, it’s going to sound strange.  But the kicker is that no one is going to play along with me like Polly.  No one else thinks my stupid jokes are funny and it sucks.  This is detrimental to my health.  I’m going to be depressed for a while and feel really bad.  It’s strange kind of heart break.  Like, I want them to be my best friend forever, because they are awesome and make me smile and laugh. And I don’t feel weird or dumb.  Nothing is too strange or out there.  And just grinning makes us both laugh.  And I don’t know if I’ll ever even see them again.  I’m crying right now, quietly and no one even knows it.  They don’t know.  

I don’t have many friends.  I struggle to make them and other than Brandon, I have made a real friend since I’ve come out.  Susan is my friend, I guess.  Although, I think i really pissed her offer because I cussed at my mom.  It was my bad, I need to be nicer to her, even when she makes me feel insane.  But that’s not the story here.  The story is I want Polly to be my friend and stay in touch.  But I don’t want to be the weird old person and ask them for their phone number.  I’m scared they’d reject me or maybe they don’t like me as much as I like them.  I am so fucking emo. And it’s going to make being here suck, because there’s no one to fill this void.  But I know I’m not ready to go.  I still want to restrict at every fucking meal.  If I leave here and I eat 2 meals a day and 3 snacks, you can bet your ass I”m skipping whatever my home meal assignment is.  There’s no way I’m going to eat like this and continue to gain weight.  Letting me go into the wild is a terrible idea,  Just being honest.  So i need to stay.  I need to get this anxiety under control.  I need to stop this suicidal ideation and self harm bullshit.  I need to learn to cope in a non-maladaptive way.  Fuck this sucks.  I just want to cry and go to sleep.  I have to really get better.  Like, really, really better.  I need my temper to be calm, my mood to be stable.  I need to be in the hospital for while more.  It’s not that I don’t want to leave, it’s that I know it’s a terrible idea to go.

As soon as I’m in the real world again, exposed to real pressures, all this shit is going to sneak right back up on me.  I have to be stable and right now, I’m just not.  My anxiety is still a 10 when I wake up and a 10 after snack.  I can’t go to group, because I can’t be around people.  I hate it.  I wish my brain didn’t suck.  I wish it wasn’t sick.  I live with the guilt that I somehow did this to myself and I hate that shit.  If I hadn’t taken so much MDMA or done all that coke, would I be more normal, more balanced.  Probably not.  The depression started at least 5-6 years before I ever even experimented with my first drug.  MDMA just gave me some temporary relief for a while.  I had radical mood swings when I was 14-16 years old.  I guess around puberty.  And before that, there were tantrums.  It’s not my mom’s fault, but it is, in that I learned many of my maladaptive behaviors from her.  I learned the big dramatic tantrums from her.  I learned to yell and scream and cry, from her.  It’s not her fault.  Her brain is just sick and she thinks praying will make it unsick.  Thanks Debbie.  Your stupid fucking church is absurd.  It teaches hatred and keeps people sick that need help, including you.  Except, apparently, drinking half a bottle of wine every single night is totally acceptable.  Weed, no!  Wine, Okay.  I mean, Jesus definitely would have smoked hashish or weed of some sort.  Enjoy the fruits of the earth and all.  And honestly, I think he would have used pages from the old testament to roll a phatty.  Because everyone knows the old testament is fucking bullshit, mostly written by kings to keep the population in line.  The jews don’t really follow the old testament, so why the fuck do we?  Wow, this just turned into an unhinged rant.  My brain is tired.  I’m ready for bed meds and bed. Bring on the next shitty snack so I can shovel it down and hopefully pass out.  Tomorrow sucks, but I’m going to try and make it the best day I can.  I’m going to wear my EFF unicorn shirt, black jeans, and my sparkly skirt.  It will be the last day that I feel comfortable being myself and behaving like a child.  Going to make the most of it, I suppose. I should have bought the most ridiculous onesie I could find for onesie friday.  I feel guilty, I stole their thunder.  I’m sorry, I really am.  I am a child.  I am.  I promise, no amount of years will make me a grownup.  I’m going to ask them for their phone number.  Quit being a pussy and just ask.  If they say no, you’re no worse off then you are right now.  Except you got rejected.  But they won’t say no.  They’ll say yes and send you funny videos and stuff.  It’s like your perfect penpal.  I can continue to be a bad influence from a million miles away.

Keep my head in the game.  Focus on positives. Focus on goals.  Focus on core values.  I completed my dinner when I really really really wanted to restrict.  I wanted to fail.  I feel like I’m still failing.  How does Polly eat those scary foods?  How do they do it?  Why am I not ready to move to PHP?  Why am I stuck?  I want to recover.  I want to get better.  I hate this.  I hate it. I hate it.  This is the worst thing ever and I fucking hate it.  I feel so powerless and like I have no control and it sucks.  Opposite action, name your thoughts. Snap your fingers.  You’re doing so well.  You’re not going to fail.  Be strong.  Strength, but no bail money.  I hate this. I hate it so much.  I hate change.  Why does everything always have to change.  Why can’t the good things just stay the same?  Why can’t I keep the good things around me and just get rid of the bad ones. I swear to fucking god I hate this shit.  I’m crying again, but at least I didn’t put on makeup today, so no black streaks down my face.  Be strong.  Be strong.  Get through this shit so I can go home to Juniper.  Remember your core values.  Remember to be adaptive and persevere. This year has just been one shit show after another.  I feel like nothing is going right and I’ll never get it right.  I hate this.  I hate it so much.  I’m crying again, like a fucking baby.  I hate trying to be strong when I feel like things are crumbling.  I hate it. I hate it so much.  I know there’s so much to be grateful for and yet I can’t see it.  It’s like I have on glasses that hide all the beauty of the world and only let me see the ugly.  I know the beauty is there and I know if I just take off the stupid fucking glasses, I’ll see it just fine.  But I can’t.  Or I won’t.  I don’t know which.  Haven’t we talked about this in group?  I guess I’m supposed to own it.  It’s a choice.  See the world as an ugly hellscape where everything bad happens to me, or see it for what it truly is, a wonderful opportunity each and every day.  I want friends that love me for who I am.  Not what I am.  Who I am.  Despite my weirdness and awkwardness.  Despite my inability to communicate.  They love me and appreciate me for exactly who I am.  But then, there’s the self doubt.  That son of a bitch, Mr. Negative.  He’s screaming in my face, “You’re not good enough.  You’re not worthy.  You’re weird.  You’re dumb. You’re GODDAMN UGLY.  And soon you’re going to be a disgusting fat fuck.”  Every day, all day.  I don’t want to listen to him, but he’s in my fucking eyeballs and simultaneously screaming in both ears.  And you know what?  Most days, I think he’s right.  I don’t think I’m a good person.  I think I’m selfish and mean.  I don’t want to be, but I can’t help it, it’s just who I am.  But it’s not.  It’s who I was, I mean.  I’ve changed, I’ve softened.  I’ve let the good out.  The gentle, kind and caring version of me. I want her to shine through and break Mr. Negative into a thousand bits with her sunlight.  The cure for darkness is the light.  I want Clara to walk in the light and be the kind, caring, empathetic and loving person that she’s meant to be.  Before the hatred came.  Before Mr. Negative took his ugly fucking grip.  I want to be anything, but this shell of a fucking human.  I want to be virtuous and righteous and altruistic.  I want to have Brandon’s heart, that cares for others.  That sees a need and helps make a difference.  I don’t want to be shallow or vain.  I want to empathize with those that are vain and shallow and help them find happiness in light.  I just don’t know how to do it.

I’ve been here for 7 weeks or something like that and I just started journaling like 3 days ago, maybe.  And I filled up a full notebook.  Not going too deep or trying to be introspective.  Just spilling out the thoughts that fill up my head.  Something about pen to paper really helped with the anxiety I’ve been coping with for the last year or whatever.  Today, I ran out of paper, so I’m going to use google documents, but don’t think this is going to become a thing.

How am I feeling?  IDK.  Anxious.  Cute.  Clever.  Nervous.  Sad.

Why?  Anxiety persists and just gets worse as the day goes on.  I swear they gave me like triple the amount of Raisen Bran a normal person should eat.  My stomach is not super happy about it.  I’ll probably shit my brains out.  EWWW.  I hate the way my body functions.  I hate the body parts I have.  I feel so gross and dirty.  It never ends.

Why?  Today, everyone was supposed to wear a onesie.  Since I don’t care much for following the crowd, I wore a long dress and my cute pink cardigan.  Betty offered to help with my makeup and I felt I had to say yes, even though I didn’t want to do so.  But she did even out my eye shadow.  I could tell she wants to be my big sister.  It’s sweet.  She’s actually a very sweet lady.  She’s just rich.  It’s not her fault.  She’s also beautiful.  When I see her pink lips and eyes, I picture the young version of her, before the wrinkles.  Before she was drugged and raped.  Before the abuse and neglect of her husband.  She was a knock-out.  I guarantee it.  She offered to let me borrow a short dress.  I’m too shy to wear something sexy around all these girls.  But the offer was sincere and I appreciate it.

However, she’s wearing a cheetah print dress and shoes today.  It’s cute.  We dressed up today, just in an adult way.  Unfortunately, no one else wore their onesie, except Polly.  I was trying to steal their thunder.  If I had known it was just going to be them, I would have worn jeans and hoodie, so they could shine. I did want to steal the thunder of the tag-a-longs that follow Polly.  They’re unoriginal copy cats.  No hate.  Just saying, I lead, I don’t follow. 

This writing business has really helped with anxiety.  It’s the first thing that I’ve found that actually works.  I probably keep repeating myself about it, but I guess I’m just really happy that I’ve finally found something that works that isn’t a drug.  The only problem is, as soon as I put the pen down or the computer away, it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave and I find myself wanting to hide in the corner or my room.  

But not today.  Today, I don’t mind being seen.  I don’t mind sticking out a little bit.  There are those here who hate it, I can tell.  Like Katy.  They are strange and I can’t get a read on them, but I don’t think they like me very much.  It’s okay. Can’t please everyone.  They are gender neutral, fem leaning.  So it’s interesting.  Us gender diverse folk should really band together.  But I guess if you find femininity repulsive, then seeing a trans girl get dolled up is probably eww.  I get it.  I find masculinity pretty repulsive most of the time.  

The exception is Brandon.  He’s definitely masculine, but not in a Joe Rogan kind of way or anything.  Just in a, “I am a man” proud kind of way.  He’s strong.  I like his masculine features.  I like his big hands and strong arms.  I like touching his chest when he touches me.  I like how girly he makes me feel.  I get butterflies in my stomach every time I think about it.  

Two visits ago they put us in the telephone room, because there was nowhere else for us to go and we spent the entire time snuggling. He touches my side or my neck.  I draped my legs over his and he held me, my head on his shoulder.  It was humanizing, which is something kind of rare in a behavioral health setting.  Everything else here is so rigid. They wouldn’t let us go in there on our last visit.  What a shame.

I’ve been really struggling with going to group for the last week or so.  Especially with the influx of new admits.  Don’t get me wrong, they are lovely people.  They all add something good to our unit, but it’s just a ton of new energy.  As I feel things out, it makes me feel stressed and anxious.  It also makes me not want to talk.  Why?  I guess because I don’t know them and I feel like the authentic me is too much for most people. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I definitely harbor that belief.  I think they call that mind reading.

Also, Chris’s groups are hard.  He hits on some really tough issues. I gabbered on about the body neutrality thing.  But that’s just the beginning of it.  They’re all really hard groups.  I end up walking out early or running out as soon as they are over.  They’re just emotionally impactful.

Also, Polly has been on the floor painting, instead of on the couch with me.  Katy sits with me now.  Where Polly made me feel naturally comfortable, Katy’s energy is much more critical and dark.  Not saying that she is a dark person, just her aura isn’t the fluorescent shade that Polly projects.  It’s much more Chagall, I guess.  Losing Polly is a big loss and I don’t think they know it.  I hate feeling like someone else in my life is gone.  I don’t know.  I feel lost.  Why?  Because Polly’s energy was a guiding force for me and now I know it’s going to be gone.  

We have this new patient, Lindsey Manchu.  She’s a doctor.  A surgeon, no less.  From Miami.  She’s another primadonna, so we’ll see how this goes.  Not that she’s not nice.  She is.  She wanted to chat with me at dinner and she’s very affirming.  I wonder if she does GAC.  I need an FFS consultation.  I’m going to dig further.  Right now, she’s on the phone buying some sort of skin care product.  She has ultra short hair and pretty sure she’s done a fair amount of plastic surgery.  No hate.  Also, her skin kind of glows, she must know her shit.  I bet she can give all sorts of skin care advice.  I know Drs. hate giving free advice, but she keeps talking about being a doctor, so she clearly wants me to know.  She answers her phone and uses it in the group room, while we’re all in there.  I guess she just has a swagger to her step, that of a south floridian cosmetic surgeon.  Maybe I’m wrong. She’s a strange one though, so I naturally like her.  Very tall, very pretty.  Drinking her supplement when she can’t eat.  She’s the first person besides me that I’ve seen doing that.  I could definitely use that FFS consult.  Like, just tell me if it’s worth it.  Tell me the best surgeon in the U.S of A and refer me over.  Do they have a payment plan?  My credit sucks, but I’ll have disposable income here soon.  She is texting someone again.  Voice to text, very specific in her instructions to whomever she’s having to pick up her very special lotion (a Dr.’s office.)  They close at 3:30PM.  A local cosmetic surgeon.  Things are lining up.  I think I might be right.  She’s broke.  Her credit cards are all maxed out and she doesn’t get paid until the end of the month.  No money, but asking her family member to pay for the products.  Also, I guess her hair will fall out if she doesn’t get some rogaine.  That’s a fucking bitch.  What a nightmare.  That’s like me and my razor.  I get it.  She’ll pay them back via wire.  Not a check, not Zelle or Venmo, she’s going to wire that MF’r.  That’s the mark of someone who knows how to send large amounts of cash.  Bless her.

Dr. Parsley is walking by and grabbing everyone but me.  I have to be brave.  I have to ask about the Vyvanse.  I know he’s going to be dick about it.  Maybe not, but probably.  I was hoping Nancy would grab me instead.  She’s less intimidating.  I just want my refill, is that so wrong?  Fuck, I feel anxious!  Why?  Because I just drank a milk shake and my stomach hurts.  I’m light headed and I have a sense of impending doom.  It sucks.  What’s going to happen next?  Why can’t things just stay the same for a while.

I feel unlovable, again, today.  Every time Danielle does something fucked up, it reminds me that a person that once loved me now sees me as some sort of enemy.  I’m not the enemy.  I’m not the bad guy.  I wanted to remain friends.  She couldn’t handle being friends.  With us, it’s always been all or nothing.  But she knows me so well and I know she’s planning something big to fuck with me.  She won’t just let me go, it’s like she has to maintain control over me in some way or another.  WTF?  What the hell happened.  I miss the old her so much.  I trusted that person with every fiber of my being.  Every ounce of my blood.  All my heart and soul.  And she’s gone.  Michael may be dead, but so is Danielle.  This is not the person I fell in love with, twice.  She would never have allowed the Charlie Kirk text or tried to besmirch my name.  She would have jumped in front of a semi truck to save me.  She would never have left her daughter’s side.  She came to town and cared more about the cat than seeing her child.  WTF.  It’s like a nightmare come true and I can’t wake up.  She tried to get me kicked out of the treatment she insisted I get.  She just wants to spite me.  It’s such shit.

I had strange dreams again last night.  I was at my childhood home.  Brandon kept trying to call me and come over.  But Mom was there.  Eric was there, too, and he kept threatening to out me.  Mom found out about Brandon and freaked the fuck out.  It’s strange because she’s been pretty good to me since I told her I was trans.  She tries to use  my name and pronouns.  She’s been very supportive.  But she’s still a southern baptist.  They are among the hate groups according to the SPLC.  Not that SPLC is super credible, but they can be taken with a grain of salt.

Looks like Chris’s group isn’t super popular today.  Chris and just a handful of people scattered around the group room.  Lily is in the group room.  She’s the head of something, a middle management type.  She nods in agreement a lot, but I don’t think she has much sway for making anything happen.  She does seem genuine though.  I want to go to group, but the anxiety is just too much.

Lindsey is still going on about the products she needs to survive treatment here.  When she calls various places, she says that she’s in town for about 4 weeks.  I wonder if that’s a real timeline.  Has she met with any of her team yet?  A month is ambitious.  I wish her well though.  She keeps telling her family members that’s picking up all these important products, where to get them. Like they can’t just read the text chain and figure it out.  

I don’t want to take clonazepam.  It will just make me sleepy and worthless.  I don’t want to feel anxious and I want to participate in group.  It’s just too much right now.  Snacks are becoming hard, too.  It used to just be the meals that I hated, but as Courtney has stacked up the calories on me, it’s made even morning snack suck. I had this milk shake.  The same strawberry shake I drink every day.  There are no good options, so at least it’s liquid.  But it’s a gazillion calories, I know it.  And our goals are just not the same.  Honestly, I’m in my target weight zone.  I’m at the low end of my average BMI and I want to stop here.  I want to work on maintaining the weight, not ramping up the weight gain.  I’ll probably start restricting again if she increases the meal plan again.  If they’re fucking me on Vyvanse, then I’m done anyways.  I’ll pace and stop eating completely.  They’ve manipulated me into eating by holding that med over my head, so literally, it’s all they have on me.  Take my meds and I’ll stop eating and stop caring.  I’ll stop trying.  I will have failed and they’ll either have to give me a new team or send me elsewhere.  I don’t trust any of them,  

What am I feeling?  Distrusting.  Why?  Because they haven’t really shown themselves to be trustworthy to me.  They keep making changes without my consent and against my goals.  Why should I trust any of them?  Alana was the last one I trusted, but she kicked me out of my room this week in front of the entire unit and it embarrassed the hell out of me.  I wanted to cry.  I still do, being honest.  I told her I was having a lot of anxiety and didn’t want to be around my peers.  I mean opposite action and all, but in this case, it just made me feel worse.  I know how much peer group I can tolerate.  The energy is high and I have low energy right now, so it makes things unbearable.  I feel bad missing the group.  I can see Rose smiling and trying and I am in the hallway.  I’m not pacing right now, but if I stop writing, I will. What a fucking mess my head is.

There are two parts of me that want to get better. Juniper’s person is one.  She misses me, I know it.  I have to better about calling her at night.  I know she waits for it every night and is upset if I don’t.  I feel guilty.  I can do better. She deserves to hear my voice.  We only get one hour of physical contact per week.  It’s not nearly enough.  We just fell asleep holding each other this week.  I wish I could hold her right now.  I miss her so much.  She makes my life worth living.  She’s the reason for not giving up.  I see her pictures and I remember to try.  I ask her to do her best, I have to do my best, too.  The things I’ve asked her to do since she was tiny were impossible and yet, here we are and she’s crushing goals and thriving.  I owe her the same.  I have to be healthy so I can be in her life.  I need my brain to heal.  I need to be open to what Drs. say.  I have to get better, I don’t have a choice.  This is do or die.

And then there’s me and my wants and needs.  I got a new GAC doctor during my stay here and we briefly talked about surgery.  In order to be considered a candidate, I have to be stable.  Mentally well.  That’s the trick, isn’t it?  I can’t remember a time when my brain wasn’t sick any more.  Going back to being 12 or 13, I just felt like an alien.  Like something was wrong.  Like I was somehow different, and not in a good way.  In a way that I was meant to be ashamed of and feel bad about. I hated being a teen.  I hated puberty, but I didn’t know why.  I hated my body.  I hated my hair.  I hated my clothes.  I hated all of it.  I just didn’t know why.  If the whole gender identity thing is just a Russian mind virus, like Elon says, then it sure does explain a lot.  The thing is, the whole trans thing goes back to the beginning of time.  They just didn’t have a name for it.

I don’t feel well.  I feel groggy and like I’m soaked in gasoline, ready to explode with any little spark.  I don’t want to have these thoughts, but these thoughts persist.  Is a healthy brain even possible for someone like me?  I follow all the advice.  I do therapy.  I take the drugs.  And yet, the darkness persists.  It’s not all the time or at least I don’t think that way all the time.  But whenever I find my brain is understimulated, it’s overrun with these thoughts and emotions.  

Here I am, in a cute little white dress and cardigan.  Nearly everyone on the unit has made a nice compliment to me.  But I feel like a freak.  I question every day, should I have left well enough alone.  But I wasn’t well.  I wasn’t getting out of bed.  I didn’t have any motivation.  Now I’m at least motivated to be the best parent I can be to Juniper.  I’m in a fortunate position where I’m going to be able to care for her for as long as she wants me around.  I’m proud of that.  She no longer has a Mom, her Mom is now a crust punk scenester or something.  They don’t make good moms I guess.  She blames me for everything.  But let’s examine the facts.  This non-sense started well before the transition.  She was becoming mean and hateful.  She was berating and criticizing me for at least one or two years before I even considered HRT.  So wanted to escape, but she needed some way to make her not be the bad guy.  And let’s face it, she’s a pretty bad dude.  The DARVO thing is so fucking real.  Projection is so fucking real. I wasn’t lying to her, she was lying to me.

Let’s talk progesterone.  EVERY SINGLE PERSON I’VE TALKED TO said I did nothing wrong getting the script.  They’ve all said the same thing.  It was my care and I have final say. I didn’t lie.  I didn’t mislead.  I really did want to have a conversation about it with her, before I started taking it.  I know these things to be true, regardless of what she says.  

She, however, did mislead me.  She encouraged me to start HRT.  She found the clinic and she insisted I go to the first appointment.  Even when I said I didn’t want to, she insisted.  She didn’t say anything about leaving me or divorce or splitting up the family.  She didn’t say she isn’t attracted to women (anymore).  She said it was something I must do, because it was going to continue to be a nagging force in my life until I did it.  How fucked up is that?  She misled me.  She’s the liar here.  Despite what she says. Alana told me to challenge these thoughts, because these are the thoughts that are holding me back.  Well here I am.  I challenge you, THOUGHTS.  I didn’t lie and I didn’t cross any boundaries simply by asking her to talk with me, again, about progesterone.  That NP was super pushy and I could have been stronger.  But the regime has shown pretty significant results.  If she didn’t want me to have a new body, she should have talked about that with me before I went to the first appointment.  

Now let’s talk about sex.  We had sex several times after I started HRT. At the time, my testosterone was still in low-normal cis male ranges.  So the idea that I somehow magically morphed over night into a woman that couldn’t fuck is just silly.  Like, physiologically, it’s just not true.  In fact, my testosterone stayed in cis male range for months after starting HRT.  She’s full of shit. Period.  I did nothing wrong.

I told her on the way to the first appointment that our marriage was the most important thing in the world to me.  That I would never do anything to jeopardize that.  In one ear and out the window, I guess.  Because at no point did she mention that this could tear us apart.  I thought we were stronger.  I thought we could trust each other more.But it was quite clear from the beginning that this was just an excuse to get away.  One more thing to blame me for and use as an excuse to push me away.  

That’s the heart breaking part, I guess.  Watching my love slip away.  Watching my voice become mute.  Knowing that the person that promised to love me no matter what now doesn’t want to love me any more.  But let’s examine the facts again.  She was being abusive, going back several years before the transition.  Back when Janet was still part of our lives.  She was being so hateful.  She was becoming more and more like her father.  Controlling, degrading and abusive.  She only hit me on three or four occasions, but it was escalating.  Maybe she knows that deep down.  I don’t know.  OMG! The anxiety of feeling these feelings makes me want to cry. I can feel it in my face and stomach.  I want to crawl into the fetal position and bawl like a child.  

It isn’t my fault.  I have to remember that.  That’s what the therapists keep telling me.  It isn’t my fault.  She was the abuser.  My responses were those of an abused person.  It’s hard to believe, because society tells me I’m wrong.  The police say I’m wrong.  Her lawyer says I’m wrong.  All of her wonderful friends say I’m wrong.  Her sisters say I’m wrong.  All of these people know that her brain is sick.  But they still say I’m wrong.  That’s a lot of people saying I’m wrong.  How am I supposed to believe that I’m right when everyone and Danielle say I’m wrong.  I guess because they don’t have the objective facts.  I’ve shared the story as honestly and best that I can remember with my therapists and psychiatrists, etc.  And they tell me that Danielle lives in her own world.  That she has cluster III behaviors.  Her brain is sick.  The lithium was keeping her brain in check and now she’s off lithium because it was killing her kidneys.  The new drugs they’ve tried don’t work.  They never did.  I just didn’t know what I was looking for or how to get that information to Judy.  She stopped listening and trusting me, so no matter what I said, she wasn’t going to get the right kind of help.  Her sick brain kept her from going to the hospital a few months ago.  Maybe for the best, god only knows what she would have said.  Her sick brain is preventing her from seeing how cruel she is.  Not just to me, but to her daughter.  It’s such a sad story, and the ending hasn’t been written yet, but it’s looking like a tragedy.  Heartbreak and despair.  

I feel so sad right now.  Why?  Because my heart is missing the piece that made it feel whole.  She was my true love and she’s gone.  And I still grieve every day.  I grieve in anxiety and panic. I grieve in my dreams.  I grieve for our child.  I grieve for the connection we shared.  It’s a powerful connection.  And I still feel her every single day.  I still feel the anger that she holds for me.  The resentment and even the hatred she has for me.  It’s awful.  I want to close that chapter, but how can I when she haunts my dreams, night after night.  When she jabs at my heart with her hateful words to others.  When she paints a landscape of her world that is of another universe, where her actions are justified, but mine are not.  I cry inside day and night.  I want this pain to stop.  I’ve been sitting with it long enough.  How long must I grieve?  I fear a thousand years, should i still be breathing, wouldn’t take away this pain and discomfort.  This void left by lost love. 

How do I feel?  Broken.  Why?  Because I’m missing my person, even though my person was cruel and abusive to me.  I still miss her.  I always will.  This is one part of me that can never completely heal.  I am broken in a sense.  There isn’t a remedy in the world that can take this hurt.  I just have to carry it and push through it.  I have values.  I have goals.  Focus on those.

I am feeling drained.  Just drained.  All the company, which I’ve really grown accustomed to, is really pushing at my introvert pretty hard.   I just want to retreat.  I want to hide.  I want to go home.  Why?  Because “that’s just how god made me.”  Too many people and too much conversation.  And my friend is leaving.  And I’m sad.   And I don’t want to sleep, because I won’t want to wake up.  I’m actually not panicking, but I do get very drowsy.  I fell asleep in group at least twice, maybe thrice this week.  Community is my least favorite group.  Process is my second least favorite.  We just had a process group that sounded a lot like community.  I hate hearing everyone disgruntled.  The negativity spreads really quickly and can kill the vibe on the whole unit and makes it feel less recovery focused.  It’s like a cancer that eats us from the inside out.  I’ve seen it happen my second week here.  And now, it’s happening again.

I’m drained because my pace of recovery sucks.  It’s slow.  But they keep pushing me to go faster.I don’t want to though.  I’m not ready, at all. I can barely choke down a grilled cheese and some cucumbers.  I’m rocking and swaying like a crazy person just to make it through the meal.  Rock back and forth, side to side.  Starfish breath.  Distract. Distract. Contexto and “Got It.”

I won contexto for the first time today.  I usually get us close and Rachel goes in for the kill.  But it clicked for me today.  It’s not a fish, it’s something  to do with catching the fix.  You need: a fishing pole (two words, can’t be it), a boat (maybe), BAIT.  Dr. Lindsey Manchu got annoyed at my answer, but guess the fuck what.  I was right bitch. STFU.  I own contexto.  I used to hate it.  But I’ve gotten much better at it.  There’s usually a breakthrough answer that gets us close.  Anything under 100 and we’re getting there. Top 10 and it’s only a matter of guesses. Rachel can bring it home most days.

We bitch and moan about the meal time shit.  And it’s not because the meals are that intolerable.  It’s because they make us sit and wait after we eat.  “Sit with the discomfort”, they say.  But that’s the worst part of the whole process.  And depending on which tech is working, we wait for supplements.  Usually 10-15 minutes extra.  Sitting.  Staring.  Maybe there’s a game.  Maybe not.  Initials, we’re kind of bored with that one.  I like Got It, but only if Polly starts the game with me. Then it’s almost guaranteed to be the most random 2 things we can think of, and maybe even a little edgy.  It makes everyone laugh and some two people find a bizarre stretch of an association.  It’s funny.  We’ll sometimes go for 10 minutes before we get close enough to actually find the right matching word.  But, that’s only when Polly plays.  Some days or nights they aren’t feeling it.  I’m the same.  It just depends on the stress level of the meal or the day.  Polly will be gone very soon.  What are we gonna do?  I feel like no one is going to get my weird sense of humor and no one will laugh with me.  It’s so stupid.  I hate change.  I hate how fast they made it through this stage of treatment.  I love it for them, I just hate it for all of us.  We’re going to suffer.  But they will thrive.  But here I am and I can barely choke down my grilled cheese and cucumbers.  I tried the veggie lasagna the other night and could barely eat 2 bites.  The texture, the taste.  All that cream and cheese. EWW.  Why did I even pick that meal?  Stupid.  Should have picked buttered noodles.  That would have been manageable.  Instead I had to supplement and I swore no supplement this week.  Ugh.  Another failure.  I didn’t restrict, but it’s almost as bad.  And that shit tastes worse week over week.  I can barely tolerate it now.  And WTF is up with my Vyvanse.  That’s literally the only reason I’m eating.  Someone needs to fix this shit.

I guess I deserve a tongue lashing or something.  Rooms weren’t ever locked this morning.  And while I didn’t take advantage of that this morning, I did for the afternoon group.  I just couldn’t do another group.  Call me a criminal or a slacker.  Call me whatever you want.  But I didn’t want to participate in a group today.  Just the environment was too much for me.  I barely made it through lunch and snack.  I wasn’t about to sit through an interactive session, where I’d probably get talked over anyways.  That’s been a thing with the new admits and honestly, it’s fine.I don’t have that much to add anyways.  The groups have become repetitive and honestly, I just don’t want to be there.  I’d rather be writing or pacing or literally anywhere else.

You know what?  I’ve worn this cardigan three times and this is the first time anyone noticed it.  I definitely stole the thunder today.  Susan changed.  Polly changed.  No one else even bothered to show up.  Yeah! Thunder!.   I wouldn’t have stolen Polly’s thunder on purpose.  Plenty of days ahead without them here.  So why not just wait until one of those days to be all thunder stealing.  My bad.  I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.  I did it because I thought everyone was going to be in some ridiculous onesie.  On Polly, it’s cool and child-like.  Like letting their inner child shine through.  When the others did it last week, it was dumb.  Rose and Kiersi could pull it off, but Jim just felt… awkward.  Like someone was holding a gun to his head and forcing him to wear the damn thing.  Maybe they were.  How did they get a gun in here?

Dinner time.  I hope it’s not gross.  I’m so tired of lifting that plastic lid only to discover something inedible.  What the fuck was I thinking when I picked some of this shit.  PB&J  I’ll tolerate.  Anything else, including a cold quesadilla just seems, bluhugh.  And do you know what I’m trying to not have for dinner.  Bluhugh.  Do you know what I’ll probably have?  Some kind of steamed broccoli or a dinner salad and a cold quesadilla.  Did I mention that it’s probably going to be cold and gross.  The suspense is killing me.  No, the food is killing me.  No, my brain is killing me.  NO, I AM KILLING ME.  Stop with the negative self talk, it only brings us down further.gotta stay positive. Gotta stay smart.  Gotta keep moving. Focus on your values and don’t let the world bring you down.  I gotta pee.