rough roads. roads? hell, the air is rough. I'm just going to say this because I'm keeping it too quiet, and it's bugging me. I'm struggling. with the eating disorder, mainly. I talked about it with the doc for a long while today, and you know, we don't usually go there. but we did, in detail. what's it saying, what's it doing. I had this horrible time yesterday when (after all these months of going to the pool) I looked at myself in the suit and started bawling. the evil "why do you look that way?" thoughts started, and those thoughts are punishing, so up behind them came the reasons I need to be punished. really *legitimate* things like I've been eating cookies and ice cream and oh-my-godd. I hate it. which means I get to beat myself up for "caring" - for struggling with this at all, for "letting it get to me." hi, can we say disease? loop after loop of disease? not. my. fault. suckkkkkk? yeah.
I still need to call Sara; I want so much to talk to her, but I hate saying things are hard. I don't know how to tell someone things are hard without worrying them, and I don't want her to worry. it's hard enough. I know that's ridiculous, considering how close we are, and how many hard things we've gone through together, and the fact that I always want to know whether she's ok - and I know she feels the same... I think I'm scared to hear her treat it like it's something worth being afraid of because I can't stand to be afraid myself. and I am. this time, I really am. even though I believe this isn't different from any of the other times over the past two-and-some years, that I won't go back to it, that I'll be alright. I'm scared because it has me thinking badly of myself, and feeling compelled to restrict or purge or whatever, and on top of that coming up with - basically - ideas. ideas of how to spread food out and eat less and just ridiculous ideas. along with old obsessions about not letting it be visible that I've eaten. too many dishes, a marked reduction in some food-product - that sort of thing. it's just bad. and I'm doing a very good job of not letting it be worse, but it's so awful. that's a large part of what I was crying about in the parking lot when I had that lovely random meeting. that it's still here, still strong, still terrifying. that it can still have this much power.
the doc asked some questions about what flared it up... I don't know really, but I mentioned being more scared (for her and for myself) since I learned Brea's been struggling. he mentioned something I'd said about their not being any food in the house because my mom, tired from her job, had let it slide an extra day or two... I don't think the lack of food did much to me, but I think the *difference* after she did shop made it seem like there was more in the house - because it wasn't just a slight replenishing. it was practically bare cabinets and then stocked ones. I don't know. there has to be deeper emotional shit, too - I would think - but it could be anything. everything I've been talking about and digging up and dishing on? ...pick a topic, you know? I can't trace it yet.
I managed to tell him the two scariest things, and he was really good about it all. the first thing - the one that's actually the scariest thing - is that like always, I'm desperate to go to Rogers, and unlike always it isn't "minus the hospital part." that part sounds comforting to me, too. the idea that I could be there, and just openly struggle, and not have to make myself eat like I've been doing this for three years - eat like a new admit and be at Rogers and... it scares the hell out of me how tempting that is right now. I'm so desperate for people to look after me. I mean... wow. I think the doctor might have hugged me today if I hadn't instinctively moved toward the door right as he touched my shoulder. if I'd given him sort of, "godd, yes, PLEASE" signal. I know it's getting intense because I don't even care if the comfort is coming from real friends or genuine emotion; I don't care if it's fake sugary, patronizing comfort at this point... (well, I do, but I'd still accept it.) and normally, I prefer to survive on my own. which we all know I hate. so yeah. far gone.
the other one wasn't so much a scary thing as something I didn't realize I needed to say and ended up just sort of blurting out as we were finishing. he'd given me a little pep-talk-type-deal, and we'd talked about yarn and my cat, and all of it... we were talking about what a mess it was, and he said something about a ball of yarn, and I joked about how I have several billion literal yarn balls, and he asked if I could bring one in to leave there. (because he wants me to feel safe leaving the mess there for him to deal with, so I'm not so overwhelmed by it when I'm alone.) I said, "something for the cat to play with," and he laughed, agreeing. I was wiping my tears away and preparing to take on the weekend, when it just swept over me again, and I said to him in this shaking, terrified, young voice, "Just please don't let me go back to it." I'd spent the session detailing all the ways in which I felt like I was backsliding, and all the ways in which I know I'm not, and all the reasons I'm scared to go back, and tempted I will, on and on and on... and then there was just this voice at the end - after all of the pros and cons and shit saying, "please, if I lose my mind, and start to walk back into that, don't let me." (I'm trembling as I type it, I swear. it's so important.) and he said, "I've got you. I'm not letting you go back into anything. I've got hold of your yarn ball." I smiled. "and," he said, "I have hold of your cat, too." I smiled again. but it was really important in a serious way. one of those moments when it rocks that we aren't just friends, when it's important that he's about fifteen years older than me...
but yeah. it's like being forty feet up in the air, on some ropes element, and Dwight's at the bottom and he can see me shaking and he's telling me, the ropes are secure, they're holding on, I'm safe, no matter how deadly the drop looks. godd, I love Dwight. even his metaphoric presence... it's like that. because I'm *not going back*... I'm not going back to being sick, I'm not going to live in a hospital, and I am *not going to die*... but sometimes that's really hard to believe. it helps to know I don't have to hold this position all on my own. it helps to know that, even as I'm digging in my heels and trying to maintain my space, there are people all around me to help me stay secure. that if I start to slide, the slack will go taut, and I'll have someone like the doctor holding me in place. someone who can listen to me scream, "Let me go! Let me go! I want to do this!" look at me with understanding and gently say, "No. I won't let you go."
Chas said to me when I was a freshman that I'm "too important to this world not to be a part of it." and I held onto that even when I was really, really sick. but it's different when someone is in a position to add, "so we're going to make sure you stay." she went to the moon and back for me a million times; I don't mean to minimize that. but she knew as well as I did she couldn't keep me safe. better, probably. and I'm just amazed, talking, at the idea of not being alone. I talked about being an adult and falling on my face because I can't take care of myself or live on my own - something I've explained several times before - and the doctor told me once again how it doesn't work that way, how everyone relies on other people, how no one can do it alone, etc. and to me, it's like a fairy tale. d'ya really mean that? how many people can you say, "things will never be as hard as they were when you were eight" or fifteen or whatever age - to? you know? I'm convinced I have to survive on my own because I did have to, for way too long. and when he makes that promise, which he always does... it's like a real-life-dream-come-true. the laws of the universe change and things are as I always wished.
even when I'm sliding and scared. I know it's been years, and I know this doesn't display the best learning curve... but... it still amazes me. I still look at it every time and say, "you mean it? you mean I'm really not alone?"
really. really, I'm safe now. and I'm not going anywhere bad. I'm not going back there. it's promised.
~me