i beg of you not to read this post. it’s like the children’s book about Grover and a monster at the end of the book. Don’t be engage in self-harm behavior by reading a post that is nothing short of dull, obtuse, unimportant ramblings.
I warned you. 🙂
i don’t know who I am right now. Seriously. My hands feel real. I feel attached. But I also feel really blank, unaware.
But I also feel something like a secondary emotion; the emotion is fear and it’s not mine but is being filtered through me. I don’t feel safe inside my skin or mind. I’m literally sitting on the floor of my bathroom, the only place I’ve ever felt safe. When we were children, some of the littles would sleep in the bathroom because they were too scared to sleep in the bed. It’s not my apprehension, but another member is dictating me to blog in the bathroom tonight.
I guess it makes sense. As adults, there is nothing more relaxing than a dimly lit bathroom overdosing on odiferous candles and a hot bubble bath ready to disencumber one from all his or her troubles. But I’m lying on a cold tile floor with a space heater whirring in my ear. Not the same as a bubble bath, but the room itself is what makes it safe.
There is a lot of self hatred brewing inside; i don’t know where it comes from. it’s irritability, a consequence of inadequate nutrition. although if you are viewing the main page you will see the widget recording we have gone four days with no purging or self harm. exercise is not included in that number nor restrictive meals, so it’s only half a victory.
as am i, this day also was: nothing special. our “bank of knowledge” and collective memory tells me that we took the girls to school today, came back and fell asleep and woke up fifteen minutes before our therapy appointment. but we scrambled, grabbed our gym bag, and ran out the door.
therapy has been very…what’s the word…peculiar this week. (We go 3x’s a week for now.) Yesterday and today we’ve played some type of game instead of just sitting and having our usual interview-like sessions. Tuesday it was Uno and today it was a board game. at first some members were glad and some mad at wasting time or not being able to really talk about heavy issues, as if they ever do anyway ( I hear fighting in the head as a result of that comment.) To Randy’s (our T.)credit or not, an important and strategic move has come about by playing games. Randy is established as a real person, a human, an individual with feelings, and someone with whom we can let go of our “proper” facade. I guess I’m just trying to say the whole process is much easier when you can relax with your T. and sit on the floor and play a game of cards. And it brings the littles out.
Randy didn’t know it today but one of our eleven year old alters was watching, wanting to jump in, but feeling the game a little too complicated. She was pretty frightened, not of the game, but just the outside world. She’s very damaged but I would love for her to come out and play. She just needs to take that leap of faith. But I can’t really ask her to do that, or at least I wouldn’t feel right asking her. She’s so damaged. But perhaps if she knows she has bodyguards and that nothing bad will happen she will do more than peek over shoulders.
Tomorrow we receive an evaluation for an Intensive Outpatient Program. I’m not looking forward to this because I feel I’m walking into a set-up. I’m probably just being paranoid but this is at a psych hospital and when we’ve been evaluated there before we were put inpatient, even though we thought we would only be admitted to the IOP. We’re not skinny and we are physically healthy and not actively suicidal, so there is really no chance that they would recommend in-patient. The answer’s “no” if they try.
I must admit that there will be battles ahead. Say I’m in the IOP, I can guess they will want me to at least maintain and I’m not down with that. Hell to the NO!@!
I’m trying to work my schedule out, also, to be able to fit in my workout routine. The IOP starts at 10:30, I believe, and goes to 3:00. There’s a second one that lasts longer and goes to 7:00. Either way, I can get my work out in early in the morning. If, and it’s a BIG as me if, that I stay till 7:00, I could probably workout as well, it just wouldn’t be as long. But I could make up for it in the morning by working out before group and after group.
When I hear this crazy, shit talk in my head I also hear the flip of it and how the weight isn’t important and it’s about the abuse and the abuse and food are directly related. we’ve made that connection and can’t go back on it. it’s a reality. and we can’t help the littles or each other by downplaying or down right ignoring that the ONLY way to get healthy physically and mentally is to let go of the food and weight and focus on the internal world. I know we really want to get better. This is the time. Deserving or not, I can’t stand dying like this anymore.
well, i’m going to call this post a wrap. i wish i had something poetic or poignant or motivating to offer the readers. My life is dull. I hear laughter in my head, I guess because it’s not true. It’s always crazy and always messy and we are always high maintenance. Something is always forgotten or missed. We need to stop comparing our blog to others. We write about the ups and downs of everyday recovery and relapse. We don’t always have a theme, and that’s just the way it is.
I’ve rambled way too long and most of you are beginning to nod off at this point in the post, if you’ve made it this for. Congratulations, but promise me you won’t indulge in anymore self-harm anymore by reading the posts of mine that are this boring.
one alter down, missing in action
as this was being typed, more images of old times came raining down