I don’t know what to write. I’ve neglected my blog but not because I want to. I just don’t know what is happening with me. To say my head is chaotic is an understatement.

Well, I guess I will start with the fact that insurance has me all but declared cure and has put me in what is called IOP, where I’m now going down to half days at the mental institution. So instead of going from 10:00am to 7:00pm, I’m going from 11-3. It is a big difference.

I’m not as connected to the program as I was nor the people. I don’t like it and I’ve asked to be discharged, which I know is not a good idea. But being there for half days is like having my arm amputated and I can still feel the appendage. I’m still going there every day but I’m not connected with people. And especially today; when I walked in there were six new in-patients looking at wondering who the hell I was.

I don’t get to meet with my dietician anymore. I have to see her on an outpatient basis. As if I want to. I avoid her like the plague. Everytime they come near you they are waving an increased meal plan in your face. Doesn’t really matter anyway. I’ve ceased following my meal plan. I know I should follow it but I was feeling like I was getting too fat. Now I leave off snacks and dairies and some fruits. I’ve been working out too. Trust me, that’s not good. I’m a compulsive exerciser.

I met with my case manager today and I cried. I NEVER cry. But I told her how estranged and disconnected I am with the program; I didn’t even think anybody would meet with me this week, so when she asked me how I was I just broke down and cried. I feel neglected and think I would just do better as an outpatient.

Really the only reason they’re holding on to me is they are waiting to hear back about residential treatment. I’ve told them the answer will be “no”, residential will not be covered and for the treatment team not to get their hopes up. They know I’m a lost cause so they are banking on anything.

I feel lost. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel so disconnected and discombobulated. D. booked us a trip to Charleston, SC, a place I absolutely love more than anything. We figure we need to look forward to something; so, if the word about residential comes back “no”, we still have something else to look forward to. I can take my broken, messed up, worthless self to Charleston and residential will not even enter my mind.

Maybe a little.

Friday was a crap day. I binged and purged so hard and so often I was close to going to the medical hospital. I binged on anything I could, even cake batter. How f-ed up is that?

I’ve been good since. D. has had to remove certain foods from the house that are more tempting, but really, lets be honest, if I will go to the trouble of mixing cake batter to binge on, then there is virtually no food off limits for my sick mind.

There’s alot of self-loathing in me tonight. I don’t know why. Someone does because I can feel the shifts; I can feel the others switching and sitting up front. I’ve one request of them and they won’t honor it.

I’ve simply asked them to let me know who is upfront, who is taking over. Give me a freakin’ name or feeling. But I get nothing. I disappear beside them, missing though in plain sight. Thus, my blog: Missing In Sight. It’s a treasure hunt to find me. Where did I go this time? Who the f*&k is running the show.

These are questions I have (switch just now) and never get answers to. So, for the rest of the night I guess I’ll keep switching and not know who I am or where I am. Where is Missing In Sight?

Who is writing while she’s gone?