Recovery?

I want to stop therapy.  I know it's bad but I so desperately want to.  I don't know where that girl who was so determined to get better went.  I sit at chick fil a with the kids I nanny for and think about how I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing anymore.

I'm officially 88% of my ideal weight and it doesn't mean a goddamn thing.  Everything hurts, everything aches and I AM SO FUCKING TIRED.   

I'm not even afraid anymore.  I'm not angry.  And I'm not sad.   

I am just numb.  

I keep going to therapy but some how her words are jumbled now.  They don't connect with me as much as they used to and I feel like she must be talking to and about someone else.  

restrict restrict restrict purge run restrict restrict restrict.  I'm like a little bucket filling and emptying.  My shrink says I'm making progress, my dietician does not.  The weight keeps coming off and off and off and sadly it matters very little anymore.  No food feels safe, no place feels safe.  

I am utterly lost.

Austen

Slipping

I feel myself slipping further and further into the mirror and it terrifies me.  I want to fight but I am so so tired.

Into the looking glass

As I get deeper and deeper into my eating disorder it becomes harder to see my way out.  When I stand up now, my head spins.  I've stopped calling treatment facilities- stopped signing up for studies and am wanting to stop therapy because none of these people seem to understand that I don't know if I have the capacity any longer to get better.

I'm 19 years old, I'm looking at a vastly abbreviated lifespan and while I'm not okay with that I think that I accept it.

Food terrifies me.  I love to cook so I cook up the most beautiful looking food and I stare at it when it's completed and try desperately to will it away.  I can no longer eat anything that has more than three ingrediants because food, especially when its not in its simplest form, just seems so complicated.  Everything seems complicated lately; food, breathing, eating, sleeping, school.

If I don't get the Tracey Gold Project, I am moving to Colorado.

Thought's aren't making sense anymore, I keep going in and out.

Austen

Ambivilent

I'm constantly going back and forth with my eating disorder.  I want to be better but I don't know how to cope without my eating disorder because its all I know.  I cling to it like its my salvation, hold to starvation like it's my savior and turn my thinspiration into goddesses and look to them if they might teach me not to need.  My therapist talks about the different parts of me: the hurt, neglected, child, the rebellious, angry teenager and the present me.  When she talks about this present me I sometimes wonder who she is refering to.  Is it Austen the the bulimic, the anoretic, the EDNOS, the dissociative identity disorder, the whore, the prostitute, the rape victim, the student?  Or is it Austen the broken, the confused the hurt and the in pain.  The girl who hates her body so much that she desperately tries to carve away at it with knives and purging and restricting and running until she collapses.  The girl who can no longer go two hours without her eating disorder, the girl who no longer knows when she ends and her eating disorder begins.

I reread Wasted over and over again and the last sentence in the book reads: In the end, there is the letting go.  That is just something that right now, I can't do.

Austen

Maddness

I can't decide if I'm mad or if eating disorders are maddening.  But then again what's the difference?  Everything hurts.  Every inch of my body screams and aches with need but I run, I starve, I purge, I do anything to make it shut up.  I feel like I don't even function anyone; like somewhere along the line my soul gave up and died.  This person, this girl who purges and starves and ignores her friends and family and hates and wants to slip into oblivion-she cannot be me.  This cannot be my life, this cannot be what I was meant for.

I cup my hip bones, count my ribs, and feel validated so I continue through the rabbit hole, into the looking glass-whatever you want to call it.  I feel like somewhere along the way I've given up on life.  I want desperately for someone to save me but I know that I wouldn't let them if they tried.

Austen

I drink coffee. I sip diet soda. I take my zoloft. I feel wholly nasuseas. I constantly feel like I'm spilling out of my body and I need to be contained. I feel this horrible need that threatens, and often manages, to seap out reminding me that my body and it's need still exist. I don't know any other way to contain this except to drink coffee, and soda and focus on the starving because this is at least better than the bulimia.

My bulimia terrifys me. I feel like it comes out when my horrible need surfaces with a vengence and my normal looking body that bulimia leaves me with is it's way of saying: this is what you get you greedy horrible pig. Underneath the normalcy the world doesn't see the burning throat, or churning stomach, or blistered tongue. They don't see the scarred knuckles, or thinning esophogus or spinning head, they just see normal, which I know is not the case. Starving leaves me with a stomach that's concave, with softened curves, with smaller jeans. Starving gives me a visual validation of sorts, it's my way of saying that things are not alright, they're fucked up, can't you see that? Now I just have to follow through.

J'accuse
Austen

So I'm Gonna

So I've decided that I'm going to lose more weight even if it kills me. I've been at this eating disordered business for a while and I feel like it's time to step out of the minors and go pro.  You see its never really been about being thin for me it's been about dealing with this giant fuckedupmess know as life.  Bulimia was my way of calcifying my problems without actually dealing with them.  But now that I'm actually dealing, I just restrict, because I honest to God cannot take anything else in right now.  I hurt, things are not okay and I have to take control over my body.

It's game time.

Austen