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It’s usually followed up with “and how’s that working for you?” and major angry eyes from me.
What is it about someone telling me I can’t do something that make me want to do only that thing? Someone explain that to me. Even when I know that it’s for my own good that I don’t do what they’re saying not to do I still just want to do it so I can be like “you can’t tell me what to do!”. I’m a toddler at heart.
I had another look at my grad photos today and I realized it’s not the retouching/angelic glow that they gave me that makes me hate them. It’s also not the bizarre white and pink sash thing for my department (which I hated the moment I saw it), it’s the very forced smile that I hate. It looks like I’m in pain. My one eye isn’t open all the way, My eyelid looks droopy or something. Also I straightened my hair for it because my day-to-day hair can’t be trusted to perform on high-stake days like picture day. It’s just a combination of things that aren’t me that make those pictures look awkward.
It’s doctor time. Check-in about the antibiotics and other medications and then weigh-in, blood pressure check, and I’m sure a review of my ‘discharge’ letter/recommendations from the hospital. Should be a good time.
Bailey giving me snuggles to stop the crying.
Everything feels like it’s just…I don’t know. Cried at the bus stop until I realized a friend was waiting at the next stop. Pulled myself together. Got home, took Bailey out, started crying again.
Too much feeling rejected. Too much feeling like I can’t do anything right. Too much feeling stuck. I have wonderful friends who I feel like I’ve been leaning on too heavily. They’re trying to keep my spirits up. Helping me re-frame things. I don’t know why nothing is sticking. Eating disorder behaviours are taking over my life. The more out of control my life feels the more I cling to them even though I just want to not use them. I tried today and I think I ate less today than I did yesterday. Upside, being this consumed in ED shit means that there’s no room for trauma things to creep in. It’s providing some nice respite time. I cried in DBT group today. Once during check in and once during mindfulness. That was embarrassing but it’s been that kind of day.
I got my first response from grad school today. WAIT LIST. Fuck. That was option A. There’s still option B and option C and the hopefully not needed option D. I want a plan. I want to feel like something is known.
I want to self harm. I want to self harm so fucking bad.
Don’t shame the girls who sent pictures of themselves half-naked to their significant others as a way to express eroticism which is healthy and natural… give the people hell who think it’s okay to destroy someone’s trust and distribute those images simply for entertainment purposes.
Say it again. I don’t think they got it the first time. Too much truth.
The antibiotics are working. Killing my stomach, but working. My ear is suddenly hurting. Sharp, stabbing pain in my ear. Nice.
I feel rejected and small and alone. I was rejected for being honest. This is probably the best I’ve managed my mental health in a while but still just a bit too fucked up for the program I need. I don’t know what that says about me when I know things aren’t going well. I’m working the hell out of these DBT skills, to what end though? I feel more frustrated and irritable while using them.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. It sucks though.
Anonymous asked: That doesn't even make any sense because at the heart of it, EDs ARE methods of self-harm!
RIGHT!?!?! They just kept saying that they didn’t want the self harm to get worse as I worked on the eating disorder. I got in “trouble” the last time I was in treatment because of self harm, I was denied timely treatment this time because of it—what the hell? I wish things were treated holistically instead of issue-by-issue. Everything is connected. It’s almost impossible to work on one thing without touching on anything else.
Just onto the 18 month wait list for DBT, a program I won’t be able to get involved with because it’s multiple days a week and I can’t commit to that. I guess we’ll just let the eating disorder get worse now? I’m so fucking angry.
She’s 31 minutes late. Sounds about right for a hospital. Meanwhile I’m getting less and less optimistic about this phone call (was I ever really optimistic about it?) and more and more anxious.
The antibiotics I’m on are killing my stomach and because I don’t ever get to deal with one thing at a time I have terrible period cramps. It’s like my body took a look at all this and said “you think this is bad. How about this!!”. Ugh, fml.