there is no silence before the storm

My third appointment at the ED treatment center is tomorrow. This is the appointment where they tell me what they, the professionals, think is best for me.

This appointment has unfortunately coincided with the poison of Prozac finally leaving my bloodstream. I don't think the Zoloft knows what to do with me, and I'm pretty sure the Klonopin has just given up.

Now I'm personifying my medications. Like a crazy person.

I haven't been sleeping very well.

I wake up in the darkness right before dawn. I toss and turn and half doze into strange dreams that leave me disoriented and panicked.

My mother is on the phone with the ED treatment center. She's trying to put me into an in-patient program. She thinks I can't hear her conversation, but I can. I want to get up and run out of the house. I want to scream. But I just sit there in a wooden chair, my hands gripping tightly to the seat.

I get an email, reminding me about an appointment. I can't remember what the appointment is. There are so many of them, too many of them. I can't remember. What is this appointment? Is it a trick? 

I start eating something, and then I can't stop. I eat and eat and eat and eat...

I forgot to order more of the aforementioned Zoloft, and I woke up this weekend to an empty bottle. I tried to call the hospital pharmacy, and that's when I found out they're closed.

I spiraled into both panic and excitement at once.

I can't face this weekend without meds!!

I have an excuse to not take my meds!!

I finally got a hold of another pharmacy in the hospital. They made an exception to access my files and fill my prescription, leaving me both relieved and angry.

The Mr. tried to talk to me about his weight and eating habits. Like normal people do. But I am not a normal person, and I spiraled again into a panicky dread.

He hates himself. He's copying me. I can't let him. I can't let him follow me down this rabbit hole. I can't!

I wanted to shake his shoulders and scream at him to run. Like a crazy person.

He finally got me to spit out the tornado of frantic thoughts in my head, and I watched the guilt flash across his face. He promised not to talk about his weight and eating habits anymore.

I wanted to break something.

There's another thing he can't talk to me about. To keep from upsetting me. Like a crazy person.

I hate myself. I shouldn't hate myself. I have so much when others have so little. I have no reason to be hating myself. I hate myself for hating myself. The cycle continues in a downward slide.

The Mr. and I picked up my newly filled prescription. I went straight to the nearest water fountain and shook out a pill. The Mr. stopped me, alarm on his face. He thought it looked different. We looked at the label. Same thing, but he was convinced it was wrong.

"It looks different than it did before!" He kept insisting.

I didn't agree, but I also didn't really give a fuck if it was wrong.

"Why are you mad at me?" He asked, frustrated.

"You're stressing me out!" I said, too loud. People were glancing in our direction. I took the pill. He glared at me.

We went back home so he could look at the old bottle. That's when I got a text from my mother, who has taken it upon herself to text me "helpful" advice. They usually include quotes from her pastor, who she practically worships. They always infuriate me.

The Mr. did some research and decided that my new prescription was ok. He apologized for stressing me out. "I just didn't want you to take the wrong thing." He said, soft. "I was worried."

I sat silently on the hard floor of my livingroom, still dressed in my shoes, coat, and hat, stared at nothing and hated myself for hating myself. Like a crazy person.

He sighed

"Can we just restart today?" He finally asked, sadly.

...........

I weighed in at 108.4 lbs. 

I felt frustrated.

I want to see 107 lbs. But I know what will follow. Then I'll want to see 106. Then 105. And when will it stop? Will it ever stop?

I don't want to go to my appointment on Monday. I don't want to hear what they'll say.

I'm so fucked up. There's nothing wrong with me.

I don't need to lose more weight. I'm not skinny enough.

I'm out of control. Everything is fine.