I don't really know how I'm getting through the days right now. Probably because I'm in therapy twice a week. And I'm sure my medications are having me holding on by a thread. And, the once in a while good or fun thing that happens. But that's it.
I'm really depressed. Nights are the hardest. I get this heavy/panic feeling in my chest. And I get scared. I'm not sure what I'm scared of. I just feel like I need to talk to someone. In the back of my head, I know things I can do to soothe or calm myself. But it's so hard to remember to do that. I am borderline suicidal. I say borderline because I don't have any plans to kill myself. But I am miserable. I feel like I'm in a deep, endless black hole. Like, I'm so, so unhappy.
I'm terrified because my therapist is going to be out of the office next week, and I won't see her for two weeks. And I won't be able to call her I don't think. She gave me the pager number of her partner in the office next to her. But I wouldn't really feel comfortable calling her unless it was an urgent crisis. I've never even met her.
I'm just really, really scared that I'm not going to be able to communicate with my therapist. More scared than I am willing admit to her. I saw her today, and I see her again on Wendesday.
We had a discussion on Friday about if I ever feel like the trauma symptoms are too much and if I'm feeling unsafe, that instead of going to a psychiatric hospital, she would want to send me to a treatment center that's for trauma related issues. That's a really scary thought. Sometimes I think I need to do that. But I don't want to leave my therapist. She is the only person I can talk to about EVERYTHING. She's the only one I trust.
I just don't know how much longer I can hang in.
Showing posts with label treatment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label treatment. Show all posts
Monday, December 17, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Stuck
I continue to feel stuck. I have good days and bad days. Which is what recovery is I guess. But it feels more discouraging then it did six months ago.
I have moments where I can imagine that hope again. I can practically feel it. I believe in recovery and believe it will work for me, and I will be able to achieve it. I am overcome with emotion in those moments, envisioning myself without an eating disorder, loving life and myself.
And then I have moments where going backwards would be easier then staying where I am now. It's almost like a limbo. It at times feels like being in between recovery and relapse, having a need for behaviors. My dietitian agrees. She tells me I am in the part of recovery where there are almost constant ups and downs.
I don't understand how it went from feeling on top of the world and full of hope for several months, to being in the place where I am now. It's very, very frustrating.
Eating is okay, I think. I skip meals here and there, which isn't deal. But I am trying harder. I have more fight, or at least it feels that way. I find myself challenging myself with foods I enjoy, eating for pleasure, instead of just for survival. I sometimes feel guilt after eating things like girl scout cookies, candy, or chips. But I enjoy it in the moment. When things get too tough emotionally, my head immediately thinks of bingeing/purging. I have not given in.
Body image is such a roller coaster. For a while I actually somewhat kind of liked what I looked like. I appreciated that I looked healthy and alive. Right now I'm in this place where I want to lose weight, but in order to do that I feel like I would have to go back to purging. I constantly compare my body to others. I have been throwing away old clothes. Clothes that fit me for years, look like a child's clothes to me now. Jeans that fit me a year ago, I am not able to get past my thighs. It's discouraging. But I think it's worth it. I accept the weight I am. I know it's where I need to be to maintain health. But I still don't like it, and at times I still want it to be lower. But I guess the good thing is that I am not actively trying to lose weight.
I had a horrible day yesterday. I found out one of my dogs, Lucy, has throat cancer, and isn't expected to live but a couple more months. I was inconsolable. I can't imagine my life without her. She came from such a broken and cruel world before we rescued and adopted her. I love her so, so much. I have been crying on and off since I found out yesterday. Going in and out of denial as well. For now she doesn't seem to be in pain, but she struggles to eat and swallow, and I can't take her on long walks anymore, or throw a tennis ball with her. It just about kills me.
I feel like I want to vomit when I think about it.
I am moving into a new place this weekend. I am excited, but more stressed. I have so much packing and cleaning to do. It just feels like so much right now. Once I am all moved in, I am sure I will feel alot better.
Panic seems to have crept back into my life. I have had two panic attacks in the past two weeks. Bad panic attacks too, the kind where I almost pass out and can't see, breathe, move, or speak. It's been scary and frustrating dealing with that again.
All in all, as hard and as scary and confusing and frustrating as things are right now, how incredibly overwhelming and difficult my life is at the moment, I have a lot to be thankful for.
I am so blessed to have a God who loves me and cares about me, who is with me every step of the way. He provides me with so much comfort and peace and guidance. I am so glad I have let the Lord back into my heart this past year, though I suspect He never left, because I am still alive after all I put my body through for the past 9 years.
I have an amazingly wonderful treatment team. Amazing.
My best friends mean the absolute world to me. Especially the girls I met in treatment. No one gets this journey like they do. What a blessing.
The family I nanny for provide me with comic relief.
But for now, I need my rest. I haven't felt like I have had a break in weeks. It's taking its toll.
I have moments where I can imagine that hope again. I can practically feel it. I believe in recovery and believe it will work for me, and I will be able to achieve it. I am overcome with emotion in those moments, envisioning myself without an eating disorder, loving life and myself.
And then I have moments where going backwards would be easier then staying where I am now. It's almost like a limbo. It at times feels like being in between recovery and relapse, having a need for behaviors. My dietitian agrees. She tells me I am in the part of recovery where there are almost constant ups and downs.
I don't understand how it went from feeling on top of the world and full of hope for several months, to being in the place where I am now. It's very, very frustrating.
Eating is okay, I think. I skip meals here and there, which isn't deal. But I am trying harder. I have more fight, or at least it feels that way. I find myself challenging myself with foods I enjoy, eating for pleasure, instead of just for survival. I sometimes feel guilt after eating things like girl scout cookies, candy, or chips. But I enjoy it in the moment. When things get too tough emotionally, my head immediately thinks of bingeing/purging. I have not given in.
Body image is such a roller coaster. For a while I actually somewhat kind of liked what I looked like. I appreciated that I looked healthy and alive. Right now I'm in this place where I want to lose weight, but in order to do that I feel like I would have to go back to purging. I constantly compare my body to others. I have been throwing away old clothes. Clothes that fit me for years, look like a child's clothes to me now. Jeans that fit me a year ago, I am not able to get past my thighs. It's discouraging. But I think it's worth it. I accept the weight I am. I know it's where I need to be to maintain health. But I still don't like it, and at times I still want it to be lower. But I guess the good thing is that I am not actively trying to lose weight.
I had a horrible day yesterday. I found out one of my dogs, Lucy, has throat cancer, and isn't expected to live but a couple more months. I was inconsolable. I can't imagine my life without her. She came from such a broken and cruel world before we rescued and adopted her. I love her so, so much. I have been crying on and off since I found out yesterday. Going in and out of denial as well. For now she doesn't seem to be in pain, but she struggles to eat and swallow, and I can't take her on long walks anymore, or throw a tennis ball with her. It just about kills me.
I feel like I want to vomit when I think about it.
I am moving into a new place this weekend. I am excited, but more stressed. I have so much packing and cleaning to do. It just feels like so much right now. Once I am all moved in, I am sure I will feel alot better.
Panic seems to have crept back into my life. I have had two panic attacks in the past two weeks. Bad panic attacks too, the kind where I almost pass out and can't see, breathe, move, or speak. It's been scary and frustrating dealing with that again.
All in all, as hard and as scary and confusing and frustrating as things are right now, how incredibly overwhelming and difficult my life is at the moment, I have a lot to be thankful for.
I am so blessed to have a God who loves me and cares about me, who is with me every step of the way. He provides me with so much comfort and peace and guidance. I am so glad I have let the Lord back into my heart this past year, though I suspect He never left, because I am still alive after all I put my body through for the past 9 years.
I have an amazingly wonderful treatment team. Amazing.
My best friends mean the absolute world to me. Especially the girls I met in treatment. No one gets this journey like they do. What a blessing.
The family I nanny for provide me with comic relief.
But for now, I need my rest. I haven't felt like I have had a break in weeks. It's taking its toll.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Surreal
This day has been so surreal. 1 year ago today I was admitted to Remuda Ranch East, here in Virginia. I spent the next 30 days at the ranch, and then transferred to Remuda Life Program in Arizona.
I remember one year ago today pretty clearly. I was still in the hospital, where I had been for the past 5 days, after almost attempting suicide. I found out on the 14th that I was going to be going to Remuda. My mom picked me up from the hospital at around 12pm. I remember walking outside the hospital and feeling the sunshine and the cold air on my face. It felt so good, after being in the hospital for nearly a week. My mom took me back to her her house, where I reunited with my dogs. My dad was on his way home with some subs from Subway. I took a long, hot shower and by the time I was done my dad was home. I barely ate my sub. Then my parents told me Remuda was expecting me by 2:30 or 3, so I drove back to my house and packed. It was weird, not having really any time to plan what I was going to pack. I basically put all of my winter clothes in my suitcase, and all the other essentials. Even though I was going to a treatment center, I still wanted to look my best. So I did my hair, and my make-up, and put on a cute outfit. I know that sounds crazy. Then, I loaded my two suitcases into my car and before I drove back over to my parent's house, I texted my therapist, who already knew what I was doing. But she gave me some last minute encouragement and said I could write her.
When I got to my parent's house, I put my stuff in my dad's car and we hit the road. I still remember sitting in the back seat, with my parents in the front. I looked out the window as we left town. I remember thinking that I couldn't believe I was going back to treatment. I had been wanting to go back for a few weeks, but didn't ever think my family could afford it.
On the way there, "M" called. He was my best friend at the time, my co-worker, my friend with benefits, whatever you want to call it. At the time, I didn't think it was an unhealthy relationship. I had a long conversation with him, which was awkward at times because my parents were in the front seat. My friend Karen also called, but I had put my phone on silent by then and missed her call, but listened to her voicemail once I realized she had called. I also texted all the trusted friends in my life and told them where I was going. I also had to call someone at my work to set up getting disability payments while I was away.
Remuda was about 1 hour away from my house, so we got there pretty quickly. I still remember the CD we listened to on the way there. As we got closer, I got more and more nervous, aware of the task that was in front of me. I knew it would be one of the hardest things I would ever do, but I also knew it was completely necessary.
We arrived at Remuda, which looks so beautiful when you are driving down the long driveway. I saw the horses out in the field and the "Expect A Miracle" sign that was right near the entrance.
We pulled up and went inside where an admissions rep welcomed us. The next half hour or so was full of going over and signing paper work. Then I said goodbye to my parents.
One of the BHT's came up and took me down to the lodge where I would be staying. I remember walking in and seeing all the other women, and being introduced to them. I did a bunch of paperwork, and met the other new girl that came that day, Ashley. She was my admit buddy, my roommate, my family week buddy, and my discharge buddy. Needless to say, we formed a special bond. I had another BHT show me my room and help me unpack. I got the standard EKG, blood work, weight, height, blood pressure, pulse, and other medical work-up done.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. I vaguely remember dinner. I surprised myself with how much I ate. That's about all I remember from that day, though.
The next several weeks were extremely challenging, but also rewarding, and at times fun. Like I said, I can't believe it's been a whole year. I feel like relived all of it today. It felt so strange, and almost nostalgic in a way.
It's also crazy to think of how far I have come since then, leaps and bounds.
What an awesome journey it has been so far.
I remember one year ago today pretty clearly. I was still in the hospital, where I had been for the past 5 days, after almost attempting suicide. I found out on the 14th that I was going to be going to Remuda. My mom picked me up from the hospital at around 12pm. I remember walking outside the hospital and feeling the sunshine and the cold air on my face. It felt so good, after being in the hospital for nearly a week. My mom took me back to her her house, where I reunited with my dogs. My dad was on his way home with some subs from Subway. I took a long, hot shower and by the time I was done my dad was home. I barely ate my sub. Then my parents told me Remuda was expecting me by 2:30 or 3, so I drove back to my house and packed. It was weird, not having really any time to plan what I was going to pack. I basically put all of my winter clothes in my suitcase, and all the other essentials. Even though I was going to a treatment center, I still wanted to look my best. So I did my hair, and my make-up, and put on a cute outfit. I know that sounds crazy. Then, I loaded my two suitcases into my car and before I drove back over to my parent's house, I texted my therapist, who already knew what I was doing. But she gave me some last minute encouragement and said I could write her.
When I got to my parent's house, I put my stuff in my dad's car and we hit the road. I still remember sitting in the back seat, with my parents in the front. I looked out the window as we left town. I remember thinking that I couldn't believe I was going back to treatment. I had been wanting to go back for a few weeks, but didn't ever think my family could afford it.
On the way there, "M" called. He was my best friend at the time, my co-worker, my friend with benefits, whatever you want to call it. At the time, I didn't think it was an unhealthy relationship. I had a long conversation with him, which was awkward at times because my parents were in the front seat. My friend Karen also called, but I had put my phone on silent by then and missed her call, but listened to her voicemail once I realized she had called. I also texted all the trusted friends in my life and told them where I was going. I also had to call someone at my work to set up getting disability payments while I was away.
Remuda was about 1 hour away from my house, so we got there pretty quickly. I still remember the CD we listened to on the way there. As we got closer, I got more and more nervous, aware of the task that was in front of me. I knew it would be one of the hardest things I would ever do, but I also knew it was completely necessary.
We arrived at Remuda, which looks so beautiful when you are driving down the long driveway. I saw the horses out in the field and the "Expect A Miracle" sign that was right near the entrance.
We pulled up and went inside where an admissions rep welcomed us. The next half hour or so was full of going over and signing paper work. Then I said goodbye to my parents.
One of the BHT's came up and took me down to the lodge where I would be staying. I remember walking in and seeing all the other women, and being introduced to them. I did a bunch of paperwork, and met the other new girl that came that day, Ashley. She was my admit buddy, my roommate, my family week buddy, and my discharge buddy. Needless to say, we formed a special bond. I had another BHT show me my room and help me unpack. I got the standard EKG, blood work, weight, height, blood pressure, pulse, and other medical work-up done.
The rest of the day is kind of a blur. I vaguely remember dinner. I surprised myself with how much I ate. That's about all I remember from that day, though.
The next several weeks were extremely challenging, but also rewarding, and at times fun. Like I said, I can't believe it's been a whole year. I feel like relived all of it today. It felt so strange, and almost nostalgic in a way.
It's also crazy to think of how far I have come since then, leaps and bounds.
What an awesome journey it has been so far.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Continued Struggles
Things are still pretty difficult for me right now. I know in my last blog I wrote about how I felt like I was needing something more than I have been getting, but I wasn't sure what that was. So, I decided to reach out first to my Remuda sisters, and ask for their support and advice. I am so, so glad I did that. No one understands better than them, who know my life story, and know what it's like to struggle with an eating disorder. So it was really awesome to hear back from them and know I am not alone.
I also emailed my therapist and dietitian. I basically wrote them what I wrote in my last blog. They both sent back really supportive responses. My therapist thinks it would be a good idea for me to start coming back in once a week, as supposed to every two weeks. I felt relieved when I wrote this. I had kind of hoped she would say this. But I was also scared she wouldn't think I needed it. And while I am somewhat embarrassed that I have to increase my sessions again, I really think that this is what I need. I really want to be able to figure out what has caused this increased struggle.
My dietitian suggested I come and see her more often. But I don't think I can afford that. She also suggested I write her daily emails containing my food intake/behaviors/thoughts. I decided to go with this option. Hopefully this will provide some much needed accountability.
So I am feeling more hopeful now that this increased support will get me back on track.
Eating has been difficult. I feel pretty significant anxiety surrounding meals. It's very frustrating. It reminds me of eating meals when I was in treatment. Eating was a chore, an assignment. After treatment, I fell back in love with my favorite foods and enjoyed eating. Up until a couple months ago, I almost felt like I was a "normal eater". I'm not going to lie, when my dietitian suggested I email her my daily food intake, part of me wanted to not respond, and just drop it. I have so much anxiety and shame about sharing with other people what I eat. But, I decided to go with my best judgement and start being accountable with my dietitian.
Sleeping has been difficult lately. I know that it probably had to do with the fact that I'm not getting enough nutrition, and the fact that I'm stressing out about various things. Hopefully I will sleep better this week.
Not much else going on.
Hopefully things will turn around soon.
I also emailed my therapist and dietitian. I basically wrote them what I wrote in my last blog. They both sent back really supportive responses. My therapist thinks it would be a good idea for me to start coming back in once a week, as supposed to every two weeks. I felt relieved when I wrote this. I had kind of hoped she would say this. But I was also scared she wouldn't think I needed it. And while I am somewhat embarrassed that I have to increase my sessions again, I really think that this is what I need. I really want to be able to figure out what has caused this increased struggle.
My dietitian suggested I come and see her more often. But I don't think I can afford that. She also suggested I write her daily emails containing my food intake/behaviors/thoughts. I decided to go with this option. Hopefully this will provide some much needed accountability.
So I am feeling more hopeful now that this increased support will get me back on track.
Eating has been difficult. I feel pretty significant anxiety surrounding meals. It's very frustrating. It reminds me of eating meals when I was in treatment. Eating was a chore, an assignment. After treatment, I fell back in love with my favorite foods and enjoyed eating. Up until a couple months ago, I almost felt like I was a "normal eater". I'm not going to lie, when my dietitian suggested I email her my daily food intake, part of me wanted to not respond, and just drop it. I have so much anxiety and shame about sharing with other people what I eat. But, I decided to go with my best judgement and start being accountable with my dietitian.
Sleeping has been difficult lately. I know that it probably had to do with the fact that I'm not getting enough nutrition, and the fact that I'm stressing out about various things. Hopefully I will sleep better this week.
Not much else going on.
Hopefully things will turn around soon.
Monday, November 21, 2011
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.
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.
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