thoughts

I had group tonight. It was really good, although I felt like I was all over the place when I was sharing what's been going on the past couple of weeks. I got some really good feedback from the other women and from my group leader, who all told me how proud they are of me. It felt good to hear that. There was a new girl in group tonight who just got out of treatment. When she was talking I just saw so much of myself in her. I almost started crying when giving her feedback. I told her that I know it's SO hard right now, only being home a couple of weeks but it does get better. That she has to take it one day, one meal, one snack, one bite, at a time. I guess that's also something I really needed to hear to and maybe that's why I felt like crying. I gave her my phone number at the end of group and told her I am here for her if she needs anything.

A couple of the other women were talking about how they are are so sick of being sick and tired. I felt...I don't know...weird, when they said that. Because, I feel like I'm past that stage of being sick of being sick, but...I can't tell you how many times I've felt that way before, only to eventually relapse and resort to old habits and behaviors. Why is this time any different? I guess it just feels different than it has before. I keep waiting for the hope, and excitement, and positive attitude to die off. But it doesn't. So maybe this is it. Maybe I FINALLY am at the point where I'm never going to turn back to my ED. But like I said, I keep waiting for the good feelings to fade away and if they do, I don't think I will be all that surprised. *shrugs shoulders* I don't know...

I have been thinking about something lately. When I relapsed really bad last year, more around January actually, I felt that I needed more intense help than the once a week therapy I was getting. I felt I needed to go back to treatment. When I mentioned this to my parents, they seemed to blow it off and didn't think I needed it. When I got suicidal and went to the psych hospital, my psychiatrist seemed to be the only one who thought I needed to go away to treatment. My therapist thought maybe I just needed an intensive outpatient, or to go to Remuda Life and she told me my dietitian agreed. I have never asked my dietitian if that was actually her perception as well. Looking back, I really didn't give that much thought at the time. But now, when I think about it...I get really pissed off. I didn't seem to be "bad enough" for my therapist or my parents. But I certainly felt like I needed treatment. I can't imagine what would have happened if I had gone home when I got out of the hospital, instead of going straight to treatment. My parents finally decided I needed treatment when my psychiatrist told them I needed it. Apparently, my opinion wasn't enough. Even though they told me that if I felt I needed treatment, then they would pay for it, and they did. But it just makes me mad because this makes me have feelings of like...oh well I wasn't "sick enough" back then. My blood work wasn't bad enough, I didn't look thin enough, or purge enough, or cut enough, or skip enough meals. When I think like that, I want to go back to my ED and do it the "right way". Ugh, it just makes me feel crappy. Maybe I should talk about this in therapy or something?

Anyway...that's just my thoughts for the night.