These days it is extremely rare that I come across a food that literally strikes terror in me, but there is still one. Anything from Dairy Queen literally makes me shake with terror. My parents tried to take me there once while I was sick and I ended up crying and shaking in line and eventually my mom had to help me walk back to the car. 2 months ago I tried Dairy Queen for the first time post-treatment. It didn’t go well. I took two bites and freaked out with the third bite and spit it out. Not my best moment. Tonight I tried it again. It went much better. I believe 100% that I have gained like 5 pounds by eating that but I know that’s the eating disorder. If people gained 5 pounds every time they ate ice cream no one would eat ice cream. It’s weird. I eat ice cream all the time. It’s one of my favourite things about recovery. It’s so good but for whatever reason Dairy Queen strikes the fear of God in me. I did it though. It’s probably not something I will do again any time soon but I did do it and, as shitty as I feel right now, it’s kind of awesome that I did.
I am stuck on an emotional roller coaster and I’m ready to get off now. I have reluctantly started taking my medication again but I know the ups and downs aren’t going to stop. The only thing that did help was the mood stabilizer I was on and I don’t think I want to go back on that. I guess that leaves me trying to learn to cope with the ups and downs. I don’t really want to do that but what choice do I have?
I was at two emotional extremes yesterday. The morning and afternoon were great. I was so happy and I felt good about myself and everything was just awesome. At some point in the late afternoon/early evening things started slipping and by the time I went to bed I was in an unpleasant place. I was counting the limited number of pills I have, drinking, thinking and thinking of anywhere there could be something sharp hiding, etc. My head was swimming in unwanted thoughts. I don’t know why I’m using the past tense, it’s still swimming in unwanted thoughts.
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Anonymous asked: Please take your wellbutrin and please don't hurt yourself. At a bad part of my ED I was trying to get ON wellbutrin because I heard it caused weight loss. Regardless, you should take it because you deserve to feel better.
Thanks for the message. I’m going to try to start taking it tomorrow. I got my prescription filled yesterday with the intention of starting it this morning but I couldn’t do it. I’ll try again tomorrow though. : )
I’m really struggling. Really really struggling with eating and body image. I had breakfast this morning and I feel so guilty. I wish I hadn’t had it. I cried and cried and cried this morning trying to get dressed and then I cried and cried and cried again while making breakfast. I’m so fed up. I’m so fat now and it’s not ok. I don’t want to leave the house because I don’t want people to see me. I’m fucking embarrassed by what I look like right now. I’m disgusted by how fucking fat I’ve gotten. I’m angry that I did the right thing and ate normally and took the medications I was told to take and I was repaid with weight gain. Now I’m supposed to just eat normally and pretend that that never happened? I’ve been off the medications for over a month and fucking nothing has happened to my weight. Not a fucking thing. The only thing that has happened is my mood has seriously suffered but I won’t actually admit that to the psychiatrist because I refuse to go back on the medications of any other medication because I’m convinced that any pill I put in my mouth will cause weight gain. I can’t even take the wellbutrin I’m supposed to be taking. He told me that it doesn’t cause weight gain and usually actually causes weight loss. I don’t believe him. That’s the same thing he said about prozac and that’s the wonder drug that caused all this fucking weight gain problem in the first place. Things were fucking fine in the department until prozac came on the scene. It was only a few weeks ago that he told me that all the medications except for wellbutrin could cause weight gain. This is a dramatically different story than I was told when each medication was prescribed. Every time he added a medication the first question out of my mouth was “will it make me gain weight?” and he always answered with “no, I wouldn’t do that to you. That side effect would basically counter the effect of the medication.” Fucking liar.
I’m sick of being lied to. “Give recovery a year and everything will be so much better” “this won’t make you gain weight”, “You’re not gaining weight”. “it only takes a year for your body to find its set point”, “you won’t be size x again”, “you’re body won’t let you get that heavy again”, “things will get better”, etc. I always feel a little better when I hear those things until I think about how many times I’ve heard them before and how none of them are true and then I feel like shit again. I think back to all those meeting I had in the hospital and I think about everything they said to me and how it made me so hopeful that things could actually be good and I just want to scream. I should have listened to my gut feeling of the situation and left early on. I shouldn’t have stuck around and let them lie to me week after week.
No one here knows how I feel. They have no fucking clue. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut and forcing a smile and a laugh when appropriate. I’m home alone all day which gives me lots of time to cry and throw little tantrums without anyone knowing. Even when they get home I only have to act for a few hours before I get to say “I’m tired I’m going to bed” and then lock the door, curl up in the fetal position, and cry until I can’t breathe. This actually isn’t that different from my routine in Toronto, there’s only slightly more acting here. I mean, in Toronto I could cry whenever the fuck I felt like it and I could do whatever I wanted while having my little breakdown, here I have to plan it a little more but really, there’s no difference, there’s still a lot of crying. The diet talk here so far has been kept to a minimum. The scale isn’t hidden anymore, so that’s already become part of my daily routine. I thought that this morning I would be able to say no to the scale and keep it to like a once a week thing but I couldn’t do it. I was literally on the scale within 2 minutes of waking up.
I’ve had self harm urges since Sunday. That’s not fun. I ripped apart every box and bag that didn’t go to the storage locker last night looking for anything sharp. I must have thrown everything out. I don’t have any memory of doing that but there’s nothing left. I don’t know where else to look. There’s just no way that they are left in with the stuff in the locker. It just doesn’t make sense. If I did throw them out I regret that as much as I regret getting rd of my bottles of pills.I don’t think there’s a word in the english language that can accurately describe how I feel about myself. I need to start taking the wellbutrin again. I think I’ve spent every free minute I’ve had for the last 5 days planning how I’m going to kill myself. That’s always a clear sign that things in my brain aren’t working quite the way they should. Of course, I’ve never felt quite so trapped in my life either. I’ve brainstormed solutions to this with my friend and we both kind of came to the conclusion that I am stuck and the next three months are going to suck quite a bit.
I have plans with a friend tonight. The only friend I have in the entire town. I don’t want to go because she’s going to see right through me and we’re going to end up talking about things and I don’t want to do that. I look like shit. I don’t want to leave the house. Well, I kind of do because I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want anyone to fucking look at me if I do leave. I’ve given up wearing makeup for two reasons:1. I don’t care. I look like shit anyway, makeup is just a time consuming process that isn’t hiding anything. 2. My makeup bag is lost in the storage locker somewhere. Maybe I would feel better if I actually tried to look ok. I don’t have the patience to go and sift through my things again looking for this stupid little bag. I don’t know what this has to do with anything.
Holy shit, it’s only 11:40. There’s going to be at least 12 hours before I can go to bed again. I hate the feeling of living for an acceptable time to go to bed but that is what I have to look forward to right now.
I’m already bored. There’s nothing to do. I can’t walk anywhere because we live in the middle of nowhere. I took a drive around town this morning and there is fucking nothing to do. I weighed myself this morning. My mom has stopped making an attempt to hide the scale. It has stayed the exact fucking same for the last 2 weeks meaning that everything I am eating is at least maintaining this weight. So, I’m one day into my stay at home and I’m pretty much done with eating. I just can’t do this. I can’t go shopping because I refuse to buy this size, I can’t keep wearing the same few things over and over again, plus I can’t take the mental strain of being this fat anymore. I’m fucking done. I feel trapped. Mentally I’m trapped in a never ending struggle with the eating disorder and physically I’m trapped here because there is absolutely nothing to do.
My apartment is bare, aside from the million tiny things that need to go out to the recycling or garbage. It’s depressing. It really just sunk in today that this is actually happening and I’ll be moving home for a few months and everything is going to be different. I’m here until Tuesday with nothing. Luckily, tomorrow I have an appointment with the psychiatrist (last one? I hope so!) and then work, so not a lot of alone time sitting around here being sad. Plus, I have a friend coming tomorrow night (at least I think he’s coming tomorrow night) to drink and say farewell to my dear first apartment. It does kind of suck in here right now. White, bare walls, no tv, no furniture of any kind. There are literally two places to sit in here right now, the floor or the lawn chair. I have no curtains any more so no real sense of privacy. The rest of the day shall be spent with my swiffer and vacuum getting all the clumps of Bailey’s hair out from the corners and from behind doors. Good times.
Not today universe. Not today.
I liked that girl too. I just don’t have it in me for awkward conversation today.
Movie night with Jen in a few hours. Last one. : (
