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Tales from the visits with Mother-In-Law

I went out of town for a few days.  Not a vacation.  More like looking after recently widowed Mother-In-Law.  I love her dearly, but she came back with me for a week, and I’m already nervous.  My dissociation has heightened to an unmeasurable degree.  I don’t play nicely with others, and I don’t want to share my apartment with her.  I couldn’t even begin to write until I heavily medicated myself and put myself into a sleep. I don’t think it’s Mother-In-Law.  I think my new apartment has been created as a place of comfort, and I don’t even like …

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ARE YOU SAFE?

Trigger Warning YOU ARE NOT SAFE, NOT EVEN CLOSE. I am quite uneasy; be still my nerves.  An unknown nagging feeling keeps jabbing at the back of my mind, worrying me, filling me with concern and disrupting my thoughts.   I am supposed to write something for Therapist, but I don’t know if I have an accurate topic.  Something about finding a reason to give up cutting and restricting.   I suppose this is in response to the fact that I’ve been cutting and joined a weight loss program that I am taking a little too far. So I guess …

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I can probably thing of one second of my life where I felt free, not tied down by the rules and laws of whatever vice I am about to give to. I look at the girls in my dining hall at school and none “look” like they cut, burn, or have an eating disorder. I’m sorry, but I feel that our addictions put us in a special category where you have this 6th sense about other people. I search the walls of my campus and see no one like me. I certainly don’t see anything off the chain like me …

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A picture is worth a thousand hateful, ugly words

I’m sitting here dissociating like hell. I feel them right behind my eyes. Heaven help me. I hope this post makes sense. When I was importing my photos to my computer, I saw some my husband, D. had taken of me before and after I went into residential treatment. I almost gagged. There is a marked difference and if anything in the world could make me feel even fatter, it’s those damn pictures. I didn’t erase them. D. didn’t want me to. He thought the pre-residential treatment photos would motivate me to stay on the right track and fight the …

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8th world wonder

I’m the 8th world wonder. No one can figure me out. I defy explanation. I’m either immersed in anorexia or burning my arm off. I’ve gained weight. I can see it, I can feel it, I can sense it, and I detest myself for it. Burning is a way of cleansing myself from my badness. Eating is bad, and I must be punished. I truly detest myself and death has transferred my thought process more than once. This past weekend was Mother’s Day and I completely forgot until I was at the mall buying my thirteen year old god-daughter a …

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History repeats itself

I truly believe my classes are killing me. This is one of the worse weekends I’ve had in ages. We are to write about three memories we have. Holy Hell! Give me a break. And we have to write before we write. I did everything I was asked. I did a continuum map. I journaled about what I might write about. Next, I actually have to write it. And it has to be a word photo, meaning it must be like a photo in that we have 75-100 words to paint a picture of what we are trying to say. …

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