Another day, another death

I feel a crippling sadness seizing me tonight. I’m moving to a lower level of care. It is still part of the residential treatment facility I’m in, but it will not be as intensive and we will have more autonomy, which I know we are not ready for. I’m sad because there were only two things we wanted accomplished when we left treatment and that was less chaos in the head and not to be so preoccupied with food and weight. Neither of those things have happened. We will always be mentally ill. I just find it rather sad and pathetic that someone who people said had so much potential is just going to waste away inside her own pathology.

There’s not much else to say. I really wish I didn’t feel this way. I’m trying to remember that we aren’t discharged and we aren’t going home yet. We’ve just moved to a lower level of care. We still see our T. three times a week.

But it hurts. Some how it seems odd that just as we our getting into the crap that defined us we get moved to a level of care that we need more of. I wish they would just discharge me. Get it over with. I know what will happen when I leave. I will start restricting again. What is stupid is that I know the eating disorder is related to early trauma. I’ve at least learned that. I just always thought I needed to lose weight because I was a big fat blimp. At least now I know I’m a big fat blimp with an eating disorder related to trauma. Ha ha! Whatever. I cut myself short when I minimize what we’ve been through and that was very disrespectful to the ones who underwent the trauma and I apologize.

At least the members and I are getting along better, except for one. I don’t know her purpose but she is always making me sleepy at the most inopportune moments. She is a protector but I don’t know against what. She doesn’t respond when I try to dialogue with her. I don’t know what she wants. Before, she only “drugged” me and made me feel tired around food. Now it’s throughout the day. I don’t know if she is trying to keep us from talking or what. I have compassion for her, even if I don’t know who the hell she is.

My life is going off the tracks. I’m scared to death. The world is going silent.

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Hey, y'all. My name is Becca, and I run this mental health website called Missing In Sight. I am a mental health warrior, battling stigma and discrimination right by your side. I created this blog to share my personal stories of pain, strength, and hope so you know you are never alone.

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