resolve

So many thoughts going through my head.  Fears, regrets, failures… I don’t know what to do.

I’ve lost my appetite completely, and I’m losing weight again.  This has never happened at home before.  I don’t know what’s going on.  I mean, I’m not upset… I’ve got some room to lose weight, now, and still be healthy.  But still, I want to know why.

I’m exercising more than I have in a while.  That’s always triggering.  I go for bike rides and long walks, and all I can think about is how many calories I’m burning.  It usually makes it easier to eat, but lately it just makes me want to eat less.  I feel sick all the time.  Technically, it’s probably hunger, but it feels like nausea.  I don’t have the slightest desire to eat.  At this point, I’m only eating what I am because I’m afraid my parents will catch on and make me eat more.  I’m afraid they’ll keep me home from camp.

In two weeks, I’m supposed to begin training as a special needs counselor at a camp in Michigan.  I’m nervous.  I mean, if I’m losing weight now, what’s going to happen when I’m on my feet all day?  And there will probably be a lot of trigger foods, which means eating will be even harder.  I keep telling myself that I’ll be distracted, that I’ll be focused on helping the kids, and I won’t be thinking about myself so much.  But I don’t know for sure.

I’m nervous about my scars, too.  They were really just scratches more than anything… I thought they’d be healed by now.  But the scars are still there, just as dark as ever.  It wouldn’t be so bad if they were just regular cuts.  Then I could say they’re just scratches, and it’s okay.  But when I relapsed a month ago, I carved words into my skin.  Lots of words.  They’re kinda hard to miss.  And it’s pretty impossible to say that was just an accident. 

I’ll wear a one-piece swimsuit, and that will cover the worst ones.  I’ll have my bracelets back on, so I won’t have to worry about my wrists.  I could probably wear shorts when we go swimming, but the kids might ask about that, and what will I say?  And what will I do about my arm?  It’s got the word FAT carved into it pretty plainly.  I can’t make my bracelets go back that far.  I’m hoping no one will notice it.  But kids… they notice everything.

I’ve got to let go of everything if I really want to start living, if I really want to help people.  I’ve got to let go of the self-harm, the eating disorders, the depression, the self-contempt… everything.  But I’ve been holding on to them all for so long.  Whenever I start losing one, I grab ahold of another. 

But… I’ve let go of the suicide.  Yeah, I still want to die, and I’m still mad at God for keeping me here when I’ve caused so much pain.  But I’ve made the decision that I’m not going to kill myself.  That was so, so hard to let go of.  It was a way out of everything.  But I let it go.  Yeah, the meds probably helped, but I still let it go.  So maybe, if I can let that go, I can let everything else go, too?

I think bulimia will be the easiest to let go of, because that’s the one struggle I hate the most.  Cutting will be harder, because it helps when I’m really mad at myself to take it out on my body.  Anorexia will be the hardest of all, because that’s what I can always go back to.  And it’s so sneaky, I can tell myself I’m just being healthy, eating less fat and exercising more.  But losing weight is so addicting.  And no matter how low I go, it’s never enough.  I’ve got to find the balance between actual healthy living, and letting it go too far.

Behind everything is the depression and the self-contempt.  If I can get rid of that, I can get rid of everything.  If I stop hating myself for every mistake I make, every time I fall short, maybe I can learn to take care of myself.  I don’t know.  Letting go is going to be hard.  Most days, I don’t even want to be better.  I don’t want to be healed.  I want to stay skinny and bleeding and comfortable.  But… maybe I can do this.  Maybe.

One thing at a time.  I don’t have to stop losing weight yet.  I just have to stop the cutting and purging, and work from there.  Cutting… check.  I haven’t cut in a week.  Purging?  Last time was five days ago.  That’s progress.  I mean, part of that is because  I almost passed out so many times after I purged.  And the cuts on my belly still hurt.  But still, I used to hurt myself every day.

It will be okay.  That’s what I keep telling myself.  It’s gonna be okay, no matter what happens in the next couple weeks, no matter what happens at camp.  I can do this.

crashing again

I was doing so well.  I ate two meals and kept it all down.  Today was beautiful, and I was enthralled by all the growing things in my yard.  The trees all have tiny, crinkled leaves just starting to unfold.  They make the sky look like an endless, intricate design of lace.  And the flowers were blooming, and I could see them!  Sometimes the darkness is so strong, I don’t see the flowers.  But today the sun was shining, and it felt so good, and I was warm and content and happy.

I went for a bike ride, and it felt so good.  I’ve been out on my bike every day for the past couple days, and it makes eating so much easier.  But today I went farther than I’d gone in a long time, and I tasted the tiredness I used to get when I was starving myself.  Freshman year of college, I used to go on these long walks.  I thought it couldn’t possibly count as over-exercising, because it was just walking.  But I’d walk fast and far, and since I wasn’t eating much, it wore me out quickly.  I’d walk for hours, and by the end of it, I was always ready to collapse.  But I loved that feeling, so I pushed myself always to do a little more, take the long way around, pick my feet up a little higher, go a little faster.

I miss that feeling of utter exhaustion.  I felt like it was so earned.  I felt good about myself when I drove my body to the point of blacking out.  Today I wore myself out.  I didn’t go too far; it was good.  It was a healthy distance.  But it gave me a taste of what I used to have, and it made me really want more.

So then tonight happened.  You know how people with eating disorders are supposed to have all this mental “ED noise” after they eat?  I’ve gotten to the point where the noise is more quiet than it used to be.  I can deal with it.  But then nighttime hits, and it all comes back full force.  Maybe I don’t ever really deal with it.  Maybe it’s just like my emotions… I tuck it all away to deal with later.

So tonight I crashed.  All the sadness and frustration and anger at myself that’s been building all week… it all came out.  I cut.  I cut where it hurt the most, where no one would ever see it.  And it gave me that dizzy tiredness I used to get.  I don’t know what it is about cutting… maybe I hold my breath or something.  But even if I hardly bleed at all, I almost always get this sense of weakness.  I had to stop and lie on the bathroom floor a couple times while I was cutting, because I couldn’t stand anymore.  I had to lie there and wait for my vision to clear again.

Now every time I move, I feel it.  It hurts.  And suddenly I feel like it’s okay to feel again, because now I have something that hurts.  It’s okay to cry now, because I’m bleeding.  I don’t have to laugh and smile and act like everything’s okay, like I do every day for my family.  I pretend so much I don’t even realize I’m hurting until nighttime hits and I am alone.  But tonight I don’t have to pretend anymore.  I can cry.  Well, maybe.  I don’t cry very easily, but I feel like at least it’s safe to cry, now.

Tomorrow I have to go to church.  I’m planning on losing weight again, and if I want that to work, I have to be a good girl for my parents.  That’ll keep them off my back for awhile yet.  At least until I’ve lost ten pounds or so.  So… tomorrow is church.  I’ll go, and the whole time I’m there, I’ll be hurting.  But I will smile and nod and say I’m good, thank you, how are you?  It’s so fake.  But this is what I have to do.

I’m so needy.  I want to talk, but there’s no one here who knows how to listen.  I really just want someone to hold me and tell me it’s gonna be okay.  I’m bleeding.  Why do I always wait until I’m bleeding before I reach out for help?  Usually I don’t need much, just a little encouragement, a little listening.  Someday I’ll learn not to let it get to this point.  Someday.

Now I’m tired.  I know I should reach out to God, but all I see from him is disappointment and frustration, because he was telling me not to cut, and I wouldn’t listen.  I chose to do it anyway.

So I’ll sleep.  And reach out to no one.  And maybe, tomorrow will be better.  Maybe tomorrow night will be better.

scared

I’m lost, lost inside myself.  I can feel myself closing up, shutting down.  I want to talk, but I can’t.  I don’t know what to say.  Mostly I just want someone to be near to me, someone to hold my hand and tell me what the heck I’m supposed to be doing.  I’m scared.  Scared I’m losing everything again. 

Tomorrow I have an “evaluation.”  I’m scared they’ll send me to the hospital again, or inpatient somewhere.  I’m scared because I don’t trust myself.  I’ll start talking, and I won’t be able to stop.  There are some things that go through my head that set off alarms when I say them out loud.  Like that I want to slit my wrists.  Not to die, just to bleed.  That kinda freaks people out.  And the fact that I really, really wish I were dead right now.  That’s another red flag.

I understand why.  I mean, I’m a counseling major.  I know all the protocol.  Whenever someone’s life is even slightly endangered, you jump on them.  I understand.  But… I really don’t want to lose everything again.  Once they’re sure you’re crazy, they don’t believe a word you say.  I’m terrified that once I’m back in the hospital, they’ll never let me out again.

I hate being on suicide watch.  Or house arrest, if that’s what you want to call it.  I know they’re trying to keep me safe.  But I hate being watched.

Instinct is telling me I should shut up, tell a couple straight-faced lies, and act like everything’s fine.  But… when people ask specific questions, and they ask nicely… I can’t lie.  Not to their faces.  It’s a weakness, and I hate it.  But I can’t change it.

There’s a deep, secret part of me inside that is hoping they will ask the right questions.  There’s a part of me that’s crying for help.  I don’t want to live like this anymore.  I don’t want suicide to be my automatic fallback.  I want to live, to be happy, to want a future.  I’m tired of being tired and sad and serious all the time.  I want to laugh, not just when I’m with friends, but also when I’m alone.  I don’t want to be afraid of myself anymore. 

And I’m afraid that’s what I’ll say.  And they’ll want to put me in a “safe place.”  I know, I know, that’s cliché, but it still scares me. 

So I draw within myself, pull my knees up to my chin, and curl up in as tight a ball as I can make.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what’s going to happen.  And I’m scared.  Don’t talk, don’t let them know what’s in your head… but I really want somebody somewhere to know.  I want to be saved.

shame

Trying to think about pretty things, trying, trying…

Happy things, beautiful things, hopeful things, helpful things

I’m trying to distract myself.

I am alone tonight. 

Normally I’d be okay… but tonight my mind is heaping up accusations so quickly and heavily I can’t counter them all.  And I’m faltering, I’m going to fall… I want to give in and let the negative thoughts win out and push me down.

I messed up.  Because I was dumb and put myself in a triggering situation.  I thought I could handle it.  I thought wrong.  Why do I do this to myself?  All you people out there who struggle with eating disorders… I know you at least understand.  I so very much want to recover… but that only makes me hate myself more when I mess up. 

I know this road isn’t easy.  I know that slip-ups happen.  But each and every one of my slip-ups could’ve been avoided.  I ate by my own choice.  I purged by my own choice.  And now I’m so mad at myself for choosing ED behaviors.

I was doing so well.  I hadn’t purged since Spring Break.  That’s three whole weeks.  Three long weeks.  But then today happened.  I feel like someone’s shouting in my face that I’m never going to get better.  Not me.  I’m too weak.  I can’t do this.  I should just go back to anorexia.  When I didn’t eat, I never had to deal with purging. 

And this is all my own flippin fault!  I knew what I was doing.  I knew that eating alone in my room would be triggering.  I don’t even deserve to get better.  I don’t work at it enough… I just let these things happen.  I let myself mess up.  It was my own choice.

People give me all kinds of tips for what to do when I have to eat.  But the thing is, I’ve gotten to the point where I’m mostly okay with eating small but complete meals.  I can handle it.  Usually.  But what am I supposed to do now?  When I’ve completely failed.  Again.

Anyone who’s never had an eating disorder wouldn’t understand how strong my self-hatred is right now.  I feel like a frickin piece of crap.  Well, I feel like a lot worse than that, but I’m trying not to cuss. 

I want to punish myself.  I want to cut.  I really want to cut.  Not to kill myself, just to hurt.  I want to carve words in my skin.  I want to write the labels that I feel define me.  I want to do to myself what I really deserve.  No one has to know… and I know it would make me feel better anyway. 

Trying to distract myself… it’s not working… I want to cut so bad.  I hate myself.  I want to die.  I’m never going to be able to live free of an eating disorder. 

I want to be safe right now.  I want to curl up next to somebody who loves me and just wait for the urges to pass.  God help me… I’m gonna fail again… if I start cutting, I won’t be able to stop…

 

tired

Words ring through my head… words I cannot speak aloud.  Names that make me blush and stare at the ground are pounding through my thoughts.  I cannot think these things and look anyone in the eye.  I stand accused.  And I plead guilty.

I have no defense.  I cannot fight this time.  I’m so tired, so tired… there’s no end to it all.

I feel like Satan’s got me lying on the ground, and he’s kicking me, jumping on me, pushing my face into the gravel.  Somewhere in the back of my head, I can hear Jesus calling me, but my thoughts are distracted by the accusations Satan’s flinging against me.

I try to raise my head, I try to get back on my feet, but Satan smashes me back down again.  I don’t have the strength to keep fighting.  I’ve got all these voices running circles in my mind, teasing me, telling me all the things I should be doing…

“When the hard days come, focus your mind on worshipping God.  Sing praise songs and hymns to keep your mind on Christ.”

“Make a list of the things you’re thankful for.  Praise God for what He’s done in your life.”

“Read your Bible!”

“Do something for someone else.  Get your mind off yourself.”

“Read this book, or do this devotional.”

“Fight every lie Satan tells you with truth from God’s word.”

“Memorize scripture.”

It’s all good advice, I know!  But I am so tired… right now even the best advice seems like just another boulder added to the mountain I’m climbing.  It’s too much. 

My body aches.  My soul longs for rest and peace.  I’m tired of fighting… I really just want to lie here and let the devil do whatever he wants to me.  No, I really want someone to come down and rescue me.  I want someone to hold me close and never let me go.

And then I remember that, technically, that’s what Jesus does… but sometimes I feel like I have to completely imagine Him here until I can believe it.  I can’t see Him, can’t feel Him… but I can feel the devil.  And his punches hurt.  Dear God, help me…

Trembling

Slight tremors run down my arms,

Reaching from my shaking heart,

Always shaking…

Never still.

My fingers tremble, tremble…

Never calm, never still.

 

I long for someone to hold me,

Someone to catch me close and calm my shivers.

I am not cold, I promise.

Just scared.

Scared of tonight, scared of tomorrow,

Scared of myself and what I might do.

 

I’m shaking, shaking!

I cannot stop.

The pressure is building inside me,

Building, building

Never ending

Never easing

Always growing

Deep inside me

I cannot stop it

Someone help me!

 

I’m not okay. 

I’m not just fine.

I’m shaking, shaking,

I cannot stop.

Somebody help me!

Somebody save me.

I am afraid

Of what I’ll do

To myself.

i want to die…

The wind is cold and strong and bitter tonight.  I could shout into it, and no one would hear.  But I cannot shout.  I can only whisper.  Whisper, whisper, into the wind… and the wind will catch my whispers and carry them away into the darkness, into the clouds. 

My body hurts so much.  But I am too ashamed to tell anyone.  I don’t know what to do.  Part of me wants to do it all over again, abusing my body, punishing myself, because I know I deserve it. 

I’m slipping into depression again.  I forgot to take my meds yesterday, and that was a huge mistake.  I’ve skipped taking them before, but that was always when I was having really good days, and I didn’t think I needed them.  But the past few times I’ve forgotten, I’ve dipped way down.  It’s not a mental thing, either, where I know I didn’t take my meds, and so I unconsciously make myself more depressed, because that’s what’s supposed to happen.  I honestly forgot, and I didn’t remember until late last night when I was racking my brain trying to figure out why I wanted so deeply to die.

What is this obsession I have with dying?  Why do I always go back to these thoughts, even when I know that I’m here for a reason, and I know I have people who love me?  I don’t want to hurt them.  I know what suicide does to the families and friends.  It hurts them deeply.  They feel guilty, and that’s the last thing I want.  I just want to disappear, somehow so that I don’t hurt people. 

Last night I wanted so very much to cut.  I still want to.  Isn’t this supposed to get easier?  I feel like the longer I go without cutting, the harder it gets.  And… I’m too ashamed to tell anyone here that I need help.  I need a hug… or something.  I need someone to just tell me not to cut, not to binge, not to purge. 

I want to keep hurting my body.  I already have, and I feel so guilty, and I want to punish myself by hurting my body more.  What else am I supposed to do?  I can’t talk about it.  I’m too ashamed.  And I don’t want to be a burden to people.  I’m afraid that if I tell people, they’ll worry about me, and I really don’t want people worrying about me.  I don’t want anyone to feel responsible for me.  I have friends who have taken it upon themselves to make sure I eat.  Sometimes I feel like that’s all our relationship is made up of anymore.  I don’t want to do that anymore.  I want to have real friendships that aren’t based on them taking care of me.

I don’t need to be babysat.  It just makes me feel even more guilty, and it makes me want to get away with more.

But at the same time… it’s when I’m with friends that I feel most safe.  When I’m with friends, I am safe from myself.  I can’t eat too much.  I can’t purge.  I can’t cut.  I can’t do anything else to abuse my body.  I can just curl up and feel safe.  When I’m with friends, I can finally relax.

Sometimes, when I’m over at my friends’ houses, and everyone’s getting ready to leave, I almost want to ask if I can sleep over.  Then I wouldn’t have to go back to my room and face myself.  Sometimes, I just don’t feel safe enough to be alone.  I don’t trust myself.  But I can’t ask, because I don’t want to be a burden.  I don’t want to be there if they don’t want me.  They need their space. 

What is the difference between needing and wanting?  I feel like I need help.  I need a hug.  I need someone to tell me I’m forgiven, because I can’t believe it from myself.  I need someone to sit by me and not let me be alone.  But then… I feel like I should be able to get through this by myself.  I haven’t cut yet.  As for eating issues, that’s a completely different story.  But I haven’t cut.  So that should mean that I can do this myself, right?  Because I’ve been alone, and I haven’t cut.  So I must be doing something that’s working, and it should work for the eating stuff, too.

But if I don’t need help, then I’m only wanting it.  I should be able to do this myself.  It’s selfish of me to want so much attention from people all the time.  They have their own lives.  They can’t afford to come and sit with me every time I want to die.  I mean, seriously, what college student has time to sit with me every night?  Because that’s how often I want to die.  Who has the energy to work through these things with me?

I haven’t tried to kill myself yet.  Not since last summer.  I just want to.  And wanting to do something isn’t the same as attempting it.  I can’t say I need help.  I can’t say I’ll die if I don’t get help.  I’m not going to kill myself.  I don’t want to put people through that.  I especially don’t want anyone to have to find me dead.  That would be traumatizing.  I just wish I could die in some accident somehow, because then people wouldn’t feel guilty.

But then, would anyone feel guilty if I tried to kill myself?  Maybe I’m assuming too much.  Maybe they’d be glad to have me gone.  I’m too clingy.  Too needy.  They’d probably hurt for a while, but they’d get over it.  Maybe, once they got over the shock of it, they’d be better off.  They wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.

Someone said that people who commit suicide don’t go to heaven.  I don’t know if that’s true or not.  But it might be worth it, even if I go to hell, because I’d be freeing everyone else of me.  They’d realize soon enough that it’s for the best… that’s what I tried to say in the suicide letter I wrote.  I’m too needy.  I mean, seriously, I want to have people around me all the time, just because I don’t trust myself.  How selfish is that?!

Last night I had a new friend come in and tell me a little of her life story.  I told her a little of mine in return.  She told me that any time I was feeling terrible, I could call her.  But… I can’t.  I can’t.  I know she won’t judge me, because she’s been through the same stuff.  But I can’t tell her.  I can’t ask for help.  Because I probably won’t end up cutting tonight.  I’ve been getting through each night without cutting.  I probably won’t cut tonight.  I’ll do homework and distract myself until I fall asleep.  I don’t need someone to help me.  I just… really, really want it.

Whisper, whisper, into the wind… and the wind catches up my whispers and carries them away.  No one else can hear them, no one but the wind and God and whoever out there reads this.  I cannot speak in more than a whisper… I am deathly afraid of someone hearing me and taking my burdens onto themselves. 

I’m hurting so much… I want to hurt more.  I should be hurting more.  I want to die… I want to die… I want to die.

Dear wind, cold bitter wind, please take me away somewhere… somewhere up in the clouds where I don’t have to live like this anymore.  Do I ask for help, do I ask for a hug, when I know I don’t need it?  Please, God, take me… take me… take me.

secrets

I have a secret… and I’m afraid to tell anyone.  I’m so ashamed.  I hate myself.  Sometimes all I want to do is die and go to heaven.  But I can’t tell anybody.  I can’t tell anybody.

I’m not living the way I’m supposed to.  I’m afraid of food.  I’m afraid if I eat anything, I’ll get fat.  I hate myself. 

But then I eat.  I eat anyway.  And there’s so much shame!  Does anyone else in the world understand what it’s like to be bulimic when you used to be anorexic?  I already hated myself for every bite I took.  I already worried about fat and sugar and calories.  But now I hate myself more, because now I eat anyway.

Does anybody know what this is like?  I feel like I have no one to talk to.  Everyone who used to understand only understood because they were anorexic like me.  They understood the terror, the numbers, the desperate need for control.  But… they do not understand when I eat anyway.  They don’t understand that I have to, even though I don’t want to.

It’s worse when I’m at home.  I feel like I have to eat, and I eat more than I should.  I hate it!  I hate myself.  I never want to eat again, but then I do eat.

I’m dreadfully terrified that I’m not losing weight.  I HAVE to be losing weight.  I have to be.  I don’t know what I’d do if I stop.

I don’t even know for sure if I’ve lost any weight or not yet, since I’ve been at school.  I’m eating less and less.  When I eat a lot, it almost never stays down.  I am terrified of gaining weight.  I’m afraid that if I start eating normally again, that’s what will happen.  I’m afraid.  And this fear is running my life.

I feel so fake.  I feel like a failure.  But these are things I can’t say to anyone.

It’s not so hard to talk about not-eating.  When I’m not eating, or when I’m only eating a little bit, there’s a part of me deep inside that’s proud.  I want to brag about it.  I’m happy when I don’t eat.  As long as I’m not going to be forced to eat, then I can tell anyone. 

When I’m here, at school, no one can really force me to eat.  So it’s easier.  When I’m home, I’m afraid that if I don’t eat, I won’t be able to come back to school… which means I won’t be able to lose weight.  So I eat a lot.  But I still hate eating in front of people.  So I eat alone.  And then a little turns into so much… and I can’t stop.  Before I know what’s happening, I’m bent over the toilet again.  And the shame intensifies.

Yesterday was such a good day.  I went through and skipped breakfast and lunch.  I only ate dinner because I was over at a friend’s house, and I only had a little pasta and ground beef.  Those are both trigger foods… I tried not to think about them as I ate them.  I felt guilty, but only a little bit, because that was all I’d eaten that day.

But then I went back to my room and had peanut butter and granola.  It didn’t stay down.  I don’t know why I ate it… I wasn’t hungry.  I was just… alone.  And I only eat when I’m alone.

This is so hard to write.  I can’t tell anybody.  I can’t tell people that I do actually eat, because I’m so ashamed.  I hate myself.  When I left the bathroom last night, I kept singing to myself, “I am a failure, I am a failure, I am a failure.”

Because it’s true.  I fail at living a normal life, because I have eating disorders.  I fail at anorexia, because I eat too much.  I fail at relationships, because I’m too clingy and needy.  I fail at everything.  What do I have left?  Nothing. 

I can’t tell anybody that I actually do eat.  A friend told me the other day that I’m really bad at lying.  And I just sat there, thinking, “there’s so much you don’t know.  And I can’t tell you.  And you’ll never know that I can’t tell you, because I’m actually pretty good at lying.”  Or I’m just really good at hiding.

Nobody knows.  Nobody understands.  And I can’t say anything.  Because I’m too ashamed.  I hate this life.